I like books.


I live in a small town and enjoy writing about the inhabitants. I spend most of my time perusing through used book stores looking for that one great book that I don't have; consequently, I have rooms filled with books. I am a book addict.

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Prince Charming is a lie

The deal was, he, Mr. Zelda, would be in charge of the laundry. That means, he would carry the basket downstairs, put the dirty clothes in the washer, then the dryer, then he would fold or hang up the clothes. Well, that was a dream. He washed a load once, left them in the washer, they had to be rewashed, I put them in the dryer, reminded him of his chores and he carried them upstairs and dumped them on the bed. Now, what does he think? There might be a clothes fairy that folds and puts those clothes away?
I cleaned our little townhouse/apartment spotless Thursday and Friday. Finished papering the shelves, organized the vegetables from A-Z, washed the canisters for the flour and so forth. Cleaned the bathrooms, washed clothes, in general did everything, all the while, trying to unpack. Well, the grandchildren have been here and now the house is a mess. He, Mr. Zelda, is up stairs watching television while the grandsons go wild, and I am down here cleaning. At one point, while I was washing this huge knife…well it was a thought. So, my question is, do all men avoid work or just Mr. Zelda? And why is it he sees the cookie on the floor, calls my attention to said cookie and then acts like I am the messiest person in the world? Hmmm. On the bright side, as long as I am down here cleaning, he is upstairs watching television and I don’t have to listen to his ramblings about nothing. Is this how happily ever after is supposed to be?

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Mini Vacation

I am home today. Yep, I have today and tomorrow off and of course the week-end. But the good thing about having today and tomorrow off is that I am alone. Mr. Zelda1 will be working all day, and then he has class until 8pm and the long drive home will get him walking in the door around 9pm. It’s a writer’s heaven. He won't be here asking me where something is, or what am I thinking, or can I move over so he can attach a wire, or when are we eating, or any of those annoying things that he seems to do. It's not like he can't go to the kitchen and fix a sandwich because he does it when I am not here. And why can't he turn on garbage disposal and why can't he clean the plates??? He doesn't even have to load them in the dishwasher, just rinse them out. Geeze!

Unfortunately, I will spend the majority of the day finishing unpacking, next, I will either finish the science fiction short story for my science fiction class or I will write a paper on how Octavia Butler deconstructs the social archetypes and stereotypes of the white writer in her book Wild Seed. The paper will not be too hard since I have already some experience in this type of paper. I see similarities between Morrison and Butler in the way they deconstruct the stereotypes, and last semester I wrote a paper on how Morrison does the same plus how she uses the white aesthetic to bust open and define the new black aesthetic. But I already have the short story finished. I mean, it just needs to be edited. But the research and the proof of my thesis on the paper will be so much fun. What to do? It’s not like I need to put an effort in this class for Pete’s sake, I already graduated and I am taking it for fun. So for fun would mean for a challenge so maybe I need to do something that is a challenge. Creative writing is way too easy for me so maybe I should do the academic paper. Okay, I’ll drink more coffee, unpack more and decide.

Meanwhile, life is good here in the mountains of Arkansas. I am beginning to really like the little town house that we are renting. A man cuts the bushes, not like at my house where we cut the bushes. That’s great. Also, it only takes me five minutes to clean the kitchen. It is so small that I don’t have all that space to dirty up when I am cooking.

And, I am finally online. That is the best thing, being online. I love technology and being connected to cyberspace at all times. I love having new reading material at my fingertips and blogging and news and google and the library and all of that stuff at my fingertips. Life is good here on the mountain. Did I just see an eagle fly by or was it a hawk?

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Not just for sandwiches any more.

Okay I’ll admit it, I was bored and looking for something to make me less bored, something to spark laughter or anger or disgust, and finally I found an article that sparked first laughter, then anger, and then disgust.

This woman, Janice Shaw Crouse, has an ax to grind with all of us liberals who want to force sex education down the throats of those poor innocent eighth graders, who, by the way, according to her, have never had a sexual thought what-so-ever and would not have a sexual thought were it not for sex education.

She says, “Today, right-thinking adults should be outraged by the recommendation in the latest “comprehensive” sex-education materials from Planned Parenthood that, for “safe” sex, 8th graders should use Saran Wrap as “protection” when engaging in oral and anal sex.”

Okay, I was a little shocked about the Saran Wrap for protection but hey if it keeps a child from getting herpes or aides why not. I searched all over the internet and used several search engines and while I found that Saran Wrap can be used as a protection against HIV and Herpes, and makes a nice wrap for a sandwich, I can not find where it is being taught in sex education classes anywhere. IN fact, I can’t believe that a school would hand out Saran Wrap to any student. Not many adults can keep Saran Wrap from sticking all together so I would be surprised if any eighth grade child in the throes of passion could pull it out, keep it from getting wrinkled all up, then put it on the secondary sex organ to form an adequate barrier. I know a lot of health care people and I doubt any of them would even consider this a good practice for adults let alone kids. She’s reaching here and her slope just got slippery. By the way, Janice dear, where are you sources? I want to go to the site and find these awful people.

She continues, “Why in heaven’s name should teachers be providing curious 8th graders with ever more detailed information that is bound to encourage the more adventurous or emotionally needy ones to experiment sexually? Why talk about oral and anal sex to children, period? The unspoken purpose is clear and has the fingerprints of the gay lobby and NAMBLA all over it. The FBI publishes A Parent’s Guide to the Internet. Note well how it describes the modus operandi of pedophiles: “These individuals attempt to gradually lower children's inhibitions by slowly introducing sexual context and content into their conversations.” And millions of parents are letting so-called sex-education experts do exactly this to their children in the classroom without raising any objection. Unbelievable!”

Now her motives are out. She is trying to connect homosexual men and women with NAMBLA. Now why would she do this? The two have no connection what-so-ever. She has taken an issue, which is really no issue as far as I have found, and used it as an opportunity to point her finger at a group of pedophiles while doing so she brings the homosexual community in as if they can just randomly be thrown in with sexual deviants. She is really sliding now and her true colors are showing.

She rambles on, “distresses me to think that any sane, caring adult would want classroom discussions of casual oral and anal sex to be a child’s introduction to such a powerful drive as sex. As a woman I am outraged at the idea that anyone — least of all, a teacher — would want to encourage an adolescent girl to be “used” in such a blatantly sexist way by either young boys wanting to experiment or older guys looking for someone gullible enough to give them momentary pleasure?
Eighth-grade girls should be learning the basic elements required for successful adult relationships; good manners, social etiquette, the give and take of negotiation and conflict resolution –– how to respect themselves and each other; not how to use and abuse the opposite sex in throw-away, disposable, meaningless, fast-food-type couplings.”

She has nerve to speak about sexism. She is saying that it is the boy who initiates the sex act and is making a big plea for pity for the poor little girls who are innocent and just going to be used by men. What an idiot. It’s true some girls get used but so do some boys and to make a blanket statement that teachers are setting up girls to be used by men and boys is just wrong I tell you just wrong. Her opinion that girls need to learn the skills necessary to be house wives, although she doesn’t come out and say it, should be kept to herself.
If you need a good laugh, check her out.

Ignorant is as ignorant does

I think I will make this a blog about all those stupid people that I have the misfortune to run into on a daily basis. I had to go and buy two binders for one of my classes, the most logical place would have been to go to Wal-Mart or K-Mart, but I am at school so I decided to make a trip to the college book store. What a fun place that is. I am not sure what the requirements are for working there other than being number one asshole in the universe or having an IQ of say a frog and being a number one asshole in the universe but nonetheless, the students have to endure.

I couldn’t find the size binder that I needed so the guy tries to get me to buy four thereby having the same capacity as two but costing almost three times as much. I keep saying no, that I had seen larger ones in here last time and he says yeah but they are in the back and I say well can’t you go get them and he says yeah but I am doing the cash register. I look around and see no one in the store but a few other employees and I say can one of those guys go, he says they are there to help customers and I say I AM A CUSTOMER AND I NEED HELP. He then tries to calm me down and I am thinking what a fucking dick.

Eventually someone with gray hair walks in and I say can you get me a larger folder and he says yep and says to the guys doing nothing to go to the back and get me two big folders. Isn’t it nice to know that while the world is full of assholes and ignorant asses, there are still men and women with gray hair that know what needs to be done.

free to write

It is so nice to be blogging in the comfort of my own home, well rented home, and at my own desk with my own keyboard and my own...well you get it. So for the last couple of weeks, I have been in flux or transition or something. I moved to the town where I am going to graduate school. That sure sounds so important, that word or those words going to graduate school. Anyway, I had to change internet providers and it has taken us three weeks to get it hooked up. Not that we couldn't hook it up but we get home so late and the store is only open until six and that left us not having access until yesterday when mr zelda had a major flare up with his crones disease, nasty disease. On our way home, I ran in and got the modem right before they closed and mr. zelda hooked us up after about a box of immodium. So, now I am online and able to blog without all those people at school saying watcha writing as they look over my shoulder. It is irratating. Plus, I have all my favorite blog places saved in my favorites and I hated going in search of them since I can't save on my favorites at school.
Okay that's it.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Cow's Secretions for Cows only?

In class yesterday, my favorite professor asked the question what is abomination. Let me back track. We are reading Wild Seed, by Butler and for those who have not read the novel, the protagonist finds offensive many of the customs practiced in the new country where she was brought. The main custom was drinking cow’s milk. YUCK, it made her sick. That brought up the conversation of why animal milk would be more offensive to drink than say human milk, which is the milk designed for our bodies, or our babies’ bodies. Cow’s milk, on the other hand, is filled with fat globules, which are hard to digest, as evidenced by so many lactose intolerant people, and allergens, as evidenced by so many infants experiencing allergic reactions to cow’s milk.

This made me want to do a little research on the topic of cow’s milk and here is what I found:

Pesticides have been found in cow’s milk. These pesticides make their way from the grass to the cow, from the cow to the human, and from the human to their hepatic system where the liver cannot filter the chemicals out, eventually leading to cancer or other immune diseases.

Cow’s milk is meant to make little calves big in a hurry so it is easy to see why people who drink milk have problems with obesity.

Cow’s milk is full of globules of fat, which translates to lactulose intolerance for all of those people who can’t handle those fatty acids so early in the digestive process.

Many people, babies in particular, have allergic reactions to cow’s milk either gastrointestinal symptoms or it manifests itself through ear infections or upper respiratory symptoms.
Some evidence has connected cow’s milk to diabetes.

I’m sure there are more arguments against the use of cow’s milk in favor of breasts milk for infants but these are serious considerations for adults too. I, for one, am going to look for alternatives to cow’s milk. Maybe soy or rice milk, or in the least, skim milk will do for a while.

Who are the Terrorists

For those of you who fear the terrorists in this country as well as those out of country, go check out Christopher Dickey’s article on the madness of violence in the United States by citizens against citizens.
“July 20 - The sentencing of Eric Rudolph, who bombed abortion clinics, a gay bar and the Atlanta Olympics, ought to be a milestone in the Global War on Terror. In Birmingham, Ala., on Monday he got life without parole.”

Laws have now been passed to name what is terrorist's acts and how to identify and punish thouse acts more harsly to prevent people from blowing up abortion clinics, gay bars, and Muslim or Jewish, or churches white or black or both, or any other type of establishment that offends or pisses off or disagrees with the moral code of an individual or a group. That's a good thing, the law being passed that is. I don't agree with someone, I'm not going to go bomb them out, or kill them; reasonable people don't act like that. Reasonable people discuss, argue, come to conclusions, and either agree or disagree but we don't tear up a building, kill, or take a country.

“Abortion is murder, and because it is murder I believe deadly force is needed to stop it.” The Birmingham prosecutor declared that Rudolph had “appointed himself judge, jury and executioner.”

Abortion is murder according to Rudolph and those who think like him but what is the kind of killing that he does? Isn’t it murder? What those idiots do is stupid, unreasonable, totally without logic, they decide they are going to take a stand against gay bars or abortion clinics and they defend their stance with Biblical reference, by the way, they totally forget the part in the old and the new testament about murder; yet, they do exactly what the Bible supposedly tells them not to do. They murder, and I'm sorry, having gay sex opposed to blowing up a bar and killing many, not even the same level of sin, if it is a sin at all, and I am still not committed on that one. It's like Cllinton and oral sex or Bush and his trying to wipe out a civilization and then lying about it. Which is worse? Go figure.

What about the attack of the World Trade Center? What about the attack on Iraq by the USA?

Rudolph's sentence, life in prison, which is good, he should have gotten life, he should have gotten life plus worse; although, I am against the death penalty, there are times when I think maybe death. Timothy McVeigh got lethal injection—but what happens when the offending terrorists is a country like the USA? Bush declared war on terror but became sidetracked, lied, led troops into Iraq and has killed many innocent women, children,(children they are killing children, babies, teenagers, killing them raping them, there are tapes!) and men in the name of a lie—something he was suppose to believe in, but perhaps he didn’t believe in it, that is, perhaps he just wanted a name for himself, maybe it was oil, or just to finish what his father started. Maybe he is a warmonger, who like those warmongers of times past can't be happy unless he is fighting. Unlike Rudolph, who believed by attempting to kill all those innocent people he was carrying out God’s will, Bush had no spiritual guidance whether real or delusional. I can show more sympathy, though there is no sympathy for him, toward Rudolph than I can Bush because while Rudolph may have been delusional and passionate about what he believe, or maybe not, maybe he was just a cold blooded killer, nonetheless, we do now the Bush is in Iraq for no reason what so ever. He has sent troops over to this country and the prisoners they capture have been tortured, raped, and killed; the country has been destroyed, and the only thing left in all of this destruction is that maybe, we will get the hell out of there and leave those people alone. My heart grieves for all those people who have been mistreated or killed at the hands of our troops, and I think about our troops and what they have seen and done and how some of them have changed from good law-abiding people to these monsters who have done such awful things, things like what unreasonable people like Rudolph have done!

Thursday, July 21, 2005

A Richard by any other name is Dick

A guy who attends school here is pro death penalty and tells me he thinks they should be given a trial and as soon as the verdict is read take them out back and shoot the SOB. There is no reasoning with this guy because he just won't listen. In fact, he is the most pigheaded person I have ever met. A little later, he tells me that he was at a garage sale and bought a real nice coffee table for only five bucks. Said he Jewed the guy down from ten bucks. I told him I was offended by his remark and he said he didn't mean it in a derogatory manner. He said it wasn't a bad thing to say and proceeded to try and let me in on the Jewish history and political correctness. He is the same guy, 40ish, fat, wears a big belt buckle, and chews tobacco, who wants to date this cute cute girl and if she isn't going to go out with him, well, he says, there is this black chick that is beautiful and he is thinking on asking her out. I know what he is thinking and that is the AFrican American chick would do well to go out with him. He doesn't see himself as someone who is taking her down but he sees himself as elevating her from her race to being seen by a white man. I shake my head just thinking of this guys audacity. Some guys are and will always just be DICKS.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Stupid people and dirty pots

I am at the age where things piss me off. I don’t mean big things that annoy everyone, I mean little things. Like for instance, there is this girl in one of my classes, a young, skinny girl with little hips and big chest, and she talks all the fucking time. She never shuts up and never says anything. She has even tried to finish my sentences, so I intentionally end them differently than how they seem to be going. I do that and then I want to tell her to let me do my own talking and please let the Professor her own talking too. Her boobs bother me. They are obviously fake, they don't even jiggle. They are fake and why do girls do that? Now she could be wearing the push up bra, never thought of that, but that might be the case. What ever the case, I still think she is pissy and she pisses me off.

Then there is the one who has to give daily updates on her brats. I am not being mean, she doesn’t ever shut up. Her brats are almost grown and when she talks about them, she doesn’t realize that what she is saying is stupid. She laughs about letting them break the rules and admits buying these kids weapons.

I am also peeved at this 40 something year old guy who thinks he is hot and all women are after him; not so, he is far from hot, not warm, not even room temperature. He runs around freezing temperature. When he announced to me that he was thinking on asking this young 20 something cute cute girl out, well I almost choked on my coffee. He also told me if he ever decided to do the multi racial thing, there was a really hot African American he wanted to ask out. I looked at him and said, “As if.”
He said, “What?”
I said, “What makes you think any hot woman will go out with you. You’re 40 something, pig headed, big bellied, and you wear a rodeo belt.” I’m sorry, the rodeo belt, a big turn off, especially since he admits he bought it at a garage sell. Not to mention the jaw full of chew, and that he is a REPUBLICAN, you put all of that together and you definitely have an updatable on your hands.

I get pissed at the Pepsi machine; it eats my money and doesn’t shit me out a diet Pepsi. I hate no toilet paper in the stalls at school and why in the fuck can the cleaning guy not keep the toilets clean. How hard is it to spray a little toilet bowl cleaner and wipe a toilet brush around the bowl? I like a clean pot and a clean seat, and to think there might be secretions or excretions that are alien to me, well that makes me hold my urine until my bladder stretches too large and then my back hurts, and then my neck and then I am screaming at the first person who walks by. All because the pot was dirty.

I also hate ass kissers. You know the ones who will give their last dollar to a teacher or the teacher’s kid but if they see a poor student on campus who has her kid or kids with her because she can’t get a sitter, then they have no money, do you think Ms Brownnose will buy these little fellows a coke. No sirree.

I hate reading a magazine in the Doc’s office and be in a really good part and some ignorant ass tore a coupon out, and guess what, the story isn’t finished. Yep, pisses me off royally.

Finally I hate with a passion when someone, especially Mr. Zelda asks me what’s wrong or what am I thinking. Are my thoughts public properties now?

Geeze, I need hormones. Maybe I’ll let them put me on Estrogen, while I liked the chin hair plucking, something erotic happens and can’t explain it (not erotic in I need a man or a vibrator, but something else like ouch felt good) I don’t like that everything annoys me. And, there have been noticeable anatomical things happening to me since zero hormones.

This wasn’t meant to be so ugly but it had to be said, well it didn’t have to be said, but I sure do feel better having said them.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

A Coach And His Team

Check out the story about the competitive little league coach.

PITTSBURGH - A T-ball coach allegedly paid one of his players $25 to hurt an 8-year-old mentally disabled teammate so he wouldn’t have to put the boy in the game, police said Friday.

The boy was hit with a baseball in the head and the groin. The little league commission says if he is found guilty, they won’t let him coach for a year. Hello! If he is found guilty, they better send his ass to jail.
It’s bad enough when one child hits another but it’s immoral if the child doing the hitting is doing so because he was paid by an adult and criminal if the payer was a coach who did it to win a ballgame.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

What Meth Does to Families has a good post on Meth. Babies. After reading it, I decided to add what I know, which can be put in a thimble, but in this particular case, I do know a lot; my daughter has been and is a Meth user.

The one thing I know about the changes in her personality since she has become an addict is that she has lost her humanity; those are the only words I can use to describe what has happened to her. She parties all night, sleeps all day, and if no one is there to attend to my grandson, he stays in the crib all day long crying, in a dirty diaper, wet diaper, sucking on a bottle that has been in bed with him all day. When she does wake up enough to hear him cry, she makes him another bottle of milk in the same dirty bottle. If his crying doesn’t stop, she screams at him. I know, my husband witnessed it. When I rescue him, he grabs me and holds on for dear life. I can’t win a court battle, not in Arkansas. Grandparents have no rights. I am waiting for the probation officer to revoke her probation and hopefully she will go to jail, and I will get custody of the baby.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but she is grown, my grandson isn’t. I have to save him. For the last couple of days, she has been clean; she knows she is going to be drug tested, however, my son is going to rat her out to her probation officer about some hot check violations as well as other things. Then I get my grandson.

When my seven-year-old grandson was only three, I called her and she didn't know where she was, I asked her where my grandson was and she said she didn't know. I called all her friends looking for her and was at the point of calling the police but drove to her house. Her car was there and when I knocked on the door, my three grandson said, "I'm here, don't leave, I can't open the door. " MY husband broke the window. She was passed out, there was a pile of snack foods on the coffee table and containers of juice. I took my grandson and she didn't even know for two days that he wasn't with her.

She lives with us now, but that is going to change as I am going to move and I want to take him with me. Even with her living with us, she can take him out of the house anytime she wants or refuse to let me take him with me.

My son, works as a dispatcher, and he knows how sad the meth children are. He says they carry cell phones that have no connection because they can at least get 911. Children as young as four will call and say their parents won’t wake up and they are scared. You see, Meth. users tweak for days at a time, when they finally run out of dope, they crash and sleep so soundly that they don’t hear their children crying. He told me just the other night, a little boy called and said he was hungry. The cops got there and found a newborn in the crib with a diaper filled with maggots, the newborn was so malnourished they flew it to a hospital where he could get specialized care. The other two children were just as malnourished but older so they weren’t as seriously ill.
A 13 year old called one night because her daddy thought she had flushed his dope down the toilet. He was screaming he was going to kill her. Another little girl called and said her daddy locked her and her siblings out of the house. They were at a phone booth wanting something to eat and drink. One of those kids was in diapers. The cops rescued the children then went to the house where they found the parents cooking meth. Those children were lucky; most parents cook it with the kids in the house.
The issues of Meth are personal to me, because of my daughter. She was a good kid, she had a future, and she was a good parent but now she lives and breathes for drugs. My grandsons pay the price. There need to be treatment programs, more drug enforcement policies and stiffer penalties. If the government doesn’t do something about this drug and at least force the users into treatment, there is going to be a generation of children being raised in foster care…well those not lucky enough to have grandparents. Foster care isn’t meant for long term care and those children never belong. They are always the visitors who came in the middle of the night.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

When Love Hurts

Yesterday, it occurred to me that my daughter doesn’t like me; in fact, I know she hates me. This isn’t an epiphany that just hit, I have thought for many years that she was repulsed by me. I can only describe how I felt when I looked at her and she had this look, one that I recognized, it’s genetic, my mom had that same look. It’s a look like, well you’re here, not my choice, I’m stuck with you, what the hell, on good days maybe I’ll tolerate you on the rest of the days, I’ll ignore or simply show my repulsion, you don’t count. That is how it was, yesterday. She came to school, to the lab, where I work and I was working on a Toni Morrison paper. She told me I had to babysit, so I said, cool. She hates for me say cool, I don't know why, I have said it since the 60s, it's how my generation talks. I think she thinks I am trying to be like the kids at school, but she is wrong and I have told her that. When I got in the car, she wasn't speaking to me. Just like when I was a child, just like when my mother would ignore me and ignore my attempts to talk to her, that is how I felt. I asked her if she was angry at me, she said yes. I asked her what was wrong, what did I do; I panicked, I didn't want her to be mad at me. WE were driving along, she was sulled up, me trying to humor her, and then she blurted out that I was the reason she hasn’t graduated college. I was the reason she was flunking psychology, I was the reason she couldn’t keep a job. It wasn’t even the words, it was the way she said them, and I finally realized that she made me feel like my mother made me feel. Like I had to always prove myself or bend myself to make her happy and it occurred to me that I am fifty and I don’t like those feelings. It was sad, that moment of total recognition, and what was sadder was what I had to say and how I had to stop the abuse. (It's not like I never do anything for her. I babysit all the time, all night and all weekend, and when I am not in class. She lives with us, I give her large amounts of money, I buy all my grandchildren's clothes and toys and anything else they need. If I don't she doesn't speak to me.) She called me later as if nothing had happened, the name-calling and as if the awful things she said were okay and it was another hour and I should be over it and pick up and let the cycle continue. She needed me. When she called, my heart leapt, yes it leapt, like a child who might get a hug or an I love you or an I’m sorry. (I tell her that I love her all the time, she hasn't shown me any affection other than anger since she was a child) But it wasn’t that, it was she wanted me to baby sit, wanted me to give her gas money, wanted me to forget that I was the person she hated, as opposed to the man who she adores who never spent a penny on her, never exercised his visitation rights, came into her life after she was grown and every two or three years she runs into him or hunts him down. The man who gets her unconditional love. I don’t feel sorry for myself; I let it happen. I should have stopped it years ago. I did stop it yesterday. No more. I am fifty and I am not going to be that little girl with the red handprints on her face, the bruises on her back and legs, and the ego that is deflated at every moment of life, I am not going to let my daughter's emotional abuse and verbal attacks on me continue. I couldn't stop my mother, I was a child, but now I can stop any abuse aimed at me, I am, after all a woman. If this means spending the rest of my life distanced from my daughter, it has to be. I will miss her and I hope she lets me see my grandsons. If she doesn’t let me see them, I have to live with that too. There just comes a time when enough is enough and it's enough.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Not just menopausal but crazy too.

I am bi-polar, which isn’t a big deal. It’s the mental illness that is all the rage. Everyone is bi-polar or knows someone who is bi-polar. I remember when I was first diagnosed back in the 70s when it was a big deal, something to be ashamed of, something you didn’t talk about because if your boss found out, well you could lose your job, if your ex-husband knew, he could take your children, and if your neighbors knew, they would look at you funny. It was manic depression in those days. I took lithium, haldol, and on more than one occasion thorazine. I was a mess and decided to stop the drugs and deal with the disease. You don’t deal with the disease. I am manic all the time with occasional bouts of depression. My depression is short lived but it is harsh when I do crash. I am always so manic that I can be disrupted, have lived on impulses, and can’t always be trusted with my credit cards. I know, that sounds weird but I have just up and moved in the middle of the night, left housefuls of furniture behind, lived on hot checks and credit cards, and even spent time in jail for writing hot checks. My children loved the manic me. I would go get them out of school to rock climb or look for wild flowers or shop in the mall or drive in the mountains. Finally, I did go back on medication but thank god, the medicines now are less harsh. I still don’t like them and often go off just so that I can have a few days of being the crazy me, the one with all the thoughts rushing through her brain, the one I like, not the subdued me who is like everyone else. When my oldest grandson was a baby, we used to go get lunch and hang out at the airport and watch the planes, or go to the mountains and look for deer, or fish at the lake. It was fun and he reminds me how much fun we have had. Bi-polar, I am concluding, isn’t so much a disease as a personality. A personality with gusto. One that is busy. One that is sad too. I suppose the medication is good and needed and so I take it, just like I take my arthritis medicine, my thyroid pills and my pain medication. At least I don’t hear voices, well I do but they are mine.

It's Hot!

It’s 2:30 in the morning, and I can’t sleep. In fact, I have been awake for over an hour. I woke up with a hot flash. My hair was sticking to my neck, my clothes were wet, and I felt nauseated. I thought it might be high or low sugar so I got up and did the finger stick. Ouch! That fucking hurts. Blood sugar good. So, I turned down the air. I’m now seeing frost on the windows. I like that, but I’m still hot and I have a fucking fan a foot away blowing so high my mouth fills with air every time I look in that direction. There is nothing to do but wait it out.

My friend told me her nephew calls menopause adolescence in reverse. I sorta like that. I don’t remember having hot flashes at the onset of puberty but I do remember the sore breasts, the cramping, the mood swings, the bad skin, the sleeplessness, so perhaps he is right. At least at 2 in the morning, the coffee is good, the silence is good, and my office is mine. So, this little interruption in my sleep isn’t that big of a deal. It’s passing now, I am feeling the cool air, the sweat is gone, and I probably could go back to sleep but why? The day is young.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Poor Zach

This came from:
Below are some of the things this poor child is experiencing. Can the government not intervene?
Well today, my mother, father, and I had a very long “talk” in my room where they let me know I am to apply for a fundamentalist christian program for gays. They tell me that there is something psychologically wrong with me, and they “raised me wrong.” I’m a big screw up to them, who isn’t on the path God wants me to be on. So I’m sitting here in tears, joing the rest of those kids who complain about their parents on blogs - and I can’t help it.
I wish I had never told them. I wish I just fought the urge two more years… I had done it for three before then, right? If I could take it all back.. I would, to where I never told my parents things and they always were mad at me– It’s better than them crying and depressed cause they will have no granchildren from me. It’s better than them telling me that there’s something wrong with me. It’s better than them explaining to me that they “raised me wrong.”
I can not believe that any parent would treat their child with such repulsion. Who are these people?
No wonder kids don't want to tell. Look what the truth got him.

Now the rules:
I haven’t been on a computer, phone, nor have I seen any friends in a week almost– Soon. Soon, this will be all over. My mother has said the worst things to me for three days straight… three days. I went numb. That’s the only way I can get through this. I agree, if you’re thinking that these posts might be dramatized.. but the proof of the programs ideas are sitting in the rules. I pray this blows over. I can’t take this… noone can… not really, this kind of thing tears you apart emotionally. To introduce THIS subject… I’m not a suicidal person… really I’m not.. I think it’s stupid - really. But.. I can’t help it, no im not going to commit suicide, all I can think about is killing my mother and myself. It’s so horrible. This is what it’s doing to me… I have this horrible feeling all of the time… I wish this on no person..
This is blatant brain washing or attempting of brain washing. How can this go on. We use to hate cults for cutting their members off from the world. Now this is allowed.

This is what the nice Christian preacher tells the children who are there:
“I would rather you commit suicide than have you leave Love In Action wanting to return to the gay lifestyle. In a physical death you could still have a spiritual resurrection; whereas, returning to homosexuality you are yielding yourself to a spiritual death from which there is no recovery.” –The Final Indoctrination from John Smid, Director, Love In Action (LIA), San Rafael’s “ex-gay” clan.

Go read some of the responses to this post: People are crazy. Some actually agree with what is going on. They say they would do the same to their children. What is this freaking world coming to?

Oppression, Independence, and Morality

Today is Independence Day, the signing of the great document, and I am thinking about other countries that have been invaded and how they might be wanting to draft a document, get an army together to run out the King’s men. I know they must be pissed off that the King’s men can come into their homes ad lib, that the King’s men can occupy their place of worship, their town halls, that these King’s men can kill and pilfer, and rape and listen to their town meetings to make sure there can be no plotting against the King. These poor people must be angered seeing their natural resources going on big boats to the mother country. I am concerned about these people. I wish they had men like Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and John Hancock to make them a document and get them a war going to get them freedom from the King. I know their countryside has been ravaged because I have seen in on television. Beautiful old buildings destroyed, mountains that have been there since the beginning and caves that might have given shelter to great men, great prophets are now sunken because of big bombs.

Wait, I forgot, I am a member of the motherland and it is my country and the king of this land that has done this awful thing. How can we, as part of this free world, look ourselves in the mirror? Those poor people.

Today, instead of thinking about my freedom, and don't get me wrong I love my freedom, but I am going to think about those people who are not free, who are oppressed by the king's men. I am going to think about how my grandsons can sit in my yard and play with their toys and I don't worry about men in uniforms and guns running through, and the sounds of war are not routine for us. I am going to think about Iraq and her children and how their oppression is morally wrong. What are we doing?

Sunday, July 03, 2005

Pesticides and lungs and fetuses

I was reading over at DED Space, about the republican senators who voted to approve exposing fetuses to pesticides and it brought this whole repressed memory to my not so repressed memory. I had Polio and before the doctor came and sent me to Children’s Hospital. That was back in the day when doctors made house calls. I was in this feverish almost coma state, and I remember my mom spraying pesticide over my bed to kill the flies. I was having such a hard time breathing and I didn’t have the strength to tell her to stop. I tired to cover my mouth with the sheet but I was too weak. All I remember is this smell and it hurting me to breathe. That is how I picture the unborn fetus that is exposed to chemicals either by accident or on purpose by its mother.

Old Age Sucks!

It has occurred to me that growing old sucks. I know that I have posted this before but recently I realized just how much it sucks. Well, the truth is, I got new glasses a while back and realized that the mirror that I use to brush my teeth and brush my hair has been dirty so I cleaned it and now, I see really well the woman that I have become. Big dark circles under my eye and when I tried to conceal it, those deep wrinkles filled up with the concealer and then I just had little white lines all around my eyes, not pretty. Then there is the hair. It used to be so pretty, black it was, if I recall, but now it is gray and even has some yellow places. My chin, god I don’t know what it’s doing. You know, just when a woman gets to that part of her life when life is good; the kids are grown, the mortgage paid off, the car paid off, and no more periods, well this happens; old age. Breasts sag, belly falls, knees hide behind thigh fat, did I say breasts sag, hair changes color, eyes lose their glamour, and off all things, sore joints prevent that mountain climbing that I dreamed about for so long. Did I mention breasts sag? When did that happen, I mean really, one day they were perky and giggled when I walked and men took notice and I had the world by it’s tail, and now, even with a good bra, they sway like those on Betsy the cow. Sway, shit, who wants swaying girls, not to fail to mention, the nipples have gone down under, like Australia, and only with lots of pulling and pushing can I even find them. So, if I wanted to pierce the girls, well, that too would not be wise. I even got the mirror down, you ladies know which one I mean, the one that fits nicely in my hand so I can check out the privates. Anyway, I got it out and was looking to see how bad my major part looked and I must say, the hairs are gray there too and while there are not many wrinkles other than the ones I had, the geography isn’t familiar. I am like a ghost town. Cobwebs and all. Life sucks.

Midlife Crisis

Why must my midlife crisis be education, instead of a red sports car and a younger man? Why must I ponder the classics and learn the language that is dead instead of getting lipo suction and big lips and breasts? Is it important for me to get a PhD before I die wouldn’t a nice body do? I mean why do I have to know all that there is to know about the cannon of literature? I am thinking it will make me a better writer, and perhaps, I am right. Maybe it will give me great conversational skills, that is, when I am around people who have actually read something besides Green Eggs and Ham. These and more are the questions that I ask myself everyday. Like this one: why can I not just walk away from my children and say sink or swim? Other mothers do it and their children swim, their swallows fly, but I can’t, I have to look back and the first sign of trouble, I have to help. Do I possess a gene that makes me incapable of going the easy route? I need to know; I must find out, I can’t go on without knowing what it is that makes me like this. I take drugs, good drugs; drugs my shrink hands me by the handful, Xanax, Trilipital, Lexapro, and Effexer. I have no reason to be so thoughtful, I have chemicals that are suppose to make me unattached, less likely to stress, but they are only making me laugh. Yes, laugh. I do that all the time, well that and talk. Yack, yack, yack. I tell my professors to touch their nose if I am talking too much. Today is the first day in weeks that I have been totally alone, my daughter decided she was going to be a mother today so she took the children and left, my husband is at work, and my son is staying in his apartment, but I am sitting here worrying about my grandchildren instead of writing, or reading, or even doing what feels good which would be to sleep. I could take the mineral salts bath that I have wanted to do for I don’t know how long but instead, I want to dial her number, his number, and their numbers and see how they are. I resist the temptation. Then I read the news and see where women my age are being told their children have been killed, their grandchildren killed, and I am stressing because I can’t turn loose. Maybe, it’s a good thing, this mental illness that I have, this bi-polar, happy, sad, but always attached. I don’t think I will ever not be involved in my grandchildren’s lives. I suppose I will call and just make sure they are fine and tell my daughter I bought the baby some new socks and shoes, and my son forgot his birthday money. I don’t think that will hurt, will it?

Bad Students or Bad Teachers?

I graduated in May and will be starting graduate school in August, but in the mean time, I am taking a Toni Morrison class and an editing class at the university near me. Both not needed but very interesting, so I am spending time learning about something that I want. My job, while I am at this particular university, is to work in the writing lab. Well, it’s actually a computer lab, but since I have been working there, it has been changed into a writing lab. I look over the students work and offer suggestions, help them understand the different kinds of sentences, clauses, phrases, and the rules of grammar, that is the ones that I remember. I think this is one of the things that I will miss the most, well I will of course miss my favorite professors and a few of the students. Anyway, it amazes me how many students are in upper level classes and are unable to write a complete sentence. There are two students that are taking senior level classes, in fact one graduates and will be teaching in a couple of weeks, neither of these students can write a complete sentence. They don’t know how to write a compound sentence because they fail to follow through with the complete thought connecting the two. I don’t understand how they made it through Comp I and II. I even asked them and they both admit that they barely made it through. I feel so sorry for poor students that they are going to teach or not teach. I offered to pick books up for them at the used bookstore, that is high school grammar books. I find that those are the best to teach students who don’t have a clue. But they both say, they just want to get the hell out of this school and get a job. I am so sad. At this university there are excellent English teachers, there are, however, a couple who need to be sent back to school, and I suppose lazy students tell others that those teachers are the ones to take. A breeze, they say. The only good that comes from this is that while they both came to me to help them, I am trying to feed as much information about punctuation that I can in this short time period. If they just learn to identify subject and verbs, agreement, and how to keep their essay smooth, well then, I will feel something was accomplished. Who knows, maybe they are just conning me too.

Chicken Little

I am sitting here reflecting on my week. I can reflect because my husband is at work, my children are gone, and my grandchildren are gone. I am, in fact, alone. This is a great feeling and one of the great things about being a lone is reflection. So today, before I actually write, I am going to reflect about my week. Monday, on my way to school, I was a few hundred feet behind a Tyson chicken truck. I travel Hwy 22 where the chicken trucks are as usual a sight as the big SUVs and the giant eighteen-wheelers filled with anything from milk to chemicals, to gas, to oil, to biohazards. My trip, while scenic, is very hazardous. But on this day, it was the chickens. They pack the chickens in so tight that many die of heat or being crushed. On this day, one of the little chickens figured out how to squeeze through the bars on one of the cages. That started a raining of chickens. Most died, some didn’t and the ones that didn’t looked quite shocked as they tried to get their legs to do what they should have been doing all alone and that is walk and run in an open space. Most headed for yards alone the way, some stayed near the road. I rolled down my window and yelled, “Run, run for your life, be free and watch out for coyotes and hawks.” This is what I needed to see, the ones getting away that is, in light of all the bad publicity of how the poor things get killed.
That was my excitement on Monday. Chickens! One up for the underdog.