...Seeking Serenity...

Realistic Pessimism + Closet Optimism

2011-08-06T07:12:00.000-07:00

Here I am again, awake too early on the morning of a scheduled pregnancy test. This time, I have zero interest in self testing. Yay! I am kind of stumped though - whatever the outcome, how do I make myself believe it? I was explaining my thinking last time, that whatever that test revealed, I wouldn't believe it without self testing, when someone pointed out that no, I would believe it if it were negative. It's so much easier to believe the negative.

How very, very true. If I were to self-test right now and got a negative result, I would be devastated again and believe it right away. Except for a little niggling of doubt spurred by hope. A little hope can be a dangerous thing.

But if I got a positive result at home, no way would I be able to believe it! I would just be a million times more anxious to get to the appointment, and then waiting for the results to come in!

But the question remains, should I bring a pregnancy test with us? So that when the phone call does come, I can confirm it? What can they say to convince me it's really true if it's positive? I really don't know.

As I'm remembering more, I think it was Susan that I had this conversation with, who said it was easier to believe the negative. Because I remember telling her that I'm a pessimist, who tries to be a realist, but is a closet optimist.

I am usually intensely pessimistic: I stomp around with all my negative thoughts, telling myself "it will never happen". But most of the time, I have reason(s), ie: it's never worked right before. I try very hard to be realistic. But under it all, there is always this tiny, fantastical hope - because I want to believe in miracles.

I think I've mentioned before that it is impossible for me to believe anything 100%. I am 99.999999% sure that: the sky is blue, the earth is round, my cats can't talk, my husband loves me, etc...

So here I am with my extreme pessimism, and my fantastical hope. "It will never happen. This part won't work, that thing will go wrong, someone isn't good enough. But oh! What if I'm wrong? What if by some miracle, all those obstacles are overcome? What if it really happens?! No, never. Too much will go wrong..."

I'm tired just typing all that, and yet it cycles continuously through my mind when I'm anxious/worried about something.

Ridiculous optimisms I have actually thought of at least cursory contingency plans for: I might still get pregnant on my own, my cat will pull through this, she may forgive me, he may still love me, someday I may trim down to 125 lbs, someday I may be able to get off my antidepressants, it's possible to be up over $100 in craps, Jon Stewart might read my blog, someone might publish my blog, I will finish the novel I started when I was 11 years old, Simon le Bon will become infatuated with me...

There are so many variables out there, how can anyone believe in anything at all? How does that admonishment go... "and you might get hit by a bus tomorrow, but if you keep focusing on that, you'll go crazy!"

DingDingDing! I am absolutely bat-shit crazy! So that's where it all started....

we are doing it wrong

2011-07-28T09:21:00.000-07:00

I was hoping to have my 3rd and last post about Forgiveness/Bitterness out of me and up on the blog by now, to be cleansed of it. It's really just a collection of interesting things I found on the net about Forgiveness that I have a LOT to say in response. I've noted it all down, so we'll see whatever comes of that...

Today is huge. It is our 2nd attempt at an embryo transfer. I have been trying unsuccessfully to get into the headspace I want to be in when I go in for the appointment.

I will probably meditate later this morning. I think it's really what I need right now.

Nature is good too, especially the beach. I got some bad news on Tuesday and couldn't believe how yet again I was letting outside influences completely change my emotional state. I was desperate to get out of this funk caused by a simple phone call to set up an appointment! I decided to screw the tide tables and just head out to the beach @ Edmonds. Unfortunately, it was high tide.

One of these days, I intend to start a second blog where I just write about all of the mishaps, ironies, Murphy's Law type stuff I deal with on a daily basis. I seriously think I have reverse luck. That sounds kind of like a downer blog, so maybe I'll just make it a Tag. The thing is, I have reached a point in my life where it happens so often, it makes me laugh. Ever heard of someone put under so much stress/anxiety/danger that they go kind of hysterical, their voice gets higher, they start babbling quickly, and eventually start laughing in a panicky kind of way? Think of Aliens , when Hudson keeps repeating "Game over, man! Game over!" If not that moment, then at some other crucial point he starts to smile and almost laugh - laughing in disbelief.

That will be the title of my blog!

Back to the beach, I found a solitary bench and sat down to watch the water. It did nothing. I almost got up to leave after only a minute, but then I told myself that I came here for a reason, and I should at least relax a little. So I closed my eyes to attempt to relax. Within moments, I could hear the waves on the shore, and I was taken back to other times when that sound has relaxed me and uplifted me. I began to meditate, only concentrating on the sound of the waves as I tried to relax my body section by section. Sometimes, I get the most amazing experience at the end. I get down to my feet, feel my feet on the ground, and something goes through me and into the ground and out into the world, golden tendrils of connectedness. Sometimes it is real, and the experience borders on the religious. Sometimes, I force the image in hopes to spur on the real thing. That's what I had to do, force it. Of course this never works! But instead of giving up, I just went back to focusing on only the waves.

Well, I may not have felt a joyful connectedness to the world around me, but in the back of my mind I was still thinking about the earth and nature and my/our connection to it. A single thought came to me: we are doing it wrong.

It started out as a general impression of humanity polluting the oceans, but quickly grew to other thoughts. They were just flashes, an impression with a vision and an emotion and then it was gone. The ferry, the cars, the ipods , the garbage... these are wrong for the beach, wrong for the planet, wrong for us. Money, television, technology, computers, grocery stores: it's all wrong.

And then the moment was over. But yesterday something Carmen talked about brought it back. The conversation moved from motherhood to parenting to social norms in parenting to cultural differences in parenting. She said in Western culture, it is so important for us to be independent. We live in these small, "nuclear" families with just parents and children. We tell out kids to grow up and be adult and take on responsibility and suck it up - we want them to be as independent and prepared for that cruel outside world when they're finally forced to leave home. Seriously, there are parents who think that because the world is going to be cruel to their child, they need to be mean in order to toughen them up. What?? Shouldn't home be a nurturing place? A place of love and safety? There are non-Western cultures, especially tribal cultures, where family are multi-generational. More people to work and support the home and expenses, more people to parent the children, more attention, more love, a banishment of isolationism.

We are using our cars and the internet and phones and television to reach all parts of the world - but somehow we are managing to increase our isolation at the same time.

More and more, I want to chuck it all and go live on a farm. Raise animals, grow my own food, make my own clothes, watch the sunset instead of television. I seriously believe that what we all need is a kick back into the past before electricity.

The thought is both appealing and horrifying at the same time. I'm addicted to the internet, I like my TV shows, I love listing to the music of any band in the world with the click of a mouse. I'm addicted to money, I like to shop, I want fancy furniture and carpets and a new deck. I love running water, toilets, water heaters, air conditioning. I love to travel, I need modern medicine, I'm germphobic.

I have no useful survival skills. I don't think I can ever slaughter an animal. Starting a vegetable garden would be next to pointless because I can't stand most vegetables. I don't know how to make my own clothes. After watching the sunset, my choices of entertainment will be reading by candlelight or learning to knit.

My body is so broken, I couldn't pull my own weight on a sustainable farm. I simply would not survive the first year after an apocalypse.

I think humanity and the earth could co-exist in a positive way even with technology. I think it would require the elimination of money though. And politics probably. Yah, riiiiight, that'll happen!

Still, I am worried about us. We're just not doing it right.

Forgiveness, Part 2

2011-07-22T11:37:00.000-07:00

I had originally intended to write about Forgiveness in two parts, as I had two separate experiences/ideas to write about. But the universe did its thing, throwing all sorts of relevant conversations and stories at me this week. There has been so much to think about and digest, I can't keep up with it all! For now, I go back to my original plan and the topic I had meant to write about next. I imagine some things from this week will filter in. I'll have to see when I'm finished how much is left unsaid that still needs to be addressed later...

In my last post, I wrote about my need to learn how to forgive my mother. Today, I want to talk about my inability to forgive my father, something that may not just be impossible, but that can be argued may or may not be in my best interest to attempt. I don't want to talk about my father in specifics. There is too much there, and it is all very painful, which will make what I'm attempting to do here much more emotional than I'd like. I'm trying to examine myself, my feelings, the way I think, my opinions - to reconcile this with the outer world, the "normal" world. I don't want to dwell in the past, I want to deal with my present mindset.

But I need to be clear about a few things. First, I believe my father to be the second most evil individual I have ever met. Two, during my childhood my father was violent, alcoholic, quick to anger, extremely volatile - I believe he was/is suffering from schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, or some other psychotic personality disorder. Three, my mother on the other hand was/is merely neurotic. Four, I believe my father should be rotting away in some prison right now for the crimes he has committed against me and my family, as well as others with the misfortune of having been in his life. Five, the most evil person I have ever met was my father's step-father, the biological father of my dad's brothers - but not genetically responsible for my father or his sister.

. . .

I had a full session with my therapist this week, knowing I had more to talk about than just the usual half-hour check-in appointment could allow for. I talked about my bitterness, how hard it is for me to forgive anyone for even the smallest infractions, about my negativity and pessimism. She wanted to know where my pessimism came from, if it was something my parents or others from my childhood might have instilled or modeled for me to learn. The answer to that is while my parents are likely hugely responsible for my negativity and pessimism, I believe the extent is merely through the self-defense mechanisms I developed in response to their actions. I don't recall my mother or father being pessimistic or optimistic. I remember my mother encouraging us to follow our dreams and telling us we could do whatever it is in life we wanted to try. I remember my father always chasing fantastical dreams of wealth.

My earliest memories of pessimism are from a volleyball game in the 7th grade. I was not horrifically bad at volleyball, unlike 99% of the other things inflicted on me in school during PE. On this occasion, my team was winning. Every time we made a point or thwarted the other team's attempts to score, all the boys would cheer and trash-talk the opposing team. This infuriated me. I saw no reason to celebrate a game that wasn't over, a game that we could still lose. We shouldn't count our chickens before they had hatched, because it would tempt fate.

Lessons learned through this memory: I was (irrationally?) superstitious from a young age, I am not or at least was not a complete failure at physical activity, and - drum roll please - school kids may be the root cause of my pessimism. Huh.

Today, I feel I am a total failure at anything physical, completely lacking any grace or delicacy of movement, a true "bull in a china shop". In the 7th grade playing volleyball, I already believed this. Why? Because of years of heckling from teammates in PE. It wasn't enough to be fat or white or shy or poor or lacking fashion sense - all the sources of school yard taunts. No, my level of unawesomeness carried over into the classroom, where it was a daily ritual for most of the boys and some of the girls to mock and ridicule my physical ineptitude during Physical Education period. Moving around, this was something that didn't change: co-ed PE was brutal for me in both Hawaii and Port Orchard. Thinking back, I should probably have been more thankful for middle-school PE in Port Orchard, where class was not co-ed, and team sports were rarely (if ever) played. There just isn't room for mocking when every last girl in the class is winded and hating the teacher for assigning yet another day of Cross Country running.

I have always believed I suck at sports. Completely and utterly. A belief in your own worthlessness is pessimism, right? This belief was indeed prompted by actual suckage on my part, but the point was truly hammered home by the voices of cruel little boys who hated losing games by having me on their team.

So my pessimism isn't from my parents. Who knew? But the bitterness, that is another story. As an adult, I have avoided all things physically demanding and voila, I don't suck all the time! But I seem to be incapable of avoiding childhood memories of the cruelty of my father. So pessimism I can work on. Actually, I personally believe I am a closet optimist, because no matter how bad things get, I always hold on to at least a smidgen of hope. This isn't very healthy either, clinging to the hope of miracles in the face of impending doom/failure.

I see my pessimism, my negativity, my bitterness, my difficulty giving forgiveness, as one thing. Maybe it's not? Maybe they're just related? But I definitely see my bitterness as caused not only by my past, but my current inability to forgive and/or let go of the past. I don't want to be a pessimist. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to spend my entire life dwelling on past hurts to the extent of not being able to forgive. But how?

Actively working on forgiving my mother has been helpful. Time has helped partially heal the scars caused by childhood bullies. But time hasn't helped in the case of my father, and I cannot or will not forgive him. Leaving me to wonder, do I have to forgive my father to let go of my past and finally be happy with my present?

This is my dilemma, and one I don't really have an answer for. Of course, blurting out this statement only came at the very end of my therapy session. Ha! But she didn't shut down the conversation before telling me that it didn't have to be necessary for me to forgive my father. That there are ways of letting go of the past without forgiveness. Now there is a solution I'd like to pay money for! Unfortunately, if it was something simple, it would have been dished out by now in therapy. Nope, I'm thinking it's going to be rather complicated.

This hasn't really been much about my father like I expected, so let me steer back in that direction. I am the only person in my family who does not have a relationship with my father. My mother, my sister, my brothers - they all allow him in their lives. Hell, not a single one of my mother's relatives have ever put a foot down and banned him from anything - it's always up to my mother to convince him that everyone would be more comfortable at Thanksgiving dinner if he didn't go with us over to Gramma's house. All of this passive acceptance of him has added more bitterness for me to deal with. Because I don't understand. I don't understand how he can do the things he's done, treat them just the same for years and years, and still be allowed in their lives. I just don't understand it. It's confusing to me. It hurts, actually. It's been more difficult than I feel it should have been to communicate just how serious I am about not being in the same room with him, ever, for any reason.

My step-grand-father, the most evil person in the world, was never disowned by anyone in his family. Not even by my father, who was an actual victim of physical abuse usually shared for non-family members. Usually. You would think that violence in the home would give weight to accusations by outsiders, but it didn't. You would think that the violence against his stepchildren would give weight to the accusations of his grandchildren, but it didn't. You would think that he would have eventually ended up in prison and then some state graveyard only to be identified by a number, when in fact he lived out his last days happily at home, then was buried right next to my grandmother with a name and honored remarks on his tombstone.

Have all these people forgiven? Just put it out of their mind? Lied to themselves? Denied and remained unbelieving against all evidence? I don't get it, not in the case of my father or his step-father.

The same day CNN carried a story about forgiveness and Casey Anthony, I followed a link to Why people stick by scandal-plagued pastors. The article touches on money scandals, infidelity, sexual coercion. In all cases, there are people who "jump ship", but there are others who "stand by their man". What. The. Fuck? Apparently, disbelief is a big part of it. Cases where there is just no evidence that could possibly come to light to change the favorable opinion of a few loyal followers. Some people are voyeurs actively interested in watching the scandal fallout first hand. Again, WTF? Some "view themselves as participants in a cosmic struggle." Uh, what now? This has got to be my favorite though:

None of this appeared to matter to Kirkpatrick. He said Long would have to answer to God, not him.
"I don't think Bishop Long can do anything worse than what Judas did, and God still loved him," Kirkpatrick said.
Kirkpatrick compared pastors to doctors.
"There are people who we trust with our lives every day, like doctors, who do all sorts of things, but we don't question them. This is our spiritual medicine. We come here to get what we need and then we leave."
When asked if there was anything that would cause him to stop attending New Birth, Kirkpatrick lowered his head and paused before he finally said:
"The church would have to close."

I thought that the article might shed some light on my family's (un)reaction to the crimes of my father and his step-father. The closest that any of it came was the concept that a parishioner (child) can't leave a paster (parent) to whom they attribute a positive action in their life like help with drug addiction or a failing marriage (or... giving birth???).

"There is a suspension of common sense, a refusal to put two and two together," Thompson said. "For a lot of people, this is the man who gave them the keys to a whole new way of living. They can't separate the good they received from the man himself, so they feel it would be a betrayal to turn on him now."
When outsiders ratchet up criticism against an embattled pastor, members often go into battle mode, said Thompson, author of "The Prodigal Brother: Making Peace with Your Parents, Your Past, and the Wayward One in Your Family."
"They circle the wagons to protect their guy," Thompson said. "They don't want to see, and they don't want to be made to see what 'the world' sees. They believe the world's view is false, so they form the firewall."

In the end, I am no less confused. I'm just more in awe at some people's capacity for stupidity and/or ability to self-delude. Some things are just unknowable, unexplainable, to someone not experiencing it for themselves. Even when we're talking about two people having two completely different reactions to the same event.

And I'm no closer in my quest to understand and grant forgiveness.

And dammit if now there has to be a Part 3 in this series.

Forgiveness, Part 1

2011-07-18T10:15:00.000-07:00

Forgiveness has been on my mind lately. I think it started when I was inspired by My Life List to make a life Goal to "forgive my mother". (It's an interesting concept, a website to declare and track your goals in life, combined with social media if you'd like to get public support in your endeavors.)

In case you haven't noticed, I'm a very bitter person. I am alternatively snarky or silent on many topics based on the emotional echoes from my past. I've only recently realized the extent that bitterness has infected my life, and it's become important to me to try to reverse. How does one reverse bitterness? Let go of the past, stop living your life there, and keep your past in your past. And forgive. Forgive yourself and others. Unfortunately, forgiveness does not come easily to me.

But the day after declaring to the world that I intend to forgive my mother, I stumble upon some thought-provoking pieces on CNN. The first was the most relevant, Casey Anthony and the challenge of forgiveness. For those living under a rock, Casey Anthony was found not-guilty of murdering her own daughter last week, after a very public trial, to the outrage of the American public. I personally think that trial-by-media is a horrific form of yellow journalism that is both detrimental to those involved in the case, as well as those who get sucked in by the media coverage - the first group doesn't get a proper trial (and in return receive unwanted attention at the worst possible moments of their lives), and the second group is whipped into a riotous feeding frenzy by news agencies. A "trial of peers" is not a trial by every person who has access to a television, it's by a 12 member jury picked to represent the public at large. There are rules about this sort of thing, and those rules are in place for everyone's sake. It is not healthy to become obsessed with media coverage of anything, especially not a murder trial that has nothing to do with you. But after an acquittal, the resulting public outcry is... ferocious, monstrous, and really fucking scary. An entire nation on the verge of rioting is frightening, but when it's caused by something that has nothing to do with them except to feed an obsession... can I just say, holy shit?

So Patrick Wanis wrote this piece for CNN about forgiveness, with Casey Anthony as the focus, but only as a greater lesson.

staying stuck in anger, bitterness, vindictiveness or a desire for revenge does not bring about positive results. As a human behavior expert and therapist, the most common denominator of the pain, mental and emotional affliction that I see people suffer is the lack of forgiveness - the anger and pursuit of revenge against mom, dad, brother, sister, aunt, uncle or self for something that someone did or didn’t do.

Without forgiveness, there is only pain, recurring memories that hurt again and again and again. There is a line between seeking justice and revenge, and holding out for revenge just destroys us from the inside out. Wanis gets all spiritual in his article, but even as an atheist I can understand and take to heart the examples in scripture and real life of forgiveness. He talks of Jesus, he talks of a Holocaust survivor, he steers back to Casey Anthony.

Look in your heart and ask yourself what effect the poison of anger and revenge have on you and your life. We have all wronged and we are all imperfect. Of course, murder is not the same as the wrongs that most of us commit.

But if Jesus could ask God to forgive the people that were about to murder him and if a Holocaust survivor could forgive the people that poisoned her and tried to exterminate her family, then what holds you and I back from forgiving anyone? The next time you commit a wrongdoing, won’t you be saying “Please forgive me?”

This is very powerful stuff. And relevant to my personal struggle with my relationship with my mother. I don't want to talk about what my mother did or didn't do, what was justified or not, whether I'm in the right or not. I love my mother, I know I hold the past against her, and I know that our relationship can't be healthy until I let that go. I have to forgive her.

But how? How does one forgive? There are obviously varying degrees of slights, and varying degrees of forgiveness we must find within ourselves to move forward. I am cut from the cloth that finds forgiveness of almost any level hard to grant. This is so shameful for me. So often, I know I'm being unreasonable, but I don't know how to stop myself. In the past, I have told people I forgive them without actually meaning it. Or meaning it at the time, only to realize later that I'm still holding bitterness against them. Neither is true forgiveness, neither is healthy for me or the other person.

Once again, I'm going to blame my crazy brain and its obsessiveness. I can't really speak for other people's brains I guess, but I've been given the impression that it's not normal to be constantly reliving a moment or emotion or event or series of events. I can be distracted - my mind is constantly going and going and going like a hamster on a wheel, and I'm constantly interrupted by all sorts of stray thoughts. But there is always something that my mind is holding on to like some rabid dog, and the only thing that relieves it is when the thought is replaced by a different obsessive thought. I am seriously exhausted just by what's going on in my head all the time, every minute of every hour of every day.

I'm thinking... Post Traumatic Stress Disorder coupled with Obessive Compulsive Disorder. Somehow, the OCD magnifies the PTSD, so that every negative event gets seared into my brain for reliving in Full Living Color and Smell-o-Vision over and over forever. My memories don't fade. The pain doesn't fade.

This is not really true, not in the long term. I do eventually "get over" most hurts. Most. Eventually. But the constant marathon reliving of the pain in the short term makes the process so maddening, so hard to live through, so hard to come out on the other side at all. Sometimes, I don't. For the most part, the things I can't forgive ever are from my childhood. My brain may find other distractions over time, other things to worry or obsess about over the years. But the smallest thing can set off a memory and suddenly it's as if it just happened. How does a person defeat that?

The answer is therapy of course - it has taught me how to actually notice that my mind is stuck in a rut. Noticing helps you actively distract yourself so you can get out. But... unfortunately, that's about it. I notice I'm doing it and I actively try to stop it. This isn't really all that much more pleasant than not noticing. At least there is some relief more often though.

So, let's see... Bitterness and revenge are bad, forgiveness is good, forgiveness is difficult to achieve, forgiveness of childhood hurts is more than difficult. Guess where my bitterness against my mother stems from? Childhood.

Time is helping. Talking is helping. Life is helping - you hear from other people about their similar experiences, you watch it unfold in movies, you read about it on CNN. It can be chipped away at over time. It just can't be forced.

There are some things that I'm convinced that I'm never going to forgive. But none of them involve my mother. I love her, I need her in my life again, I have done so much more harm through this bitterness - to her, to my siblings, to myself. Can actively trying to put those memories away actually help? I really, really hope so.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO SAY?

2011-07-16T08:45:00.000-07:00

Aging has been almost constantly on my mind for the past year, and I've been meaning to write about it for just about that long. But there are so many facets to the topic, so many thoughts in my head. Why is it so hard to write them down as they come to me, instead of trying to recapture them days or months later?

I watched the Uma Thurman movie "Motherhood" on cable the other day. It's about motherhood, yes, but it's also about aging, and facing the life you've created for yourself when you weren't paying attention. Her character was a writer who never published anything other than music reviews, and she tries to blog regularly to compensate. This spoke to me more than anything else in the movie somehow.

I want to write. I want to write! All the time! I want to say every little thing that pops into my head! I want to be heard, I want to be understood, I want to see the page fill up, I want to play with words, I want to fight with my SpellCheck over words I thought I knew how to spell properly, I want to debate how many sentences I can start with "and" before moving on from rebellion to idiocy.

Realizing there was something you were supposed to do with your life that you never got around to... now that's a kick in the ass. I don't care if I never publish (ok, maybe a little), but I need to write! I need to finish my novel, I need to start the new one, I need to actually write all the short stories in my head. There is no "want", this is all about "need". I need to get these words out of me, on to the page, out into the world.

Back to the movie, Uma Thurman's character is trying to write a 500 word piece for a chance to win a dream job - blogging for money. She asks her husband to go over it and to "be honest." She flips out when he does just that. He uses the word "banal" for part of it. At the end, he writes in big letters (red ink of course!) "WHAT DO YOU WANT TO SAY?" Later, he tells her he was only trying to get her to stop being ironic and snarky (he says something about how that comes to her as easily as breathing), and to write something real.

How can dialogue like that not resonate with me? Every time I open my mouth or post to Facebook or manage to blog, I am snarky. I allude to the truth, without quite saying it. I do post and blog reality from time to time. Spill my bloody entrails for the entire world to see type stuff. But I tend to repeat myself: snarky, bitter, snarky, moan, snarky, moan, moan, snarky, bitch, moan, snarky, moan, moan, moan, moan, moan...

If I wrote regularly, I would have more to say in between bitchfests and pity parties. Duh!

Lyrics by Syd Straw, rip-off by me

2011-07-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

"CBGB's" by Syd Straw

Hey remember me, we met ten years ago
at CBGB's, on New Year's Eve
back when you were tending bar
you had a band of your own called The Revlons
and I liked your songs, I don't know how
I must have lost my head an abandonment like that,
was easier then and I don't know why we never met again
but I still think of you sometimes every now and then,
Hey remember when you took me to the movies
to see Soylent Green
I can't believe it was such a long time ago,
So much has happened, I hear you had twins,
Are you doing what you wanna do,
Did you follow your intentions, all the dreams you had,
Has even a single one of them come true?
I ask myself as I'm asking you, hey, I'm just asking
You were the one most likely to succeed without
ever really trying, You had so much to live up to
I was married for awhile, it ended in tragedy,
oh well, enough about me,
Are you doing what you wanted to,
Did you follow those intentions through, and
All the dreams you had, Have any or all of them come true,
If they haven't yet I hope they do

Blatant rip-off by me:

Hey remember me? We met twenty-four years ago.
We had our first date on New Year's Eve.
You gave me my first kiss, then ran off because your sister was watching from the car.
Three years later and you ran off again,
you made me so happy, I couldn't believe.
I lost my head, your abandonment like that.
But it was easier than admitting the truth, and I forgive, but I don't know why we never met again.
I still think of you sometimes, every now and then.
Hey remember when you asked me to sit on your skateboard
but I was too shy to sit next to you?
I can't believe it was such a long time ago,
So much has happened, I hear you're in Europe and in love.
Did you follow your intentions, all the dreams you had,
has even a single one of them come true?
I ask myself as I'm asking you.

Hey remember me? We met twenty-two years ago
at a birthday party for the boy who would be my husband.
You had a girlfriend, but still we looked
only to shy away again.
I don't know how we were all so naive.
I lost my mind, the way we hurt each other like that.
Still it got easier, and I don't know why we never met again,
but I still think of you sometimes now and then.
Hey remember when we went to Denny's so I could teach you Magic,
but they stopped us before we got very far?
We should have known it would always be like that.
I can't believe it was such a long time ago,
So much has happened, I hear you're a father, married, and happily too.
Did you follow your intentions, all the dreams you had,
has even a single one of them come true?
I ask myself as I'm asking you.

Hey remember me? We met 10 years ago
at first online and then that kiss in your bathroom,
back when you were married and unhappy.
You pushed me away, we were both angry and mean.
I don't know what happened, how we let things repeat.
I lost my heart, with your silence like that.
Was it easier? I still don't know why we never met again.
Hey remember when we tried on those cat ears?
It was Halloween time.
I can't believe it was such a long time ago,
So much has happened, I hear you're truly in love.
Did you follow your intentions, all the dreams you had,
has even a single one of them come true?
I ask myself as I'm asking you.

Hey remember me? We met seven years ago
at the Metro theater, for an animation festival.
You liked my shoes, I liked your skirt,
we cried together later, upstairs in the ladies.
I don't know how I lost my morals like that,
broke everyones hearts, stabbed you in the back.
Still I wonder, why we never met again,
but I still think of you sometimes now and then.
Hey remember when I called home for permission,
and then we giggled and kissed and you smelled like amber?
I can't believe it was such a long time ago,
So much has happened, I hear you're still around, somewhere in the city.
Did you follow your intentions, all the dreams you had,
has even a single one of them come true?
I ask myself as I'm asking you.

Hey remember me? We met twenty-two years ago,
in the backseat of your mother's car,
you had big blue eyes and bigger gold glasses.
While you planned your party, our feet played under the table,
and then after the cake, there was a little palm tree,
dancing and singing to me.
I did lose my mind, my heart, my morals,
all in less than a week, that's the effect you had.
And then I lost my head, an abandonment like that,
Was it easier? Not until we met again
and fell in love,
so now I think of you always, now, and then.
Hey remember when the raft flipped over
and underneath we shared our first kiss?
Or how about Jamaica or Hawaii or Florence?
Do you remember the beaches, the movies, the drives, the games?
Did we follow our intentions, all the dreams we had?
I know at least a few have come true.
I ask myself as I'm asking you,
so we don't forget anything
when everything is changing.
Babies just take their own time.

There Is No Happy Ending

2011-07-08T08:40:00.000-07:00

I was so sure I was pregnant. At my Wellness group, someone asked how I could stand the wait, how could I keep from home testing? I explained that my brain is so untrusting, such a thing would send me to Crazytown - no matter what the test said, I wouldn't believe it until the official blood test, leaving me to suffer through days of worry or false joy. But, I had a plan. I tested myself at home the morning I was scheduled to go in for my blood draw. I guess I really had this urge to pee on a stick...

It was about 5am, most of the world is still asleep, and I'm watching my pee activate a pregnancy test strip. Not once, but twice - negative both times. I somehow got myself dressed and went out to buy another test - surely my tests had been hanging around too long and had gone bad. I had my hoodie up, sunglasses on, tear streaks on my face, and still the checker cheerfully asked me about my day. I couldn't believe how chatty he was. I couldn't believe he wouldn't shut up and wither and die before my eyes. I still can't believe I didn't reach over and cause him physical harm.

Home again, and another failed test. I cried and cried and cried and cried. I somehow lived through the hours until it was time to wake up Eric to take me to the "real" test. He did his best to console me and keep hope alive. At the clinic, they kept us in the waiting room for an eternity. Seriously, it was the longest wait we've ever had there, and all we were there for was to give some blood. Did I mention there was another couple waiting, and I was spontaneously breaking into tears every other minute?

The lab tech did her best to console me. And she seemed genuinely surprised that no one had told me not to self-test because those tests were so unreliable. I kept to myself about the fact that it was 3 tests, and all those commercials they make about how home tests are "just as reliable" as blood tests these days.

I went home and straight into bed. Eric was the one who took the call. He was miserable coming to tell me, but I already knew. I wasn't pregnant. It didn't take.

"It didn't take."

This is the official phrase used by the clinic, my husband, the notifications we emailed.

It is not the phrase used in my head. If I allow myself to be honest, I had a miscarriage.

I was pregnant. An egg was fertilized by my husband, the embryo was implanted inside of me. Even if the loss occurred that very day, the fact remains that I had an embryo in my uterus. I had a baby in my womb. But the embryo was gone. The baby was dead.

The first 48 hours were the worst. I called my mother to ask her to tell me that I was wrong, trying again wouldn't be murder. Because all I could think about was the idea that now I knew my body couldn't support a pregnancy, wouldn't introducing a baby into that body constitute knowingly putting it to harm? Or, in my mind, a death trap. She told me no, that wasn't true. We talked about all the babies still in some lab, waiting to be born. They were already there, waiting for me. I couldn't walk away from them.

In the end, that was what made my decision. 17 embryos sitting in a frozen vat somewhere, waiting to come to life. I had made the decision to have them created, and it was up to me to do right by them. 17 possible babies.

The past few months have been unimaginably hard. Not only because of the sadness and loss and grief, or the gravity of the decision on what to do next, or the feeling of limbo as if my life is pointless until the next implantation, but the realization that my definition of life has shifted. This is big. Like realizing I didn't think god really existed big.

Because I didn't just have a procedure that didn't take. I had a baby in my womb. I had a baby that went away.

When did this happen? How did this happen? Such an extraordinary change in mindset. I had no idea it was possible, that this was in me waiting to happen. How on earth did I go from the belief that an embryo is just a packet of cells to eliminate when necessary, to the belief that on day one I had a real live baby inside of me?

There is a certain politician on the presidential campaign trail who is using her story of miscarriage to explain the evils of abortion. I understand her in a way that I couldn't have before. And yet now she and those that share her belief are even more alien to me. Because knowing there is a baby inside you and deciding to have it aborted is officially the hardest decision a woman can make. And yet, these people still think I'm incapable of making that decision on my own.

I have changed so much, but I am still the same.

The Morality of IVF

2011-02-19T09:38:00.000-08:00

The waiting is almost over - the procedure for implantation is scheduled. My last Lupron injection was a few days ago, my last Estrogen (butt) injection was yesterday. I am trying to balance between giddy and calm.

Things they don't tell you in the beginning:

You have to have a full bladder, full enough that you think you will explode.

Implantation is always scheduled for 3 days after retrieval. However, on the morning of day 3 they take a look at your embryos to see if there are any "leaders of the pack". If there are, awesome, implantation continues as scheduled. If there aren't any leaders or, get this, there are too many awesome ones, "it behooves you" to wait another 2 days for further development to make the "winner(s)" more clear. In my case, the call will come just 4 hours before my appointment is scheduled if they need to reschedule. *twitch*

Embryos "react" to strong smells, so no perfumes or other potent scents/soaps/toiletries.

The oocyte (egg) harvest seems very large. Retrieval yielded 31 oocytes, 25 of which were "mature", 21 of which were successfully fertilized into embryos.

The moral implications involved really hit you in the head with the form that they wait to spring on you until the day of retrieval: consent forms to give them instructions on what to do with your embryos in various unpleasant scenarios. It's not... pleasant to think about divorce and death, and it's extra not-nice thinking in terms of what to do with frozen embryos if these things happen. Should I get them or him? Should they be donated to science or another infertile couple? Get this: to donate to an infertile couple, regardless of whether they are known or anonymous to you, YOU agree to pay for all the testing involved for genetic compatibility. How strange is that?

The morality of this whole thing is a constant watcher, sitting on your shoulder, harping at everything, making you doubt and stumble and worry.

We are the owners of 21 embryos, 1-2 of which will be implanted, leaving about 20 to be frozen so they can be used or donated or destroyed at a later date. Or just kept in frozen limbo until one of those "unpleasant" scenarios activates the clauses we consented to. What will I want if this procedure is unsuccessful? What will I want if we have a baby?

This is not the kind of responsibility I want on my hands. But there it is anyway. The link to the debate on abortion seems obvious, making me doubt more than just what we've decided to do, but my own sense of right and wrong and life and death and abortion rights.

In the end, the only thing that has changed is that I am hyper-aware of my own sense of morality. I am more infuriated than ever that anyone feels they have the right to stand on the sidelines and pronounce judgment. Do they really think I am so cavalier about this whole process? That my heart aches just attempting to make these decisions, let alone living with them? I am responsible for deciding what happens to 21 clumps of cells in some petri dishes in a lab somewhere. Could it possibly be any easier to decide what to do with one much-more-advanced embryo already inside of me?

Are you nuts?

Honestly, I cannot recommend this path we've taken to anyone. If someone I know decides to do this, I will offer my insight, my love and support, but not advice. Ditto abortion.

Cycle Day (CD) 31

2011-02-08T18:39:00.000-08:00

A: Cranky and whiney and dragging.
Q: What is "how does Mysie feel when used as a human pin cushion", Alex?

Last week was the trifecta of pain: Estrogen needle in my ass, Lupron needle in my belly, blood draw needle in my arm. All three went badly. I got home and went straight to bed. I've been doing a lot of that, sleeping through the pain. The day after a butt injection has proved to be the worst - from the time I wake up to the time Eric goes to bed, sitting, walking, and just shifting around hurts. The next day, walking is much easier, and gets easier as the day progresses. Day 4, the day of another butt injection but on the other side, it only hurts a little to sit. Lucky me, the day after an injection is the worst, but the previous injection finally doesn't hurt so much!

Repeat, repeat, repeat...

All tests so far have been positive, and occasionally I'll hear that the donor is doing well on her side too. Retrieval is only 9 days away, implantation 3-5 days after that. So soon! The time really does go by more quickly when you don't pay attention to it and you spend your days either sleeping or boxing up your possessions!

I've been asked a few times if I'm excited. Honestly, I'm not much of anything - I am forcing myself to live in the moment to survive this. If I let myself actually think about what's going to happen in 2 weeks, the anticipation and anxiety will vibrate through me until I explode! I seem to be doing well with this technique. I'm not hyper-productive or as efficient as I worry about being when I worry. But I am calm, and things are getting done slowly but steadily. So why worry?

On a side note, I've made a pair of custom earrings for a giveaway online through a new, but interesting fashion blog. More details to follow!

CD 26, Question 2 of 20

2011-02-03T08:50:00.001-08:00

Cycle Day 25 sucked. It was a huge pain in my ass, literally. Who knew that shoving a 3.5" needle into the muscles of your buttocks would not hurt a bit - until 48 hours later when every movement and pressure made me yelp. This morning the pain is much less already, thank you GODS! Not looking forward to the trio of needles waiting for me today though: tummy, left buttock, right arm. Whose idea was it to have a blood draw on a butt injection day?

Other than that, my symptoms so far have become negligible. I've had a headache almost every afternoon, but they go away just fine with some Excedrin - definitely not migraines!

So let us continue on to the second question of twenty that I mentioned the other day...

2. Is this what I want to be doing?
This very moment is, always, the only moment in which you can make changes. Knowing which changes are best for you comes, always, from assessing what you feel. Ask yourself many times every day if you like what you're doing. If the answer is no, start noticing what you'd prefer. Thus begins the revolution.

Outside! Right now my mind is squealing: outside, outside, outside! I would rather be doing anything that takes me out of this house. I want to see the world, but I will settle for something beyond these walls.

Looking beyond the moment and into my current life, I can say yes. Resoundingly. I have my doubts about turning myself into a baby-making machine, resentment of the injections, trepidations about raising a child in this house. But do I want to be making a baby? Do I want to introduce a baby into our lives? Yes. Oh, yes, definitely!

All of my worries and concerns are about how equipped we are to do this. How prepared we are, how responsible we can become, how diligent and clean and house-bound. But do I want to be doing everything in my power to have a child? Yes. No question.

I've felt for some time that being a parent is what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. I feel like I've just been spinning my wheels, waiting for life to call me up to bat. I've always believed that every past moment of life is preparing you for this one, right now, as well as the future. I think my life of physical and mental anguish has been preparing me for this, drilling into me all the things not to do, how not to be. I've lived so much of my adult life so selfishly that I've become sick of myself. I really feel like having a child will bring balance to my life: a way to be both selfish and self-sacrificing at the same time.

CD 24, Butt Injection T + 001.50 Days

2011-02-01T19:53:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's happened - Eric gave me my first injection of Estrogen yesterday, and we all survived: me, Eric, and my butt! Amazingly, despite the terrifying length of the needle, you only feel it as it pierces the skin. Which means you barely feel it at all! Whew! It's just now starting to feel a little tender when I sit just so, but nothing at all worth all the worry and drama before hand.

In other news, today was another meeting of my Wellness Group. I love this group! There is no way to describe properly how comforting and uplifting it is to sit down in a room with other people dealing with chronic ailments. You can vent, complain, wish, hope, learn - all in a supportive environment. At the beginning of each session, we go around the room reading a list of "rules" about being respectful of each other. This is always my favorite rule:

Although our goal is wholeness and a positive affirmation of life, we allow ourselves to express our real feelings, including negative ones. We do not need to pretend to be more positive than we feel.

Hallelujah! The burden to smile pretty for every grocery checker (Tom) and receptionist (Dick) and random Harry that you run in to when you leave the house - it is just exhausting, infuriating, condescending... bleck!

In other news, our huge task of re-carpeting the upstairs is almost complete! Saturday we moved the last of the furniture downstairs. We are crossing our fingers that our bed and M-A-S-S-I-V-E dresser fit in the upstairs bathroom when the time comes, because we just can't move those on our own. But now on to the fun part - picking out the carpet! Or at least, I keep telling myself this should be the fun part. People find decorating fun, right?

20 Questions that will change your life?

2011-01-30T17:49:00.000-08:00

Last week CNN shared an article by Martha Beck from Oprah.com, 20 Questions that could change your life. Despite not being an Oprah viewer, I decided to click the link to read these mysterious questions. To be honest, I didn't know it had anything to do with Oprah at the time and, despite some vague curiosity, I didn't really think I would find it all that enlightening anyway.

It wasn't exactly enlightening, but there was a familiarity to it that kept me reading. Most every question had me really thinking about myself and my current place in life. It all seemed to tie in very closely to the mental/emotional changes that I've been experiencing/implementing in my life this past year. So I thought I'd take it one step further and write my answers, to do some real critical thinking on it - writing about something has its own unique way of ferreting out insight within me that I had no idea was hiding there to begin with. So today, Question 1.

1. What questions should I be asking myself?
At first I thought asking yourself what you should be asking yourself was redundant. It isn't. Without this question, you wouldn't ask any others, so it gets top billing. It creates an alert, thoughtful mind state, ideal for ferreting out the information you most need in every situation. Ask it frequently.

The questions I ask myself every day: how do I feel? is this worth it? am I doing the right thing? why is it so difficult to go to the gym?

The questions I'd prefer to ask myself: what do you want to do today? what do you want to create today? what do you want to write today? where do you want to go today? what do I want to photograph today?

Every day, I am stuck in the rut of being ruled by my health problems and judged by my own self. Yes, it's necessary to gauge my energy level before I start any task. And yes, looking at yourself critically is important. But that seems to be the entirety of my inner-monologue: health, ramifications of health, disappointment in self.

It seems I would much rather be escaping and/or creating. I want to be out of the house, or deep in a project - both with the result that I will be out of my mind, away from my own worries and criticisms. Is this really such a bad thing? Why don't I listen to this part of myself more often? Why has it been so long since I've been creative?

Rereading this before posting, there is another set of questions that occurs to me: am I healthy enough for a baby? is this good enough for the baby? am I good enough for the baby?

Worry, worry, worry! I'm so tied to worrying, I seem to have lost sight of why I want to have a child.

Questions I should be asking myself: what do I want to teach my baby? how will I explain this idea to the baby? how will I tell this story to the baby? what would be a good way to get my baby interested in this?

CD 21, Lupron Day 11

2011-01-29T15:33:00.000-08:00

Things are going quite smoothly, finally! My mood is good and my symptoms are annoying, but tolerable: the headaches have dissipated, I'm sleeping better, the spotting has turned into full-blown menstruation, and this morning my chin was attacked by acne the likes I haven't seen in ages. You take the bad with the good!

I got out of the house to catch a movie with Jenni and Meg: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. It was watchable, and I was entertained, but it was kind of boring. The magic of the journey that was captured in the book just was did not translate into the movie.

Finally, some real progressive on packing up the 2nd floor! Today we move the heavy items, hopefully without hurting ourselves. Then we'll finally be ready to get the new carpet! We've only been planning this for the better part of a year...

Tomorrow is a "Suppression Check" day, so bloodwork and ultrasound at the clinic. Then Monday the first of the Really Evil Injections. Wish us luck!

Cycle Day (CD) 17

2011-01-25T08:34:00.000-08:00

CD 17, Lupron Day 7

I had a few days of sleeping longer, and then this morning I'm awake at 5:45 and giving up trying to fall back asleep by 6:15. This on top of the non-nifty side-effects of the Lupron is... very non-nifty.

Side effects so far: headaches for 3 days now, off-and-on nausea, spotting. The dosage goes down considerably next Monday, so I just have to hold on for another few days. Or at least during the "Mock" cycle last year things got much better after the dosage went down, so I'm hoping for something similar here.

Over the weekend I got to finally play with my new camera. I took the giant leap to Digital SLR. So far, I am quite pleased. Some of the differences in usage are frustrating, most notably that I keep turning off the camera because the on/off sliding doo-hickey is exactly where the zoom control was in my last few cameras. I don't mind zooming manually with my own hands. I mind lining up a shot and then accidentally turning off the camera! It's pretty good negative reinforcement though, so I'm sure I'll get the hang of it quite quickly.

But my god the pictures so far have been amazing! Great pictures of my nephew, amazing colors and sharpness, and it is blessedly forgiving of my hand shakiness.

This week is the real test: jewelry pictures. I got a macro lens, but I'm hoping that won't be necessary. I need to test that out too, at the very least take it out of the box and make sure that it arrived in one piece! I never did really enjoy using my macro on my old non-digital Nikon, but when I used it properly it was very impressive. I can't wait until Spring so there are more colorful things out there to take pictures of!

The real good stuff is on the ground, however. It's cold and wet out there right now, and the Seattle area soil is damp roughly 360 days a year, so that's another frustration to overcome. How odd would it be if I suited up in neoprene like a scuba diver?

Not My Mom's Mushroom Gravy Pork Chops Recipe

2011-01-21T07:43:00.000-08:00

Last night I made the most incredible pork chops - I think I like this twist better than even my Mom's version when cooked by her. Which is... impossible!?!?

As usual, I have no patience for measurements, so duplicating in the future will be... frustrating. I want to try my best to get the recipe down so I can remember later.

Pork Chops

olive oil for skillet
3 thin-cut pork cutlets (boneless)
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. crushed rosemary
fair coating of garlic powder (thought it was too much at the time)
good coating of Cavender's Greek seasoning
seasalt & pepper to taste

* I always sprinkle my spices 1 by 1; I don't make a mix to "toss" the meat in

** All seasonings were on one side only, except for seasalt, pepper, and a light pass of Cavender's.

Browned and cooked-through on medium, or just under (my burners are a joke!). Cut them in half mid-way because they were so thin they were curling like bacon. Used a meat thermometer at the end, putting it on full medium and covering with a pot cover to trap heat. Removed all pork to plate.

Gravy

Setting at lowest, de-glazed the skillet with roughly 1 TBSp each olive oil, balsamic vinegar, minced garlic. For once the drippings actually came off the bottom to add their yumminess to the mix! No scorched pan!!

Added 1 can Campbell's low-sodium, condensed Mushroom Soup. Dash of Seasalt, pepper, Cavender's. Mixed and heated through, re-added pork chops. Covered to reheat to serving temperature.

Result: I ate it ALL despite myself. Decided to cook with paprika more often! Paprika and the minced garlic were definitely the game-changer for this version of the recipe. Also, covering got the temperature in the meat rising very quickly!

CD 13, Lupron Day 3

2011-01-21T07:09:00.000-08:00

CD 13, Lupron Day 3

Awake & out of bed by 6:20am. What is up with this new sleep schedule of mine? Recently shifted to being restless starting between 2-4am. Wake and roll over and sleep and wake and roll over and... Blargh. Anti-depressants? Hormones?

So far, the Lupron hasn't knocked me back emotionally like it did last time - keeping fingers crossed I don't devolve into a blubbering wreck again! I think the replacement of Celexa for Prozac has been very helpful. I fall back, but I don't fall back as far or for as long. I pick myself up quicker, and actual "happy" baseline mood is possible. Talk about crazy! When you're baseline mood is holding on to the edge of the plateau of medium by the ragged tips of your fingers, finding yourself capable of happiness for no reason is... very new territory.

I'm still striving for that peace and lightness from last Fall's trip to the seaside. I try to be patient, trying to gently remind myself that the only way to get there is to not try too hard.

Right now, not much to report, other than I finally believe the diagnosis of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Yesterday's entry was really difficult with 1 hand in a brace and the other asleep! I couldn't find the temporary one I had bought for my left hand, but stumbled upon my old weight-lifting gloves that I bought to reinforce my wrists when I discovered the only thing keeping me back from more weight was wrist pain. Maybe I should have gotten tested for CTS then? Anyway, just putting on that glove fixed the problem. I had to snip the ends so more of my finger tips were exposed, and typing still wasn't easy, but at least it wasn't painful!

Oddly, this morning my right thumb is falling asleep. With my brace on. *sigh*

Cycle Day (CD) 12

2011-01-20T07:47:00.000-08:00

Today is Cycle Day (CD) 12, Day 2 of Lupron injections.

I've had this idea in my head that I was going to use this blog to talk about the "infertility > IVF" process. A kind of day-to-day journal to not only record my thoughts, but also the details of the process to be a source of information on the web. There is a woefully small amount of information about the Donor Ovum IVF experience.

The problem with this is that it became a "task" in my head, and it was suddenly too much to deal with. Oh, the joys of my brain!

I would like to, instead, simply promise myself to write as the mood strikes me. Too often, I let it pass in order to continue some other mundane "task". I enjoy writing, so I should do it more often!

Back to the "infertility > IVF" for a small while. To recap:

Infertility:

the final "diagnosis" of infertility came in early 2010, after a laparoscopy. The true diagnosis is a trifecta that just about guarantees I will never get pregnant: endometriosis, poly-cystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), and Low Ovarian Reserve.

Endometriosis, uterine lining tissue growths outside the uterus, is largely responsible for the painful periods, as well as complicating the fertility in general.

PCOS means my ovaries are trying to produce too many eggs each month. They stimulate so many follicles to grow eggs that the ovary gets massively over-crowded, allowing no room for any single egg to grow enough to be viable.

Low Ovarian Reserve means I'm at the end of my supply of eggs that I was born with.

Donor Ovum:

hearing the final pronunciation of "infertility" was a very big blow to me. My first thought was that I would "never have a child who looks like me". Eric and I went away for a few days to not think about it, and I made the decision that we would try IVF before resorting to adoption as a last resort.

Oddly, despite the Endo and all the other problems, I was given the green light to use my own uterus for pregnancy. This kept open the option of finding a donor to supply us an egg, which would then be fertilized by Eric and implant the resulting embryo in me. No, we're not talking about swinging, so cut out the cheesy 70s porn soundtrack right now! Everything happens in a lab, except for daily self-medications. Which is the really tricky part of the process actually.

I am given 1 set of medications, and the donor another set that is slightly different. My medications are largely hormones that tell my uterus to make an extra awesome lining this month while telling my ovaries that they won't be needed. At the same time, the donor takes medications to tell her ovaries to work over-time. Eventually the hormones will sync up our cycles, eggs will be retrieved, fertilized, and implanted. Add anonymity and the fact that despite the hormones the body tends to work on it's own timetable, and getting to that sync up is more like choreography than science.

IVF:

this is the part of the process that I have not concerned myself with too much. I have been getting through this bizarre, House of Horror roller-coaster ride by focusing on keeping myself healthy, following instructions, and keeping a positive outlook for the big finale. Thinking too much about the harvesting > pregnancy test process/waiting game puts a little more anxiety in my brain than I care for at the moment. Don't borrow worry from tomorrow, right?

I do know that they will do a "retrieval" procedure on the donor to collect as many eggs as possible from her. Eric provides a "sample". Then they will use fancy science type stuff to introduce sperm to eggs, and wait a bit to see how many/if any embryos result. After 3-5 days (again, timing is not exact when dealing with biology!), a transfer will occur. We wait 14 days and then they do a blood draw to determine if I'm pregnant. During those 14 days, I'm still administering hormones to myself multiple times a day. With a confirmed pregnancy, I will continue this for 10 weeks to ensure that my body has the hormones necessary to maintain a pregnancy.

Bumps in the Road:

the process is not perfect, and I'm personally a little less so. Normally, there are emotions to get over, side-effects to deal with, perhaps complications like waiting an extra day or change in medication. Those sound minor, but when so much is hanging in the balance, any little problem can cause huge anxiety.

Now let's remember that this is me we're talking about. Depression, anxiety, SADD, back pain, sciatic leg pain, restless leg syndrome, sleep apnea... There's not much about this that is optimal! And, crazy as it is, new diagnoses just during the past 3 months: minor hearing loss, adult-onset scoliosis, and carpal tunnel syndrome.

I should be a giant blob on the couch crying constantly from pain and worry. And some days I do... resemble that scenario. But most days, I am impressed with myself for handling it so well.

A few months ago, I had in my mind this idea of becoming kick-ass fit-girl/perfect housewife/robo-mom-to-be. Guess what? That only brought anxiety, which was not helpful at all. I've let that go now, and gone back to merely living my life day to day. The idea of simply dealing with today's problems and putting everything else out of your head is not new. What is new is the concept of actually experiencing my daily life through "mindfulness" - be aware of everything, keep track of how your thoughts and feelings change throughout the day without judgement of yourself, savor anything positive, no matter how small, as it happens. Basically: pay attention to your moods and thoughts, be productive, don't judge yourself or your body if you can't be as productive as you'd like, and stop to smell the roses.

On the days that I manage to keep to this plan of Mindfulness, I am calmer, have less anxiety, more patience and energy, and a greater hope for the future. The goal is not to be giddy every moment of every day, the goal is to remain positive enough to be un-negative as much of the time as possible.

Angel in the Bathroom

2010-12-09T20:57:00.000-08:00

scene from the film Away We Go:

Burt Farlander: Do you promise to let our daughter be fat or skinny or any weight at all? Because we want her to be happy, no matter what. Being obsessed with weight is just too cliché for our daughter.
Verona De Tessant: Yes, I do. Do you promise, when she talks, you'll listen? Like, really listen, especially when she's scared? And that her fights will be your fights?
Burt Farlander: I do. And do you promise that if I die some embarrassing and boring death that you're gonna tell our daughter that her father was killed by Russian soldiers in this intense hand-to-hand combat in an attempt to save the lives of 850 Chechnyan orphans?
Verona De Tessant: I do. Chechnyan orphans. I do. I do.

After watching this scene, and then allowing for the screen couple to snuggle for a minute, I was informed that I am not allowed to watch any more movies today. It has just been that surreal of a day.

A long, long time ago, Eric and I came close to breaking up. We decided not to. Instead, we got in the car to take a long drive. About a minute into our drive, our song began to play on the radio. We had never before, and never since, heard our song on the radio - as far as we know, it was never released for radio play.

For years, I struggled with the decision of whether or not to have a child. So many reasons to fear it would be a mistake. Some very important ones to feel it may be imperative. So much waffling. I rented the movie Waitress, not really knowing what it was about. She spends the entire movie resenting her unborn baby for keeping her stuck with her husband, only to have her entire world flip over when the baby is born. Her husband is making a scene in the delivery room, but everything is muted as she holds and gazes upon her baby for the first time. That scene was hugely influential on me.

Alas, having my own biological child was not to be. There go half the reasons I was afraid to have a baby - the genetic inheritance of all my family's ills. I am still sad about this, but using a donor will allow us to have a child who will be loved, but who won't have all of my health problems.

Another movie I knew nothing about... I believe it was around the time we decided to go with Egg Donation, because I remember going to the movie store and needing something completely mindless to watch to get my mind off of my worries. Couples Therapy sounded like complete fluff. Until 10 minutes into the movie you discover that one of the couples wants them all to go on this retreat because infertility problems is making them consider divorce.

About 3 months ago I had a personal crisis. My illnesses conspired to make me miss multiple doctor appointments in one week. Appointments I was desperate to have. Because seeing doctors was the only way I was going to get well. I felt trapped and alone. Then something occurred to me: shouldn't there be other people out there who are so sick that they have problems just getting to see their doctors? Online searching led me to whole communities for people with chronic illnesses. People who were spending their lives like me: more sick than well, too familiar with the medical system and disgruntled with it, afraid and tired and lonely.

I discovered The Spoon Theory, an easy way to explain to my family and friends how little energy I had when I woke up each day was so easily taken up by the mundane chores of everyday life, leaving me with no energy for work or socializing or just having a normal life.

I discovered a therapy group in Edmonds. I had wonderful sessions with people going through things so similar to my own experience. I spent hours talking with one person in particular, with whom I shared so many similarities it was spooky. Through her, she gave me the words to express something I had been feeling inside about my life.

A change had been coming over me. I realized I didn't like myself, the person that I had allowed myself to become. I was taking stock of my life, trying to find ways to feel and do good. Nature helped me feel my humanity again. Being made small when taking in the massive scale of mountains and forests in real life, Alaskan valleys on television, made me feel part of something larger. This woman introduced me to the Unitarian Universalist concept of valuing all beings and things equally. In my heart, I had finally defined the core of my belief system: to cherish all life, in all forms everywhere.

Changing your life when you're set in your ways can be difficult. When your own body seems to be in revolt against you, the task appears Herculean. Daunting doesn't begin to describe it.

Focusing on Wellness and increasing my health and fitness has become the focus of my life as I prepare to become a mother very, very soon(!). A handful of appointments were scheduled for this week, and so far I managed to get to all of them. This is a very good thing, but it has done a number on me.

The X-rays from my chiropractor really threw me. I knew it was bad. Just not how bad. Disks degenerating in various places, some small bits of arthritis here and there, my neck curvature is reversed and responsible for may growing hump, my neck is also almost completely right-of-center to varying degrees, one hip is lower than the other, and I have adult onset scoliosis: with not 1 but 2 curves to my spine. The image of my spine looks like someone shoved it all the way to the left as it passes through my hips, then it corrects itself and keeps going in the opposite direction for a spell before correcting again to come towards the center. Before hitting my neck where it slides to the right like the leaning tower of Pisa. Should I be scared because there's so much wrong? Or should I be relieved that finally, there may be a single diagnosis for all of the neurological problems I've been accumulating in the past 2 years?

I have been officially diagnosed with "mild to moderate hearing loss" in both ears. A new sound overlay to my tinnitus may or may not be permanent. The hearing loss, associated with my inner ear, is permanent. But the Ear Nose Throat (ENT) doctor I saw today happened to notice the fertility meds listed in my chart. She told me that she had been an Egg Donor Coordinator for Virginia Mason 10 years ago. We chatted about where I was in the process, the clinic I was using. She confirmed that success rates with donated eggs are higher than that of artificial insemination of your own eggs simply because of the youth of the women donating. She told me about how she runs into people all over the place that she helped 10 years ago, how they point out their kid running on the soccer field with her kids, and she can see the amazing results of her work. She is so thrilled and excited and happy for me. She told me to be positive, that positive results were likely. She was practically giddy.

I decided to do something Christmas shopping after my appointment, but the anxiety and physical discomfort brought on by the chiropractor visit the day before had me exhausted. I decided to see what movies were playing. The new Jake Gyllenhall movie in 5 minutes.

How can a movie called Love and Other Drugs have commercials completely devoid of the information that he is a drug company rep who falls for a woman with Parkinson's disease? The scene where she goes to the Unconvention and listens to her fellow Parkinson's compatriots tell their sickness and their doctors and their shoelaces to fuck off... I was bawling almost uncontrollably for the rest of the movie. When she's saying to her boyfriend, "There are other people with Parkinson's disease! Can you imagine?!" I thought I was going to just lose it. She sounded exactly the way I felt when I discovered the support communities for people with chronic illness and pain.

After the movie, I hid in a bathroom stall and called Eric, sobbing anew. I told him the movie was about me. He told me to come home. I went to clean my face. I had been crying so hard that I my face was covered in red blotches - I looked hideous. A woman walked in behind me, and asked if I was ok. I told her yes, I would be, and turned towards her to assure her with a small smile that I was telling the truth. She said "No, you're not. Let me give you a hug." And she did. I clung to her and sobbed against her leather jacket for about 5 minutes. She did most of the talking. She asked me simple questions, and as I talked and broke down again after each answer, she would just hold me tighter and tell me reassuring things.

We exchanged names and full spellings, each of us having unusual names. She told me my name was as beautiful as I was. She must have told me I was beautiful over a dozen times. She told me that she had been recovering from cancer for 2 years, and I lost it all over again. She told me how she and her husband went broke and lost everything and she didn't think she could bear it any longer, so she got down on her knees and prayed. And God took her troubles and got her through it. She told me that there are the people we love and need in our lives, and then there are the interim people, who are there to hug you in the movie theater bathroom. And when my troubles were too much, I should kneel down in front of Him and give them to Him. She had a little gold cross around her neck. She had pretty blonde hair and beautiful eyes. I never figured out what color her eyes were, because whenever I looked at her, she smiled with her whole face, her eyes crinkling up in the most amazing way so I was always looking at those crinkles and her smile. She prayed for me, out loud, while she hugged me. I told her she had no idea how important this moment was to me.

For the entire encounter, I kept telling myself she was an angel. That this was a miracle. That this was Something with a capital "S". That she was sent or meant to be there. I was half convinced that when we were through, she would pop out of existence. Instead, she told me she really was there to use the toilet and proved herself human. I decided not to mar this perfect moment, and silently walked out, since we had already said our goodbyes.

I went home and cried against Eric's not-so-fancy black shirt, telling him the whole thing. How strange it was. How unsettling it was, to feel like time and again, something or someone was looking out for me. He assured me he didn't think I was crazy.

The right people at the right times. New concepts and personal revelations as I'm finally ready to hear them. Songs, movies.

My contact at the fertility clinic called to update me on our chosen donor, who had just had her first baseline exam and passed with normal hormone levels and lots of healthy follicles in both ovaries. As compared with two months ago when we chose a donor, got health information that made us doubt our choice, and then discovered she was pregnant with her own child within hours of sending the email that we were going to have to choose a different donor. Because she was not the right choice.

I sat down to have some lunch and watch some television, to calm my nerves. This movie I wasn't so sure I wanted to watch was just starting, Away We Go. A couple six months pregnant go on a long trip from city to city to decide where they want to live when they have their baby. And near the end, after all the emotional ups and downs, they say these sweet vows to each other that I quoted above. Instead of vows of marriage, they are vows of parenting.

I grabbed Eric, and rewound the scene so he could watch it. After it was over, I hit stop and looked at him with tears in my eyes. He smiled at me and told me I couldn't watch any more movies today. He held me for awhile.

I first experienced crying out of happiness in 1999, when anti-depressants completely changed my life. Over the years, I've had occasion to repeat the experience. Nothing like today.

I had been crying out of complete disbelief that these things, this movie and this woman in a bathroom, were proving to me that I was going to get through this and I was going to live my life and I was going to be great. I was crying out of joy.

Response to "Worthless women and the men who make them"

2010-10-28T12:05:00.000-07:00

The blog Single Dad Laughing had a post so thought provoking, it took me days to formulate a proper response. And once I had it, there was no way it was all going to fit in a comment box. Here's to hoping Dan comes over to read what I had to say, because I think he's started a truly fascinating conversation.

Women are ugly.
Women are fat.
Women are bad mothers. Women are bad wives. Women are bad daughters.
Women are lousy cooks. Women don't keep their houses clean enough.
Women have too much cellulite in their thighs. Their abdomens are too flabby. Their under-arms are too Jell-oesque.
Women are terrible singers. They are terrible dancers. They are terrible public speakers.
Women are stupid. Women are scatter-brained.
Women are weak. They are powerless. They are defenseless.
Women don't dress well enough. They don't have clear enough complexions. They have too many freckles.
Women don't have full enough lips. They don't have skin that is soft enough.
Women are too dominant. Women are too passive.
Women are too mean. Women are too nice. Women are nothing but doormats.
Women aren't good enough. Women will never be good enough.
Women are, simply put, worthless.

Yes, they are all these things. If, that is, I am to believe the very words that are constantly being spoken by women themselves (which I don't). These are their words. And I've heard them declared again. And again. And again. To me, to other men, to other women, and for all I know to their pets and their plants.

Worthless. What a concept. To hold no value. To be less desirable than a can of dirt. Are you freaking kidding me? Every single statement on this list, including the worthless comment, was a declaration that at least one woman has made to me, for whatever reason. I bet there isn't a statement above that we all haven't heard at least once; most likely hundreds or thousands of times. Why would any of these horrible, degrading beliefs spill across the lips of any woman?

What hurts me the most is that most of these things have been said to me by more women than I would care to count.

Get real for a moment, ladies. How many of these statements have you yourself said or thought? Be honest. Go through the list, one by one, and admit to the number. I'm genuinely curious. I'm genuinely sick about it. How many of them have you said or thought just since you got out of bed this morning?

I did. And I was startled.

I am ugly. I am fat. I will be a bad mother. I am a bad wife. I am a bad daughter.

Why on earth is it ok for me to say things like this about myself, but if someone said it to me, or about another woman, I would be livid? I recently blogged about my negativity, and how in the past I've simply felt that I am honest with myself. But seriously. Saying all of that? Again and again? Believing it? Shit, what am I doing to myself?

My new therapy group has very quickly shown me just how powerful my mind can be, but the Law of Attraction theory has been just a little too much for me to swallow. Wishing I had a pony doesn't instantly make one pop into existence, and not calling myself fat isn't going to make me stop thinking I'm fat. However, if I really want that pony, keeping it in my mind is the best way to get myself to put things into action to get myself a pony. On the flip side, not allowing myself to call myself fat puts a little less pressure on my self-esteem, makes a little extra space for me to think positively about myself, and that is great motivation to start down the path of self-love and healthy living.

I understand the reason you constantly let slip these damaging statements. I understand the reason why you actually believe these things. I understand the real reason you feel this way. And the real reason breaks my heart. (...)

Guys... It is our fault. The blame lies with us.

Whoa! You're about to say a whole bunch of interesting things that I kind of agree with, but let's pause here before you martyr yourself. Men do not own this problem, they didn't create it, not alone. Yes, men influence women. But you don't make us. We are the sum of all of our experiences, filtered through our own thought processes.

We have destroyed the very beauty that women are.

We've replaced that beauty with a standard that is, and always will be, impossible for them to hit. We've decided what the perfect legs are. We've decided what the perfect body is. We've decided what the perfect breasts are to be shaped like. We've decided what the perfect face, skin, butt, and neck should be. And we've made no hesitations to boldly let it be known.

We declare it, and we do so with little care for the tender women standing beside us.

This is some really good insight on your part, so thank you. But the we here isn't men, it is society as a whole - including women themselves. Your concern for "tender women" is appreciated, but again you've made this a problem that men have to solve for women. Please, don't treat us kindly because you've treated us badly in the past. Treat us with respect because we deserve it as equals. Be kind because that's how you should always act towards everyone.

Now, you may be naively sitting there thinking, I don't declare that. I tell women they are amazing. That they are beautiful. That there is nothing wrong with them.

Do you not understand? It doesn't take opening your mouth to propound these things. It doesn't take flapping your lips to make a statement. It doesn't take verbal anything to spread this vicious ideology.

All it takes is you and me, stopping and looking.(...)

And that simple, repeated act is how we constantly, and never-endingly declare to women that they are not good enough, and will never be good enough.(...)

And they remember it. They store it. They program their minds to say, "what he is looking at is obviously what men want, and I must have that or men won't want me".

Thank you. Thank you so much for realizing that thoughts and actions, however silent, make an impact. This is such a simple truth, and yet so many people just don't seem to get it. Our collective preferences and actions have shaped our culture into one that worships perfection. This is reflected back to us in media and entertainment, further reinforcing and skewing our ideals to extremes.

This reminds me of trying to explain the concept of "institutional racism", which simply put is the entrenched cultural racism that still affects us today through the policies and opinions of yesterday. The Ghost of Racism Past, so much like the Ghost of Patriarchy Past - hard to define or put a finger on it exactly, but harder still to eradicate it.

A woman can tell herself that those images are fake until the sun goes down, but at the end of the day, her self-talk will barely matter. Not when men think that they're real. Not when she knows that men want what is shamelessly being touted from those photos. Not when she knows that men think of those photos as real.

Yes, let's talk about men. Let's talk about women ogling men, about Playgirl magazine, about paper towel commercials depicting "the perfect man", about statements like "Men can go to hell" - all socially acceptable for women. Ask yourself the next time you see a movie scene where a woman grabs a random man's ass and giggle with her cohorts, "What if that had been a man grabbing a woman?" When perturbed, women "smack" men on the shoulder or punch his gut: remember Elaine always escalating her "Get Out!" shoving of men on Seinfeld?

Women are just as guilty as men of being uncouth, insensitive, and down right mean. Men are afraid to call women on it because, apparently, women have earned the privilege to be assholes to men through historic suffering at the hands of men. This is part of our culture, being reinforced by the media, as well as the actions of men and women.

We must stop stopping. We must stop looking. We must stop fooling ourselves that such fantasies exist. We must stop wanting our women to live up to impossible ideals. We must stop seeking out images of scantily clad and naked women. We must stop filling our mind with all this fiction. We must stop.(...)

My dear brothers, can we not start loving everything about our "real" women? Can we not start ogling our "real" women instead of those fictitious fantasies in the check-out line? Can we not send a message to the world that we are no longer interested in anything that is less (or more) than "real"? That we are no longer interested in setting our standard of beauty based on images that some artist found some way to create with a damn computer? Can we not declare that we're only interested in the very "real" women standing beside us and around us?

This is a lofty, noble idea. But not very realistic. Because women and men are physically attracted to each other because of physical appearance. You can convince yourself to love someone, you can convince yourself to sleep with someone you don't really desire, but you can't talk yourself into finding someone attractive. A world where "hotties" get with "plain janes" can make a woman salivate, but what about the man?

This is where I start to make the connection with Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut. If we strive so hard to force equality, we stamp out individualism. Shall we all wear potato sacks to pretty people don't have an advantage over the not-so-much crowd? That wouldn't really do it, now would it? Golf has a handicap, and Bergeron's society has its own version: making pretty people uglier, smarter people dumber. Forcing equality isn't the way to go. Embracing each person's inherent worth, and determining that worth without physical requirements, is what's necessary.

I can't believe I am going to say what I am about to say. I can't believe I actually do want what I am about to ask. But I do. Desperately. So, I'm going to throw it out there. I think we need women to wear clothing that shows a little less instead of a little more. We need women to wear pants that are a little looser instead of a little tighter. We need women to put their boobs back inside of their shirts. I feel crazy even saying it (I'm a single guy for crying out loud), but maybe if women gave everybody a little less to compare, this whole thing would be a little easier for us all, no matter what our chromosomal make-up.

Don't get me wrong. None of this is to say that men should or can stop appreciating beauty. That would be unnatural. That would be impossible. It is not to say that women shouldn't make themselves as attractive as they can be. It is not to say that we shouldn't appreciate cleanliness and comeliness. No, it is not to say any of those things. It is only to plead with each of you. Let's bring this world back to reality. Let's make sure that the people we are attracted to are "real" people. Let's make sure that the women we stop and look at are "real" women.

And here, my friend, is where you have me truly scratching my head. On the surface, this may sound nice to you and to women: I'll stop looking if you stop tempting me. But not only is it wrong, but it won't work.

Covering women invokes the specter of the burqa and the prairie dress. When a woman wears a burqa, is she considered or treated as an equal to men? No. Do men stop wanting beautiful women? No. You suggest a woman covering up a little more, but you forget the lesson of culture skewing things to the extreme. The more women start covering up, the more they will start to be expected to cover up, expectation leads to mandates and laws. What started so innocently, if implemented, would lead to more and more parts being covered, and harsher and harsher penalties for not going with the flow.

Covering or hiding something creates taboo associations, creates both shame and the desire of the forbidden. Once something is covered, it is worth less, and worth more. A society that covers a woman doesn't treat her as an equal, but instead covets her to the point of being an object to be owned.

In the end, I have to say congratulations for gaining such insight, and bravo for writing something so honest and thought provoking. And too bad you haven't figured it all out yet. Not to worry though, no one else has beat you to the punch!

The Opposite of Shame is Pride

2010-10-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

People are to be celebrated. People, every person, Is Divine. And so there would be celebrating.
- Momastery

I'm very disappointed that I missed GLAAD Spirit Day yesterday. How difficult is it to wear purple and maybe post something on Facebook or Twitter? Well, yesterday was "Do Chores That Get You All Grimey Day" at my place, so I never got dressed to face the day. Plus, I was so wrapped up in chores, I just didn't use the internet very much. I did sit down last night with the intention of writing something, but I was so exhausted that it never happened. But it was on my mind, definitely. So here's what I should have posted yesterday.

The "Rainbow Flag" is pretty much universally recognized as a symbol of LGBT Pride. The fact that each color in that rainbow has a specific meaning to the community is less widely known. In its present incarnation, there are six colors: red for Life, orange for Healing, yellow for Sunlight, green for Nature, indigo for Serenity, and purple for Spirit. In light of a cluster of teen suicides, deaths, and violent attacks against people labeled as "gay" (and the anti-gay, ignorant hate speech still being spewed by public figures despite those deaths), a day to wear purple for "Spirit Day" was organized by GLAAD. The public support has been overwhelmingly positive, and a little surprising for me due to a few unexpected participants.

I spent much of my day physically occupied with housework and mentally occupied with reflections on spirit and pride. A link to a never-before read blog was particularly inspiring, with a post consisting of a mother's letter to her small child should he grow up to be gay. Don't be put off by the spirituality of the writer, as it really adds to the impact of what is said. Here is my favorite part, again, but in full context:

And I don’t mean, Chase, that we would be tolerant of you and your sexuality. If our goal is to be tolerant of people who are different than we are, Chase, than we really are aiming quite low. Traffic jams are to be tolerated. People are to be celebrated. People, every person, Is Divine. And so there would be celebrating. Celebrating that you would be one step closer to matching your outsides with your insides, to being who you are. And there would be a teeny part of my heart that would leap at the realization that I would forever be the most important woman in your life. And then we would tell everyone. We would not concern ourselves too much with their reactions. There will always be party poopers, baby.

This section especially touched me because I've been thinking a lot lately about the intrinsic value of people and life, so it stuck with me all day, giving me a lot to chew on. Leading me to some thoughts about Gay Pride.

Why is the idea of Gay Pride so hard to understand for some people? Too many people have said things like "I don't have a problem with gays, I just don't want them parading around" or "who cares who you sleep with, just keep it in the bedroom." While I would quickly respond to the second phrase by pointing out that LGBT relationships are about love and not just sex (and also all of the public smooching and hand holding and groping and flirting and wedding ceremonies by heterosexuals who can't keep their love life purely in the bedroom), what to say to the pride-haters has been more difficult. An emotional response is easy to come up with, but a rational argument that they might be led to understand... not so much. Until yesterday, when a simple phrase came to mind:

The opposite of Shame is Pride.

Too many people are concerned about gay people always yapping about their sexuality, griping that "they should just be normal". They seem to believe that now that homosexuality is "tolerated", homosexuals should act and behave just like them: "normal." Sit down, shut up, work for a living, pay your taxes, worship a god, defend your country, and bring cookies to the Christmas party.

Normal. Quiet. Don't make waves. Live your life and leave me out of it. And for the sake of all that is good and holy, stop running around half-naked having simulated(?) sex on the top of parade floats!

To that I say, normal is not what you get when you stop shaming someone. We've been shamed and hidden and abused for long enough. It's time for some Pride.

The opposite of shame is not normalcy, it's pride.

The opposite of abuse is not normalcy, it is healing.

The opposite of hidden in the closet is not normalcy, it is shouting your existence to the world.

The opposite of hate is not tolerance, it is love.

The opposite of whispers of ignorance, random violence, occasional (but not common place, not anymore!) discrimination, and crackpot sermons/speeches is NOT silence, it is shouting in defiance and joy.

The LGBT community has been shamed, abused, hidden, and hated for too long to expect us to sit down quietly once these shackles are removed. And they have not been removed. It is slowly becoming socially unacceptable to hate gay people. So very slowly. So maybe we'll shut up and sit down when the people who still want us dead or in hell or in the closet change their tune and lead by example.

Until then, defiance. Until then, shouts of joy, revelry in sunlight, public celebration and living. Until then, Pride.

On Negativity

2010-10-17T01:37:00.000-07:00

I've always been aware of my negativity. I've known I'm a pessimist since I learned what the word meant. I like to say that I'm a realist, "prepare for the worst and hope for the best", as they say. Except there usually isn't a bunch of hope inside, usually just extra doses of expectations of the worst. Sometimes (usually) with a healthy dash of fear, anxiety, and paranoia. My life has created this in me, all of the negative events slowly but surely pounding in the lesson that bad stuff happens. And pushing out the hope.

Over the years, I've learned to manage this tendency, to an extent. I've developed the ability to arrest negative thoughts while they're happening, often before anything too damaging happens to my psyche, like... calling hospitals when my husband is late. This has been very handy when dealing with depression. Unfortunately, it's very easy to "forget" this skill. To get swamped in emotions and fears and anxiety, forgetting everything else. This can very easily escalate my depression. The whole thing is connected, but it's something at the core of me, so what do I do about it? Just keep at it, and hope for the best.

A few months ago, I realized that pretty much every time I blog or post to Facebook, it was negative. Honestly, it's about all that's been going on with me. But seeing it out there like that bothered me. I want people to know who I am and what I'm going through, but I don't want to be constantly whining and moaning and bitching at them about it. Plus, good things do happen. And everyday, run-of-the-mill, middle ground stuff too. So why not talk about that? Well, no one wants to hear about middle ground - I don't care enough to post it, and nobody would want to read it. And good stuff? It's so rare, and unfortunately quick to pass, that I get too occupied in reveling in the moment to say anything. Until I'm back in negativity land.

So what do I do? How do I balance this out? Well, mostly, stop worrying about your fucking blog and work on keeping the bad shit at bay. Har, har, har.

So imagine my surprise, when things start to click. And suddenly, I have no idea what to say about it.

Earlier this year, I felt like my world was turned upside down when I was diagnosed with infertility. In the past few weeks, it's been righting itself, and it has nothing to do with fertility. So what does it have to do with? Well, honestly I don't know. Or I haven't known. It's just been happening, and I've just been... standing around wondering what's going on. And every few days, I actually feel better. I keep having epiphanies. And I just haven't known what the hell to say about it.

I'm working on trying to fix that. But for now, I'll leave you with this: I'm still a pessimist. This is life, and the hits just keep on a' comin'. But... it's easier to laugh at my self than ever before. The difference is, it's real laughter. I give a little shake of my head, a roll of my eyes, and I walk around or over my obstacle, keeping the sun in my face.

It's quite possible that I'm delirious. Or delusional. This might all evaporate tomorrow. That's what usually happens - my upswings are rare and brief. But I really, really don't think that's what's happening right now. Something has gone "click" up there in my head, and I don't think it can be undone.

I have hope.

Update: Baby Quest

2010-10-14T08:43:00.000-07:00

I think it's time for an update on Baby Quest. I've recently been trying to make a concerted effort to keep negativity in check here, but that's another conversation entirely.

When last we saw our heroine, the ethics of the donor selection process were weighing heavily on her. I jokingly referred to our selection as our brood-mare, because this process seems so de-humanizing I just needed to inject a little levity. Read on for more laugh-or-cry moments!

So we selected a donor, and signed a preliminary "on-hold" document. Then, and only then, did I decide to re-examine a little sentence that I had looked over in the most recent email from our donor coordinator. Because I am a numbskull. A nutjob. A scatterbrained dumbass. But it's not my fault! It was followed by two very convincing sentences about how un-troublesome the original statement was. For your perusal:

The donor let me know that she had something called Factor 5 Leiden with her last pregnancy. It is not a genetic disorder, just a blood clotting disorder that she had to take blood thinners for. She no longer needs to take medications since she is not pregnant.

Are you soothed? I was. But still, due diligence and all that, right? Well guess what Wikipedia and a host of other websites had to say about the matter:

Factor V Leiden is the most common hereditary hypercoagulability disorder amongst Eurasians. - Wikipedia

Factor V Leiden is the most common hereditary blood coagualtion disorder in the United States. It is present in 5% of the Caucasian population and 1.2% of the African American population.
- FVLeiden.org

Factor V Leiden thrombophilia is an inherited disorder of blood clotting. Factor V Leiden is the name of a specific gene mutation that results in thrombophilia, which is an increased tendency to form abnormal blood clots that can block blood vessels.
- Genetics Home Reference, U.S. National Library of Medicine, National Institutes of Health

Factor V Leiden (FAK-tur five LIDE-n) is a common inherited genetic disorder that can increase your chance of developing abnormal blood clots (thrombophilia), usually in your veins.
Most people with factor V Leiden never develop abnormal clots. However, some people with factor V Leiden develop clots that lead to long-term health problems or become life-threatening.
Both men and women can have factor V Leiden, but women may have an increased tendency to develop blood clots during pregnancy or when taking the hormone estrogen.
- Mayo Clinic

All signs point towards "deal breaker." The other members of the Committee for Baby Quest - Eric, his mother (a nurse), his sister (a nurse), and his father (a two-time Grampa) - concur.

However, the phrasing of the bad news leaves some room for doubt. Why would they call this not genetic when it is? Could it possibly be that the diagnosis is wrong? That the donor misunderstood?? or was told she had something like the disorder but not really???

Through emails (I'm now regretting not picking up the phone about this yet), the coordinator at my clinic tells me that my fertility doctor agrees it is genetic, but is "doing research". Have yet to hear the results of that research...

Tomorrow marks the one-week mark of putting this all together, and also the deadline to file the formal paperwork/contract and submit a lot of money. So this morning has been about looking into this again, as well as contacting everyone to follow-up. And realizing that this has been on my mind so much that I could swear I spoke with the donor coordinator about this when in fact I hadn't. Oy-vey!

Honestly, the only way to resolve this is through re-examination of the donor's medical records and/or testing. Neither of which can be done without me signing the contract and forking over the fees. So in my email to the donor coordinator, I asked if it would be possible to have the donor just talk to her doctors about her true diagnosis, as well as testing without a contract just for this disorder. Who knows how much that would cost though?

This is sooo not an easy process. But I'm doing fine with it right now. I'm still really bad with remembering to follow-up, but other than that, I think I'm doing a pretty good job handling this, including mentally.

Yesterday was an amazing day

2010-10-13T09:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was an amazing day. I woke up with energy, which was boosted by the news that I had sold a necklace. I spent a good chunk of time that morning on shortening the necklace and then packaging it up for shipping. Then I took a shower, brushed my teeth, actually worried about what to wear, and put on some jewelry. I left the house on time and arrived at my appointment with plenty of time to get settled in before the session started. I love it when I'm the first person to arrive. Wherever I go, I'm usually the last or the first to arrive, but hardly ever just right on time!

I found this support group for people dealing with chronic illnesses, where I signed up for a class to learn some constructive means of coping and staying on top of managing your own health care. This was the 2nd session. It's unfortunate that there are only 2 of us right now - there have been many possible additions, but they've all been stymied by the middle-of-the-day session schedule. If you know someone who lives with chronic illnesses, let me know!

There were so many thrilling moments of personal revelations, I don't know how to possibly convey it all here. The wonders of new medications and finding new people who understand what I'm going through!

I have no idea why there is a general reluctance in society to seek counseling. There is so much power in having a conversation with someone who listens without judgement. The act of speaking out loud seems to get your brain to re-examine your words. If something is troubling you, your mind worries at it, tries to examine it and come up with solutions, and then continues to rethink over and over the same line of attack on this problem you don't know how to solve. But spitting it out, seems to bump your brain out of its rut, so you can see different lines of thinking about your problem, which allows for solutions to come to you "out of nowhere". Having someone there to listen, you weigh your words purposefully, and that can be a really big jolt out of your rut. Hearing someone rephrase your problem in their own words, that can be a huge help as well.

Therapy, or at least what I have experienced, isn't about spilling your guts and then someone telling you what to do next. It's about saying things out loud so you can listen to yourself, take the time without other distractions or societal pressures or judgements to have a real conversation with yourself. There just happens to be an impartial referee in attendance. I've heard too many times the excuse that "saying it out loud doesn't help." Well I call shenanigans. When was the last time you actually spent an hour doing nothing but talking about yourself and whatever happens to be on your mind without worrying about what the listener will think or say? Try it out twice. Once, to get your words out and get comfortable with the process and your listener. Then a few days to digest what you said. And then another session to come back and talk about how time has affected your view of the situation. Because something will have changed. Probably something tiny, so maybe you don't notice. But the listener will notice and point it out. All it takes is one experience of realizing how helpful changing the way your brain tries to solve a dilemma, and the lesson will sink in. You'll start analyzing your own thought processes. You'll start wondering if you've really thought about every possible scenario/factor/possibility. Not 24/7. But sometimes. In small ways.

It's not about finding hallelujah, I'm a genius, huge revelation moments. It's about nudging your brain in a small way so you are more likely to see those revelations coming.

And now I have completely hijacked my own train of thought, without getting to the really wonderful bits! So I'll be brief (I swear!)

I made a real connection with my companion attendee, so we went to a café for some good conversation.

I stumbled over a concrete definition of my own personal brand of spirituality. And admitted to myself that yes, it is spirituality and yes that's weird for me, but that's ok.

I had a pretty yummie caramel Frozen Treat.

I mailed my package with a half hour to spare before the post office closed!

I had a long, leisurely walk on the beach in Edmonds, reveling in feeling good about myself, and my choices, for a change.

I came home and made dinner for my husband and it only took a half hour.

We played the new Borderlands expansion - wo0t!

When the ending of "Sons of Anarchy" pissed me off, I realized how it was affecting my mood, told myself it was fiction, and put it behind me.

I went to bed and slept well, waking up with energy again today. The End.

How could I be supportive when you are feeling depressed?

2010-09-28T10:14:00.000-07:00

A friend recently sent me an email with an interesting question:

How could I be supportive when you are feeling depressed?

Normally, I would brush this off by saying something like "Don't worry about it." But that's the trap I'm trying to work my way out of. For my own sake, and our friendship, I need to answer her truthfully. She asked a sincere question, and it deserves a sincere answer. So here it goes:

The short answer is that people who are depressed want to be understood, and need to be listened to. I can't, and shouldn't try, to speak for everyone with depression. But this just seems to be a universal truth - I think for all people. There's nothing quite like learning you have something in common with another person. But this is not often the case for those of us with depression. So instead we have to make due with being heard. Without judgement, forced cheerfulness, or advice.

The longer answer is that everyone is different, and so for me there are a set of odd personality quirks that need to be addressed, accommodated for, worked around. So... what can you do for me?

#1 - Talk to me. If I've brushed you off in the past, please don't take it personally. I avoid all social interactions when I'm in the thick of it. Please try again, when you get a chance. I really do like hearing from you.

#2 - Stop talking, take a breath, and ask me sincerely how I'm doing. If I try to weasel out of a straight answer, ask me a pointed question or two. And then...

#3 - Listen to me. Keep me talking. Appear sympathetic. I crave empathy.

#4 - Don't try to fix me. If you have advice for me, or some other way of helping, ask before blurting it out.

#5 - Don't be too overly concerned. I'm not now, never have been, and never will be suicidal. I realized long ago that I love this life too much to just chuck it. I'm in love with my husband, my cats, nature, food, and sleep. Throw in friends and family, books, movies, sunsets, travel, and a dash of hope that refuses to die, and maybe you'll understand that I find it all too... interesting to let go.

#6 - Get to know my patterns. I hate the telephone and almost never use it. When I'm depressed, I pull back from almost all social interaction, especially email. My energy level fluctuates daily, but is always much lower than the average person, so I almost always nap at least once a day. If I expend too much energy one day, I will be groggy and useless the next day. I have lots of different causes of pain to varying degrees, which means I find it hard to sit still. I can get exhausted just from going out to eat or watching a movie, and long car rides wipe me out completely. Also, my memory and speech aren't the way they used to be. Please bear with me while I try to remember the word "lamp."

#7 - Don't cajole me into "doing a little more", "pushing a little harder", or "just go a little farther." My illnesses are real, they drag me down constantly, and everything I do every day is a battle. Don't insult me by thinking you know more than I do about how I feel and what I'm capable of. Plus, I am a world-class whiner, stubborn as a mule, and easy to piss off.

#8 - I know it's difficult to understand me. This might help: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory-written-by-christine-miserandino

#9 - Call me out if I'm a bitch. I want you to be sympathetic to my limits and my emotions, but I still want to be treated like an adult. You don't have to tiptoe around anything. Always tell me the truth, even if you think it will hurt. Also, I'm very aware that all my crap does not give me the right to shit on other people, so let me know when I screw up or upset you.

#10 - Don't ask me anything that you don't want an honest answer to. But if you find yourself overwhelmed by what I'm saying, let me know.

#11 - Get me outside. Even a trip to the grocery store helps get me out of the house and my own head.

#12 - Be patient with my sense of humor. I say bizarre, morbid things. I say the worst possible thing in delicate situations, or just the opposite of what I mean, as a joke. I think my life is one giant cosmic joke, and enjoy laughing at myself and my predicaments. I give good blank face/deadpan. I've recently been told I'm the most sarcastic person in the world. If you think I'm joking, 9 times out of 10 I am. If I jump around in glee and clap my hands, it's because something sucks. When I say "Yay!", I usually mean "un-Yay *sigh*".

Real life examples:
"Yay, I'm not pregnant," I said. My mom looks at me funny and then asks, "Why is that a good thing? I thought you were trying to get pregnant?"

"My wife has cancer and I just broke my ankle so I can't help out around the house," he said. "Yippie!" left my mouth before I could stop it.

"I'm going to kidnap your child."

"I have duct tape."

"Dammit, is murder really still illegal in this state?"

"We can just beat her."

#13 - I go off on tangents and forget what I was talking about...

#14 - Don't try to cheer me up. Feel free to suggest doing something fun, but never tell a depressed person to "just cheer up." The next person who sees me frowning and decides to tell me that "It can't be that bad. Smile!" gets shot in the face.

Will you be my Baby Mama?

2010-09-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

Will you be my Baby Mama? No, this isn't a Tina Fey movie, or even Jerry Springer. I'm searching for an ovum donor.

So far, the IVF process has been... personal, challenging, expensive, uncomfortable, stressful, anxiety-ridden, and physically painful. It hasn't exactly been a fun few months. We are currently wrapping up a "mock cycle" that introduces my body to all the hormones necessary for a real implantation when the time comes. Said hormones have been, primarily, delivered by injection. Eric and I are pretty much terrified of needles. I'm betting we look quite ridiculous every morning as we work up the courage for each shot.

Next week, hopefully, the "mock cycle" ends with a "mock implantation". 15 minutes of quality time between my vagina and uterus, some male doctor I've never met, and a speculum. Wo0t!

Which brings us to the next stage: finding an egg donor.

If any of this process so far sounds weird to you, you ain't seen nothing yet. We are supposed to choose the biological mother of our child based on a 10-12 page questionnaire about their health, genetics, schooling, personality, and motivation for donation. Along with a half-dozen or so pictures. That sounds like a lot to go on, right? Well it's not. Whole pages of yes/no questions about diseases, limited data on relatives, their favorite foods... It's like a cross between picking a date and finding a thoroughbred stud - very dehumanizing.

I've developed a process for sorting between the "no"s and the "maybe"s: city, flip 3-4 pages in to check for a "yes" under the question about acceptance of complete anonymity, flip back to page one for hair/eye/height, a few pages in to check test scores, more pages in for motivation to donate, cursory glance at inheritable disease list, done!

So now what? I brought my 5 favorite candidates to Eric, to discover we have differing criteria. My ranking was based largely on personality, his was on test scores and academic record. My method isn't very helpful, because picking the one I like as a person the most has nothing to do with this. But Eric's method is too sterile, and ultimately has him scratching his head between 2 really smart candidates.

Because the donor rep people will only contact 1 prospect at a time, we decide on our #1 choice. I had this "feeling" about her that made me want to fight for her, so Eric went back and realized her academics were just as good as the one he had ranked the highest, so he moved her to the top of his list too. Success: brood-mare chosen!

Is it conspicuous that I haven't mentioned appearance as a factor? That's because it was the very first one - the listing page only shows you a headshot next to city and yes/no to whether they have donated before. What else can you do except choose to look at the files of the ones you find most attractive? But after that, it's just not very helpful. The top five candidates range from pretty to beautiful to stunning. There is no such thing as an ugly donor.

I will throw out a bit of advice to prospective donors about appearance: using your dating-site photo as your primary photo is a very bad decision. I want to see your natural hair color and a true smile. I take one look at a photo that focuses on your smoldering eyes and/or breasts, and I am instantly grossed out. I have already skipped down to the next woman not in full clubbing mode. There are a lot of women who choose this route, and it makes no sense to me. Are they trying to seduce the husband? Don't they realize how much sway the actual recipient-mother has in the decision? Don't they realize that we're looking for someone that was once a cute little girl? In this mindset, looking "sexy" is instantly off-putting. Grab a sweater and a friend who can make you laugh to snap a quick picture. Don't be afraid to look goofy - playful is good. You'll thank me later.

I want to talk to you, so why don't I call you?

2010-09-15T16:49:00.000-07:00

As mentioned previously, I've had some epiphanies quite recently. Here is another:

I want to talk to you, so why don't I call you?

I visited a small support group for chronic illness last week, which was an amazing experience because we all spoke the same language. We used the same phrases without having to explain ourselves, we shared similar emotions and histories, we listened to each other without question, we spoke without having to defend ourselves. Still, there were new ideas. I cannot stress enough how important talking out loud can be to getting your mind to think in a slightly different way so that you can come up with new solutions.

The subject of isolation came up, and hearing someone else talk about it allowed me to think about my own isolation differently. I know that I am mostly to blame for my own isolation, because I push people away. I don't want to talk about myself, so I remain quiet. For some reason I open up to strangers more easily than to friends or loved ones. Why?

It's simple really. I don't want to burden anyone. I don't want to be a complainer. And I am so wrapped up in these things that I'm not saying, that I don't know what else to say. I see the only two ways I can contribute to conversations is to either (a) bring everyone down, or (b) bore people to death.

But I do want to talk to people. "I don't want to talk about myself" is a lie. I am so desperate to talk about myself that I open up to strangers. I've been known to freak people out by revealing too much too soon upon meeting them. So why aren't I talking to you, my friends and family?

Because I need your permission. I am so out of the loop, so down on myself, feeling so guilty for being such a crap companion, that I just won't open my mouth and say anything of any real consequence. I will sit there and quietly listen to you talk for hours if you like - I find it kind of enjoyable. But to talk back about myself, I need one of two things to happen:

1. if you mention feelings or problems or a history similar to that which I'm keeping to myself, it's like lighting a fire on a cartoon bomb: the desire to talk will burn through me until finally I can't stand it anymore and I'll blurt something out. If you don't immediately shut me down, I can become positively manic in my need to say as much as possible about myself as quickly as possible.

or

2. if you ask me about myself, something pointed and direct, or just express a genuine interest in my emotional state, the floodgates will open and be quiet impossible to shut down again. See above under "manic".

Permission... where on earth did that come from?? I've never felt the need for permission for anything else in my life. So why do I lock up my mouth when I'm around the people I care about? I put on a fake smile, a pleasant demeanor, and keep to myself. I've become fed up with the fake emotions over the past few years, but kept up the silence for the most part. Which has led to me looking miserable but not telling anyone why. Facebook and this blog occassionally allow me the illusion of distance to say things I normally wouldn't reveal so easily to the people I care about. But not enough. Not enough to change this pattern I've created for myself.

On top of all of this immediately came another epiphany: just because I don't know what to say, that doesn't mean you wouldn't like to hear from me, or that I wouldn't enjoy hearing from you. In fact, I'm so set in my ways, I relish hearing other people talk about themselves. But because of guilt and this need for permission vs. a desire to hide, I don't call people and I rarely pick up the phone when people call me.

So, here's a solution: call people. Talk to people. Answer the god damned phone once in awhile.

This will also help with epiphany #3: despite not wanting to burden you with my problems, I need people in my life that I can share this burden with. What is the point of loving someone if I can't trust them with the truth? I want to talk to you because I'm lonely, but I need to talk to you because I can't do this alone any more.

On Monday I drove to Port Orchard to see my mother, and we also had lunch with my sister. We talked about cats and home ownership and pest control. We each mentioned a little about our health. My mother and I seem to have developed this pattern of not discussing our health and mental state to each other. We're each hiding bits of ourselves for reasons I'm not sure either of us knows about anymore.

I'm not fixed, all new and shiny and ready to take on the world once more. But it's a step, and for once it's in the right direction.

Has Epiphanies, Seeking Solutions

2010-09-09T06:34:00.000-07:00

I've had a handful of small epiphanies over the past month or so. I think the first one, the biggest one, led to all the others. It opened my mind to possibilities I don't think I was even ready to just think about.

Epiphany #1 is this: I do not like the person that I have become. This has been a long time coming, from a train of thought and inner-conversations over the past year, but also building on 11 years of therapy and self-examination.

The short explanation, the one that's easier to say, is that I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about high school and wondering how on earth I got to here from there. Not just the excitement and energy and possibilities that come with youth for just about everyone. But the things that were important to me then, the way I defined myself, were completely different than now. I was hopeful and generous and my mind was engaged. The future was enormous and kind of scary, but I knew I would find my place in it. Yes, there was cynicism, the "glass-half-full", the "don't count your chickens before they hatch", the "let the dust fall before celebrating." But hope and eagerness and even tenuous confidence was at the forefront.

Today, I do not recognize myself when I look back on that person. Most of her is still in me, buried deeply, covered up by the cynicism that has turned into bitterness. "Let the dust fall before celebrating" has turned into "waiting for the other shoe to drop," coupled with a constant need to look over my shoulder for it. I am still hopeful, but it seems only ever to my detriment: when it looks like something isn't going to work out, I latch onto hope that has no reason to be there, continuing to take a beating instead of letting go when the going is good. My mind is engaged, but only because I am constantly in my own head analyzing and re-analyzing myself. I am still generous, with a tendency to excess, but only when my own problems aren't looming largely in front of me - which is not very often. The future is smaller, but scarier, because I'm still looking for my place in it and see no real hope of finding my way. Just small, hopeful wishes that at least I'll survive this current mess and regain something of myself before the next disaster.

That didn't seem like the short version, did it? Well the long version is that this has not happened overnight, or recently, but it has been a long, long process. When I stand Mysie @ Graduation next to Mysie @ Today, it makes no sense that these two are the same person. But when I look back over my life, I can see the events and decisions that lead to other decisions and consequences until I got here. Each individual decision seems perfectly rational. But chart them out, and it leads down a dark path of failure, of giving up, of checking out.

Mysie @ Graduation was a fighter. I fought for every win growing up, fought tirelessly to succeed in school so I could get out of the house and my childhood and go be my own person doing the things I wanted to do without every authority figure breathing down my neck to judge and cajole and make decisions for me. When I saw the kids around me with advantage, money and popularity and confidence, I quietly assured myself that I was going to achieve just as much or more than they possibly could. I would be the best, because my fight had been the hardest. I actually thrived on these inner challenges to compete with people who had no idea they were my competitors.

Mysie @ Today has been crushed by challenges. I'm full and I don't want any more. I don't want success, I just want to survive and come out the other end pain free. Now the thing I crave the most is an authority figure to hold my hand and guide me through this minefield. Or better yet, carry me. Yes, please GOD, someone pick me up and carry me OUT of here!

So what now? Unfortunately, epiphanies don't solve problems. They merely cast light on possible solutions. You still have to implement those solutions, you still have to fight. And I'm still so tired and bruised and ready for a nap.

That first epiphany has led me to name my regrets, to remember my dreams. I believe my future depends on two lines of attack: rectifying my regrets, and going after new (or old?) dreams once again.

My most deep regret is pushing away my family. My most important dream was always to make a difference in other people's lives, to make a lasting impression on humanity if only in the smallest way.

Still, realizing isn't doing. I'm not so good at the doing.

Revelation: Invisible & Multiple Chronic Illness

2010-08-28T09:32:00.000-07:00

I had the most remarkable day yesterday. Nothing exciting or flashy, just a flash of future possibilities. Something bordering on epiphany.

This has been a very hard week. For some reason my uterus decided to wait 49 days before hitting reset, which means this cycle has been even more of a bitch from hell. I took so much medication to keep the pain at bay that I slept all day Monday, and a majority of Tuesday and Wednesday. I slept right through 2 different appointments: therapy and a chickenpox vaccine*. Combine this with the 2 appointments that I slept through last week just because of normal fatigue (to see my Sleep Apnea doctor no less!), and I am batting 1:5 for appointments. I did manage to get to the fertility clinic for some blood tests early last week...

*weird side note: about 10 years ago I asked for the vaccine because I never had it as a kid. They tested me and told me I had immunity. My mother doesn't remember me having it either. Last week, my fertility clinic told me I have no immunity and I have to get the vaccine soon (if I so choose) because you're not supposed to get pregnant until 3 months after getting vaccinated. I'm going to get the shot, but this is quite the head scratcher...

Realizing I had missed therapy was kind of the last straw. The more sick I am, the more dark my mood gets. Missing appointments makes me feel guilty and worthless and callous. And so the downward spiral began early Friday morning.

It has been on my mind all summer that managing my health has become just as overwhelming to me as the behemoth known as "The Great Upstairs Pack-Up Before Installing New Flooring." Now I am having anxiety problems on a regular basis for two looming beasts that I don't know how to tame. I decided a few months ago that what I need is to hire a private nurse to be my health advocate: someone to look at all of my history and diagnoses and help me navigate the system from specialist to specialist, to come to difficult appointments to explain the big words and ask the right questions. Because my Primary Care Provider, all half dozen or so in the past decade, have not been able to come close to helping me get a handle on what's going on in terms of undiagnosed symptoms and how each illness is affecting the others. I finally demanded an extra-long appointment with my PCP last year to go over The List: four pages (long hand, thankfully) of every last thing that's wrong with me. Previously, I had been told that the maximum was 3 issues per appointment. With a $20 co-pay for each appointment, I would have spent enough on office visits with one doctor that could have instead bought a ticket to Hawaii.

The doctor really did listen to me, soothed some of my fears, and referred me to a couple of specialists and sent me on my way. It felt so great to be listened to and have some action to follow-up on that it didn't immediately occur to me that all she had done was look at pieces of the puzzle she could hand off to other people to try to fit together, and ignored trying to put it all together for a bigger picture. After that, I tried to stay on top of things, but my follow-through sucks when I don't see the point. Then add in the new infertility diagnosis, and things began to spiral out of control.

So, on Friday I felt a bit like a deer in headlights - I was literally staring into space in the kitchen trying to figure out what I was going to do about this. It seemed hopeless. Eric came and went without noticing anything was wrong, and like magic that was the last straw. How dare he not be psychic! I spent the next hour or so crying and croaking out just how freaked out I was. The problem that bothered me the most: how am I supposed to make it to appointments that have to be made weeks in advance, when my level of health and energy changes so dramatically from day to day, to the point that I'm sleeping through appointments that are supposed to help keep me from sleeping during the day! I am stuck in a horrible cycle: my health greatly affects my mood, and my mood affects my health. If I get a cold on a day I'm doing OK, within 24 hours my mind is very much not ok. The longer the sickness, the more not-ok my mind gets. This leads to weird eating and sleeping habits (which makes me more susceptible to getting more sick/depressed), avoiding activities and obligations and people (about the only things that can help me fight off depression).

I mope, I get sick. I mope because I'm sick. I get worse because I'm moping. Where does it end?

This is where yesterday's revelation comes in. I did a Google search for something I had never even imagined could exist until that day: some sort of support for people who are sick with too many health problems to deal with. Guess what? The support exists.

I found a support group Board for invisible illnesses through a conversation about dealing with multiple illnesses.

This caused many silent OMGs in my head. And lead me to The Spoon Theory, a way to explain to other people how quickly and easily your energy is lost in a day over the smallest things. This sheer genius of explaining the unexplainable was created by Christine Miserandino, who runs an invisible illness support site: ButYouDon'tLookSick.com

Having new terms to search for led me to InvisibleIllness.com, a site with interesting outreach strategies. The simplest being a sticky-note campaign, as well as a blogging event for Invisible Illness Week.

Both of these groups are on Facebook, which I immediately joined. But then I kept on looking, to see if there was anything out there more specifically for people with multiple illnesses. I couldn't find a support site, but I found hope in the form of medical articles confirming that at least somewhere in the health community people are taking note of this phenomenon:

Advocacy for Patients with Chronic Illness Inc. Caring for Multiple Chronic IllnessesA not-for-profit offering support services and advocacy for people with Chronic illnesses
Reuters The Difficulty of Treating Patients With Many Illnesses
a more in-depth and personalized article on the subject, although it focuses heavily on prevalence in elderly patients
ADDer World (ADD/ADHD support) Co-Morbid = Multiple Illnesses or Disorders
informative piece about something that mental health patients have known for a long time: if you have mental health issues, you're more likely to have other chronic illnesses
Wikipedia Comorbidity
morbidity is about disease prevalence, not to be confused with "mortality" or "mortality rate"
The Center for Managing Chronic Disease Managing Multiple Chronic Conditions
A group for doctors.

There is just no way to express how relieved and comforted I am knowing that I'm not alone. Not to mention the hope and conviction to change I feel might burst from my chest. When I think about it, I can't help but think about the Grinch's heart swelling 3 sizes that day...

My Simple Win

2010-08-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

If you watch any TV at all, you've probably seen one of the ads in Bayer's "Simple Win" campaign for their blood glucose meters: mostly young people, famous or not, who have diabetes and are just thrilled that their life has one positive aspect due to an awesome meter.

Then there's another drug ad commercial campaign for a drug (Celebrex?) that relieves pain of some disease (rheumatoid arthritis?): older people happy to be able to play catch with their grandkids again, walk their dog, or just putter around the garden - thanks to this awesome drug (assumably) prescribed by their doctor.

Despite having different target markets and thus a different "feel", they're both about every day people who are now very happy in their daily lives because of pharmaceutical companies. It is presumed that these people were once unhappy. The anti-depressant commercials seem to be the only ones who try for any realism at all, with simplistic but accurate glimpses of a depressed person's life, followed by that person looking more relaxed, if not happy, as they interact with someone that was being ignored in the background of the earlier scenes. Still all very saccharin.

Thanks Don Draper.

But despite my disillusionment with drug companies, the under current of these campaigns hit home: medical conditions that affect you every hour of every day suck ass, and finding some relief that allows you to be normal again can be an amazing experience.

My health is a bit more complicated than such commercials can express - I have various ailments that feed on each other. Most notably, I have multiple conditions that cause pain and fatigue that, if not managed perfectly, add fuel to the fire that is my depression. Basically, I hurt and feel exhausted so I sit around with no energy for anything, making me listless and frustrated with my life until my depression flares up - sinking me into a hole of despair that makes me tired and listless. It is a difficult cycle to break, and even when managed properly, so easy to fall off the path and get sucked back into the mire again.

There is nothing simple about the process that I use to balance my life. Physically, it involves pain killers and daily naps, visits with multiple doctors who run lots of tests, and a detachment from people to keep to a minimum the likelihood of canceled plans and hurt feelings. Mentally, I take medication and see a therapist, I determine "triggers" that I avoid at all costs, I only keep sympathetic people in my life, I pray for days where I have the energy to get out of bed and the willpower to actually do it.

My daily life, hour by hour, minute to minute, is a constant balancing act as my various symptoms fight each other for control. Most days, I'm happy if I take a shower. Getting out of the house for any reason is energizing - if I can find the energy to leave. Going out with my husband or friends is bliss.

For quite some time now, willpower has been the weakest link in this chain. When the pain and fatigue and memories beat you down so that all you want to do is lie in bed, how do you find the willpower to get up, let alone go out or get anything accomplished that day.

A few days ago, I found a "Simple Win" that had nothing to do with willpower: I replaced our toilet seat. Seriously. When I couldn't bring myself to sit on my own toilet seat because of its sorry state, I went out to purchase a new one. I wrestled with removing the old one, taking multiple trips up and down the stairs for the right tools. I cleaned out the bolt holes of rust, then found myself so caught up in it that I had cleaned the entire toilet. I installed the new seat and tested the easy-removal-for-cleaning plastic clamps and saw that it was good. I endured an ouchie moment of knee pain to get up off the floor. I discovered that despite my fears, I didn't hurt anywhere or feel overly tired. There was a sense of accomplishment, multiplied by the fact that I had been avoiding this task for so long and now it was done with.

Would I be a happier person today if I had become a plumber? Um... no. But going out that night with my husband to see a movie felt extra indulgent. Simple Win, simple reward. I never thought I would ever describe my life as simple. But if simple makes me happy, I'll take it. Maybe I'll get a few more toilets in the house just so I can replace their seats on a regular basis. I've been looking for a way to teach myself to meditate, and it was in my bathroom the entire time!

Snohomish, WA

2010-07-27T19:59:00.000-07:00

I spent most of this weekend in the town of Snohomish.

The drive out there by myself on Saturday was great. About halfway to the exit on I-5, I started feeling tired and wondering if I should turn back. But I told myself to look at this amazing day and the easy traffic, together making a great day to be out for a drive. Once I was off the highway, I quickly became convinced I had to be going the wrong way - how could all these miles of residential areas dotted with strip malls possibly lead to a quaint little historic town hugging a river?

Once you start descending down this steep hill with lots of switchbacks, you get glimpses of the valley below - mountains surrounding farmland stretched out in front of you to the horizon. I was very excited then. I had no idea this pocket of green pastures and crops had been happily nestled into this valley all this time. I didn't even know there was a valley!

Something about lazily driving along the corn fields, spotting the occasional cow pasture and kicking up dust that's spilled into the road, put me at ease despite wondering where this road to nowhere could possibly be leading me. I drove past these cute, tiny red barns - perfect replicas of the stereotypical red barn, but the size of a pretty large shed. There was a sign, showing it was a development for what looked like they were selling tiny plots of land for you to place a little barn and some crops on, rather than a new sub-division signs showing all the duplexes you can move into. A big P-Patch with cute little structures to putter around in and house your equipment during the week when you're busy at your little hide-y-hole cube trying to impress your boss.

I was so damned excited about those little barns, but I couldn't find a place to stop that was both safe and had a good view. Snohomish, once I got there, didn't hold all of the photographic opportunities I was looking for either. Mostly because I'm focusing on nature right now and for the life of me, I couldn't find an appealing spot to photograph the river.

So yes, I made it to the town. And it was small and charming. I had an edible lunch at a pub, checked out the shops, and picked up a little Kodak Brownie camera from the 50's. The best part was this quite plain looking public gazebo tucked away between the buildings on the water. Stepping under its shade and looking out over the river, the temperature lowered at least 5 degrees. I wished I could have sat there for an hour and just write and write, but it was not to be.

So today I took Eric out there to see what I'd seen. We walked around, had some ice cream, looked over antiques, and took the long way back through some winding roads. We ended up in Maltby where we stumbled across the Snoqualmie Ice Cream "factory". It was more like a barn next to a cafe offering sandwiches and coffee with their ice cream.

It really was a lovely weekend.

Surgery Day went much as expected

2010-06-13T10:18:00.000-07:00

Yay! I'm not dead! Woo-hoo! *insert maniacal smiley-face here*

Surgery Day went much as expected: get to the hospital with plenty of time, rant against the medical establishment for not letting me eat or drink, sit around waiting for said medical establishment types to prepare me for surgery. The people you meet in pre-op are generally the nicest people in the world. I suppose this is because there is already a huge chance any given patient is about to run screaming from the building in fear at any time before their surgery can commence, and anything they can do to lower that possibility is in their best interest.

Carolyn and Dr. Abrahms and Patrick were all very nice to me. The waiting in stages was somewhat frustrating. Arrive to wait in the lobby. Be moved to a room to wait there. Change in the room to wait again. Meet the anesthesiologist to wait again. Meet the doctor to wait again. Use the bathroom to wait again.

By the time I was asked what the scariest part of this was for me, I was sick of waiting around and the horror of not waking up from the table was gone. We went over my more immediate horror of IV insertion. And then I waited some more. I was practically skipping by the time Patrick the Nice came to lead me away to the operating room.

There is an odd phenomenon with surgery regarding the things that you forget versus the things you remember versus the things you only thought you forget until they're repeated at a later date. I tried hard to remember everyone's names. Patrick introduced me to 3 new people in the room who had masks on and who weren't looking at me, so there was no way I was going to over come my natural inability to remember names for them. I have this weird feeling one of them was named Wendy. Because later that day someone named Wendy appeared for a moment and although she wasn't familiar, her name was. See what I mean?

So, here I am with Patrick the Saint, my doctor, someone possibly named Wendy, and 2 more people I've never seen before in my life. Dr. Abrhams is nowhere to be seen. They get me to lay myself on the table, spending extra time to line up my ass and my head into designated spots. They half-heartedly put an oxygen mask over my mouth, I'm supposing by its unfastened nature that it is "just in case". Or maybe just to distract me because we're starting to talk about where my good veins are.

As far as I can recall, no one has ever had any extra problems on the left, although I've been hearing lately that my veins like to "roll". They try for the left, thumping and snapping and rubbing. Someone (Wendy?) starts doing the same on the right. Is this a distraction technique? Nope, they decide between them (Wendy? and St. Pat) to try the right hand instead. The Saint asks if I've ever had a mosquito bite before. I half groan, half growl something resembling "yes", keeping the part back about "of course I've had a mosquito bite and don't EVEN fucking think for a moment you're fooling anyone by comparing that damned needle you've got there to a mosquito sting." You know, don't want to be rude to the people with the sharp objects that instill pain.

I get the mosquito-bite of "love" also known as lidocaine, to numb the area. This is the part that becomes familiar - I remember my last surgery to have my wisdom teeth removed, where they did not have a lidocaine-dispensing insect available, and they poke each of my hands between 5-10 times each before successfully putting me under. This is not a good thing to remember at a time like this, but I can feel the promised "pressure" of the actual IV being inserted, so I am back to concentrating on not concentrating on the huge metal point thing being inserted into my hand.

It goes well. It doesn't hurt. The blood pressure cuff hurts though, so I focus on trying to find a marginally more comfortable position to keep that arm, and wiggle my now-numb right arm on occasion in sympathy. Patrick, having been demoted to mere human status for attempting to trick me with that mosquito BS, would like to now talk about what I'm going to dream about. OK, big finish, right? I'll start talking about cats, fall asleep mid sentence, they'll laugh for a few minutes about how funny I sounded in the middle of explaining "no, not the musical, my pet cats", and then I'll wake up in post-surgical bliss.

So why am I not asleep yet? How much more descriptive of my cats do you want me to get here? Yes, we call Fiona "Fluffers" - she's really damned fluffy. In fact, did you check to make sure her hairs aren't floating around my abdomen right now? Seriously, can we stop talking about cats and get to - holy crap I can't breath. My throat has decided to take my dry-mouth to the next level, times 1000. No saliva, added constriction, and now not only have I lost the ability to swallow, but I think I just took my last possible breath.

"Rrrggg. Caaaaan't breeehhhhhhhhhth. Ggglllggggg."

Three sets of eyes looking very calmly down at me like magnanimous deities who don't understand English or breathing or possibly the concept of life.

Unsaintly Patrick tells me, "Just breath deeply."

WTF Mother Fucker? YOU breath mother fucking deeply after I shove a giant hole through your throat with.... oh, there's got to be something sharp and nasty around here that will do.

"Gggggrrrggggllllllgg."

"Time to wake up sweetie, you're in post-op," announces Saint Candice.

Fucking god dammit mother fucking medical profession types. Fuck. The next time I run into someone named Patrick, I'm stabbing him.

Surgery and Irony, go together like ebony and ivory

2010-06-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

Today is my surgery. A hysteroscopy to look at and remove a "polyp" from inside my uterus, followed by a laparoscopy to look at and possibly remove one cyst from each ovary. My ovaries are pretty much useless to me now, so that's not a big deal. I was worried they would have to cut into the uterus so we would be off track for baby-making for months while I heal. Apparently, that's not the case. Either they go in the "natural" opening, or they make such a tiny incision it heals right away without stitches.

Of course, they make you sign all sorts of forms saying you understand that things can slip and they can puncture things or sever things and you may need a colostomy bag for the rest of your life if you're really unlucky. But that's not what I'm worried about.

I'm worried about the pure chance element of dying during surgery. Supposedly going through a successful surgery in the past is a good sign you will again. But it doesn't rule it out. Nothing rules it out. It's a fact that people die during surgery for no good reason. Now, I understand those odds are smaller than the doctor nicking an artery or being hit by a bus on the way to the hospital or Mt. Rainier exploding and really fucking up traffic, but... Those are the kind of things that I truly have no say over.

But today, deciding that yes, I'm going to let people poke around inside me with sharp objects and remove stuff and pump me full of chemicals and some tiny anomaly somewhere may kill me during the process. That is a willful choice of putting myself in harms way. So it's what freaks me out.

Yesterday I talked to my mom. Her best friend, my "Aunt" Frances, has liver cancer and is expected to live another 2-3 months. She said she had been worried about my reaction. My reaction was that I didn't have one - except to decide that yes, this was a phone call I should return. I told my mother that despite being sad, and especially sad for her, there wasn't any real "reaction". It is just not real to me. I told her if I was told there was an asteroid headed towards earth and we were all going to die in 24 hours, I'd probably just say "Huh." Because it is all just unreal to me at this point. Some point a few weeks ago I got too much information, too much bad news, for me to fully process anything else. There is only so much that the mind can fathom before it just... stops and calls bullshit. Right now, there's so much, my mind doesn't really grasp that it's all really true.

In the context of this and the surgery and my fear of the microscopic chance of unexpected death, I told my mother that some people see the human body as a miracle. All these crazy systems and organs working together to make us walk and talk and move about, etc. And I admit, it's pretty damn miraculous. But then I look at my body, and I have the opposite reaction. My organs, my systems, they DON'T work together. Not well. And they're falling apart, getting more out of sync. Some people have a miracle. I have a nightmare.

My mom told me a joke. Apparently, we have a common trait: we forget jokes. But this one is very simple and I really liked it, so here it is.

God and a scientist are having a conversation. The scientist proclaims he can make a human life, from scratch, just as easily as God. God agrees to see him try. The scientist bends down to grab some clay from the earth. God steps in and stops him, saying, "Go make your own."

I just thought that was hilarious.

We listened to a short segment of "This American Life" last night, with Dan Savage as the storyteller. His somewhat quiet, mellow, even demure voice just does not match the flamboyant sex columnist I've created in my head! He was talking about being a lapsed Catholic. The kind that doesn't go to church, but when he's on a plane he crosses himself, and when his boyfriend is driving them at 90 miles an hour passing someone, he prays to god. But when it's over, he goes back to being an agnatheist (his word). He said something about how not only does this make him a hypocrite, but also an ingrate.

It's nice to know that there are other people out there that can see the oxymorons in their life, acknowledge it, laugh about it, but not having any power to do anything about it.

Well, the valium has kicked in and it's time to leave for the hospital. Wish us luck.

ps: here is how I define irony: going to the video store yesterday to pick up some mind-numbingly dumb but sweet and at least somewhat satisfying romantic comedy to distract myself. I pick out "Couples Retreat". 10 minutes into the movie, it is revealed that they all need to go on this retreat to help save on of their marriages. Because they've been trying to have a baby for a year and the stress has been so much that they're starting to question their relationship and why they're even together. And then later that night hearing Dan Savage talk about his lapsed Catholicism in the face of watching his mother die somewhat unexpectedly in a hospital.

Fucking irony.

remember to break me out of cryo when this is over

2010-05-31T19:01:00.000-07:00

I can't remember ever experiencing this kind of depression before. It's so novel, I'm not sure how to describe it. I can't really figure out the exact cause either. It's all very... vague, discombobulated, unfamiliar. I think it may be a combination of depression and anxiety, born out of hopelessness, denial, and a complete inability to cope.

Nobody died. No one's getting divorced. Things are generally going well. But a series of events on top of each other left me spinning, and whenever I try to find my bearings, I realize I am too dizzy to even try. It feels almost like... gravity has multiplied by 100 or 1000, trying to crush me down to the floor, but if I turn my head, it goes away. The problem is, when I turn my head, everything else goes away too. In order to avoid this... hopeless weight, I have to completely vacate the premises, and run on auto-pilot. Unfortunately, unlike auto-pilot, I can still feel the pull backwards. I feel something is missing. I don't want to turn back around to face it, but I can't find myself, and I'm pretty sure I have to turn around to find me and this giant black hole at the same time.

It's very much like catatonia, except I force myself to do the bare minimum.

What happened is this:

1. I was told my ovaries are kaput, due to Low Ovarian Reserve and PCOS. Eggs are not forming, so there is nothing to harvest to try IVF with my own eggs. This was very bad for me, but each day it was easier.

2. About 4-5 days later, I decided we should go ahead with IVF through donor eggs. Eric wanted this to be the next step too. We made appointments.

3. I started my "period", which marked the first day of a "Mock Cycle" - I would take an entire cycle's worth of hormones identical to those that would prepare my uterus for an actual IVF implantation. At the end, they would do a "mock" implantation - everything would be done like a real one, except there would be no egg on the end of the... thread-like tube thingy.

4. I went in for my first bit of hormones: a shot in the hip. I was taught how to self-inject once that step would start in about 1 week.

5. Had a "baseline" ultrasound. Results: I have cysts in both of my ovaries. A month earlier, during my first ultrasound at this clinic, they could not find 1 ovary, but the other looked fine. Empty, but fine. On this day, I had 2 distinct ovaries, and each had 1 cyst almost large enough to fill the entire ovary. I was told this can be a natural occurrence that clears up on its own, and the shot I had just gotten the day before would more than likely clear it up. We were told not to worry, this doesn't affect anything. I scheduled my first uterine test for them to measure the volume of my uterus.

6. I got a call from my sister telling me that she had "pre-cancerous" cells on her cervix, which was going to be removed in 2 months. Without a cervix, you can't carry a baby. A suspicion was confirmed - my mother had to have a partial hysterectomy when I was in college, which left only her ovaries in place.

7. I went in for my uterine test procedure. Eric was there thankfully. They squirted in some saline to "fill" my uterus, so it would show up on the ultrasound monitor for them to measure. Lots of pointing and clicking and poking and prodding and hoping I wouldn't pee on the doctor. Then she pointed out that I had a polyp in my uterus. I instantly asked about cancer, bringing up my recently revealed family medical history. I was told that (a) cervical cancer is completely different than uterine or ovarian cancers, (b) technically there was a possibility it was cancer, and (c) these were somewhat common, easy to remove, and in all her years of removing them not one had been cancerous. We relaxed. We cancelled the next test, which was going to check on my fallopian tubes, and instead scheduled a combined hysteroscopy and laparascopy to remove the cervical polyp and check out the ovarian cysts.

8. I completely checked out of my life.

I have endured so much, it seems ridiculous that this should be what breaks me. Utterly, totally, entirely, insanely ridiculous. I DO NOT HAVE CANCER. This is a simple procedure, similar to one I had 2 years ago that went amazingly easy and quick.

But whenever I try to think about it, to rationalize these things to myself, I feel this giant pit of hopelessness open up in front of me, with monstrous gravity sweeping in behind to send me in and squash me at the bottom like a giant paperweight. It is suffocating. It is despair.

So I turn away. And then my entire personality is gone. One of the symptoms of depression I haven't experienced often is the lack of desire to do activities previously enjoyed. I have become bored with some of the things I like, not feel like doing them, sometimes avoiding them - but there is always something else I would like to do, if only to watch TV and eat junk food.

For the past... fortnight, I have dragged myself out of bed, forced myself to eat some cereal, laid down in front of the television, and done some mindless web surfing. The web surfing makes me tired, and I avoid any of the sites I usually go to because I don't want to deal with reality or people or responsibilities or conversations or deep thoughts. Watching the TV just makes me wish I was back in bed. After about 2 hours of this, I go back to bed. About 2-3 hours later, I wake up and repeat.

Yesterday we went back to Port Orchard to spend the day with family, and I finally smiled and laughed for what seemed like an eternity. But only when the dogs jumped into my car in their exuberance, when my niece tried to talk to me and I didn't want her to think I was upset with her, and when I was playing with my nephew. There was one day last summer, for just a few hours, when I was very bitter and jealous that my sister-in-law was pregnant. And later that day it was gone, and hasn't come back. My nephew has been a complete joy to me. But I didn't ask to hold him. I was afraid it might bring "Me" back, and all of the emotions I was denying too, and I would start weeping all over him. Not out of jealousy or anything, but the depth of emotion that I feel for him, would wake me up finally. I just couldn't wake up with him there. It would have been... bad.

My pre-op appointment is Wednesday afternoon.

My "procedure" is the following Wednesday.

We will be spending the 4th of July weekend in Las Vegas with most of Eric's extended family. I have done some planning and purchasing for this as if there will be a future. But I'm not excited. Something about... being disconnected to the present makes the future seem just... a mirage.

I've written all of this without crying. I am vaguely worried about myself. Worried that I'm not upset. This isn't exactly numb, more like vacant automaton. I can analyze the situation, I just can't experience it. I never thought I would find myself looking forward to surgery. But I am. I have this tiny bit of hope that once I wake up after the surgery, they will tell me it's not cancer, I'm all better, there's nothing preventing me from going forward with IVF except a few weeks of healing, and ta-da! I'll be right as rain.

ps: oh look, a cherry! I have to lose 15 pounds just to qualify for the privilege of applying (with a check for $75) for IVF financing. Whoot!

I hate delaying posts

2010-05-31T18:55:00.000-07:00

This is what I was going to write a few weeks ago:

IVF is Holland. My last quarter at the UW, my instructor in childhood mental disorders gave us a simple analogy on the first day. Imagine preparing and packing and learning to speak French because you're going to take your dream vacation to Paris. Now imagine when you get off the plain you discover you are in Holland. Holland isn't a bad place. It's just different. It's just not what you were expecting, or what you wanted. But you can still enjoy yourself, have a great time, and fall in love with this new country. Now imagine that Holland is a baby born with Down's Syndrome.

After a cooling off period, I realized that I would be ok with using a donor egg for In-Vitro Fertilization. I kind of surprised myself. I felt very comfortable with the decision once it was made. Eric agreed - we both wanted to try this before looking into adoption.

When I was in so much pain, a kind of sorrow that is different (not worse, just different) from any other, part of how I dealt with what was happening was ironic astonishment. If you had told me in high school, or even the first years of college, that I was going to want to have a baby, be told I couldn't conceive, and then I broke down and had a week-long emotional congress... That would have had me rolling on the floor, that's for sure. I imagined comparing IVF to Holland, but in my case, I felt there needed to be some tweaking.

As a girl, I decided I hated Paris. I was never going to go to Paris. Ever. As I got older, my conviction only got stronger. Paris, bleck. Grr! As an adult, I am introduced to a side of Paris I never knew before. I quickly decide I want to go to Paris. Paris requires money, and preparation. It took years to get everything together. But finally I'm on the plane with my Sweetie, and we're going to Paris! Yay! And then we get off the plane in the midst of a bunch of people speaking Dutch. No one is speaking French. There are tulips everywhere. Was that a windmill. Oh. My. God. I'm in Holland? Holland?! You've got to be shitting me?!?! Wait, doesn't Amsterdam have hash bars? Hmm. Maybe we're going to enjoy this just the same...

Yep, everything seemed very positive. And like less chance was involved, which was an unexpected comfort to realize. We gave blood, took tests, looked at donor sites, signed papers. And then another A-bomb fell from the sky.

On Infertility

2010-04-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

Last week I was told that I am basically (but not completely) infertile. The chances of having a "natural" pregnancy are microscopic, will likely have complications, and there will be a 1:35 chance of Down's Syndrome. We are currently learning about the process of IVF with donor eggs.

The first day was incredibly difficult. One of my first thoughts was that when I have a child, she won't look like me. I don't need a baby clone, but the thought that I'll never be able to look at the baby and see my nose or eyes or smile or hair... that's rough. I've noticed that I have an eye for seeing this in other's people's babies. I don't go looking for it though, it's always some random moment, in the right light, the right position, and POP! "wow, she really has her father's eyes!". Hopefully the randomness of it will mean I won't dwell on it for my own child.

I was very happy when I decided I was going to go forward with IVF instead of adoption, but as the week has gone by before this afternoon's appointment to learn more, my confidence has disappeared. Mostly, I am afraid of the complications. I will still have a higher likelihood of complications, like miscarriage. I try not to think about that, but it's niggling in the back of my brain too often.

So many thoughts going through my head those first few days, but never surprise, or blame. It would be easy to blame me, but there's no point. I could be selfish and blame Eric for putting this off for so long, but I agreed with him all the way every time we re-examined the decision on when to start a family. And a very large part of me does not think it would have made a difference.

Because it wasn't a surprise. I was expecting it. I've been using ovulation predictor kits for a year now, and have NEVER gotten a positive result. My Basal Body Temperature tracking was occasionally optimistic, but mostly was sporadic and inconclusive. For the 3rd month in a row, I have had NO temperature shifts at all to even hint at ovulation. This is while I'm on Clomid, which is supposed to make sure you ovulate, and there was never any indication it ever happened. Going to the Fertility specialist a few weeks ago for the first time, I was convinced they would tell me I was in pre-menopause, infertile. Despite my misgivings, no one has ever suggested that to me. But when she did an ultrasound to look at my ovaries, she couldn't find one, and the other she couldn't see well enough to get a good idea of its condition because it was tucked behind something else. She didn't say this was bad at the time, but it certainly seemed like a bad sign to me. Last week she told me the "invisible" ovary probably had no follicles or eggs to be seen.

But there's more. My history of horrific periods that started when I was 8/9 and only ever got worse. No one could ever tell me why, they just ran tests that revealed nothing. Over the years, I have developed a tolerance for tylenol, then ibuprofen, and finally aleve. I am currently taking prescription Tylenol+Codein, 1 every 4 hours, with 2 aleve every 4 hours. And it is usually enough to keep me from screaming, but not to feel well enough to leave the house. The pills take too long to kick in, and then wear off sometime between hours 2 and 3. The codein makes me sleepy. The constant adding of medications that doesn't do enough for the pain builds up until sometime during day 2 I begin to get really sick from having too much drugs in my system.

I was told to either remove or scar my uterus if I wanted any kind of relief. For years we tried to suppress my periods through special birth control pills that are known to make women stop having periods after a few months. Not me. I tried an IUD for the same purpose, and was in constant pain for over 3 weeks until I finally made them remove the thing. 3 weeks of feeling like I'm having day 1 menstrual cramps and pain relievers didn't help at all. It was a nightmare.

So came the laprascopy, which finally showed that I did indeed have endomitriosis - something doctors had been testing for and getting negative results for for years. I was told the type I had, which grew within the walls of the uterus, doesn't usually affect fertility. She found my ovaries, but didn't examine them except to see that they didn't have growths as well.

Also, this doctor diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) without telling me - a new doctor going over my notes mentioned it and freaked me out.

That's a lot of stuff stacked against me. Now throw in the fact that most of my high school sex life was unprotected. I wasn't promiscuous, but I was... very, very active. Zero teen pregnancies. No pregnancies later in life despite the requisite condom rupture "oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god!!!" moment that Murphy has declared everyone should experience AT LEAST once in their life.

All of these things are separate facts, not necessarily linked at all. It's not very scientific to think all this adds up to guaranteed infertility. But I've been living this for almost 30 years now. It seems impossible to me that I wouldn't have fertility issues. I was just holding out a little hope that it wouldn't be actual infertility.

So, here I am, waiting for my 3pm appointment to learn more about IVF. It's been just over a week since I went in for a follow-up ultrasound that never happened because of bloodwork results.

It was for a "Clomid Challenge". I had been on Clomid 4 times, but never done this challenge. They draw blood on day 3 of your cycle to measure your FSH (follicle stimulation hormone) levels, put you on clomid days 4-9, take your blood again on day 10, and do an ultrasound on day 12. I was told on the evening of day 10 that my FSH was abnormally high. Low numbers are good, somewhere around 10-15 on day 10 of your cycle. Mine was 28. I found some alarming information online, but waited until that ultrasound appointment to actually talk to the doctor.

I was told that indeed it was bad. It meant that if I had any follicles/eggs left, they were likely unusable. AND that my FSH score combined with my age meant that my eggs were likely too fragile to harvest for IVF - they would be destroyed during the process. The ultra sound was cancelled. I was given a packet of info on IVF, and made the appointment for today to go over specifics.

And that's that. I'm just kind of empty right now. Where did my confidence from this last weekend go? I was so sure of my decision to use donor eggs for IVF, so happy there was going to be a next step that could lead to pregnancy. Today, I'm just feeling very dull, almost numb. I fear I have already made a bad association with the clinic and the doctor that triggers panic. As I get older, I've developed a few panic-attack triggers, and now I seem to be collecting them.

I told my brother-in-law last night that it is scientific fact that physical and psychological reoccuring stimulations cause a person to develop a tolerance to them. The more drugs you take, the less affective they become over time. The more you run, the easier it becomes to run the next time. The treatment of phobias is desensitizing, showing the arachnaphobic patient spiders over multiple sessions.

However, there is a contradicting response when food is involved, called food aversion. In a controlled experiment, if you shock or cause physical pain to an animal every time they try to eat, the animal will keep trying. Maybe not as gung-ho, but the animal needs to eat, so it continues to try. But if you put something in the food that makes the animal ill, it will develop an aversion to the food, something that will easily last a life-time. Cancer patients are told to eat the same thing every time they're about to have chemotherapy. Something small that they don't love to eat. Like LifeSavers. Because they've discovered that the nausea and vomiting following chemotherapy causes very strong food aversion. Personally, I got really sick after having too much cherry pie when I was a kid, and it took me over 15 years to try another cherry pie after that.

For some reason, I develop aversions to actions and events as well as food. My tolerance for pain gets lower and lower, I now get panic attacks at the MENTION of blood tests needing to be done. I cannot go to a dentist without first taking valium. I can't be in the same room with my father. When I'm depressed, I have social aversion - the thought of using the telephone or email makes me nauseated.

And now I have a new one. Involving a small fertility clinic in Kirkland, the office staff there, and my doctor.

Awesome.

ps: maybe you noticed that anxiety affects my ability to spell?

Thursday's Moment of Zen

2010-04-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

Sitting in my car, eating Ciao Bella Mango Sorbet, I glance around the near-deserted Whole Foods parking garage. The taste of sumptuous mango coats my tongue, infiltrates my brain's pleasure center, and triggers childhood memories of other mango consumptions.

I remember my cousins' enormous mango tree, all of us downing the fruit with rocks - you could pick the already fallen from the ground, but they were always overripe and at least partially rotted. The tree makes me think of my grandmother's lychee tree, my adult quest to find fresh lychee, and my confusion when I realize I don't enjoy them now as much as I did as a child. Another bite brings my brain back to the memory of mangos past, how difficult it was to get to the meat of the fruit without making a mess. Cutting mango covers your hands in juices, gnawing it from the seed core covers your face in sticky goo. I remember my mother showing me how much sweeter the fruit could be if sprinkled with a tiny bit of salt, just like cantaloupe. I don't yet realize it, but tonight I will remember this and sprinkle salt on the tiny mango slices included in my just-purchased batch of Whole Foods' packaged strawberries.

My chores for the day are finished. I feel accomplished for having changed our car insurance to AllState for less money and higher coverage. I have no pain or nausea for the first time in days, in fact I feel healthy and energized. I am heading home to a yummie lunch, an evening of creativity and Project Runway. Home is where my cats are, where I share time with my husband, where I need to load the dishwasher. Tomorrow.

Today, I'm just reveling in mango.

Clomid still sucks

2010-04-05T21:02:00.001-07:00

Today is cycle day 26, the end of 4 months on Clomid, and my temperature dropped .5 points between yesterday and this morning. Despite using the expensive ovulation watch, and having more perfectly timed sex than any other month. And now it's all over. I have reached the limit of Clomid they're willing to give me, and that I'm willing to subject my body to. And that's pretty much how I feel about all of it - I don't want to subject my body to any more of this bullshit.

My body had so many things wrong, so many little oddities, there seemed to be no pattern to anything. But apparently there was enough of a pattern for me to notice when it was changed - my body feels alien to me. My periods are shorter, and roughly every other month they've been kind of light and less painful. I can't remember the last time I had diarrhea - now I have very hard, long stools. In the past 2 weeks, I've had 2 compacted stools - the alleviation of which is not pleasant at all. I am nauseated for roughly 2 weeks of every cycle. Headaches every day for 2 weeks.

I don't want to do this anymore. No more hormones, no more fucked-up symptoms, no more feeling like my body has been hijacked. I stopped taking the Metformin for blood pressure last month because of all the nausea. Now, no more Clomid either.

I just made an appointment at a fertility clinic in Kirkland. I have been putting this off, wanting to give the Clomid time to work. I don't know what happens at the appointment, what they can do for me, or what kind of drugs they might want to put me on. My GYN suggested they might want to go back in and look at my uterus/fallopian tubes. Because THAT's what I want to do now. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the whole thing. I want my uterus OUT.

I want a baby. I still want to get pregnant. But I am constantly exhausted both physically and mentally since they've put me on Clomid, and I don't think I can take it anymore.

I can't tell what's worse, the physical or the mental. Every month, it is a struggle to work in the intercourse at the correct time. Especially since I have NEVER seen a positive Ovulation stick test. When the OV Watch told me I was ovulating, I was practically dancing around the house, reassured that I wasn't broken yet, and those stupid tests just weren't working. The sex was all perfectly timed. The daily temperature taking did not support this - there was no obvious drop or spike. Almost a week later, there WAS a drop and spike, very obvious. More perfectly timed sex, just in case (negative OV stick tests, surprise!). The first day or 2 after the spike, my temp. seemed questionable. But then they were back up to spike level for 2-3 days. And this morning, back to drop level.

Did I mention that I woke up yesterday morning from a dream that my OV Watch had developed a new, never-mentioned function - it told me I was pregnant! It was quite an elaborate signal - the watch started flashing and beeping and did some weird Transformers-like folding on itself to shut off all functions until all that was left was the little note that I was pregnant.

My body, my enemy. My brain, part of the problem too. I am so DONE. Now what?

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways...

2010-02-06T09:29:00.000-08:00

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways...

I have had a problem with doctors for my entire adult life. Being talked down to is not a way to gain a fan, neither is cutting me off in the middle of my list of symptoms to focus on one thing and dismiss everything else. Test after inconclusive test. Shrugging and scratching heads. Passing me on to others with no follow up. Putting me through tests with no follow up. Telling me to "wait and see."

I have been in the "wait and see" holding pattern for 15 years. So nope, not a fan.

Actually, I'm not really a fan of anyone or anything health related. The wretched "green medicine" when I was about 8 or 9 because anxiety was making me puke all the time. The increased number of pills I have to take on a daily basis that has in fact made my gag reflex WORSE - I used to be able to swallow up to 4 pills at a time. Now I'm lucky if medium-sized pills taken one at a time go down the first time. There are hospitals with their smells and their bad memories and the constant cold. There are office waiting rooms, followed by the waiting room 2.0 that is formally known as the exam room. Dentists have been failing to properly numb me since elementary school, or stab me in a nerve for the most painful 2 seconds of my life - so traumatic that I now need to take valium to see a dentist for any reason, or have needles used on me.

Lab Technicians can be really awesome actually. There was this really cute one at Group Health that I would fantasize about while she took my blood. Quite an experience when I almost passed out and she laid me onto the floor, her face hovering over mine like an angel. My favorite lab tech at Virginia Mason is a flaming gay and a real hoot - and has been known to actually NOT hurt me when drawing blood (gasp!).

Finally, we come to nurses - the true angels of the medical profession. Nurses listen. They do not run all over you trying to diagnose in 3 seconds what no one else has been able to diagnose for years. They take the time to study your chart before and after your visit, do research, and call unexpectedly with new information.

My current gynecologist put me on Clomid for 2 months, and said she didn't know how to help me after that so I should see a fertility specialist. But when I went in for a post-Clomid check up that was supposed to last 10 minutes, I was there for an hour because the nurse took 20 minutes looking over my chart before coming in and then she spent 30 minutes talking and listening and examining. That is a world record, I'm sure.

The nurse pointed out that there are notes from my gyno that she thinks I have PCOS (poly-cystic ovary syndrome), something she never relayed to me!

She went on to explain how PCOS can mess with your hormones, which can mess with your blood pressure, cholesterol, fertility and menstruation, weight, body hair, moods, etc. So she gave me an anti-diabetic drug to help make my blood sugars and insulin work correctly, which she believes can help a lot more than just my fertility problem.

And she put me on extended Clomid - 7 day cycle instead of the standard 5.

And she sent me to get a blood test to see where in my cycle I was, and/or if I was pregnant, because at day 37 I was around 10 days late.

And then she called me yesterday to tell me that the blood test showed that I should start my period any day now (or, as it was, the day before her call).

And to tell me that she had spent the past 2 days going over my charts and testing history, then doing research. She believes there is a gap in the testing - an area that no one else has thought to check: my cortisol levels.

She thinks that I may have Cushing's syndrome, which would explain a lot. She sounded optimistic, that this could be a good thing, that I could cut out all my medications and be put on just one. Holy crap! All I have to do is collect my urine for 24 hours. How... very much un-fun. But as tests go, really damned easy!

So I was happy. Let the pee collecting begin!

Then I started looking into Cushing's. At first I was merely astonished at how the symptoms pretty much described me perfectly. Things I never even thought to mention could actually be symptoms!

And then this morning I decided to continue to do research. And now I'm terrified. Here's what I found, in the order I found it:

1. http://care.diabetesjournals.org/content/26/6/1819/F1.expansion
Looks like me in 20 years

2.http://img.medscape.com/pi/emed/ckb/endocrinology/116364-138556-117365-138806.jpg
I have 8 out of 10 symptoms

3. http://friendsofbecky.com/pictures.aspx
Wow, Cushing's develops fast! Wait... why is this girl on chemotherapy?

4. http://friendsofbecky.com/default.aspx
Becky died from cancer, Adrenocortical carcinoma

5. https://health.google.com/health/ref/Adrenocortical+carcinoma
Adrenocortical carcinoma has many of the same symptoms as Cushing's, is linked to cortisol over production (like Cushing's), and I should call my doctor if I have symptoms of Cushing's.

6.http://7thspace.com/headlines/332095/adrenocortical_carcinoma_secreting_cortisol_androgens_and_aldosterone_a_case_report.html
And I quote: "Adrenocortical carcinoma is a rare malignancy with a poor prognosis"

7. https://health.google.com/health/ref/Cushing+syndrome
if symptoms are caused by a pituitary tumor, treatment is surgery to remove the tumor, followed by radiation

Creamy White Chili from My Kitchen Cafe

2009-12-22T21:00:00.000-08:00

A friend sent me an unbelievably yummie looking recipe for Gingerbread White Chocolate Blondies from My Kitchen Cafe. While I haven't gotten around to trying it out yet, I did click around and find some interesting dinner recipes. Tonight I made Creamy White Chili. Despite some substitutions, it turned out great - and Eric liked it! OMG!

Lately, my cooking has been a little hit-and-miss. I attribute this to my tendency to change up a recipe at will: adding and subtracting ingredients, as well as guestimation measuring. The former is usually due to missing items and/or my frustrating pickiness, while the latter I inherited from my mom - most of her recipes were done from recipes in her head that she measured by eye. Early this year I made an amazing lasagna based on the many plates I enjoyed in Italy - which was a matter of changing up my mother's spaghetti recipe into something thicker for the filling, and exchanging mascarpone for the traditional (American) ricotta. The first was amazing, the 2nd less so, and the most recent... bland. That's what I get for adding a million extra spices without keeping track and never bothering to write anything down!

So tonight when I didn't have all the proper ingredients, I was torn between accuracy and laziness (no desire to go to the grocery store at 7pm). So in the end, I left out the cumin and cayenne pepper, substituting half a package of taco seasoning instead. Then I decided that I should listen to my hesitancy about adding the green chillies (they can make me sick), and instead sauteed 2 chipotle peppers (from a can) with the onion (only half of what the recipe dictated). Then I removed the peppers because I didn't want them to overpower things. I also used a clove of garlic instead of the garlic powder. The sour cream I halved (and used fat-free), and I also substituted half-and-half for the whipping cream.

With all those substitutions, I couldn't believe it came out so great! The flavors were subtle (a rarity for me), and it wasn't all that spicy - on first taste. There was an aftertaste that was quite unexpected, and tasty! Definitely try it with crackers - it brings out the sweetness.

Next up, I'm going to try Melanie's Chicken and Corn Chowder with Sweet Potatoes. Sounds awesome!

The Quest Continues... dun dun DUN!

2009-12-14T07:37:00.000-08:00

I keep meaning to post an update on the pregnancy quest. I was feeling very negative about the whole thing a few weeks ago when I realized we've been trying for 12 months. Plus all the weird symptoms making me think I was pregnant that last 3 out of 4 cycles. Plus the fucking temperature taking has had ridiculous results - my results were more consistent in the first months AFTER the Pill - It's been a year, I should be all "normal" by now! So glad I went to the Gyno two weeks ago.

I went into her office feeling like the quest was over, that it wasn't going to happen. I left with a feeling of hope and a plan: try Clomid for up to 2 months (helps stimulate ovulation), have sperm tested, come back in 2 months if not pregnant to schedule a "dye study". They will shoot dye into my hoochie and look at it on xray or ultrasound (can't remember what she said exactly) to see where the dye goes: if the dye just stays there it means there is an obstruction of my fallopian tubes, if my tubes are good (open tubes = egg can travel to get fertilized and implanted in the uterus) then the dye will start to "leak" through and out the ends of the tubes. The dye is delivered by some small something that is inserted in your uterus, so we both knew I was going to try the clomid for a bit to see if the test could be avoided.

Unfortunately, by the time I got home that night with my prescription, I had somehow decided in my mind that she had said we would try Clomid for the first time next month. On day 5 of my cycle, I thought about it again and realized there was no logical reason to wait, so I must have remembered wrong. I was supposed to start the clomid on day 3 and go for 5 days, then start testing for ovulation 9-10 days later. However, the prescription bottle said to start on day 5, so that's the day I took my first dose. I think I may have messed up further by not taking them as close to 24 hours apart as I should have: some nights 6pm, some nights 11pm - midnight for most.

So lets get on to Cycle Day 9: 97.4* (down from 97.9* previous day) last day of Clomid, Negative OVulation Test, small cramp on the left from my uterus, nausea, felt foggy and exhausted all day, bloated and slow, back to bed from noon to 5pm

CD 10: 98.1* (spike!), negative OVT, some light nausea, good energy day

CD 11: 97.8* (another drop?!), neg OVT, stomach upset from previous night's homemade lasagna, nausea

CD 12: 97.7*, neg OVT, woke @ 4:40am with severe nausea, right side cramping, and gas. By 10am stomach was better, but nausea persists and cramps were worse - tempted to take pain medication. By late afternoon the cramping was so bad I took a nap after crying in bed. Realized that latest bought of nausea (every day at least one slight episode) is accompanied sometimes with a slight dizzyness if I turn my head too fast when walking, and also that the nausea starts a few moments after standing. I feel fine laying down or sitting up. Feeling of being really full and/or bloated persisted all day - scale thinks I gained 5 pounds over the weekend!

CD 13: forgot to test for Temp, negative OVT, woke @ 4am with severe cramping, nausea, and that bloating that makes me feel like an enormous, waddling beast. Google produced results that this can be a symptom of 1st few weeks of pregnancy, and some women feel cramps off and on during their pregnancy. Kind of freaked out now, since I thought I was going to get 9 months of relief while pregnant! Feeling real anxiety over not being able to take pain medication.

So what now? We're doing the Clomid + OV Testing because we think I'm not ovulating regulary. And yet on clomid my temps are still wacky, and I haven't ovulated yet. Thing is, the test is supposed to be negative TWO DAYS before you ovulate. So I'm cramping and sick and not even 48 hours within ovulation??

I'm not feelin' the love, uterus. Can we call a truce?

ps: I should add (because I think K will be reading this) that I didn't reread the fertility book like she suggested, which is dumb of me because I could easily have gotten things muddled in my mind about how this works. The only reason why I didn't was because I was going to stop taking my temperature completely. But when GYNO gave me the Clomid prescription that brings on ovulation, I thought it would be a good chance to compare my temperatures with the positive OV Test. (un)Lucky me, no positive test yet!

pps: forgetfulness persists - when my sis-in-law asked what I got her mom for Christmas, I totally blanked. She had to remind me that she had suggested I make mother's jewelry and that's when it came back to me that indeed that's what I was working on doing. Hand dexterity/weakness/pain persist - did 10 minutes of wire wrapping last night before giving up - with only one earring about 85% done.

ppps: I made 2 sales yesterday!! After the 2 week dryspell - woohoo! Subtract yesterday's Showcase advertisement and the one last week (that gained me no +Fav or sales), and the sales just about cover the cost of materials used in both pieces. If you sell on Etsy, do NOT use the item-specific jewelry sections - as I suspected, who is going to take the time to do 2nd level search when they can just look at Jewelry with one click. Also frustrated with Etsy for what I think is poor placement of the links to showcase, and general lack of advertising them.

pppps: if anyone reading this sees Bryan, let him know I said happy birthday - for once I'm not envious of him being a month older than me! It's tempting to do it myself, but I'm taking a break from FB right now.

I am pissed off that I'm pissed off and bitter

2009-12-10T13:30:00.000-08:00

I am pissed off. And bitter. And I am pissed off that I'm pissed off and bitter. I don't like the feeling, I don't like what it does to my emotions, I don't like how it makes me treat other people.

I just can't seem to end it. Because OTHER PEOPLE are pissing me off. I'm not pissy about traffic, TV programming, Republicans... I'm pissed off at individual people. This is compounded by the fact that a lot of the people doing this are people I know and care about, and they're not even aware of what they're doing. I'm pissy, but I'm afraid to say anything about it because I don't want everyone else to get pissy at me!

This has been brewing for a few months now. Obama turning traitor, the anti-gay marriage crap, the holidays approaching adding stress. But the past 2-3 weeks have gotten me to the point where I don't want to be around people because I'm afraid the next word out of their mouth will make me EXPLODE.

I want to say it right now: I am pissed off with the concepts of Christian "bias" and righteousness.

1. Yep, some non-Christians started to complain that "Merry Christmas" was annoying them. Some higher-ups tried to be more accommodating and/or inclusive, putting up some Menorahs - Yay! Some higher ups went to the point of changing their professional phrasing to eliminate mentioning Christmas - erm, not really necessary in most cases! Others went just plain bananas, allowing every voice to be heard (even the crackpots) or shutting down all religious holiday speech at all. WTF?

Yep, it's gotten annoying. I'm an atheist and I find much of it ridiculous. But I would really appreciate it if when someone says the phrase "Happy Holidays" you refrain from sneering, judging, or proclaiming bias. No one told YOU to stop saying Merry Christmas. You keep on with that - you and the MAJORITY of Christian Americans can keep on wishing each other good tidings and cheer, yay! But a VAST minority not saying it is not bias, not a conspiracy, not anti-Christian, nor anti-American. The even SMALLER minority who are annoyed with Christians wishing them well for religious holidays they don't celebrate, well they're just ungracious. But them voicing their opinions is not bias.

2. Ever heard of institutional racism? Here's the definition I learned in college: The term "institutional racism" describes societal patterns that have the net effect of imposing oppressive or otherwise negative conditions against identifiable groups on the basis of race or ethnicity. The example used that finally made me "get it" was something like this:

A white man with a 4.0 GPA and a black man with a 3.5 GPA apply to the same college. White man is accepted based on merit. If affirmative action steps in, maybe so does the black man, or just maybe he gets in and the white man doesn't because the school is now full. Affirmative Action sounds ridiculous in the context, right? Well let's go back a few years: white man born to middle-class family with steady jobs, lives in the same house all his life, goes to a school with adequate funding. The black man born to a lower-class family living in an inner-city, father was shot in a random drive-by, mother loses her job trying to manage family on her own, family forced to move to a tiny apartment in a worse neighborhood, no longer can they afford new school clothes each year, the address change put the boy in the worst school district in the state. Now compare the two: white boy with advantages got perfect grades, black boy too busy babysitting siblings to do homework somehow manages to get a 3.5GPA despite this. What if the black man had been born in the white man's neighborhood? Surely someone with his intelligence and without dangerous distractions could achieve a 4.0GPA in that situation. This is the RESULT that Affirmative Action tries to correct. Institutional Racism is the fact that black man's family live in that neighborhood because a generation ago the grandparents didn't have anywhere else to live on their salaries because they were born to a previous generation who couldn't get a fair wage because of their skin color, because a generation before that the family were ex-slaves living in a shack. Slavery has been outlawed, but the ramifications are still there. The entire government is set up in such a way to favor well-off people, who tend to be white because they tend to come from more stable homes and neighborhoods. But it's the non-white populations that need the most help.

Boot-strap it is the answer from Rush and others. An entire racial population is born to a system that works against them, and it's up to them to crawl out of the hole? We have no duty to fill the hole, put everyone on level playing ground?

I think Affirmative Action often does too much, at the expense of too many. But I believe it is the right thing to do to try.

3. Now, change the story a little bit: imagine a Christian and a Muslim. Imagine a government built to favor Christians, but you are born a Muslim. Imagine Christian money, Christian flag pledging, Christian holidays where everything closes, swearing on a Christian bible to prove you are truthful. The Christian guy loves his life and his religion - it is reaffirmed everyday in a million little ways. The Muslim is annoyed that his money only has white faces on it and praises a god he does not believe in, he is singled-out when he is the only one who doesn't pledge allegiance because it is too much like worshipping a false-idol, imagine having to cram your Ramadan traditions into one afternoon because it's a school night but later everyone at school gets 2 weeks off to celebrate the birth of a god you don't believe in, imagine being seen as untruthful because you won't swear by a book you don't have faith in. Now imagine Christmas sales and television programming and neighborhood decorations popping up everywhere the day after Thanksgiving and continuing until the end of the year. Imagine co-workers asking you to recommend a good place to buy a Christmas tree. Imagine office parties where everyone exchanges gifts because they all worship the same god that you don't believe in. Imagine your mosque's newsletter being stamped with "Merry Christmas" by the Post Office. Imagine every store you walk into, every restaurant hostess, every bank teller, every customer service representative wishing you a nice time celebrating their holiday that you won't actually celebrate. Imagine the President going on national television to send Christian blessings for a Merry Christmas to his citizens, assuming they are all Christians who will be celebrating, with not even a shout-out to all the Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, atheists, etc. who voted for him but won't be having Christmas dinner.

I'm thinking Institutional Religionism sucks ass right about now. I'm not getting a single paid holiday off to celebrate my god, so is it really any wonder that I'm going to be grumpy? Maybe grumble a little? Maybe write a letter to the newspaper? Asking your local representative for equal acknowledgement of your religious holidays? I'm not in a movement to take your religion away from you, nor am I biased against you. I'm sick of the Christian favoritism, which in its very nature is bias against me!

When I wish you Happy Holidays, I'm not disrespecting you, I'm being nice!

3. You have every right to publicly rejoice in your god, just as I have every right to point out how ridiculous I think you are for doing so. When you tell me two men shouldn't be allowed to marry because homosexuality is a sin, I'm going to mention the fact that marriage has nothing to do with what your god thinks is sinful or not - it was here before your religion even started! When you claim the answer to youth violence is prayer in school, I'm going to point out that I didn't pray in school, I'm an atheist, and I'm not a gang-banger either. When you claim that the only thing keeping humanity in check is god's law, I'm going to point out that I don't believe in god or any laws you think he wrote, and I haven't become a serial killer or pedophile. When you decide it's fun to play devil's advocate by retorting that you question my definition of morality, it's really just singling me out in need of correction if you don't also retort to your other friends' religious exclamations by posting witty anti-god arguments in response.

4. Until horns grow out of his head and he opens the doorway to allow fiery hell to consume the planet, calling the President the Anti-Christ is a bit alarmist. Urgently forwarding an email claiming proof that the president is evil, without even looking up some sort of confirmation elsewhere, is hysterical - and I don't mean funny. I have a problem with the word hysterical, because the Greeks liked to use it to describe menstruating women as psychologically ill, so I don't use it very often. But stumbling upon one nugget of information and then foaming at the mouth while screaming to the world that you now have proof of supernatural evil is irresponsible, unconscionable, and, yep, hysterical.

5. People who refuse to acknowledge scientific facts because of religion or politics are out of their minds. Just because Al Gore says it's so, doesn't make it true. Ditto Glenn Beck. Move beyond the headlines, the manipulated numbers, the accusations, and read the scientific results. And keep in mind that new facts that don't support the old facts 100% is not proof of anything. Doing the same test 10 times with 9 positive results and 1 negative result does not automatically invalidate the test or the positive results.

6. I a seriously questioning just how much Christmas tradition I want to keep in my life and involve my future children with. I thought I had decided this years ago: tradition - yes, religion - no. But both religion and tradition are so overshadowed by commercialism. And I'm not just talking about Christmas sales before Thanksgiving.

Why do we give presents to each other to celebrate the birth of god? Why do we go out of our way, our budgets, and our minds making sure everyone we love knows that they're loved because your bought them the perfect gift on someone else's birthday? Why is it that one present isn't enough? Just how many presents, how many dollars spent, how many decorations hung, how many deals gotten does it take to show our love for each other is genuine?

Humans seem to really like gifts. Often, both giving and receiving. We like to celebrate. It is in our nature to shower gifts on newborns and have a celebration, almost as ingrained as the innate need to love and protect anything with a small face and big eyes. So we keep giving them gifts, because we keep gushing over them and those eyes and our need to bend over backwards for them. It becomes habit. Tradition. Ritual. Once something hits ritual stage, it's too big for its britches - a giant convoluted mess that overshadows everything that was originally celebrated.

Don't let the ritual of shopping and materialism and one-upmanship make you lose sight of your holiday, your loved ones, your budget, your sanity.

In closing, this seems long, but for the points I've hit, I could swear I've missed some stuff. But other than being a little bleary eyed from staring at the monitor, I feel a million times better!

ps: Christmas is not the reason for the season. In our part of the world, December brings the season of winter, which is brought about by the earth rotating away from the sun. Winter is in July in Australia. I'm pretty sure Australia doesn't celebrate Christmas in July. All together now: Christmas is a holiday, not a season. Now birthdays on the other hand, now there's a misnomer. The phrase should really be birthweek. An entire week of celebrations and feasts and honors and presents! Celebrating birthmonth might be nice, but even I think that would be a little excessive, especially if 1/12th of the population sat around and did nothing every month except waiting to be adored and showered with gifts.

pps: but can there really be too much excess for birthdays??! I'll have to ponder this one.

ppps: yep, I'm a materialistic shopaholic. I can't quite believe it myself that I'm complaining about the overspending at Christmas. Who'da thunk it?!

Hysteria - it's not just for Def Leppard anymore

2009-11-03T10:03:00.000-08:00

Overwhelmed with frustration, this has not been a good week. Maybe chiro tomorrow will help?

I thought I would be blogging regularly about trying to conceive, but I haven't been blogging much of anything at all anywhere - even my business blog has fallen by the wayside. Not enough motivation/energy (surprise!). Also, NOT thinking about it has been keeping me going. Well, not dwelling on it anyway.

Saturday was Halloween and it was great - saw my neice & nephew, spent an hour putting on a bad vampire make-up job, gave out lots of candy ("a whole bag?!" they all cried), watched some TV with hubby, then hit the hay early. Oh, and my temperature spiked at 98.5! Woohoo!

Sunday morning I was so tired. And my temperature was 97.8. Un-woohoo.

Yesterday I woke up miserable and more exhausted. Temperature was 98.0. The fertility journal page announced that this was Week 1 of Month 12 for trying to conceive (TTC). I went around the house scarfing anything and everything, and wishing I could just let go of the niggling sense of hope and responsibility so I could get really fucking drunk. I slept a lot too. Went online and checked out some fertility websites/forums, not much really stood out. So in my journal I wrote to myself:

"Thanksgiving is coming
Christmas follows too quickly
and then I'm 37 and closer
to menopause and/or imperfect
eggs = Down's Syndrome"

This is a sad, frustrating milestone for me, and I feel like it's time to go in and get more testing done. But when I suggested this about two months ago, Eric was very negative. I thought at first it was because I said I wanted him to have his sperm count done - a threat to his manliness or something. He insisted it was just because it was unnecessary at this early stage, and he was frustrated I was taking it too seriously. Once again, it seemed Eric was rolling his eyes at me when I try to convey that I think something is wrong with me. He doesn't seem to know how hurtful that is. But I've gotten better and just shoving that down and forgetting about it - that's just Eric. Let him have his way, a few more months of trying before testing won't hurt, right?

At least that's what I told myself after the arguing was done and the tears had been wiped away. He told me he thought it was too early to be concerned because to him, we had "only just started being serious about trying". What did he think all the temperature monitoring and timed sex was about? He said that if we were serious, we would be following the method of every-other-day. I was dumbfounded. I had made him read highlighted sections of a fertility/conceiving tip book, and here he was quoting it back to me like it was gospel and the only way. I did not have him read about the temperature taking and how much more accurate it is, because it's just so freaking complicated and since he's not doing the charting, does he really need to know or care how that process goes? I tried to explain to him that "quality is more important than quantity", that having more sex isn't what's helpful, but timing the sex is. He didn't really believe me, and that's when I gave up.

He just has no idea what this is like for me. We're having more sex these last few months, so conceiving is on his mind more often. But conceiving is on my mind EVERY MORNING when I wake up. For hours at a time when the temperatures change. Constantly in the last 4-5 days of my cycle. Every trip to the bathroom when I check the TP swipe.

My body has been my enemy for such a long time, I do myself not to let it get me down, because it has a huge impact on my mood - for years now I have spent most of my therapy time talking about my physical conditions because of how miserable they make me. But having proof every morning of what's wrong? Seeing my cycles shift from month to month. Temperatures drop and rise at unexpected times. Temperatures slowly stepping up or down, which is an indication of non-ovulating problems. How it feels to ignore that evidence on the day there is a real drop or spike in temperature, because surely THIS is the true result, right? I can be ovulating on day 22 of my cycle, right?????

I have a form of Endomitriosis that is not supposed to affect my fertility - no real scarring because the endo. cells have intertwined with my entire uterus. So painful periods that surgery can't help, but supposedly won't change my fertility.

I remembered something yesterday. When I was 11 and started my novel, the main character - me - was infertile (and resistant to hangovers!), it was just a plot convenience. But then in high school, once I lost my virginity, Richard and I weren't exactly careful with sex, not using condoms very often, depending on the "pull out method". No pregnancies. My 2nd boyfriend was actually worse - I don't think we used a condom EVER. No pregnancies.

So many people getting pregnant, having abortions, having babies, dealing with teen motherhood and sucky teen fathers. And here's me having unprotected sex day after day with NO repercussions.

Have I actually been infertile all along? I never did go in to get the results of the Day-3 blood work - I assumed if it was unusual, they would try to contact me. When I took a home fertility test, the results were iffy. Unlike Yes/No for pregnancy, just turning pink isn't good enough - if it's too light or too dark, that's a problem. WTF? How am I supposed to tell what is too light and too dark??? So of course I ignored it.

When we started this process, I was slightly concerned that we'd waited so long. Slightly more concerned when I found out that every year after 35 increases my chances of having a baby with Down's Syndrome. But not REAL concern. I'd never been fond of the idea of being pregnant anyway, so if it didn't happen, there was always adoption. I have since changed my mind about the pregnancy itself. Reading magazines and books and websites and my journal's sidenotes has gotten me excited to actually experience pregnancy.

I remember being so calm. Excited, but calm. I was not going to freak out like "those women" who stress constantly about not being pregnant. And I was doing a pretty damn good job until 2 months ago.

All those weird symptoms, I was so nauseated for the week running up to my period, I knew it had to be positive. I started my force-of-will voodoo thinking to make the baby a girl (shut-up, a girl has to keep some ridiculous hopes to stay sane!). I picked out a girl baby name years ago, so suddenly my uterus and its passenger had a name. I knew this was stupid at the time. But everything in my body was screaming I was pregnant. And then I had my period.

And now it's happening again. The nausea isn't as strong, but there has been a lot of cramping. The temperature did some small step-laddering, but then there was a recognizable fall. Stepladder up, to a recognizable spike. More nausea & cramps. Temperature crash on Sunday could only mean I'm not pregnant. Monday was confirmation. But then today it's another huge spike? WTF? My cycles have finally become normal enough to be 28 days or very close. But my temperatures are all over the place? What gives?

This morning I was frustrated that I hadn't heard from Apple about my computer. Went online and saw that my computer had been fixed and ready to pick up LAST FRIDAY. Zero phone calls. Zero emails. No contact at all. Which is exactly what happened 2 years ago when it broke. And I'm pretty sure it was a hard drive problem then too. The store employees were wishy washy with their apologies. I didn't want apologies. I didn't want concession or money or glory. I want accountability. I want a mark to go on the store's record. So the next time they fucked with a customer, another mark would go in and there would be a pattern and Apple would have reason to actually DO something about the ineptitude.

Calling Apple today gave me a big run around of nonsense. Apple seems to have no way to collect feedback on their people, practices, or services. Just their products. Their website. Their forums. Their online store's glitches.

Thanks for making this day that much more pissy Apple. Truly, you deserve a break today. I'll bring in some cupcakes when I arrive hysterical at the store. That will teach them. Yelling at mindless drones because my wandering womb* is fucking with me. How very satisfying.

ps: *it has come to my attention that sometimes when I think I'm making clever word-play, no one has any fucking clue what I'm talking about. The term "hysterical" comes from the condition of "hysteria", described by the Greeks as female instabilty caused by her womb wandering around her body keeping her from getting pregnant and just overall properly feminine. The inclusion of such phrases seemed kind of a no-brainer to me given the circumstances. But when I sit down depressed and remark "I discoverd this morning that I'm un-pregnant. Yay." in a fake happy voice, this does not mean that I have changed my mind about getting pregnant. This means that I started my period today, I have 5 days of sheer pain and drug-addledness to look forward to, and oh yes, there's another month's hopes for parenthood down the drain of my fucking toilet.

I do not patronize bunny rabbits... or How to put your worry to bed

2009-08-24T00:13:00.000-07:00

It has been an amazingly productive weekend. I designed 4 different necklaces and have ideas for at least two more to start right away. I only managed to string and finish one of them, but I decided the day would be better spent taking photos. Took lots and lots of pics, and I've been hashing through them in Photoshop. As always, when there is a deadline looming, I am worried that I will not finish in time, or I didn't read the instructions right, or I forgot to do something vitally important. Not to mention the second-guessing myself.

I have discovered that my camera's self-timer is my new best friend. Despite all my research, every time I try to manually adjust the shutter speed or ISO or f-stop my pictures are still hit-and-miss at best. I think I've found a good setting, I take shots of all my items, and when I upload them they're all out of focus. All my work is for naught because my hands shake so much - it's so bad that using a tripod isn't enough. Nothing can secure the camera enough to keep it absolutely still as I press the button. So I finally worked out how to turn on my self-timer.

I tried to look online for a remote trigger, but all the ones that say they work for my camera brand conspicuously leave out my model. I'm pretty sure this means I'm SOL in that department, esp. since my manual assures me there is no trigger available for this camera. So here I am, experimenting with my auto-timer. And it's working like a charm! Unfortunately, I'm still taking a dozen or so pics of each piece at different settings just to be sure. I so very much hate the lighting in this damn room. What was I thinking with dark walls?

But back to the shaking hands. A few months before our trip to Italy last year, I noticed some weird stuff going on with me, but ignored it until I got to Italy. Pretty much ZERO percent of my pictures taken in churches turned out because my hands were too shakey. My hands shake and are weakening while becoming slightly arthritic. I am clumsier than ever, I'm forgetting things all the time, and quite often I stop mid-sentence when talking to someone because my mind just suddenly goes blank. I finally went to a neurologist, and I passed the cursory examination with flying colors - the doctor told me she was surprised because usually people who come in with so many symptoms get at least a few red flags when they undergo testing. Imagine that, one of my doctors has no idea what's wrong with me. Hoo-rah!

So as I was stringing my necklace this morning I noticed my hands were cramping and shaking, and also exhibiting a definite loss of strength and dexterity in my left hand. Which of course has me thinking about the future.

Doing this show in November has changed me pretty much over-night. I am so excited and motivated. And part of it is this feeling that it may be my last hoo-rah before my hands deteriorate to the point that I can't make jewelry anymore. So I could at least go out with a bang, right? Except today it ocurred to me that it is just as likely, if not more, that my hands will become too bad before the event. And with my iffy health, any number of things could go wrong between now and then to fuck me up. Not to mention I might be pregnant and experiencing morning sickness by then.

So after convincing myself I wanted to do this and I was capable of it, after convincing Eric that I am capable of doing it so he is willing to pay the entrance fee (the highest I've ever paid!), now I am questioning myself. Again. Imagine that.

But tonight I decided to just fuck it. The worst that could happen is that I cancel and get our money back - I have until the day before the event to back out and get nearly a full refund. Plus, I have been so lacking in enthusiasm and motivation to do just about anything lately, I think this might be just what I need.

So I'm doubting myself. But I'm just telling Self to fuck-off. I've got enough on my plate without adding another heaping serving of worry on the side - especially about things that may not even happen.

Most useful lesson I got from therapy: worry (and guilt) is a useless emotion. Worrying about the future does absolutely nothing for you but make your present miserable. It is surprisingly easy to stop worrying when I tell myself this.

Well, at least for a few hours, after which it's bound to pop into my head again... But at least this way I can catch some sleep between then and now. Ciao baby - I've got to motor if I want to beat Eric turning the bedroom light off for the night.

New Designs!

2009-08-23T00:21:00.000-07:00

The gem show was amazing! I picked up a lot of stuff that I've never seen before - most of it various shades of chalcedony. Chalcedony has officially replaced moonstone as my favorite stone. It comes in so many amazing colors, and the murky/creamy translucency makes them appear to glow from within when the light hits them.

So I spent all day designing, mostly with the chalcedony. There is a lot about jewelry making that is calm and mind-numbing, but in a good, zen sort of way. I let my mind wander all over the place, inevitably coming around to whatever story I'm trying to plot out enough to write down. Today was no exception, but I kept coming back to the beads - I love these new beads so much, I want desperately to go back and get another set of everything so I can make duplicate pieces for myself! I was such a good girl yesterday trying so hard to stay within my budget, I don't want to blow it all by tempting myself going back into that building. I just have to make it until 6pm tomorrow night, then the show will be gone!

Anyway, here's some of the stuff I designed today, pre-assembly. Per usual, the camera was not cooperating, but I only took the pics about an hour and this room sucks for light during the day, so taking pics in here at night-time is a fool's errand. The deep-red walls just suck in the light like greedy little sponges.

Uh-oh, I brought up the walls. I will not rant about my living room fiasco. Nope. I will stay on task!

Anyway, here they are, just a sneak peak!

oh yah, change... i kinda forgot about that

2009-08-20T23:56:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to learn to live in the light, stop embracing my darkness and hiding out until the rain returns. I love the darkness, I love the rain. But there's only so much misery and self-pity and loneliness I can take. I promised myself last year that everything would be changing, and I meant it. I just haven't done that great of a job so far. It's so damn easy to slip into old patterns.

I want to write more often, even if it's just in this silly blog, so I searched high and low for an acceptable layout that would be bright and inviting and representative of who I've been and who I'm trying to become.

I want to create more in general. This has been a better year for that than previous, but I'm still only working in spurts, letting the laziness suck me in. Having no regular reason to leave the house is an invitation to disaster. I've discovered that I like to be alone, that I can often be more productive in solitude. But staying at home, it's so damn easy to turn on the TV and forget to turn it off. I really need to police my TV time.

So today I drove into town to pick up a copy of my brand new City of Seattle Business License! I am now officially a sole proprietorship, a small business owner, an entrepreneur! Of course, I've been operating without a license for awhile - I never really stopped after dissolving my previous partnership. But it's nice to be all official-like. Plus, it's required for the event I'm going to be applying to.

If I have my way, this November I will be having my first public event in about two years. I don't want to say anymore right now - don't want to jinx it! But thanks, Michelle, for putting it in my head. :)

So this weekend is going to be all about creating. I'm putting the finishing touches on a piece tonight. Then tomorrow I'm going to be working with this amazing chalcedony dyed a vibrant purple. Absolutely nothing comes close to matching it in color, so finding accents to go with them has been a challenge. Then, hopefully, I will create at least 2 more pieces by the end of the weekend. And preferably have it all photographed by then as well. That will leave Monday to put together the application packet.

Coming up with designs is just amazing. Implementing them is challenging. Photographing the results can drive me nuts, but in the end it's very rewarding. Putting together an application packet for an arts & crafts show is hell. No matter how much you think you know your way around photoshop, no matter how stocked on ink and paper you think you are, the process always takes at least twice as long as you set-aside. Because you DON'T know photoshop to do this one simple thing that you can't understand why the program wasn't made to do at the press of a button. And your printer hates you. I'm pretty sure that as soon as you open Photoshop, your printer catches on and begins binge-drinking your ink in the hopes that your project will totally bomb and it can laugh at you.

But right now I need to catch some Zzzzzzs so I'm off like a prom dress. 'night.

new layout

2009-08-16T11:47:00.000-07:00

I was sick of the old "dark" layout, so I've been looking for something a bit lighter, and I just adore this new look. Unfortunately, there are some ticks that are taking me forever to fix. I've been at this for hours, fighting the sleepiness induced by my medication. No more: I'm going to bed. We'll see if I can iron out the rest of this when I'm actually awake. FYI, Deluxe Templates has some AWESOME blogger layouts, all free!

not-there baby pie

2009-08-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

Well, it's official - I have now started freaking out about not being able to conceive. I truly believed I could do this and not be one of those women who worries herself to death wondering why she wasn't pregnant yet. But now my body is just pissing me off.

Starting in January, I've been trying to track my Basal Body Temperature to determine ovulation days. My cycle has always been wonky, so I knew coming in it wouldn't be the best way to do this, but it is the simplest and cheapest. Last month I noticed my cycle was exactly 28 days, and I got excited. I counted out when I "should" ovulate if I had another 28 days cycle, and announced that there would be some sexy-sexy on the date.

Bad migraine or something that day, but we had "I" the day before. Then we had "I" the next day after "ovulation day". Also, on O-Day and the day after, I had these tiny pin-point pain/cramps. On O-Day it was just to the right of my lady parts, the next day it was centered over my lady parts. Ovulation can be "felt" by some women, so I assumed that was going on, and did a little cheer that maybe we had finally gotten the timing right this time. The little pains were very minor, and didn't last very long.

Fast Forward exactly one week - day 21 of cycle. Nausea started around 10pm, stayed until I went to bed. Woke on Friday day 22 exhausted with mild headache, mild cramps, and nauseau - all but the nausea disappeared within an hour. Nausea stayed all day. Including at the wedding for one of Eric's buddies. The reception was sheer hell. After the food being 1.5 hours late, I gorged myself in hunger, which finally tipped the nausea over into overload. We went home immediately. Sunday took The Test - negative. Figured it was too early (which it was once I did the math), but I had concluded that if there were enough hormones to make me this sick, it would be enough to run the test, right? Wrong. My punishment was bad nausea that finally sent me back to bed. Woke up 1.5 hours later, nausea gone, but another headache and exhausted. Nausea soon came back and stayed all day - but only while standing or walking.

Nausea all day Monday, afraid it would ruin the Depeche Mode concert. Once we found our seats, I realized the nausea was gone. Did not return until Tuesday morning, but by afternoon it was gone and I felt rejuvenated - really energetic for the first time in weeks. Did a bunch of cleaning/organizing. Next day (Wed, Day 26) woke nauseaus again, went back to bed from noon to 4:30.

Thursday no nausea, but really exhausted when I woke up, yet unable to go back to sleep. Finally, Friday - Day 28. TODAY. Took The Test at first wake, despite discovering spotting at 12:30 am when I went to bed the night before. Test negative, more spotting, some nausea.

As I write this, nausea has been competing with mild cramps. Cramps won - just a matter of minutes until I run to take pain medication. Went online to figure out what could cause all that nausea only to end in not-pregnancy, with no help. Chalk it up to Swine Flu? I did find a cute little site, theMomCrowd.com, with an interesting blog entry about fake morning sickness.

So what's going through my mind right now? The fact that I have a bunch more stuff to do for Heidi's baby shower tomorrow. Worrying about driving Michelle to Port Orchard in the morning when I will most likely be hopped up on drugs, and wondering if Eric will wake up early to take us. Wondering if I should avoid my T3 w/ codeine and pot and alcohol in case this is a mistake - despite seriously wanting to go on a bender right now. Normally, at the first sign of cramps or bleeding, I down some pills because waiting until the cramps rev up is stupid - they go from full-on to on-your-knees-screaming in 5-10 minutes, which is sooo not enough time for drugs to kick in.

So yes, worrying about not harming the not-there baby. Griping at myself for doing same. Telling myself to get off my butt to finish baby shower stuff. Seeing the irony in learning I'm not pregnant the day before the shower, but too numb to really emote. Really pissed at my body for having one more thing fucked up about it. Questioning whether it's Eric's plumbing - Big "I" day before and day after estimated Ovulation, so what gives? What's next? A fertility watch?

On the plus side, the party favor packets are looking soooo adorable!!! I am a genius with paper apparently. I even figured out how to use watercolor pencils. I always did think I had an eye for color. Soooo glad I stumbled upon the idea of a jungle theme - if I hadn't, I don't think there would be a theme, just a mish-mash of "It's a Boy!" stuff and nothing to inspire this kind of creativity. I owe it all to the Giraffe stamp I bought at Paper Zone. On display was the cutest little card with a giraffe stamped on it, and the most interesting, delicate coloring I'd ever seen. I was told it was from watercolor pencils. I circled the shop anyway, but of course came back, grabbed the stamp, and now everything is Safari themed with focus on Giraffes and Lions. So awesome!

Would it be tacky to put out business cards at the baby shower? Just got the new ones, so really excited about them!

And to think I thought I was coming down here to cry my eyes and sneak some pot. Good thing I didn't rent that pregnancy romantic comedy last night. Good thing I forgot to buy myself a copy of "The Waitress" to celebrate. Good thing I was already calling the not-there baby by her name.

PS: *giggle/snort* one of the websites talking about nausea and pregnancy was a forum where everyone had quotes about GOD in their signatures. And another where sound medical advice was given by someone trying to counsel someone whose symptoms seemed to be caused by stress and not pregnancy - and then she had to throw in the part about praying. The NOB I'm over that bullshit. This is the kind of crap that makes you doubt religion. I'd hate to be going through that right now on top of everything. Although... maybe if I seek out the GSM, he will bless my womb with his noodley appendage and I will miraculously conceive. Or maybe he can fondle Eric's bits? Couldn't hurt, right?

I didn't write this, I swear

2009-07-31T16:06:00.000-07:00

Just change a few of the facts, the timeline, remove the father's saintly make-over, and you have my story. Holy. Fuck.

From a Dear Prudie column courtesy of Slate:

Seattle: My father was abusive to me and my youngest brother, and in addition to the physical and verbal abuse, I was also molested by this man. I told my mother, or tried to tell my mother, a couple of times when I was younger that it was going on, once when I was 11, and again when I was 14. She ignored my attempt to ask for help, and swept it all under the rug. It was just a non-event.

Several years later, when I was about 16, my parents got divorced because my father was having an affair that he was not willing to give up—just one in a string of others. I saw this as a sign that my mother was finally seeing him for how he truly was, and took that opportunity to talk to her about the previous years of abuse. She claimed she never knew about it (a convenient go-to excuse for everything regarding her husband apparently) and swore to never try to rekindle their marriage now that she knew about this.

Fast forward ten years later, they have remarried each other. She says now that he was 'saved' and goes to church with her every Sunday, and that I must have been mistaken about some of what I 'remember'. In other words, she is happy to just have her husband back and is eager to sweep everything under the rug, once again, even if that means thinking of me as a liar.

I have since moved to the west coast—they live on the east coast, and have a family and four children. My parents have been re-married for many years now, and after several years of frankly avoiding speaking to her and her new-again husband (I refuse to call him 'dad' any longer), I finally started accepting phone calls from her a few years ago for the sake of my 3 daughters—her grandchildren, who are teenagers now. My youngest son is 5 and has never met them.

She occasionally makes remarks about why I don't visit, or suggests that I let my daughters spend the summer there with her.

She is clearly in the complete denial phase again, and I just don't know how to respond. Normally I just say we're busy or we have a trip planned or some other excuse. I have no intentions of EVER visiting these people (my parents) ever again, and I have no desire to ever have them around my own children. I barely tolerate phone calls, which is my limit, for the sake of my kids, and those are only with my mom, never my dad.

I do not want to dredge these painful memories out of the closet again, as I feel I have moved on and dealt with them. But what can I say to my mother to get her to close the 'visit' topic forever without cutting off all communication with her, which would hurt my kids?

Emily Yoffe: Your mother suggests you send your daughters to spend the summer! Is this so grandpa can find some new victims? You need to tell your mother what you've expressed so well here: you are willing to have phone contact so your children will have some relationship with her. However, there will not be any visits because your father is a pedophile who sexually assaulted you, and you will never, ever allow your children to be in the same room with him. You can tell your mother if she is unsatisfied with this arrangement, you can go back to having no contact whatsoever. And your letter leaves me worried that your father is still out there in the community, possibly hurting other children.

It's Christmas in July!

2009-07-12T22:38:00.000-07:00

Except for the occasional TV commercials, mostly by used car dealerships, I don't really have much experience with the concept of "Christmas in July". I just thought that someone thought it was a clever way to make a sale, and every once in awhile, someone else thinks they are clever by using the phrase themselves. The Etsy Bloggers are celebrating it this year, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.

First, I looked up the concept on Wikipedia. Apparently, it's kind of a big deal in the Southern Hemisphere because down there winter is in full spring come July. For them, it is a social event, an excuse to throw parties and celebrate with friends. The US and other Norther Hemisphere countries have taken the idea and used it for marketing purposes - capitalism at its finest!

I'm not a huge fan of capitalism, but I do quite like making money, so I kept poking around Etsy to see if this bandwagon was worth jumping on. A lot of shops are having sales, mostly very low-key, so I figured I should join in the fun! But how to celebrate? Or rather, how to turn my shop into a Christmas sale?

I decided I was going to mark all my items in green or red at a discount. I spent a few days creating some new green jewelry to list, because that color has been woefully absent in my shop so far. Today I listed the new jewelry, marked down the prices of all my green and red jewelry by 20%, and put everything in a new section called "Christmas In July".

Now all I need to do is get the word out:

HEY YOU! Yes, YOU! There's a sale in my shop with your name on it! All "Christmas in July" items have been marked down by 20%. Sale ends 7/26/09 - so come on down and bring a friend!

Here are some new items just listed for this sale - happy shopping!

ps: I've also been working hard on my photography, so be sure to take a look around to catch the new looks of some older items!

Why I <3 BUST Magazine!

2009-07-02T10:02:00.000-07:00

First: Holy Shit! Lady GaGa is Smokin'!!! I've been hearing her name everywhere, but not heard her music or seen what she looks like. Today I was led to her newest video (8 minute movie), and I was blown away:

Again: Holy Shit! I miss my Suicide Girls subscription. *sniff*

Second: BUST magazine should be required reading for all women. Have your doubts? Look at all these cool links they just emailed me about:

The King Could Be Compensating, Just Maybe Wow. Just... what were they thinking? The only thing wrong is the tagline: it shouldn't say "IT'LL BLOW", it should say "SHE'LL BLOW". Perverts!

Urban Farming and Miniature Meet Cute I am very interested in urban farming. I hear about ingenious ideas all the time. I love this one! Unfortunately, Eric and I aren't really veggie eaters. So urban farming for us until they invent pizza plants and coca-cola trees I'm afraid. :( And while they're at it, could someone please invent chicken/cows/pigs that you can eat without harming any chickens/cows/pigs? Vegetarian/Vegan fakes are sooo not tasty to me!

Threadtrend.com Not only are they way stylish (modern schoolgirl = awesome!), but they are the ones that led me to the new Lady GaGa!

Bust mag on Twitter Latest Tweet: proposes that there be some kind of law that all offices have to have a pet to boost company morale. Thoughts?

What hasn't anyone thought of this before??! I bet office shootings would go way down. *nods*

Caution: extreme wordiness within!

2009-06-30T12:43:00.000-07:00

Lately I have become frustrated with the wordiness of my writing. My favorite authors in my formative years were Anne Rice and Charles Dickens, both of whom are exceptionally wordy. This definitely rubbed off on me. I think it's mostly that in my mind, there is a certain cadence when writing/reading that is especially appealing when you use more long words and make your sentences longer. My internal reader absolutely hates simple or short sentences. In fact, I just added the words "or short" to that last sentence so that it would feel "balanced".*

Unfortunately, this makes me a terrible editor of my own writing. Working so hard to find balance in each sentence, provides a sort of harmony between my thoughts and what I've written. The effect of this is that I strongly feel all my sentences are perfect, with the exception of type-Os and mispellings.

Also frustrating is my tendency to over-explain myself for the sake of clarity. I feel it is absolutely vital when I write or say something that my audience understands exactly what I am trying to say. I am the Queen of Rephrasing. I think I'm actually worse when I'm talking, but right now I'm talking about writing. The result is that I spew forth every fact I can think of about the subject. As an example, something as mundane as relaying a bad driving experience cannot be done in 1, 2, or even 3 sentences. I have to describe the other car in every detail I can remember, every emotion I had during the encounter, the driving conditions like weather and other traffic, even what's playing on the damn radio! What's worse is that I have this need to relay all the facts in the order that they happened.

Let's say a guy cut me off on the highway in such a way that I feared for my safety. I would first describe what I was doing right before it happened, describe the encounter itself, describe the side details, describe my emotions. Then I would move on to describing what happened at the conclusion, my emotions at the end of it, and any result of the experience to the world around me like the other drivers slowing down too - including the number of drivers who slowed down as a result, vs. how many didn't seem to notice at all. And then, finally, I would summarize, probably by repeating my emotions via rephrasing.

Seriously, WTF? Whenever I take a call at work that needs to be transferred to someone else, I try to describe everything I know about the caller with precise phrasing to make the other person more likely to take the call. This took me years to figure out, and I might never have realized it if an old boss hadn't been constantly impatient about everything. After years of hand-gestures to wrap it up, and the occassional plea for summarization, it finally dawned on me that I am incapable of summarization!

I remember a particular assignment in high school where I had to write a summary of a chapter in history for my group buddies. The only way I could summarize was by cutting each sentence down to just verbs and nouns. Every sentence. Of every paragraph. On every page in an entire chapter!

Over the past few years, I have occasionally tried to work on my wordiness. But the reasons for it are still there, so it's very difficult. Today I attempted to email my family a humorous response to a mundane email. But I realized that they might take me seriously, so then I had to describe the extenuating circumstances. Then I realized that my email wasn't the least bit humorous anymore, regardless of the smiley face after the first sentence. So I deleted all of my explanation, and just sent off the original "funny" part. A response came back that humorously pointed out a problem of what I had said. I immediately felt dumb for having deleting my explanation, so I emailed my explanation to her at that point. At the end of the email, I wrote the words: "I'm so frustrated with my need to over-explain everything!". But once again, I thought this might be confusing, so I deleted that sentence and sent the email.

Then I began this long diatribe that single sentence inspired in me.

Crap! I've over-explained my over-explainy-ness! Here's a fun game: print this out and cross out every extraneous word used that could have been left out. What, that doesn't sound fun to you?

*I think this may have something to do with my synesthesia, a neurological oddity where you senses get crossed together. I have "visual motion -> sound synesthesia", meaning I hear sounds when I see motion. Some people have a form called "ordinal linguistic personification", where words, letters, or numbers have "personalities". The way I hear a cadence in my head as I write is in part a sound, but also a "feeling" that is almost tactile.

The Christian Science Monitor: A fair news source?

2009-06-29T18:48:00.000-07:00

Contribution cross-post with The Gay Atheist:

The Christian Science Monitor: A fair news source?

There were some interesting (and disappointing) rulings from the U.S. Supreme Court today, which had me searching for more information on specifics that were not supplied by CNN. In a Google News search, I was lead to the Christian Science Monitor to read about the SCOTUS decision that gave the Westboro Baptist Church a win today. I must say, I was pleasantly surprised.

When I was half-way through the article with my anger growing over the stance of SCOTUS, I noticed a beautiful picture in the sidebar. It was part of the CS Monitor's "Picture of the Day" feature. You really should see it, so I'll try and direct-link it here (big blogging faux-pas, but hopefully they'll forgive me this one transgression):

The image is from the opening ceremony of the Asian Youth Games, but that's not really relevant right now. What is relevant is how this changed my thought process - I was getting angry, angry at the news, and a visual of more happy news elsewhere in the world was a kind of relief. It had a balancing, calming effect on me, kind of reinforcing my natural opinion that there is much good in the world despite all of our human atrocities.

Thinking this, I finished reading the article. A very fair, non-judgemental presentation of the facts of the case. Wait a minute! Isn't this the Christian Science Monitor, tabloid of those whacked-out Christian Scientists who don't take their sick kids to doctors. I had to learn more, and again, I was pleasantly surprised. In their own words:

The Monitor is recognized for its balanced, insightful take on the news, and for the fresh, independent voice it offers.

They state that they've won multiple Pulitzer Prizes for their thorough investigative journalism, that they have staff and non-staff correspondents all over the world, and that non-Christian Scientists word side-by-side with members of the church. Despite having the backing of the Christian Science church, they make assurances that their journalistic integrity is just as important to them as their faith, and that while the Church has oversight, they rarely use their editorial control to change anything submitted for print. As evidence of their impartiality and independence, they relate the story of the paper's founding by Mary Baker Eddy as a direct result of a malicious campaign, both in court and in print, by Joseph Pulitzer at the New York World.

There are quite a lot of interesting tidbits on their about page, this one I being my favorite:

Eddy received a long letter from a local journalist and Christian Scientist, John L. Wright. In it, he told her he felt there was a growing need for a daily newspaper that 'will place principle before dividends, and that will be fair, frank and honest with the people on all subjects and under whatever pressure' - a truly independent voice not controlled by 'commercial and political monopolists.'

I have to say, I found all of this information very shocking because in my experience, fair and unbiased reporting is an oxymoron with religion. I would use my favorite whipping boy, Fox News, as an example of this, but they apparently aren't aware of this case: nowhere in their reporting of the Supreme Court rulings today is their any mention of the Westboro case, and in an article from yesterday summarizing the cases that were about to be decided (and those that SCOTUS will hear this Fall), the case is conspicuously left out.

My shock over the idea of conservative Christians being able to report the news without bias quickly led to skepticism, so I popped over to Wikipedia. There was more enlightening information there, both on the Monitor, and Christian Science itself. Basically everything that the Monitor had claimed about their practices was supported in the Wikipedia article*, which included the following quote from two separate journalistic sources:

The paper has been known for avoiding sensationalism, producing a "distinctive brand of nonhysterical journalism".

As for Christian Science itself, I think I will have to reevaluate my opinion of them as being conservative. Despite the odd belief about the healing power of prayer, it seems to be a very accepting, humble, and positive religion. But that discussion is for another day.

As I wrap this up, I have to admit that I am very impressed with the integrity and commitment of the Christian Science Monitor. I have long been dissatisfied with the gaping holes in CNN's reporting, especially of international news. I have decided to make the CS Monitor my first news source for the short-term. Being a skeptic at heart, I am not 100% convinced that they are 100% unbiased, but open-mindedness is also dear to my heart, so I've decided to take a chance on a test-drive. All new relationships deserve a trial period to test for compatibility, right?

Yes, I am very aware of the current atmosphere to distrust Wikipedia as an impartial source. But I also know that Wikipedia is aware of the problems there, and are committed to policing bad reporting in their database. I feel confident that Wikipedia is still the best source for all types of background information and facts reported in a concise manner at a single source.

i just can't care anymore

2009-06-13T01:10:00.000-07:00

Election Night 2008 was one of the happiest days of my life. In the Seattle Westin's Ballroom, people were jammed wall to wall, crying and laughing together. I heard a gay man on his cellphone telling someone "This is it. This is the beginning. Everything is going to change. I know it!"

No more of this bullshit about throwing out our civil rights in the name of homeland security. No more tortues at Gitmo. No more worries about Roe v. Wade being overturned. Equal rights for GLBT - the right to marry, the right to serve, the right to inherit, the right to attend a dying spouse in the hospital.

I was so elated, I didn't really bother to check the news for months - everything was awesome, what could go wrong?

I finally started taking notice when the waffling about closing Gitmo started. Keeping our troops in Iraq instead of getting them home right away wasn't enough? How much of Bush's old policies were going to be kept going by the new administration?

No repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". Backtracking even. WTF? Bringing in Sotomayer without nailing down in public her stance on Roe v. Wade.

Earlier this week I posted about my frustration with Obama, including a quote from CNN (William Jelani Cobb):

(CNN) -- Last week Gov. John Lynch signed a bill making New Hampshire the sixth state to legalize same-sex marriage.

It was a paradoxical moment. The new law is a reminder that same-sex marriage is the civil rights issue of our era and just how far the movement for marriage equality has come. It also highlighted the unexpected and remarkable silence from the White House on this issue.

That last sentence should have been a warning. The White House broke it's silence Thursday night:

Obama defends DOMA in federal court. Says banning gay marriage is good for the federal budget. Invokes incest and marrying children.

I suddenly have no words. I cried. I screamed. I swore I would never vote again. I did not think it was possible for a politician to whip us up into such a hopeful frenzy, only to take it all back with one letter to the Supreme Court.

Somewhere, a positive spin theory was posited by a commentor on a blog that I can't remember now - I was desperately looking for any news anywhere that Obama had released a retraction, apology, anything - I just looked at too many different sites to find it again. I gave it 6 hours for Obama to realize all the hell he had just raised, and let us in on his sneaky plan that was really to our benefit afterall.

Instead, I found this:

Obama DOJ lies to Politico in defending hate brief against gays

This about sums it up:

"You see, this is the problem with what Obama did to our community last night. He can talk all he wants about helping us get our civil rights (well, in fact, notice the Justice spokesman said nothing about Obama actually helping us get DOMA repealed), but the Obama administration's own word will now be used against us, and against him, if he ever deigns to actually fulfill even one promise to our community."

Obama, your halo finally hit the ground. Do whatever you want with it, I just can't allow myself to care anymore.

For those of you who do still care, here is the actual text of the brief.

The Cove, dolphin slaughter documentary

2009-06-11T16:34:00.000-07:00

Cross-Post with The Gay Atheist

Watch the Trailer

About two weeks ago I attended the SIFF screening of a documentary called "The Cove". When I walked into the theater, all I could remember about why it had made my list of SIFF movies to watch was the fact that it was about dolphins, and the picture representing the movie in the guide was very pretty. FYI, don't bring your kids to this movie - it's decidedly not pretty. I've spent the last two weeks digesting the information and wondering what to do with it. The least I can do is write about it, be one small voice to reach out to the general population tha thas no idea what's going on in Taiji, Japan.

The movie isn't pretty, but it is filmed beautifully by world-renowned photographer Louie Psihoyos. For a first time moviemaker, he had a lot to work with, a daunting task to narrow the footage down into a cohesive story that could be made into a film.

That story begins in Japan with the meeting of Louie Psihoyos and Richard O'Barry, former dolphin trainer on the set of the TV show "Flipper". O'Barry immediately whisks Psyhoyos to Taiji, all the while relaying information about the local conspiracy to keep him from his observations in order to keep their town's dolphin trade a secret. He comes of as a bit of a looney, but we see that O'Barry has not been exagerating. They are followed by multiple police cars, accosted by fisherman who scream and block their camera view, and met with officials demanding to know their intentions and insisting they stay out of the national park where "The Cove" is located on public land. That's all on their first day. Later, they visit the Cove when the public is allowed to watch the auctioning off of dolphins to trainers at aquariums and dolphinariums around the world. No one there seems to question what will happen to the dolphins that are not selected for sale.

The movie goes on from here to tell you quite a bit about Richard O'Barry and his history with dolphins. Mainly his remorse for helping put them in the spotlight for entertainment, as well as his efforts to save dolphins and whales kept in confinement - through legal and illegal measures. New team members are then introduced, as a team is assembled of various professionals who can help them get dolphin footage clandestinely.

Cameras disguised as rocks, camouflaged behind foliage, and hidden in the cove are set-up at night, the action filmed on with heat-sensing video equipment. We've gone from looney conspiracy theory, to collecting skilled professionals, to the thrilling night escapades of dedicated documentarians. Everything is so exciting, and kind of fun, you've kind of forgotten why all of this cloak and dagger stuff is going on.

The tone changes immediately when the audience is shown two minutes of unimaginably cruel dolphin slaughter. Over 80 hours of footage, collected over the course of year, sneaking equipment in and out every night to avoid notice. All edited down to what was the worst two minutes of my life. I will spare you the most horrific details that haunt me still. I will say that the dolphins are terrified, even jumping out of the water onto the rocks to escape the violence. They are killed with no real efficiency or thought to alleviate their suffering - the dolphins die slowly by bleeding to death from multiple wounds. The fisherman laugh, sparing not even the babies or pregnant dolphins, with divers going underwater with knives to make sure no dolphin has been missed. Out of the 23,000 dolphins and whales killed annually by Japanese whalers and fishermen, 2500 dolphins are killed this way annually, over the course of six months.

After that horrible scene, the movie is no longer funny or entertaining at all. They keep adding on horrors for you to digest. The dolphin meat is loaded with extremely high levels of mercury and sold to consumers without warning. The dolphin meat is often mislabeled as other whale meat or seafood. Street interviews with the citizens of Tokyo reveal the general public does not support eating or killing dolphins, and they have no idea this is going on in Taiji. Japanese officials swear that the dolphins are killed humanely, dispute the levels of toxic lead in the meat, and consider serving that meat to school children - the Japanese school lunch program is mandatory, the children are not allowed not to eat it. The Japanese government has told these fisherman that dolphins are pests needing to be culled, because they are responsible for the depletion of fishstock. The International Whaling Commission has banned O'Barry for life for trying to talk about the slaughter in Taiji. When O'Barry walks in on an IWC meeting with a video screen strapped to his chest showing the slaughter footage for all to see instead of trying to talk to them, he is thrown out - to the amusement of the IWC's Vice President, a Japanese delegate accused of vote-buying to have the whaling moratorium lifted.

I have never been so horrified in all my life, except maybe when learning about the Holocaust. Shouldn't something be done? Why isn't anyone else talking about this? How can the Japanese government hide these facts from their citizens?

As an American, I'm not really sure what to do. Change can only come within Japan to stop this hunt. So the least I can do is talk about it so that others hear my voice. And I will never, ever again visit Sea World or any other aquarium that keeps captive dolphins - the industry keeps the Taiji fisherman in the dolphin business.

If you are inspired to action, you can visit these websites for more information:

Official The Cove movie site
TakePart.com
Save Japan's Dolphins
The Oceanic Preservation Society
Earth Island

My knees are too old for this soapbox climbing $hit!

2009-06-07T11:24:00.001-07:00

Everybody go check out my very first Treasury at Etsy! Show me some lovin' so I get some free advertising - the more you click on the items I've selected, the more popular I become! And YOU get to see the awesomeness that is Etsy, and become tempted to buy!

So elsewhere, on the mysie's soapbox front...

I'm looking into becoming a blogging contributor at The Gay Atheist website.

OMG, why didn't anyone think of this sooner? I'm not bisexual, I'm biromantic! Awesome!! :)

Here's a great pic about Vermont getting ready to make same-sex marriage legal.

This is an awesome little video (3 minutes) giving advice on how to tell someone they've said something racist (or sexist, homophobic, etc)

That blog post had a comment about this article.A political cartoon is stirring controversy as being racist and insensitive. It "depicts Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor as a strung-up pinata that President Obama is inviting Republicans to whack."

While I see what the Latinas quoted in the story are talking about, I'm going to have to side with the artist and the publishing newspaper on this one. Because it's satire. Spot-on satire at that.

Racism would be Sotomayer as a pinata with sombrero while quoting her or saying something about her. But this cartoon isn't about her - it's about people's reaction to her.

Specifically, it's pointing out that while President Obama may not have chosen her because of her heritage, it was definitely an important factor in at least the consideration stage. So Obama himself is partly responsible for race being such a large issue during her nomination process. The Republicans are there as Elephants because they cry foul at Obama allowing affirmative-action on a national level. Personally, I'm surprised that the elephants aren't a little angry or blood-thirsty looking. I guess they look a bit confused because although the party is opposed to her nomination, they don't know how to voice that without seeming racist. Then there is the media represented by all the cameras and microphones. That represents how hungry they are to report such a spectacle. And so finally, Sotomayor is dressed as a pinata because everyone around her has reduced her to nothing more than her race.

I believe that the artist, Chip Bok, has made a very eloquent statement about the idiocy of this whole subject by pointing out how ridiculously one-dimensional everyone involved has become.

And FUCK I can't believe that I've painted The Republicans as fair and Obama as a dick. Worse, I can't believe I believe it's true. Saint Obama, what's up with you?!

Social (un)Acceptance?

2009-06-07T01:27:00.000-07:00

Someone Twittered about this post at the atheistnetwork.com Forums, and rather than join just to respond, I thought I'd write something here.

Do you feel socially acceptable? Do you like or do anything that is not the norm where you live? How important is it to you to feel accepted by those around you?

I currently live with a very special set of circumstances that allow me to "pass" for normal in many ways that I feel I'm truly not. I'm an atheist, bisexual, identify as a mixed-race Hawaiian/Caucasion American, have communist and socialist leanings, support legalizing drugs, and I'm clinically depressed with various other un-fabulous ailments. Thing is, I look "normal", boring, "mousey", and caucasian. When was the last time you were in line at the market behind a white 30-something clad all in Old Navy and you had the burning suspicion she was an atheist? Questioned her sexuality? Wondered about her drug use or mental health? Did I mention that I live just outside of Seattle? And now that Prop 8 passed in California and our Right-to-Die law is in place, we're the crazy-liberal state. So people here are less inclined to wonder if you're "different", or care if they find out that you are.

This all makes me feel a little guilty, especially since all of these "differences" are very important to me. And I do crave social acceptance more than I wish I did. Take all of this together, and I've developed very definite opinions about almost everything and I'll talk to anyone who asks about it. But I don't usually go out of my way to shout it from the roof tops. Usually.

Do you ever take the road less traveled just because you are anti-social? For example, if everyone likes a certain movie and it gets great reviews, does this automatically make you look for reasons to not like the movie?

Is that really the meaning of anti-social? I must admit that I tend to question anything that is too popular. But that's because I don't want to be a lemming and go with the flow. Investigating on my own to come up with my own conclusions is important to me. So I don't necessarily look for reasons not to like something. If anything, I prefer to look for the reasons that others like something and then decide if they may be right, or full of shit, or just lemmings themselves.

I feel like sometimes I place too much emphasis on what other people think about me instead of doing what makes me happy. Other times I think I rebel against the norm just to take a stance contrary to everyone else.

I'm pretty sure this is a common feeling for just about anyone. I also think that once you realize you're somehow "different" than the norm, usually between the ages of 5-10, you start to have these feelings a little more often than "normal" people. I think it's linked to self-esteem. As a child when I was ostracized for being "fat", I told myself that I didn't need anyone. Sometimes this worked, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes I revelled in my differences, sometimes I hated them. As a pre-teen, I was a Duranie - I worshipped Duran Duran. But after moving to a new state and starting high school where no one else seemed to share this fascination, I lied. I had a project to visualize my personal history on posterboard, and Duran Duran was right in the middle. But when it came time to present my project, I saw the dull-eyed reaction to my admittance of adoration, and immediately followed it with the words, "I don't know why. It's kind of silly."

I like older women with gray hair and crows feet around their eyes and some sag to their breasts and ass. I like scooters and Madonna and emo's. None of those are usually popular choices in my community yet they make me happy. At least when I don't feel judged as being abnormal by people for liking them. Or not macho or manly. Or sick or disgusting.

I like Big Beautiful Women, androgynous men, man on man action, and thin women creep me out. Again, not popular choices, but they're small vices compared to the taboos of atheism and homosexuality, so it's much easier to enjoy them and roll my eyes at people who may judge me for them.

I like thin 16 or 17 year old girls too. I think a lot of guys do. Why are there all those porn sites that say barely 18 if they didn't? The reason they say barely 18 must be because they like young teenage girls but don't want to go to jail for fucking or looking at a 16 year old but since 18 year olds look young and are legal, then it is OK. I wouldn't want to be in a relationship with a 16 year old girl but admire their beauty. Is that perverted or normal?

I'm pretty sure this is just our genetic conditioning. Girls just past puberty are fertile and at their peak of health, so they can produce more offspring. And if you've taken any classes about animal behavior, you should be familiar with science's idea that attraction at its core is based on finding the healthiest, most fertile sexual partner to produce the most healthy offspring. That said, I've noticed that the older I get, the younger teenagers look to me, which usually saps out any sexual attraction for me. Maybe that's the true reason why Hollywood likes to cast 20 somethings as teenagers - because they stil look young enough to appeal to teenage audiences, and yet old enough to be attractive with us middle-agers. On the other end of the spectrum, I've also noticed that I'm attracted to older guys that I never would have found appealing when I was a teen. I guess your sexuality really can grow with you. Mostly.

yours in ineptitude

2009-06-04T15:25:00.000-07:00

I just sent this email to my boss at SIFF, in response to her asking if all us volunteers would be at the Centerpiece Gala tomorrow night:

Can you believe I gave myself a horrible sunburn yesterday and am, once again, housebound?!?!

My husband and I have narrowed it down to: full body armor, a foam rubber suit, or bubble wrap. Along with a tether that keeps me from venturing any farther from bed than our upstairs bathroom. We are still determining if I will have access to electricity and hot water...

yours in ineptitude,
mysie

WTF moment of the week

2009-06-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

So here's my big WTF moment of the week: a youth pastor from The Church at Chapel Hill just followed me at Twitter. I think maybe because I've posted a bunch of tweets about my failure to learn how to properly use my camera, since he lists photography in his bio. OK, fine, but... shouldn't he have looked at a few of my tweets before following me? Doesn't he realize that anyone listing a church's website as their personal website link should not want to have anything to do with my tweets? How did he miss the godless pinko liberalism (GPL) that is Mysie?

Before letting my shock get away with me, I did some research. Y'know, maybe this guy attends one of the "progressive" churches with gay pastors? It could happen! But um... no. If you follow the website link and click around to learn about their beliefs, you are eventually prompted to learn more by going to the Assemblies of God website and clicking on beliefs. I chose to check out their Position Papers to get the lowdown on the good stuff. And boy, what a treasure trove that is:

Abortion and Euthanasia are bad
Astrology, Psychics, Transcendental Mediation are all bad, while martial arts and yoga instructors are suspect
Capital Punishment... wishy-washy
Civil Disobediance is only tolerated when the law opposes God's will, so Abortion protestors are good (so... Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr were bad?)
Psychological Counseling is only acceptable when provided by Christians
Creationism good, Evolution very scary
"Social" dancing is bad (it's the gateway drug to sex!)
"God has clearly communicated that neither gender is spiritually or socially superior", but feminists are deceptive, warped, twisted, and hate men
Homosexuality is bad, mm-kay?

OK, ok... maybe I have some responsibility in this misunderstanding. Maybe I've been lax in expressing my GPL on Twitter, probably because I am trying to use that account to balance my personal interests with my business venture at Etsy. For this grievous error, I do publicly apologize to DMosley. So now to keep this tragedy from befalling another hapless conservative Christian, let's get some things cleared up, ok?

I am an atheist. I am bisexual. I am pro-choice, support assisted suicide, and can still say with a straight face that I believe life is sacred and so I am vehemently opposed to the death penalty. I believe in the scientific method and evolution. I am extremely liberal, with socialist and marxist leanings. I believe in animal rights, protecting the environment, and feminism.

I firmly believe that the word "liberal" still means "open-minded or tolerant", and "feminism" still means simply "advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men". I am very angry that these words have been demonized to the point that they are disparaging words said with venom by the likes of Rush Limbaugh. I am even angrier that so many moderate and even liberal women are quick to say that they are not feminists.

I like sex, and I think that everyone else should too. I think it's ridiculous that such a natural, beautiful thing could ever be taboo. By keeping sex and sexuality so secretive, our society has fostered an environment where children grow up not knowing what healthy sexual relationships are.

And I think dancing is awesome.

So sick

2009-05-31T20:51:00.000-07:00

Having a bit of a pity party today. Tried to go to a SIFF screening this morning, and spent a half hour in the bathroom puking my guts up. Came home, slept half the day, didn't eat anything until a few minutes ago. But first I had to do some dishes, which instantaneously fucked my back. No, I didn't spend the last 1/2 hour crying. Nope.

Beading Tips: Wire-Wrapped Loops

2009-05-28T22:49:00.000-07:00

I started making my own jewelry a few years ago when I became disgusted at the mark-up on even the simplest jewelry pieces. I bought a few magazines, visited a few bead shops, and tooled around the net. It was unbelievably easy to learn how to make jewelry for myself, my family, and my friends. It took a bit longer than that to elevate my skills enough to feel comfortable selling my items, but that's another story.

I wanted to pass on some tips on one of the basics of making beaded jewelry: wire-wrapped loops. First, you need a good visual guide. I spent countless hours and dollars pouring over magazine and website guides before finally finding an illustration that "clicked". In that moment, I realized the mistakes I had been making and knew right away how to correct them.

I'm not an artist, so I'm going to refer you to two of my favorite guides online:

From Fusion Beads, Techniques: Wire Wrapping

BeadStyle Magazine, Basics: Wrapped loop (scroll down below the "Plain loop" instructions)

So on to some tips that may help you from making some of the rookie mistakes I did!

1. Practice on base-metal wire first. It will take a few (or a lot!) of tries before you perfect the technique, so save your expensive wire by practicing on the cheap stuff first.

2. Yes, you DO want to use chainnose/flat pliers when the instructions tell you to. Jumping from tool to tool may seem tiresome, but in the end it is worth it.

3. Make sure your tools are in good shape: you want sharp wire cutters, non-ridged flat/chainnose pliers, and round nose pliers that align properly. My biggest pet peeve: all my round nose pliers eventually become misaligned to the point that they can't hold wire between their jaws properly.

4. Your hands, especially your fingers, are very valuable, yet delicate tools. Make sure your hands are clean when you start work, and check that they stay that way during your project. Also, be nice to your hands! If they start to cramp, take a 15 minute break.

5. Your eyes get fatigued as well! Use good lighting, and allow your eyes to relax every few minutes - all that concentration on tiny stuff right in front of your face can eventually lead to a headache.

6. Always use Sterling Silver if you intend to sell the item you're making. A majority of customers will specifically look for this, and the others will be impressed that you used such quality materials.

7. Use soft, narrow gauge wire. Sterling silver is a perfect medium because it is so easily maleable. The narrower the gauge and the softer the silver, the easier it is to manipulate the wire with your fingers. Be careful not to use anything too fine if you're working on a heavy piece!

8. Count your wraps. Most projects using wire-wrapped loops will involve more than just one loop, so do your best to make all your loops in the piece look consistent. So if you make one earring with 3 wraps under the loop, make sure to make the other earring have 3 wraps around as well.

9. This may only appeal to fellow beaders with OCD, but here it is: when attaching wrap-looped items to the main piece (necklace, earring back, etc), make sure they all face in the same direction. Confused? I've got visuals!

Front of Loop

vs.

Back of Loop

If you don't see the difference, congratulations, you don't have OCD - continue on to Tip #10. If you do see a difference, then I'll tell you that a long time ago I decided I preferred the side shown in the first picture best - so I called it the "front" of the loop. Hence, when hanging the dangle from an earring back, I always make sure that the dangle's loop faces "front".

10. Relax! The longer you sit and fret at perfecting one thing, the more frustrated you become, and the more mistakes you make. So take breaks to walk around, flex your fingers, correct your back, grab a snack, or just go to the potty. Also, music can be very relaxing, but NEVER watch television when beading - it is so distracting, I eventually look down at my project and realize I've been trying to complete the same wrap for the past two commercial breaks!

San Juan Island Bulletin: 2009, Day 1

2009-05-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

Can you hear my satisfied sigh from here? What an amazing day! We ferried out to San Juan Island last night, where we are staying at this charming B&B called States Inn & Ranch. It's a working ranch, but I haven't been out to commune with the sheepies & alpacas yet - probably going to do that tomorrow morning.

Today we went out to South Beach at American Camp, and wondered what happened to all the rabbits. Not a single one in sight. :( The foxes made their appearances, getting astonishingly close - one came within about 2 feet of me when I was standing outside of the car to take pictures. The friendliness of the foxes, as compared to their indifference last time we were here, confirms my suspicions that the rabbit population has been severely cut. I queried a park ranger who said they were still there, and maybe they were just hiding in the long grass. Well, last time we were here there was NO grass because the rabbits had eaten it all - there was just a barren field with almost as many rabbit holes as there were rabbits. Small estimate would be there were 200+ rabbits at the time. Maybe that was the problem - too many rabbits, they ate all the food and starved too death. Helped along by feasting foxes, eagles, & hawks, and ta-da! Rabbit no-man's land. :(

So then we actually went down to the beach. We trekked out to the rock out cropping we'd gone to last time, in my mind hoping we'd glimpse the same giant river otter float by and then come on land nearby. No river otter, but there were constantly seals. I told Eric that I couldn't figure out if it was the same group of seals hanging around, or if we were witnessing the great seal highway were they all traffic from South to North. No Orcas today, no good eagle sightings. :(

We spent 2 hours at the beach, with our fold-out chairs on the rock outcrop. It was perfect. Exactly what I had been hoping for.

Last time we came here, I kept hoping as we went from quiet nook to solitary beach that I would find some comfort, some happiness, some inspiration. I was in this depressive state where nothing was really bad, but nothing was happy no matter what I did. I left the islands with lots of images in my head, but no happiness in my heart. Well, the past few years, it is always those quiet moments from that trip that I think on wistfully when thinking of the islands. There is this wonderful calm & contented feeling in my heart when I think of those times.

I think there is something different in me now. I think it's the part of me that has decided to put down the camera, and enjoy the scenery for awhile. If what you're watching sticks around long enough, take a few shots after you've enjoyed it for a bit, instead of living the moment through your camera lens trying to get the perfect shot. I just sat and watched the ocean, taking note of the occasional seal head bobbing by, and listening to the waves. I closed my eyes and tried my best to clear my mind and just experience the sensations. It was perfect. The peace and tranquility and comfort that I had been seeking all those years ago seeped into me as easily as the sun roasted my face. It was bliss. Definitely.

After almost 2 hours, I finally got up and started examining tide pools and taking pictures. I took out the earrings I had made the other day to do a mini photoshoot. There was lots of sun by that point, and lots of interesting places to get photos. I hope they turned out well. Unfortunately I've discovered that although my pictures can look awesome in my new large-screen camera, that is no way to judge if they are blurry or not. Here's to hoping I've finally figured out how to use the Macro setting properly!!! I only wish I'd brought more jewelry to photograph.

We had a wonderful lunch and then later at great dinner at this little Italian restaurant called Pazzo Vivo. At least I think that's what the name was. I bought a needle felting kit from the wool & yarn shop. We checked out the awesome local-artist gallery where we bought some awesome pieces last time, and although the same artists had their stuff there, nothing new by them jumped out at us, so it was kind of disappointing. I asked about having my jewelry there, but that store specializes in art that's only made in the islands. Oh well. The woman behind the counter recommended this other shop that I had just been browsing. Unfortunately, I was browsing to check out their prices - they're the shop that I found last time that was charging about 5 times as much for what I would sell the same pieces for. Pieces that I could make easily or better. And that was still their trend, although there were more reasonably priced items there this time. Still, I remain disgruntled and offended by their damn boutique prices.

OK, time for bed. TTFN!

Oh! More English Nazi-isms for your enjoyment

2009-05-07T12:47:00.000-07:00

My earlier blog post jogged my memory of another article with fact citation problems. But this time around, it was about over-citation.

U.S. professor disappears during Japan volcano hike updated 10:02 p.m. EDT, Thu April 30, 2009 By Jason Hanna

(CNN) -- Teams in southern Japan are searching for an award-winning U.S. poet and college professor who failed to return from a hike to a volcano, his university said Thursday.

Craig Arnold was doing research for a poetry and essay book on volcanoes, a colleague said.

Craig Arnold was doing research for a poetry and essay book on volcanoes, a colleague said.

Craig Arnold, a 41-year-old assistant professor at the University of Wyoming, did not return from his Monday hike to a volcano on Kuchinoerabujima, a small island just west of Yakushima, the school said.

"The only clues that [searchers] have found were indications that he had begun the ascent -- footprints on the trail," said Peter Parolin, head of the university's English department, citing Arnold's family.

Arnold, a creative writing professor, was doing research for a poetry and essay book he is writing about volcanoes, Parolin said. See where island is located »

A team of 60 people, with helicopters and search dogs, is looking for Arnold, according to the school. Japanese authorities have agreed to continue the search through Sunday, the university said.

Arnold, according to the school, wrote two award-winning volumes of poetry: "Shells," chosen for the Yale Series of Younger Poets in 1999; and 2008's "Made Flesh."

His work has been anthologized in several volumes of the Best American Poetry Series, and his awards and honors include a Fulbright Fellowship and the Joseph Brodsky Rome Prize from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, according to the university.

Arnold took the semester off from teaching and traveled to Japan alone through a U.S.-Japan creative artists' fellowship, Parolin said.

He had planned to spend a day alone at the volcano, and an innkeeper contacted authorities when he didn't return that evening, according to Parolin.

Arnold has scaled many volcanoes, Parolin said.

"If it's technical or dangerous, he does it with a guide. But from all reports, on this trip he went by himself," Parolin said.

Arnold "is the kind of person and poet who is attracted to extreme places and extreme geographies -- places that not all of us visit," the University of Wyoming English department head said.

"He feels the need to go to places that people don't go and come back and tell us about them," Parolin said.

A press officer at the U.S. Embassy in Japan said he couldn't confirm whether Arnold was missing, citing privacy law. However, he said the U.S. Air Force sent four Okinawa-based helicopters to the area Thursday at the embassy's request to assist with what he believed was a search operation on Kuchinoerabujima.

The Air Force helicopters, from Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, were on an unrelated mission in the area when they were diverted, he said.

Holy crap! Now there is citing your sources, and then there is listing a bunch of quotes together and calling it an article! Every paragraph, yes every paragraph, includes some kind of citation, mostly "he said." I can't stop saying Holy Crap! Did Jason Hanna not take any English classes at university. Oh, wait - all the things wrong here I learned in jr. high and high school!

1. One sentence does not a paragraph make (I give you a pass on this one Jason, since every print and online news source organizes their articles this way)

2. Don't repeat yourself over, and over, and over, and over!

3. When writing a research report, include quotes and their citations (usually in footnotes). But don't over-do it! Too much quoting is basically plagarizing. Yep, you listed your sources, used quotes, and gave citations next to those quotes. Now how about finding an original sentence and actually writing something yourself!

Maybe it was a cut-and-paste, last-minute piece. Maybe Jason's 12 year old intern really wrote the article. Maybe Jason's editors were asleep upon submittal, or worse, have it in for him and giggled gleefully at being handed fodder for his downfall. Who knows?

For me, the worst part of this article is the tone that's created. A man is missing, probably dead. As you describe him, you should be respectful. But say a few of these sentences out loud to yourself, like the one that had me begin re-reading the article just to be sure it was as weird as I thought.

His work has been anthologized in several volumes of the Best American Poetry Series, and his awards and honors include a Fulbright Fellowship and the Joseph Brodsky Rome Prize from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, according to the university.

If my use of bold type doesn't do it for you, try reading the sentence parts in reverse order:

"According to the university, his work has been anthologized..."

or this one

"He said the Air Force helicopters... were on an unrelated mission..."

Excellent job Jason, you've just written an article that presents every word as fact, and then questions everything you've said. All because of phrasing. Here's a cookie.

*cough* Confidential to Jason Hanna: I am so sorry (she said) for being such a cold bitch, but there was just so much to work with, I couldn't help myself.

Honestly, its bizarre how many English grammar and writing rules have stuck with me, as opposed to the ones I've long since forgotten. Anyone else heard the one that goes "never end a sentence in a preposition"? Ask me if I remember what a preposition is. I never understood this one, as I seem to remember it makes you talk like Yoda.

Or hey, did you see that misplacement of my question mark? I know quite well that, according to the textbooks, when you have a quote at the end of your sentence, the punctuation is placed before the closing quotation mark. But you know what, that makes my quote look like it is a question, and it's not. So I purposely misplace question marks in those situations, even though my memory flashes big red flags in my head every time I do it.

And I love to start sentences (gasp!) with the word "but." Or "and." Or "or." Or "because." (Hey, those aren't prepositions, are they? Crap. Time to consult dictionary.com.) Why? Why do I do this? Why am I so reckless? Because my 7th Grade English teacher told me that the phrase "But that's not to say" was not proper English. Do you have any idea how much time I labored over finding a new transition was? You make yourself 11 again and try to reword it: "Therefore, Duran Duran is an awesome, very talented, and sexy group of guys. (New paragraph) But that's not to say that Wham! isn't awesome in their own right."

Apparently, "but" is NEVER, ever, ever used to start a sentence. So tell me this, oh wise woman, how did I pick up that particular phrase? On a stick of bubble gum? In a conversation with my Barbies? Nope. I picked it up from books. Did you know that Anne Rice, among others, has no qualms about beginning a sentence (even at the beginning of a paragraph, or to start a new chapter!) with "and", as well as "because"?

If Anne Rice can do it, so can I. So nya-nya-nya.

OK, so my assignment on compare and contrast almost tanked because of this stupid woman. How about the one where we were supposed to rewrite a film clip in the first person? Now imagine a young man trying to cross a snowy, icy crevasse on his hands and knees via a rickety old ladder. What would be going through your mind? I thought it went something like this:

"Oh god, oh god, oh god. Please don't let me fall. Oh god! That was a close one! Oh god, oh god, oh god!"

According to my teacher, there was way too much repetition in this paragraph. Apparently, when people are terrified and certain death is up ahead, they are supposed to think like this:

"Oh god, oh god, oh - Uh oh! I can't be repetitive! Um... Oh Buddha! Or Mohammed! Oh Flying Spaghetti Monster! Please don't let me fall! Oh... Holy Monkey-headed dude! Man, I really hate my 7th grade English teacher right now. Aaaaaiiiiiiieeeee!" *splat*

But annoying grammar rules just kept on coming! In the 10th grade, I wrote a one-page paper summarizing a book on the life of Mozart. Here was my glaring mistake (erm, rephrased...)

"Mozart was an awesome musician. But he also had amazing fashion sense."

Apparently, there are grammar rules that can cross sentences! I was informed that I can only use the phrase "but also" if the phrase "not only" was in the previous sentence!

"Not only was Mozart an awesome musician, but he also had amazing fashion sense."

*sigh* What if I wanted two sentences instead of one, huh? Still, this is one I actually took to heart. Probably because the teacher stood up for me when the department head told him she thought I was cheating. Apparently no one in his class could possible be smart enough to know how to quote foreign languages within English sentences"

"Mozart was widely believed to be a wünderkind, having written his first opera at age four."

Really, is it any wonder that I have English-nazi issues?

germaphobe

2009-05-07T09:12:00.000-07:00

I am a germaphobe - just ask my husband! The media's over-attentiveness to disease and virus outbreaks has just made it worse (ie: swine flu, avian flu, MRSA, ebola, the Hanta virus, flesh-eating bacteria). So have signs in the bathrooms of restaurants and medical buildings - you've noticed that places like this have signs telling you how to wash your hands, yes?

I really started paying attention to those signs when I was working in a daycare and there was a sign right at eye level over the sink showing the correct way to wash your hands, provided by the county health department. It includes using a paper towel to turn off the tap, something I now do religiously. In fact, my need to be sanitary and my urge to conserve frequently have a battle in my head when I'm washing up: is cleanliness worth wasting water and paper towels? I say yes. But... do I leave the tap running in order to grab a paper towel and dry my hands before turning off the water? Or do I grab a paper towel to turn off the tap right away, throw away the towel, and then grab another one to actually dry my hands? Which resource is more precious, water or trees? What's more expensive, an extra 30 seconds of water usage or 1 paper towel? Welcome to the wacky world of mysie's brain everybody!!!

So now I've pointed out that I'm a germaphobe and I hate to be wasteful, let's throw in the fact that I want to have a baby. A healthy baby. A baby without disease, autism, or my knocked knees. Have you heard that there is mercury in childhood vaccinations, and there is a very vocal group convinced this is the main cause of autism? Merde.

March 2008: Federal Officials Say Vaccines Worsened Condition That Led to Autism Spectrum Disorder in Georgia Girl

February 2009: Vaccine Court: No Merit to Claims That Thimerosal in Vaccines Contributed to Autism

Today the Seattle PI.com ran an article about environmental factors in autism: Autism: It's the environment, not just doctors diagnosing more disease

Looking for more information, I found an article about autism rates now that mercury has been removed from (most) vaccines: Autism Cases Still Going Up As Vaccine Mercury Removed

This statement in the PI had me particularly worried: "Household products such as antibacterial soaps also could have ingredients that harm the brain by changing immune systems..." So I tried to do a search on that, and didn't come up with much. However, when you type in "antibacterial soap" into Google, before you can type "change immune system", you are presented with Google's favorite searches for that first phrase. A scary-sounding option comes up: "antibacterial soaps unnecessary risks no benefits".

Apparently, there are a growing number of people that believe that not only are antibacterial soaps no more effective than regular soaps, but that they are also harmful. Including the Centers For Disease Control (CDC): Antibacterial Household Products: Cause for Concern.

So what now?! How on earth is a die-hard germaphobe and baby mama wannabe supposed to live without antibacterial soap??? Somewhere (sorry, lost the link) I read that alcohol-based antibacterial formulas are not a problem, but whether or not that's true seems to be swept under the rug by the public's growing concern over the entire antibacterial products market. Then there is the sinister plan of Tuft University researcher Stuart Levy, as posited by foxnews.com's Junk Science columnist Steven Milloy:

"no mention was made of Levy’s affiliation (vice-chairman, chief scientific officer and co-founder) with Paratek Pharmaceuticals.... Paratek is well positioned to develop [antibacterial] products to serve this non-hospital consumer product market."

Can you hear me rolling my eyes? I am no fan of media sensationalization every time a new health study is published. Nor do I think it's particularly helpful to get all of your health news information from green/organic/eco-friendly groups - they are awesome at pointing out things that you should further study on your own, but too often come up with their own conclusions without any scientific process or study. But calling Stuart Levy's research (backed by the CDC) junk science is just crossing the line. I disagree with his assessment that the new study lets antibacterials off the hook, but I understand how easy it is to interpret the study to mean that.

It happens all the time - media tries to come up with interesting headlines and soundbites, which require summarizing massive amounts of data into a short, easy-to-understand format for their audience. This is how you get competing headlines when it comes to studies: "Alcohol is bad!" vs. "Red wine is good for your heart" vs. "Wine makes no difference to your health".

Then there is the tendency to translate statistics to support your own conclusion. If a study reveals a statistic... oh, let's say "40% of autistic kids have higher-than-average mercury levels in their blood", then it is correct to say "The majority of children with autism do not have high levels of mercury in their blood. But is that a responsible thing to say when you're a public figure with a large audience? What about the results that showed "75% of non-autistic children have less than 2% of the mercury content found in autistic children." Put those facts together, and you've got this: Mercury doesn't necessarily cause autism, but there is evidence that it plays some role."

Yes, I made up all the statements in that last paragraph, but misinterpretations of statistics happen all the time! The media and the average lay-person have such small attention spans that they demand an obvious statement to sum up research, rather than digging for the complexities of the truth to be found in most studies.

And speaking of irresponsible, here's a great (re: terrible) example: "Antibacterial Soaps: Unnecessary Risks, No Benefits" posted at divinecaroline.com. Remember that google search I mentioned? Well, this article is the #1 item returned by google in that search. On the surface, this is a very eye-opening, well-written, and easy-to-read article. But did you actually read what she was not saying?

"Many experts believe that," "shown resistance to S. aureous", "nearly 80 percent of all liquid soaps", "antibacterial agents promote strains of bacteria", and "If that’s not enough, the bacteria-killing chemicals go down the drain and into our waterways, harming wildlife and potentially ending up back in our bodies where they can present health risks."

Can you guess what she's leaving out? Hint: Check out the statements on page 2 that are much better.

"According to the Food and Drug Administration and the American Medical Association", "In one study", and "A 2007 study detected".

Congratulations Sarah Krupp, you've just discovered the concept of citing your sources! What would be even better would be actual links to or publication information for her source materials. Still, she got better. I'll try to keep in mind that she wrote this piece for a non-scientific website where anyone can say anything.

But: her article is the #1 source on the internet when looking for the risks of antibacterial soaps. I have no idea how many searches a day google handles, or how many searches of that particular phrase, but there it is at the top - proving its popularity with readers (Google's search results are ranked by how often each link from a search is chosen by the searcher - ha, there's my Quasi-Citation!) But my point is, when your audience is this large, it's time that responsibility and journalistic integrity play an important role in the wording of your article. The average reader is just too eager to read a group of claims in one article and decide that the entire article is fact.

So, in my OPINION:

1. statistics rarely show definite conclusions
2. statistics are very easy to interpret incorrrectly
3. purposely interpreting statistics incorrectly to disseminate to an audience is morally reprehensible
4. it is morally imperative that a journalist, even a web journalist, only state facts that can be cited
5. when most people read something well-written with a lot of reasonably stated ideas presented as facts, they too easily trust that these facts are mounting evidence, and thus everything stated must be correct
6. it's YOUR responsibility to research claims that affect your life
7. I have to start eliminating anti-bacterials from my life - and the germaphobe inside of me is terrified. I'm totally screwed.

Isn't science fun?!

interludes with car

2009-04-20T00:14:00.000-07:00

Seriously, how did this become a post about moments in my car???

Yesterday as I was heading out for errands, I found 3 kids running a baked-goods stand in front of their house. I pulled over to see what they had and how much, and told them I'd try to find some cash while I was out. Traffic was horrible on the way home - I-5 was messed up, so everyone was using the backstreets around our neighborhood. Needless to say, by the time I reached my street, I didn't really want to deal with the kids, their wares, or finding the money to buy anything. But I stopped anyway to make sure they still had some left. Then I went home, dropped off dinner with Eric, grabbed 2 dollars from our change jar, and drove back for some sugar cookies. (Yes, I felt guilty driving, but I was *hungry* and I'm a slow walker - and I didn't want my dinner to be cold when I came back!).

Their mom had shown up since I first saw them, helping them count money - they were almost sold out! Their dad was messing around with his truck and he came over to wave at me with this goofy grin on his face. When my cookies were delivered to my car door window, I admonished her for not asking me if I wanted fries with that. She actually giggled.

On the way home I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. I've never really cared for sugar cookies, but these were delicious - Eric let me have both of them for myself.

At some point when I was out this weekend (lots of errands!), I think it was the Lowe's parking lot, I hopped in my car, started up my iPod, and U2's "All I Want Is You" started to play. I sat there, remembering my wedding day. Someone once told me it was the most choreographed wedding they'd ever seen. I honestly only spent 10 minutes a few days before the wedding deciding how I was going to walk. It starts very softly with just Bono's voice and a quiet guitar. I stood around a corner where no one could see me but one co-worker. He grinned and made "come on out" motions with his hands. I just smiled and shook my head, closed my eyes:

You say
you want
diamonds on a ring of gold,
your story to remain untold,
But all the promises we make,
from the cradle to the grave,
When all I want is you

Cue some louder guitar, all alone without a voice now, and I step up to the threshold to look out at everyone and they can see me. I start walking forward when Bono starts to sing again, louder this time:

You say
you'll give me
a highway with no one on it,
a treasure just to look upon it.
All the riches in the land.

You say
you'll give me
eyes in a moon of blindness,
a river in a time of dryness,
a harbor in the tempest.
but all the promises we make
from the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you.

I meet Eric just as the lyrics end and the guitar swells. It's not an entirely sweet song, but mostly it is. And I cry every time I hear it. Because everything that song means to me, the way it describes my feelings for my husband, has become a million times more strong, more resonant, more true.

I cried in my car. Put my head on my steering wheel and wept. With a smile on my face.

My iPod is psychic. Kind of. It's more like the great DJ in the sky shows himself at odd moments:

I looked everywhere for my Portishead CD to listen to Roads while I drove in the rain. No luck, but when I plugged in my iPod and his play, Roads started to play.

I'm addicted to Muse. Especially their song Time is Running Out. I got into my car intending to find that song on my iPod, but when I turned it on, it automatically went to my shuffle-all playlist before I could do anything - and that was the first song there.

About 36 hours recovered from depression, I hopped into my car and the song that I walked down the aisle at my wedding to began to play.

On the day of our most serious relationship crisis, we hopped into the car to go on a road trip alone for some healing. A few minutes later - we hadn't even gone a mile - the song that was the first dance at our wedding began to play. I can count the number of times I've heard Depeche Mode's Somebody playing on a radio with two fingers.

I decided last summer that yes, the most important thing in the world to me right now is Eric and starting a family with him and making sure we are both happy. The most important way to do this is also the easiest: stop moping around, and take responsibility for the house like I promised so many years before. Make sure Eric doesn't have more to stress out about than work, because work stress has become almost impossible for him to bare anymore.

Heather also reminded me to do nice things for him. Somewhere in my head I knew that was part of it, but it didn't really click until she said it. So I wake up in the morning happy, do the dishes, then have some breakfast. If I watch TV, I finish before 2pm because that's when he takes his lunch break and watches ESPN. I clean up after myself, and when he's forgetful, I tidy up after his lunch. When he says or does something small and annoying, or something that makes me a little angry, I pause and take a deep breath. I try to remember that it's not important to point out that he's left the lights and TV on again. When my brain auto-translates his man-speak into something mean and/or selfish, I try to remember how to re-translate back into its original language so I can more accurately gauge what he's really saying.

I also have tried to take over driving duties when we go out together. Sometime in the 90s I got fed up with being so stressed when I drive. I was screaming all the time, arriving at my destination furious and tense. I started only listening to classical music in the car, making an effort not to take everything personally, remember that just because 10 people cut you off on your way to work it was not one person jeopardizing your safety over and over - it was 10 different people in 10 different moments of not quite paying enough attention. I thought of the silly mistakes I make when I drive - I do something dumb, I feel bad for a moment, but then I forget it because I need to focus on driving. I tried to imagine all those mistakes happening with the same person following in the car behind me. He would be really ticked off, but they're still 10 different incidents with no correlation to each other.

I took to heart a quote I found from Oscar Wilde (that turns out to really be from someone called M.L. Plano - weird): "Never attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity. Don't assign to stupidity what might be due to ignorance." I taped it to my monitor at work and everything. I just discovered there is a 3rd line to that quote, which is quite snarky and thus hard for me to imagine it was not written by Wilde: And try not to assume your opponent is the ignorant one -- until you can show it isn't you.

To make a long story longer (!), it did change my attitude about driving. I still have my moments when I talk to myself about stupid drivers, give people dirty looks, and/or yell at people that can't hear me. But they don't happen every time I'm in the car, let alone multiple times per trip (unless there are lots of really, really stupid people out there at one time...!).

As Eric's stress level has increased, his yelling in the car has grown as well. For a few years I let it bother me, complaining internally. Then one day I realized that instead of telling him for the 20th time how easy it is to remain calm while driving if you don't take everything personally, I could just remove the stress itself. That's when I started driving for us. Sometime I relapse and get lazy, letting (read: insist on) him do the driving. And every time I do, I am rewarded with lots of reminders of why that's such a bad idea... For once something that's self-reinforcing is helpful!

Today as I was out on another errand, I was looking to see if those kids were selling cookies again. They weren't. Instead I saw a family walking towards me on the grass that should have a sidewalk paved on it but doesn't. They were really walking to a girl of about 10 years old who had gone ahead. She was standing under my favorite cherry blossom tree in the neighborhood - I've decided it's the perfect shade of light pink for my yard ambitions. And exactly as I was parallel to her, at the last moment before I had to look ahead at the road again, she reached up on her tippy toes, looking up into the branches, and trying to catch a few flowers.

It was one of those perfect moments that you wish you had a camera on you. But you don't, so you just have to savor it in your mind. Sometimes I'm guilty of the reverse - having a camera and spending too much time snapping photos and not enough time enjoying what's in front of me. Today, after that moment of original chagrin, I'm very happy that I didn't have my camera with me.

How can it be possible for one person to so quickly change from moping listlessness to someone so happy and open to the small joys in life? There are many moments in my life, small moments, that have brought me happiness in the midst of depression. Sometimes they are even enough to kick me out of it. Usually not. These moments are so much more powerful when you're on an even keel yet still so sensitive to recent depression. The depression leaves behind a kind of psychic bruise, making you flinch when something doesn't go your way, and then you're surprised that it didn't hurt or mess you up the way it would have just days before. Then there are the moments of happiness, that to most people are just happy moments, that become treasures because they are so acutely opposite what was so recently killing you inside.

Happy tears can be embarrassing, but you never, ever forget how you felt in that moment.

In gratitude: the downtown Seattle tree-lighting ceremony, that tiki restaurant in Wallingford, a squirrel on the UW campus, Collective Soul, a lazy river, sugar cookies, U2, Depeche Mode, little girls and cherry blossoms.

Grandmothers

2009-03-28T10:17:00.001-07:00

OK, I did it. I put myself out there - let's see if I manage to see it through. I've emailed my Aunt to help me determine if/when I can interview my grandmother.

So let me back up. My father's mother died the summer after I graduated from high school - I was 18. There was no money to send all of us to the funeral, so only my father went. At some point in the past, my mother had "smuggled" some stuff out for us kids as momentos since everything was picked over by family in Hawaii. Not one item came from them directly. And apparently we weren't mentioned in the will either. This just highlights some of the lighter offenses of my Dad's family against us, and they wonder why I don't keep in touch them?

Knowing what I know now about my step-pig-fucker-"grandfather", I'm more neutral about not getting to know my paternal grandmother. What kind of person was she to allow so much abuse in her own home? Still, since the moment she died, it has been a serious regret of mine that I didn't get to know anything about her. When she died, I was just coming into adulthood, so it was her death that made me realize how much I was going to miss by cutting them out of my life.

And now that I've cut my immediate family almost completely out of my life, I see my mother's family once every year or two. When I do see them, I've recently been struck by the fact that they all seem to be involved or at least informed of each other's lives. My cousins chat with my grandmother like they're long-time buddies who last saw her a few days ago. Probably because that's exactly what their relationship is like.

For this, there is regret. Deep regret. But as my mental health has made it more difficult for me to face my family rather than easier, I just haven't known how else to proceed. And until recently, my mind hadn't really thought of her as a person, but as an icon. It wasn't until my little sister was in her 20s that I realized she was a person with a history, a story, emotions, hang-ups, interests, and an ability to communicate in ways other than mimicing me and driving me insane. I think that even losing my maternal grandfather didn't really wake me up to this idea that my family members are individual people.

Last fall I came up with this idea. Well, 2 ideas really. It started when I found some old letters from my mother to me. Re-reading them I could remember what strong reactions I had to each one, and how they could still invoke the same intense emotions. I thought that I should collect them all and transcribe them and then write about my reactions/responses for each letter. Kind of a limited-aspect auto-biography.

Then I got to thinking about my grandmother, and I started thinking about ways to include her. And include my mother in a way other than passively - actually talking to her instead of just transcribing the things she's written in the past. I decided I was going to interview them.

My freshman year at The Evergreen State College, we all had a project to collect an "Oral History" from someone. I chose a favorite teacher, and had one or two "interviews" with her that were really just long conversations, that were taped, transcribed, and then used in a paper to summarize everything and include my thoughts on what I'd learned.

I realized it would be an amazing experience to do this with my mother and grandmother. It would be for me, and for them. We could talk about everything and/or anything that they wanted to talk about, and they could ask me about myself as well. I planned on "interviewing" them both separately, and then once together.

Worst-case scenario: I have a personal learning experience, as do they. Hopeful scenario: I transcribe everything to share with the rest of the family. Best-case scenario: I eventually write a memoir that has more to it than just my side of things.

I chickened out last year. I had problems figuring out how I was going to record everything. I had problems determining a format for just how much Q&A there would be. I searched my house high-and-low for a little auto-biographical booklet my grandmother gave me as a girl. I had intended to read the questions and her earlier answers to her, and then see what she thought and if she had different answers now. Then I finally found the booklet and realized it would take hours and hours, if not days, just to get through the booklet - it was much longer than I thought. I contemplated grabbing a few key pieces, and also asking her about the blank spots she'd left, and to fill-in her family tree a little better.

But in the end I lost my momentum, and then I lost my nerve. And now my grandmother is leaving us. If I had done this last year, maybe I could have had an actual relationship with my grandmother over the last few months. Now it all just seems morbid. And even if I can convince people I have higher-intentions than morbidity, there is her failing health to consider. She has cancer, she's dying soon - I imagine she is on a lot of drugs that make her sleepy and week. I just don't know how much she would be up for this, since I haven't talked to anyone who has actually seen her recently.

I made a decision this morning to stop being a chicken-shit idiot and just TRY. Just try, and see how it goes. I feel that it is too little too late, and that the rest of the family will think so as well. But part of me is certain that she will enjoy having an actual conversation with me. As the years have gone by, I've become more and more aware of how much I'm hurting my family by staying away. I'm not sure how to deal with that. I have not thought of how I can remedy the situation and still keep my sanity. And not hurt them more. Because part of the distance is also to keep my negative emotions away from them until I've learned to process them better and they are willing and able to talk about more than the weather and their health with me.

There is a confronation that I have to have with each of them, or at least a serious discussion. My sister and I have had many discussions since that cup of coffee at FPH about a decade ago, and we actually have a good (but flimsy) relationship. But there are some serious conversations that need to happen with my mother, my father, and my brothers. Most will be bitter and angry and scary, except for my baby brother, which will be mostly apologetic for not being in his life since I moved out at 18.

I just don't know if or when they or I will be up to it.

There is guilt about my lack-of-relationship with my grandmother, but no negative feelings at all. So while it may be sad, I think the conversation will be easier and happier. We can talk about whatever she feels up to talking about.

So I emailed my aunt to start the process. No backing out now.

fucked-up family

2009-03-28T10:11:00.000-07:00

From an email that should have been a blog post:

You know what? Life sucks. I'm so tired of getting my footing back and then life throwing a curveball and I land in the gutter. Last weekend I had a wonderful time spending it at a Scrapbooking retreat with Eric's mom. I decided to see my mom on my way out of town, since I don't see her often and she's in a recovery center for a broken foot. And I wanted to show her all the pages I had just scrapped of her wedding. Do you have any idea how hard it is to scrap a wedding for a couple that is divorced and completely wrong for each other?

So I show up as they are changing out my mom's IV stuff. I might have been fine if that was all it was. But because of an infection, they have her hooked up to multiple lines on one row of her arm. I instantly felt queasy. I had to sit down on the opposite side of the bed and look away from her because every time I looked at her I could see her other arm and the nurse STILL messing with it. It seems that because of my surgeries last year, I've become worse around needles and blood and IV's, rather than better.

OK, so imagine me sitting there, holding my mom's hand, and I'm all clammy and sweaty and trying not to bolt from the room like an idiot. And then my brother walks in with my Father in tow. Have I told you that he now invokes panic attacks when I see him?

After 5 minutes of me not making eye contact or talking to anyone, I mumble that I need to leave. Mike took pity on me and suggested that he and Dad give us some time alone and they'll come back later. Dad called out that he loved me, but at least he didn't try and touch me this time - that's what started the panic attacks about 3 years ago, when he hugged me against my will at Christmas.

The nurse FINALLY left about a minute after the guys did, so I could finally make eye contact again. We talked briefly, but I wasn't going to be able to pull myself together until I got out of there. I tried to race to the ferry so I could cry during the ride - I kept repeating myself that I'll be ok, I just have to reach the ferry on time. The ferry had not yet left, but it was full so I had to drive around. But not before pulling over at this little store a block away and balling my eyes out for 15 minutes. Then I went inside and bought 4 candy bars and a mini pecan pie, gorged myself, dried my eyes AGAIN, and then I finally left for home.

No more crying since then, but I just haven't felt myself since. Sunday night and Monday I just felt totally defeated. Yesterday I forced myself to take a shower and put on make up, play with my hair (I have lost the knack on how to straighten it when it's this long), and go out to run some errands/do some shopping.

I returned a cryptic message from my sister when I got home. That's when she told me that our Grandmother has cancer (apparently it's a recurrence), it is resisting all chemo and meds and radiation, and she has between 2 weeks and 2 months to live.

Now I have to figure out what I want to do about that. I feel so guilty about never learning more about my Dad's mom before she died, but that is all on my Dad and his family for treating us so bad that we had to remove ourselves from all of their influence. And now because my family refuses to kick him out of their lives, I am forced to distance myself from my own immediate family. Which means I never see my Mom's family. Thanks again Dad.

We're all getting together to see her next Saturday, but I feel I should do more than that. I'm just not sure I have the balls to do it.

fucking camera

2009-02-13T09:46:00.000-08:00

So I got an amazing camera for Christmas! It has a million settings, and I can zoom in to read the house number of the neighbors half-way down the block. But apparently it doesn't want to focus on something small that's in front of it - like the pendant on a necklace. Working in the right lighting, it takes very crisp, clear pictures of my jewelry. However, if I want to zoom in to show the detail or pendant of a piece, the auto-zoom has an epileptic fit trying to figure out what to focus on, gets close to focusing, and then gives up in the end at the most blurry point of the focusing process. With my manual camera, I can focus until it's at least visible, and then manually focus the rest of the way in by twisting the lens. HA! Good luck with that on a digital camera!!

And I'm having problems with it taking good pictures in less-than-optimum lighting. That was a specific feature I looked for, so I'm really extra pissed about that.

However. I refuse to believe that this expensive camera is as crappy (or crappier) than my old camera. So I am withholding my final opinion until I can find the manual (I found the Spanish version yesterday! *sigh*) and read up on how to use it without the auto-focus. I would love to spend an hour with someone who knows cameras to talk to me about speed settings for different lighting. I think that's called ISO? For $65 I can take a 2-hour seminar at NSCC to learn the basics - the description focused on "getting to know" a digital camera, how to hook it up to a computer to upload files, and how to print pictures. Somehow I don't think this is the class I'm looking for.

Oh yes! Uploading files! *insert ironic belly laugh here*

I took a bunch of jewelry pictures last week, which I needed to upload to the computer and modify with GIMP to create new listings in my etsy shop. Guess what happens when you hook up the camera to the computer? NOTHING! After a number of adjustments to the camera, turning the computer on and off, I resorted to the Software Installation guide - the main camera guide being missing. Guess what - downloading pictures straight from the camera to computer without the software is possible, but you will experience problems such as it taking many minutes to access the camera. WTF? So I had to install their software just to grab my pictures! And then I had to figure out how to get the camera "ready" for the process - the software guide was very helpful when it told me that my camera needed to be put in the correct setting, and such setting would be explained to me in the main camera guide. So more fussing. Finally, everything worked, and I got my pictures. But then when you're finished, it quits the photo transfer program and automatically loads a 2nd program to view the pictures. WTF? I didn't ask it to do that!!!

This whole process took about a half hour. Half-way through I decided to give up, put the memory card in the old camera, and take the 45 seconds required to transfer files from it to my computer. There were no batteries in the camera. Not that I could find the USB cable for it, or that the new camera's USB wouldn't work on it.

And after that, GIMP died. It refuses to start up. Have I ever mentioned how many hours it took to figure out how to install GIMP in the first place??? So now I am back to ZERO photo-manipulation software programs. The camera's suite of software doesn't have one. And I have railed against iPhoto for years. I finally broke down and used iPhoto. 15 minutes to figure out how to tell iPhoto I wanted to look at pictures in a different folder than it had auto-selected. Resized my photos via cropping and scaling - holy shit, last time I tried, it didn't allow scaling!!! But guess what? When you alter a photo, it saves it as the same document. So your original photo is forever LOST. There is no Save-As feature. WTFWTFWTF??????

And then... Oh yes, and then. I went downstairs to make etsy listings on my laptop and spend time with Eric watching our nightly shows so I could calm down and stop being pissed off. This required me putting those iPhoto-manipulated files into our network to grab with the other computer.

The other computer being a PC that was so confused by the iPhoto files that it refused to even copy them over. Back upstairs, grab the old camera and the new memory card, find batteries and USB cable. Hook up old camera to move images to laptop. Use laptop to manipulate images AGAIN, this time with Photoshop.

There is no Photoshop on my machine.

I was about ready to throw every piece of technology in our house out a window.

Eric got me his laptop which allegedly had Photoshop on it. I couldn't find it anywhere. Because the only way I know how to start programs on a PC is to either click the shortcut on the desktop, or go to the Applications folder and find the program there. Want to ask Eric why Photoshop was not in the Applications folder? Neither did I. I was going to throw his laptop into the TV if I did not just give up right then and there.

He found photoshop. Launched it for me. Discovered there was almost no battery life left and he'd left his AC charger at the office. Seriously? SERIOUSLY??? He saw the manic disbelief turning my face into the freaking Joker, took both laptops in the other room, and when he came back my laptop had photoshop on it.

So something that should have taken me 15 minutes tops took about 1.5 hours. And then I still had to alter the images and create the listing. HA! Oh, and Eric couldn't keep from telling me that the new camera hooked up to his PC just fine without the software to do the file transfer.

Eric has a very similar story to tell about how his Mustang didn't work after we got back from Italy. I say point for me because I didn't throw anything in the end. It was a close thing though. Very, very close.

old houses suck

2009-02-13T09:16:00.000-08:00

Being a homeowner sucks ass. Being the owner of an older home sucks... donkey ass. When we were looking to buy a house, other than a good price and enough room for us to grow, the main thing I wanted was to NOT get a fixer-upper. I wanted a NEW(ish) home that wouldn't need repairs anytime soon. And then we go and buy this freaking old creaky not-to-code when last renovated house.

The previous homeowners hid damage (that our inspector failed to see behind a sofa) that required us to remove and replace an entire exterior wall of our house. We knew about the mold in the master bedroom, so the house price was adjusted to give us the money to fix that problem. And we did. But our heating, plumbing, and electricity is all crap. The electricity to my office area (and Eric's, despite it being in a completely different area of the house) is on a flakey circuit. Right now we've got it so Eric has power and I don't - I use an extension chord to the bedroom to plug in my computer. The Christmas before last we had to replace the furnace because it is under the house in a crawl space that easily floods. Our carport is rotting away. We can't use the downstairs shower because the lever won't stay down. The upstairs is not connected to the furnace, so it's always either cold or hot up here depending on if you turn on the wall heaters. The upstairs bathroom sink is rusting underneath. The floorboards near the downstairs tub are rotten. There is no way to currently block access to the under-house crawlspace from critters - cats go down there to DIE. Critters are somehow getting into our attic - sometimes LARGE critters, but they never leave any evidence behind - we just hear them walking, running, scratching at the floor, etc. Half the burners on the stove don't work. The refridgerator, dryer, and dishwasher are all ancient.

My current headache is with said dishwasher. Water is not fully draining out of it, which sounds very unsanitary to me. So is it the dishwasher or the pipes? I got a plumber out here last night and we confirmed that the dishwasher needs to be replaced - it's old, falling apart, missing the trap, and now makes an interesting burning smell. However, he showed me how the pipes are configured in such a way that water cannot fully exit the system, so there's always standing water in them, making it easier for drains to clog and the dishwasher to back up. Buying a new dishwasher will be useless until the pipes have been reconfigured. We need something called an air-gap to help lower the water pressure as it exits the dishwasher. The pipes coming right down from the sink drains are very short, making clogging easy. Part of one sink is rusting, and a pipe is being abused by the high water pressure from the dishwasher. And to top it all off, the main pipe that the system dumps into to leave the kitchen and then the house, that pipe is higher than all the other pipes under the sink. It should be lower, so gravity helps force the water out. Right now, the water needs to go uphill to exit - so if there is no pressure behind it to flush it out, it just hangs out in the pipes just waiting to cause headaches.

New pipe configuration: $750
Parts for new configuration: $50
New dishwasher: $300
New faucet to make room for the air gap: $62

Total repair = $1162

We had budgeted $400 for either a dishwasher repair or replacement. Ye-fucking-haw!

Good luck to you, I.

2009-02-12T20:04:00.000-08:00

There have been things that I've wanted to write about over the past few months, but I've been questioning how to record it. For many years, I loved the idea of putting my emotions out there for the world to see. But lately, I don't really feel a "need" to do that anymore. I do still want to record it though. Sometime last year I bought some notebooks to start journaling. I discovered that despite spending my formative years writing long-hand in notebooks with every spare moment, my hands can no longer take that punishment anymore. I'm pretty sure I'm developing arthritis. So typing seems much easier. And, it's quicker to get the words out. And as long as I'm typing this up, I might as well put it where all my other words are recorded, to stay organized. So, for now, I'm going to continue to blog online. For myself. We'll see just how often I accomplish that though!

First, I want to say that I had a wonderful birthday weekend! Eric took me to the Can Can for The Castaways performance of Aerobotron. Wow! Sexy and fun. With really great food! We had breakfast with Eric's family on Sunday, and then had dinner with my family that night. My sister & Tiffany hosted - Tiff made probably the best chicken friend steak I've ever had in my life! Best of all, I could relax with my family and enjoy our time together in a way that I haven't done in years. It was such a blessing that I am so thankful to Tiff & Chris for.

Also, I've reconnected with an old friend, Krista. It's been nice chatting with her. Heather and I are trying to plan a visit for the end of this month.

All of that aside, it has not been a good couple of months. All of the excited happiness I had late last year evaporated some time in December. For Christmas I was fine, just not "happy". For me anyway, my moods range from depressed to down to middle ground to happy to bliss/contentment. December was middle ground, and so was the beginning of January.

But once again something came up that had me re-analyzing myself and the way I think and the things I want in my life.

It was sparked by that stupid movie, Bride Wars. OK, the movie wasn't bad, but by the end of the film when the 2 best friends are making up, I was in tears because I miss having someone in my life so badly. This was the night of my birthday, mind you, and I was inconsolable for about an hour.

I have been feeling lonely for much of my adult life, and I was dealing with it OK until I ruined my friendship with Rowan. Another major loss in my life that I wasn't prepared for, and it didn't help that I was responsible for it.

Eric and this house and our cats are my life. I don't mind this - especially when Eric and I spend time together. What I wouldn't give for him to retire and us to spend the rest of our lives traveling the world together! But that's not gonna happen anytime soon. So Eric works. A lot. Leaving me with just the cats and the house. And that's just not enough. So I'm lonely. A lot. I am painfully shy and introverted and sickly and have such low energy, that it's pretty much impossible for me to meet new people right now.

Then there's that other problem. My ability to just shut everything out, the entire world, unless it's standing up and waving its arms, shouting right in my face. I am so used to this solitary existence that every morning I wake up and it never occurs to me to spend time with anyone, try to talk to anyone, try to reach a friend even just for a minute. Unless it's prearranged. And good luck to anybody who tries to contact me! My sister is frustrated with me, and I'm sure Rob is just sick of constantly having to be the one to get in touch with me and not hearing back from me for weeks at a time.

Somewhere along the lines, I forgot how to be a good friend. The things that I find important in a friendship, I think those are still there: honesty, faithfulness, commitment, and the concept of sticking up for someone - always having their back. Those, I think I'm capable of still. But taking the time to keep that person in your daily life? That's kind of gone out the window. How did I do that? How did I let it happen?

I desperately want a friendship again that is part of my daily life. Someone I can share anything and everything with, call at 2 am when life throws you a grenade, someone to just sit around and be bored with. And here I am, sabotaging it???

The key to any sort of problem-solving is to know you have a problem. So now that I'm aware of it, I'm working on it. But I don't have a lot of opportunity to do that, because there's no-one in my life that I'm that close to. Everyone seems so settled in their lives, no one has the time, energy, or inclination to let a new person into their life in an intimate way.

In the last year, I've had 2 people tell me almost the exact same thing: they are not the kind of friend that I am, they can't be the kind of friend I'm looking for, and they don't want to anyway. They want friendship, but they don't want... intimacy. They are self-described loners. They enjoy my company, but don't want to spend a lot of time hearing about my problems or sharing their own.

Both times, it has been extremely painful to me. I want so desperately to have that 2am BFF in my life again. I am willing to jump through hoops, put myself on the line, give my everything and then some to prove how awesome a friend I am. How reliable. How necessary. And the response is BACK THE HELL UP. These are not people that I just met and then started stalking them. These are people that I have a history with, an established (or rekindled) relationship with, that I would like to be closer to. I would be willing to overlook any problems or flaws, if I could just get that intimacy from them.

It's not anything I can blame on them. They are how they are. I can't change that. And if they don't want devotion, I don't want to give it to them. And I'm the way I am. Heart on my sleeve.

I told myself I was done with putting myself out there for people to hurt after Rowan. But I had this other person in my life already, and they stuck by me, and we spent a lot of time together. So it was a real blow to learn that they didn't share my need to be BFF. And the other person, we have this established history of being very close, then we weren't, then we started trying to forge a friendship again. I didn't realize it was from scratch, and that intimacy was not part of the deal, until a few days ago. I certainly didn't start the friendship up again expecting intimacy myself, but I was certainly open to it if that was the way things developed. I was basically told that it would not develop that way because the other person didn't want that. Didn't need it.

I think part of my problem, the reason why I need intimacy so badly, is because I feel like I spend most of my life not being myself. I want someone to know who I am, who I really am. And still like me for that. It's hard not to take it personally when you are turned away.

When I was in high school and became a Natural Helper, there was a lot of feel-good stuff thrown at us in training. There was a poem called "Masks" about how everyone hides the real them from outsiders, and we should put our masks down and be ourselves. Nobody seems to want that to happen in real life though.

How would people react if while I'm in the checkout line I tell the checker to stop talking about the weather because in my head I'm having a flashback of my father abusing us? When I'm grabbing lunch to go and they're making small talk while preparing the food in front of me, I tell them to stop trying to engage me because all I can think about is running out the door, driving home as fast as possible, and crouching into a ball in the corner? Does your dry cleaner want to know if you're unfaithful to your partner? Do the people in the gym want to know that you're waiting for test results on whether you have cancer or not?

Nope, no one wants to hear any of that stuff from a stranger. But I want to talk about it. I want support, encouragement, camaraderie. Having someone to go shopping or go to the movies with would be great, but I am looking for someone I can talk to. Someone I can have honest conversations with, whenever, wherever. Someone to be myself with, behind the mask, all bullshit dropped.

Yesterday I picked myself off the ground by telling myself that once again I've found something in life that I want that I will never get. First, I fell harder - I mourned the fantasy that I had to let go of. But then I was able to stand up. I was able to find purpose in the house. Because since this house and my cats and my husband are the only things in my life, I need to stop obsessing on the things I can't have and start investing more time in the the things I already have.

I was in the 4th grade when I realized I was never going to be popular or have a lot of friends, and I began to accept that I was going to be a loner. I can still remember the day that I was walking home from the playground and I said to myself that "I don't need anybody." There is no specific time when I realized that I was not going to marry Simon le Bon when I grew up. I gave up my dream of becoming a dancer when I saw my best friend show me some of her rudimentary ballet skills. I gave up wanting to be a singer when my cousin and I taped ourselves singing Christmas carols and then listened to the play back with horror. I gave up wanting to marry a poet who would read poetry to me while we cuddled under a tree near a stream, or a musician who would sing songs written about me, when I met and fell in love with Eric. FYI, Eric is awesome, and he has written a poem or two, and even sings on occasion (privately).

So now it's 4th grade again. I am a loner. I will always be a loner. I will never have anyone to call at 2am to cry with. I have to not need anybody.

Good luck to you, I.

new jewelry, same old sucky camera

2008-11-30T17:44:00.000-08:00

In August I set up a shop at Etsy - mysie.etsy.com - a website for crafters and artists to sell their handmade wares. I finally got my first sale last week! Woo-hoo!! Thanks Pixie! :)

When I first started making jewelry, it was mostly for myself - I liked simple, small pieces that I could wear with just about anything. But as I got more and more involved with beading and addicted to gemstones, my jewelry got bigger and bigger - the best beads are much larger than anything I would usually wear for myself. Then a few weeks ago I was in an artsy jewelry shop downtown, and about 90% of their jewelry was very small scale. Lots of small chain chokers with tiny faceted gemstones. I fell in love!

So I broke out my sterling silver wire and some small freshwater pearls and went to town. I have only made one hand-made chain necklace in the past and it took so much time and energy that I gave up ever trying it again. This new necklace took just as much time and energy, but this time I maintained my patience to be careful and make less mistakes to start with. The result was well worth it, so I started another one with Ametheyst, and that turned out really well too. I'm going to start working on another color tonight.

I really want to take some pictures and put it into the shop, but there hasn't been any sunlight to speak of this weekend. My camera sucks so much ass, the only way I can get good pictures of my jewelry is with bright - yet indirect - sunlight. I realized that the brightest, most well-light room in the house is our bathroom, which has about 20 lights in it. Inspired by Etsy.com's advice, I picked up some vibrantly colored felt for backgrounds. Then I went into my bathroom, turned on all the lights and added some extra, then set to work.

With that stupid crap camera. All the pictures were crap. I'm REALLY hoping that when I get my new camera for Christmas it takes better pictures of my jewelry. *sigh*

Now to wait for that elusive sunny December day when I can take pictures of my new jewelry. Grr.

stolen moment of bliss

2008-10-13T18:26:00.001-07:00

The storm has been moving slowly today, causing me to look up every few minutes to make sure the rain had not started without me. Then, with impeccable timing, a downpour - just enough to to run up the stairs and grab a perch to watch the rain and wind for a few scant moments before it became too dark to watch. It's times like this that I wonder how, after so many bad experiences as a child, the little things can still bring me so much joy. As a girl in Hawaii, I relished the afternoon rains by sitting on the back steps - as close to the bottom I could get without being drenched - with a cat in my arms. Nikka did follow me up here for company, but only tolerated being held for about 45 seconds before it was time for her to go off on her own.

I always open the windows to try and listen as I watch, but up here on the second story all I can hear is the wind when it rains. I miss our tin roof in Hawaii. Here, the only room in the house that allows you to hear the rain is the living room with its skylights. The skylights don't provide the right view to watch the rain, so I am always torn between staying down there to listen, or coming up here to watch. Maybe later I'll go back downstairs and lay under the skylights with my eyes closed and just listen.

change is coming

2008-10-02T23:16:00.000-07:00

Eric and I have decided to make a baby. We are waiting until January to start trying, for various reasons I'll probably talk about later.

Right now I want to talk about why we made the decision. Well, really, the timing was up to me really because of my endomitriosis. So after years of wavering, back and forth and back and forth, I made the decision. There have been so many pros and cons weighing on me, and all of them are still there - guilty hopes and terrible warnings.

But in the end, I found 2 positives that together weighed over everything else.

First, there is this desire to have another person to love in my life. Someone to give all my love to, and know that it will be returned for at least a little while. Then there is the teaching, the imparting of wisdom, instilling values, seeing proof that I have changed the world in some small way by creating another person who shares some part of who I am and what I have been and what I stand for. But always this connection, no matter how strained the parent/child relationship. I'm very, very aware that parenthood is not all happiness and rainbows - terrible warnings, remember? But even if things go wrong, I will always have my memories and the knowledge that I have created something amazing to add to the world.

Secondly, I've spent all my life feeling like I'm meant to do something - everyone feels this, yes? Apparently its typical for adolescents to have a bit of a god-complex, a sense of invulnerability, all tangled into this feeling of purpose. This could so easily devolve into a dissection of the place of religion in society, but that's just not my point. My point is that I've been searching forever to do something that matters. As the years have gone by and I've floundered around, I have built up this nest of things to please me - love, marriage, pets, home, possessions. But there has always been this feeling of emptiness, of something not fulfilled, some promise not yet kept. It has always revolved around children - wanting to protect them, to educate them. But my attempts have failed. So many treasures have been laid at my feet, and I have not been happy enough with them, it drives my depression, I'm sure of it. So I have over the past two years come to this belief that having a child will matter. And then everything will change. Everything. Again, I'm very aware that although babies are miracles, life-changers, it is not all for the best. My history has proven that I'm not good with change. But I need it, I really do.

No matter how I say it (or write it), it comes out sounding selfish, doesn't it? But in my head and in my heart, there is a sense of right-ness to it. A moment of the universe revealing some tiny secret to you. Not the enormous "this is what it's all about", but some hint that you might be getting closer to seeing some universal truth and understanding it.

I'm currently reading a book, The City at the End of Time by Greg Bear, and it's all very high and mighty. End of the world physics and metaphysics and final revelations, but all very vaguely discussed (more like hinted at) with big words to entangle the mind deciphering the code rather than understanding what was said. Anyway, it's rubbing off on my writing style right now, so I really, truly apologize. I feel like I'm being just as vague. Bah!

so the other day house said...

2008-10-02T19:20:00.001-07:00

Yes, Dr. Gregory House had a small nugget of wisdom to impart - mommie's immunities protect baby for the first 6 months. So if mommie was vaccinated as a child, great. If not, not so much great. Anyway, reason #1 to go ahead and decide to vaccinate. Also, weird, mutated measles spore stuck in your brain and waiting to explode until you're 17 is... bad. But apparently, not fatal!

heather said...

2008-10-02T19:02:00.000-07:00

I got to visit with Heather last weekend, and play with her gorgeous girl Kenadie. I wanted to save some of the things she had to say about pregnancy:

♥ that scene in The Waitress, you know the one: where she holds her baby for the first time and she's suddenly deaf and the whole world changes - well, it's true

♥ do not fear the epidural - tough it out naturally if you are so inclined, but don't base that decision on fearing the pain of the epidural itself - you're in so much pain already, you won't feel a thing. And then you really won't feel a thing

♥ the epidural can be quirky, only numbing part of the area intended, and/or wearing off too quickly - Heather had to have 2 shots to get everything, and even then there was a section on one side that was not completely numb. She actually relished this because the numbness of her legs, etc. was disconcerting

♥ childbirth is nothing, forgotten once you have your baby in your arms - and then the real work begins

♥ feed your newborn when (s)he's hungry - they can't over-eat in that first year

♥ breast milk is great, but if breastfeeding isn't going very smoothly, seek out help - and don't let people treat you like your nuts - Kenadie's little mouth could not cover the nipple enough to make a good seal, so there wasn't much suction. Combined with being told "2 and a half ounces, no more", and the little thing was losing weight instead of gaining.

♥ try to numb your nipples during your pregnancy - rub them with a washcloth every time you shower

♥ snobby mommies who won't let their kids play with your kid are evil and should be admonished, loudly

in the beginning

2008-10-02T18:56:00.000-07:00

In the beginning, there was nothing...