Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain.

My god. My head hurts so bad that it hurts to THINK – much less read, type, sit at a desk for 8 hours, or even watch tv. Every sound and smell is amplified, all light. It’s terrible.

For those of you who have not heard this lament, I have had the same headache now since September 20. I think I am going to give it a name. Some days it is bearable, just an insistent prod. But on days like today, when my jaws and neck and shoulders and back ache with it, and my eyes throb, I just wish I could be sunk into a semi-coma in a dark room for however long it takes to abate.

My allergist, the lovely and talented Dr. Adele, has changed my meds, hoping that would help. Nada. But I think the rest of my allergy problems have diminished some, most days.

For those of you who see yourselves fit to judge me harshly, maybe it’s a punishment for my evil ways. I’ve considered that option when I was at the apex of the migraine. But when the pain mellows out to a bearable buzz I remember that I am a good person trying to be a better person and if there’s a classic God and He (no Mother Goddess would do this) sees fit to punish me this way, then I’m for the Other Team anyway. What I know, when I can think clearly, is that the only punishment I am suffering is the same one we all suffer, and that is the penalty that we pay for living in the environment we’ve created. I’m just too sensitive to this chemical muddle that is modern human life and it is breaking me down.

Migraine aside, I am persevering. I’ve got some personal issues with the people close to me that I need to ponder, in the moments that this Mal de Tete will let me. Plenty of challenges to face, that’s for sure. I am watching my own struggle with my very stubborn human nature battle it out with my knowledge that I must find a way to put all that aside with interest and curiosity – and not a little angst. Things are said, and my gut reaction is to call the person on what I perceive to be their wrongs or lies or whatever. It generally comes down to one question: "How important is this?" Some things, outside things, really don’t matter. I can choose to accept the falsehood on the basis of things like maybe “no one can really prove this” or “maybe I’ll decide to just be quiet and let that person deal with their own conscience over this, because the important people know the truth”, or even “at the end of the day, who really gives a !@#$.” and let it go. But there are other things, bigger things, personal judgments on my thoughts and behavior, on my soul and beliefs, that are much harder to back away from. Should I just accept these judgments quietly and allow the ‘judge’ to think that I am accepting of their decree? Maybe that is the right thing to do. It’s just SO hard for me.

My family has taught me the hard way that if you fall asleep on the job, you can wake up painted as whatever they need you to be in order to comfort their own egos or consciences. I have, in the past, been known to be a bad cook, a bad singer, clumsy, lazy, a liar, insane, cruel, completely full of shit, a sinner … the list goes on*. There is no doubt that I have been all of these things at moments, like every human, but I have never been any of these to the bone. However, I feel pretty certain that there are some of these that some of my family members – along with other people from my past – would accredit as some of my intrinsic traits, until I die. I have made the decision to walk completely away from some of my past acquaintances (and even family members) who continuously tried to shove me into these boxes, but there are some people that you really don’t want to walk away from. I suppose you can’t really do that though. If someone continues to want to hurt you, then I guess you have to walk away peacefully, hopefully with love. In the past (as recently as yesterday), I’ve stood up for myself and tried to ask them to see me differently, but some people don’t want to – or in their view – need to change. I suppose I just have to accept that and make my choice.

I don’t want my loved ones and acquaintances to think that if they say anything critical about me that I will just walk away. I hear a lot of "critical" judgments’ (helpful suggestions) from people who love me - and really know me - that I DO agree with. I am grateful to them for listening to my side, though, and I am grateful to them for trying to help me be a better person. For those of you who have been brave enough to do that, thank you. I hope that you have seen some change in me, and if you have not, I will try to be understanding if YOU make the choice to walk away from ME.

And for those of you who have judged me and listened to me and allowed me to change your perception of me, to prove that I am more than you see, thank you, bless you. I’m proud to be worthy of your attention and consideration. It is you who inspire me to keep trying.

Every day, I’m sorry for the hurt I cause. Every day, I look for ways to be me and stand up for myself and still be a good, kind person. Every day I make mistakes and sometimes I miss the clues as to how to improve. But I have learned that love and patience and trying very hard to step outside of your self and into the other person’s shoes is the only possible solution.

If you are one of the people I’ve made the choice to walk away from, I hope you understand, and if you are one of the people I’ve tried to convince otherwise, I hope you see that this is because I see your need and love you too much to walk away from you, and this is all I know how to do – so far.

And if migraines are a punishment for being this way, bring ‘em on. I can take it. I’ve certainly taken worse.

Much pain, but more love,

-s

*the most important, terrible, life-changing things that have ever happened to you can also magically cease to have existed. that's a neat trick, too. :(

WARNING: Strong language and opinions.*

Goddamn it, I’m pissed.
The whole world is going right to hell in a hand basket. There’s huge, deadly, grim and seemingly unending world war and civil dispute as well as the usual urban violence and misery - homelessness, poverty, domestic trials - and yet good, sensible, loving people still find it necessary to fuck themselves and one another over in the places where it is absolutely unacceptable.
None of us is perfect. None of us are machines capable of going on endlessly with no relief. We have fragile psychologies and we need constant maintenance – understood. But we are also brilliant, thinking, loving beings capable of achieving actual divinity, and yet, we do this utterly stupid, mean, thoughtless shit to each other and then SOMEHOW wonder WHY THE WORLD IS SUCH A SHITTY PLACE.
It is a shitty place because we do not love ourselves and we do not love each other enough. Bottom line.
Hurricanes and rockslides and cancer all suck, but they are completely beyond our control. We are experts at surviving these kinds of things and going on with our lives. We can recover from these enormous, terrible things and the losses that come with them. What we cannot get over is the little tiny (and sometimes really HUGE) horrible things we do to each other and ourselves a million times a day every day.

I am not trying to preach something I don’t practice, either. I am not perfect**, and I will never be perfect, but I have realized/figured out/decided/been told OVER AND OVER AND OVER again that I MUST try harder to be a better person. I must learn to love myself, I must respect myself so that my friends and family don’t have to worry about me, I must keep myself strong so that I can handle the gigantic, overwhelming volume of SHITE that the world throws at me every single day, I must be able to recognize when I CAN’T do these things anymore and let someone know, and I must do all of these things for every single other person that I come into contact with as well. And I dare anybody to say that I am not trying. I may not be trying hard enough yet, but I’m working on that, too. Every single day.

People say to me and to each other: “you can’t take the problems of the whole world on your shoulders” and “you can’t do all this alone” and “you can’t worry about things that are beyond your control” and “it’s not your responsibility”, and all that, but you know what? If I don’t do it, who fucking WILL? And if EVERYBODY tried a LOT harder, it would be a LOT easier on every single one of us. Who REALLY cares who you wanted to vote for?*** Who cares about gay marriage? Welfare? Who cares what your stand on abortion is? The answer is ‘at the end of the day, it doesn’t really MATTER.’ There are real issues and real babies and real friends (including some who might want to marry people of the same sex) and real strangers – including the ones we’ve been conditioned to think of as ‘enemies’ who need something NOW. And those are the things that we can give them, and teach them to give themselves, if we could ever step out of our pre-programmed little settings and actually use some common sense and logic and actually give a damn. Sure, maybe you're pro-life and Christian - doesn't that mean that you're still supposed to love the girl who made another choice? Help her in her time of need? I’m not saying ‘Don’t vote, don’t stick to your guns on the issues that matter to you…’ but I’m saying that while you work toward those things that can take YEARS to change, especially considering our democratic system, put your bullshit aside in the REAL world and do some things that will really HELP, like volunteer somewhere that you are needed, like a library, hospital, senior center, homeless shelter, build houses for habitat, organize a bake sale to provide Christmas for kids who need it – SOMEthing. Put aside your moral stuff and just HELP.

We – myself included – need to quit worrying and whining about what we can’t do and do SOMETHING to better this world. And not just a little something. If enough people decided to stop half-assing around and make the choice to devote their entire lives to making the world a better place – starting with themselves, then even if we fail, we will be able to say we lived a life worth living. Every single one of us needs to strive for this. In my opinion however, it is impossible for people to try that and fail completely. No way. Even in my own half-assed way, I have made a HUGE difference in a LOT of people’s lives. You all tell me so, and I see it around me. What could I do if I tried just a little harder? And what if I tried a lot harder?

And you know what? Yesterday proved to me that stepping outside of yourself and focusing on other people’s problems can be the very thing that saves you from your own self, at least for a while. We all need to be aware of and concerned about the Big Picture, but we need to chip away at it by dealing with the first things that come our way, one or five or twenty at a time until SOMEthing changes. And if we all did that, then when I finally take on more than I can handle at the time, and just collapse, there will be people there to catch me too, because we will all be awake and aware, or at least AVAILABLE.

This is only a truly Sisyphean struggle if we look at it in a Universal sense. Yes, we will eventually all fail and die, yes, our galaxy will eventually be sucked into a black hole, yes, the environment will eventually cease to be able to support human life, but not today. And today we can do SOMEthing, ANYthing to hold back the tide, make a small difference SOMEwhere, to SOMEone. And if EVERYone gets off of their ass and stops making excuses and stops pondering their existential doubt and who’s zooming who and what J-lo’s wearing and “I told you so…” and DID something, it couldn’t help but get better – or at least it would change and not be the same old same old that we all keep bitching about.

If people read this or more likely just know this and still make the choice to hate or just be apathetic and make excuses and wallow, then you are no better than the people who spend their time actively trying to do harm. If you have a choice in your day-to-day doings, and you consciously make the choice to do the bad thing or the truly selfish thing, then you are as culpable as any true villain. If you ever call yourself someone who has a loving soul, someone who cares about themselves, your children, other people’s children, the world, then you cannot make excuses any longer. You MUST try harder to make a real difference. No more excuses, no more slacking, no more bullshit. Find a way, in every thing that you do, to try to improve 1. your outlook, 2. your world. If that means thinking twice before you flip off someone in traffic, finding more ways to carpool, calling on friends when you need help, calling friends to offer help when you have some spare time, picking up a piece of trash on the side of the road, volunteering somewhere once a month, meditating while you’re in the bath/shower/potty, telling someone you love them when you want to call them a dumbass, putting someone else’s feelings before your own IF it’s not detrimental to you (and if it IS detrimental, try to find another way, a compromise), letting someone cut in front of you in a line, dropping the pennies in the bottom of your purse in the lion’s club box, baking cookies for a neighbor you don’t know well, trying harder to like someone that you have problems with, trying to listen harder when someone is saying something you don’t agree with – there are a million ways. None of us are trying hard enough. Every one of us needs to try harder to be Ghandi or Mother Theresa.
We need to reach out, we need to give until it hurts. We need to find ways to say what we feel and get our needs met without hurting anybody. We need to share the wealth, whatever kind of wealth we have. We need to think not only twice but THREE times. We need to truly love our enemies. We need to do everything in our power to make peace. We need to try MUCH harder to make the right choices about the REALLY important things and try harder to forgive ourselves when we screw up the small stuff. We need to take ourselves and each other to task. We all need tough love, sisterly love, brotherly love, motherly love, fatherly love, godly love – MORE LOVE. We need to increase it, share it, spend it, spread it until there is NOTHING else.
Nothing else is going to save us. Nothing else will work. ‘42’ is cute and funny and ironic, but THIS is really The Answer. It is the only thing that will work, the only thing that will save us, the only thing that can make us into the grand creatures that we THINK we are.
Period.

MUCH love, and more where I can find it or make it. This is a vow. I expect the same of all of you, but I will do my best to keep my promise whether anyone else tries or not.
-sam

*This is not the erudite plea for peace and understanding that I have every intention of posting here when I can finally stop gritting my teeth long enough to put it together and type it. This is just something I HAVE to say. This is my monkey-self ranting as need be. Sorry.
**woo, am I not!
***The government damned sure doesn’t.

And so the year ends. The ground will go fallow, the leaves will fall, the things that sleep when it gets cold* will take to their hidey-holes – the part of the world that circles around our calendar will take its rest.
If the spring and summer are times for loud building, work and singing, chirp and moving, then the winter is for quiet building - docking one’s proverbial ship for cleaning and repairs. Our bodies have to go inside, and our consciousness turns inward, too. It’s a time for assessing our internal stores and damages and doing what we can to make ourselves “sea-worthy”.
Hopefully when spring comes we will emerge to a bright and brave new world. One where our national leaders have begun to actually care about their jobs and the citizens who depend on them; one where our soldiers will be coming home to have their bodies and minds healed by a loving and grateful government. We will awake from our hibernation with renewed concern for our neighbors and our environment – and ourselves, and we will show our joy by sharing this good feeling with everyone who didn’t get a winter’s rest. We will love our enemies until they can’t hurt us anymore, we will take what we have that is surplus and give it without hesitation. We will care for the children and elderly and animals of other families, we will take more notice of the world around us in order to enrich our souls more deeply and have a better understanding of others.
All these things are so easy. Things we should all be doing already, every minute of the day, right? And all we need is a winter’s rest to think and find these things within ourselves to change the world. I don’t think the Goddess gives us money or possessions of any kind. I’m not sure that She gives us any more strength or beauty or grace than we’re born with or can find on our own. But the one thing that She – or He, or the Universe - DOES give us is CHANCES. A new one every day, every second. Opportunity abounds in this Universe. Change and chances are the one thing that we all believe in, no matter what we call God.
I wish you all good and productive winter’s rest. Let your body slow down, let your soul quicken. May your chances all find you. It’s up to us to make the world a better place. These men who are “running” it will run it into the ground.
It’s up to us.
Much love,
-Sam

*like GIRLS

Debate is raging across the country, friends against friends, families divided, the whole country divided. It is war on every scale. People speak of taking up arms, people speak of armageddon, people speak of slavery and freedom. The one thing I have yet to hear is someone who says that they just don't care. There's at least that, because in my opinion, that's what got us here in the first place.
As much as we'd like to believe that next Tuesday is going to change the world, no matter what happens, we will still have to deal with the horrible mess that greedy, angry men have gotten us into. Theirs and ours, we are all guilty. There is no clearly defined "good side" and "bad side" in this. There are just the innocent and the instigators. The people with money and the poor. The sheep and the wolves - and you know which one you are.
I thought all along that I was being tough here and not mincing words, but I realize how hard I've been trying not to really offend anyone, to allow others their own feelings and consider the (very slim) possibility that I am wrong, and just speaking from my tender heart. And then I read what Jen said in her live journal, in response to another friend's passionate defense of the current administration and it's war [*shudder*].
He quoted some of the popular propaganda (and it's ALL propaganda, both sides), and expressed his opinion that we should be supporting our soldiers (YES.) and this terrible travesty of a "freedom fight". The only thing I commented on (yes, I mostly held my tongue) was his claim that our soldiers morale is good and I said that soldiers told me otherwise (of course he and others claim that morale is bad because we treasonous citizens oppose the war and NOT because they are being shot at and blown up and having their lives taken away so that a very few men can get a lot richer - NOT the soldiers, FOR SURE, mind you...) and mainly kept my other opinions to myself because this is out LJ group, and it is unkind and unwise to stir up cauldrons there. Ask America.
Jen, however, was brave enough to say something else, that being 1. exactly what is on her mind, and 2. What I believe is the stone cold truth. I am honored to quote her here:

"I normally don't reply to things like this but I was laying in bed mulling this over and had to put my two cents in. War is a political tool and in today's world is just like capital punishment. We can't DAMN decide if we want to do it or not. Wars are not justified by the bad guys. You can spin facts anyway you want. America fights the easy fights (Grenada, Bosnia, Iraq, Iran) If it was really about human rights or right and wrong we would have taken on China years ago. It is about $$$. And $$ is not worth losing ONE DAMN LIFE over. When Republicans are in office, Democrats are programmed to nay say. When Democrats are in office, Republicans are programmed to nay say. I am in the same socioeconomic place I was at birth. I am not any better off no matter who is in office. So unless we really want to take up arms NOTHING is going to change. And it is not our political system that needs overhauling Democracy is a damn great idea. It's our economic system that needs overhauling capitalism sucks. Capitalism breeds poverty, Capitalism breeds haves and have-nots, which in turn breeds dissent, which keeps us busy with bullshit while no one asks the simple questions like is anyone hungry, cold, tired, scared. Let's fix that first. Capitalism runs this nation and this war is making $$$. End of story. My two cents?
In this country we don't train warriors, we train soldiers. Soldiers are fodder taught to take orders and go where pointed. Only Delta Squad, Special Ops, Seals and such receive any real training as warriors. They are taught to take the fight where it belongs: the enemy. Not someone else's backyard. America is a punk gang doing drive bys on someone else's turf and they will eventually bring it back to us. And most of the nation will be surprised. Sad, fucking sad. "
-the lovely lass (lj handle).

YEAH! WOO! SPEAK IT SISTER-GIRL! AAAAA-MEN!!!!!!!!!

If you like, you can read the threads of this at livejournal.com, geek patrol, friends; and you can also read my own geekcentric live journal there. I'm queenpie.
Thank you again Jen, for saying what I wouldn't.
-sam

I was driving home from work a few days ago and I was feeling low. Not bottom – I guess I’ve never really hit bottom, though I’ve been pretty damned deep – but low. As Esme and I started the climb up the hill-from-hell, my friend Mark rounded the curve on foot.

I pulled over to the side a little and rolled down the window. Mark’s face is always a welcome sight, no matter how low I am. He is a little older than me, about my height (which I like), he has beautiful dark brown eyes and a face that reminds me of my own. He is extremely intelligent (even by my standards) and he likes Funk. His life has also been interesting, complicated and troubled. And he likes me. Before Chris and I started ___ing*, I thought that Mark and I might give it a whirl, but time and tide waits for no man, and Fate has plans of her own. Mark asked me how I was doing and I said “Alright.” He just said “No.” I said “No, you’re right, I’m not alright.” And then he said something that rang in my heart like a gong in a temple – “How could you be?”

I’ve said that same thing again and again to friends and Chris and watched their faces take on the look of someone dealing with a crazy person, or get the glaze of ‘up, here she goes again’ or worst of all, the exasperated, ‘well what am I supposed to do about it?’ But here was another person resonating all of my own pain. I looked into his eyes and there it was, my heart and mind’s reflection.

Last week there was a terrible incident on my road. A young man - on bad, serious drugs - knocked on one of his neighbors’ doors after losing a lot of money at a house across the street from where two men, people he knew well, father and son, were watching tv. When the elderly man opened the door, the man shot him in the leg. He charged in with the gun, demanded money, made the son sit on the couch. He then shot the son at point blank range in the face and shot the father in the chest. The father is living, so far. The son is not.**

I’m ashamed that it took me as long as it did to make the connection but after seeing the deep hurt in his eyes I thought to ask him if the victims were his family. I’d suspected as much, but I hadn’t seen him to ask. He said yes, and began to pour out his heart in his way. His words echoed the ones I’ve spoken (what seems to be) a million times. He talked about his anger at the person who did this to his cousin and uncle, he talked about his anger at the justice system. He talked about the pain of thinking of his own daughter doing time in Iraq and his fear of that imminent phone call or word on the evening news. He talked about his loss of freedom and the horrible price of it, that our government can take so much from us and yet charge us so much for what we have – our sons and daughters, our rights. He talked about taking arms and rising up, using his own military training to take back his rights. More and more people – all kinds of people – speak to me of that every day.***

I said “Mark, you and I are so much alike.” And he said “More than you know.” He said that he had never in his life seen anyone as alive as me. He mentioned again, as he does each time we talk alone, that if it were not for timing, we might be together now, and before we parted he asked me if I believed in reincarnation****. I said “Why?” and he said “Because the next time – and that may be sooner than you know – I won’t let you get away…”

Coming from someone else, this might creep me out or make me laugh, but coming from Mark it was almost believable, and definitely a compliment. It made me want to have faith in something outside myself.

He told me one other thing that was very, very important, though. It was most bizarre and serendipitous timing too, because I’d been thinking a lot on this very subject and the possibly enormous role that it’s playing in my depression. He said that we could not deny our essential natures – he and I and people like us. He said that we were made as warriors and we are meant to carry our swords and shields till the day we die. I’ve been thinking so much about the way that this war has affected my normally, well, ‘scrappy’ nature. I’ve always been a fighter. It’s always been the one thing that kept me alive and whole. I’ve come to see the wrong in it, but I can’t see how to justify those two things. If I continue to fight, and seek violent ends to my means, then I am no better than Bush and Bin Laden and their thugs. How can I continue to support violence when I feel this way? But if I try to remain peaceful, they will mow me and all the others who feel this way down like wheat in a field, and we will be nothing but fodder.

No answers. No solutions. But at least I have another clue. And at least I know that there is someone out there who really knows how I feel, to the bone. I pass his house every day, at least twice a day, and now I make a point to pray each time. For his daughter in Iraq, for his own strength and good judgement, for the successful management of his pain, for justice for his family, for freedom, and for the willingness and ability to do what has to be done when the time comes.

Maybe there is someone else who truly understands and is driving by my own house twice a day, saying the same prayers for me. I hope so. I need them.

-s

*Skwooching? Cohabitating? Bickering? ‘Dating’ just doesn’t seem to cut it.

**please, before any of you judge all of my neighbors and neighborhood based on this horrible thing, I want you all to think of the fact that things like this have happened within my sphere all of my life, no matter where I’ve lived, many times within my own family. It’s not just Markham road, it’s not just these people.

*** The day before, I had a very intelligent, educated, peaceful, sane, cultured young man come and talk to me specifically about this issue and ask me where I stood. He made it clear that he would take up arms, and he – and quite a few others – said that he felt strongly that it might come down to martial law, militia and riots. There is no doubt that this country is clearly divided, and even though none of us want bad things to happen, the thought that nothing might happen, that we might lie down and accept this injustice AGAIN is worse.

****yes andi, second time that day.

My rant is sick, too.
It’s tired of being about the same old sad stuff – my illness, my anger, my restlessness and wanderlust, my depression, our evil national administration and the war*. It longs for the good old days of raising hell about small things and singing the praises of my friends. It wants to soar through descriptions of strange coincidences and exciting adventures. It’s tired of being hurt and angry. It desires the earthly passion of the praise of worthy bohunks and the celebration of all things sweet and light.
So you see, it’s not just you, or me that is fed up with the current state of the onion**. My rant has had it too. Requests are welcome. Write to my guestbook*** and give us some direction.
Much love,
-sam

*Please watch this video. I wish OUR country was this openminded.
**y'know, ogres, orcs and onions - we have layers, we smell bad, we make people cry.
***folks like, say, for example DAN and NIC, please remember that I reserve the right to refuse any request.

When I was about 19, I was living in a duplex on 25th avenue in Hattiesburg. I worked graveyard shift at the Tastee Donut, so I got the bedroom with no windows. My neighbors were a small family with big problems – I was often awakened by the sound of beatings, yelling and crying. My roommate was a sweet girl, but she was new to the local punk circle of “friends” that I was beginning to outgrow*, so the house was constantly plagued by drunk, drugged-out delinquents who were at least smart enough to stay away until I left each night, returning home each morning to a trashed house, often with passed out losers lying around and piss in my bed. I was miserable. I came very close to drinking myself to death during that time, and in fact – on September 11 – I overdosed and ended up spending some “quality time” in the same hospital where I was born.
During this time I was dealing with bronchitis, depression, I think I sprained an ankle during that year, and due to the drinking I lost a huge amount of weight and was actually smaller than I’d been since age 13. That’s what a bleeding ulcer and drinking two or (many) more of your 3 meals a day will do for you. Strangely enough, a lot of my “friends” kept telling me I’d never looked better. I still have one of those photo booth pictures taken during that time on my mantle to remind me of how dangerous irony can be, and of how people can see you every day and not know you at all…

My best friend and first love was also in the picture. Of course I was too selfish at the time – and for a long time after – to think what all of this must have been doing to him, and how it must have affected his respect for me. But he was still there, as much as he could stand to be and then some. He’d show up with soup on some days*, and other days he’d come and subtly try to sober me up with his good coffee and chocolate chip cookies. Some days, though, he’d try to talk sense into me, and if you think that’s a tough job NOW, you should have tried it when I was 19, drunk and mad at the world (Rory, you are a brave, selfless man. How could I not love you?)
On one particular day, we were sitting at the little table in my dining room/kitchen. My typewriter was there – at least I was trying to write. We were having coffee. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but as I said, he was probably just trying to talk some sense into me. The one thing I do remember though, is that he said “…Sam, I probably know you better than you know yourself.” I don’t remember what I said (a mercy, most likely, but it was probably somewhere along the line of !@#$ YOU!…”) but I do remember that I flew into a rage and threw my typewriter. The one that papaw Joe gave me when I was 13. Poor Rory, Poor Shirley****…

Why did that make me so mad? Probably because, at that time, it was true. And I couldn’t accept that, because lack of self-knowledge (self-awareness, self-understanding) is a horrible, unforgivable weakness, at least in the Book of Sam. These days, I would be even angrier at such a pronouncement, but righteously so, and so calmer. I feel as if I know myself through and through now, learning more as each day passes. But knowing and handling are two completely different things. These days I would have to give Rory – and my other wise friends – credit for being able to see the forest for the trees.

I had a horrible, violent and painful meltdown the other night (ed. note, I started writing this over a week ago.). I haven’t done anything even remotely like that in a long time, and I have never done it in front of anyone else, or without any forethought. I talked my heart out to Chris afterwards, about everything that’s hurting me that I am currently conscious of. It definitely helped me to make more sense of it all. Chris is one of the sweetest, kindest, most understanding beaus I’ve ever had. But the fact of the matter is that sympathy only goes so far, and sometimes it is empathy that you need. Chris listened patiently, but there comes a point where you can see the light of understanding go out, and then you might as well be talking about a science fiction story. It’s not that he doesn’t want to listen and understand, it’s that, when you haven’t grown up in and lived a life of mental, emotional, and sexual abuse, neglect, torture, abandonment, betrayal, chaos, instability and madness, it’s hard to understand. And YAY for that. I’m GLAD that he and a lot of my beloved don’t have that kind of understanding. And luckily, you don’t have to have that kind of understanding in order to give comfort, and Chris – and all my good friends – are aces at that.

I stand by my belief that I know myself well, better than anyone else, though I have some friends that surprise me every day. And one of the things that I know is that it is unbelievably hard for me to ask anyone for any serious help. Small every day favors, things that are easily repaid, I can manage. But those deep down life things, like “can you talk me off this ledge?” or “will you give me a place to stay?” or “will you listen to my deepest, blackest pain and still love me and try to understand me better?”, I can’t do. Several of you have called or written or even said to my face lately that I am going to have to learn to do this. At least you all see this possibly fatal flaw, but how many of you really understand just how difficult this is for me. I think several of you have a good idea, and so I thank you for watching me, looking for the signs, and reminding me that I can ask, for anything.

I am grateful for you all taking the time to know me as well as you do, for trying to see the forest for the trees. Lately, I’ve not been feeling very worth it, so each reminder carries more weight than you know. My typewriter-throwing days may not be over, but I promise that I will never aim one at you.
Unless you deserve it.
;)
-s

*thank god.
**one day he and the only girlfriend he ever had that I liked***, beautiful, wild Michelle, came and made me soup and made me feel loved and included. Michelle’s smoky, latin-tinged voice was as much medicine as the visit and soup – chicken and noodle, lots of black pepper…
***though I haven’t met his fiancé Julia yet, I think I can add her to the list.
****my first typewriter and my second bike were called Shirley. Shut up, Jams.

Did you all know that I was born on the same day as Robert Plant*? I'll let him speak for me today. There is a huge amount of irony in this song, especially for those of you who know me well and know the story behind my latest tattoo...

"Leaves are falling all around, It's time I was on my way. Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay. But now it's time for me to go, the autumn moon lights my way, for now I smell the rain, and with it pain, and it's headed my way. Sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do, I've got to ramble on, and now's the time, the time is now, to sing my song. I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl, on my way. I've been this way ten years to the day, I've got to ramble on, gotta find the queen of all my dreams. Got no time to for spreadin' roots, The time has come to be gone. And to our health we drank a thousand times, it's time to ramble on. Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear. How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air. T'was in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair. But Gollum, and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her, her, her....yeah. Gonna ramble on, sing my song. Gotta keep-a-searchin' for my baby... Gonna work my way, round the world. I can't stop this feelin' in my heart, Gotta keep searchin' for my baby. I can't find my bluebird!"

Sometimes, Zep just says it better, huh?
Who knows, maybe I'll never find my bluebird. But I'm guaranteed to never find it if I never look...
Longing for the grey ships,
-s

*and H.P. Lovecraft, too. 'Splains a lot, dunnit?

Here, listen to "Wagon Wheel", covered by Old Crow Medicine Show while you read this.

Today is a singular, perfect early Autumn day in the mountains. I walked to the bakery this morning. The birds were singing, the leaves are beginning to blush deep red and shine gold, and the sky looks like it was painted by a Wyeth. As I walked, first along the sidewalk and then along the tracks, people waved and smiled as they passed by, and I could smell the breakfast and lunch prep smells coming from all the little restaurants. It was so surreal, I felt like I was in a construct*. Not unhappy, but confused by the incongruity of my ongoing depression against the bas relief of this perfect-seeming place. It feels like a trick, almost. Like something meant to make you forget that people are dying for unjust causes, or worse, no reason at all; that the world is overloaded, aching and sick. And that I am floundering in limbo as far as making either a bigger difference in the world or a change for my own health and happiness. I am ashamed of feeling this way.
I felt physically better for a bit, no doubt about that. How could anyone be completely unhappy on such a perfect day? But the one moment that I felt my soul truly rise, and an almost forgotten lightness come to my heart was when I was looking down the railroad, to where it curved out of sight** between the trees. Down the mountain, south, to flat lands and pine trees and eventually, the coast - and then on from there. Aunt Sue doesn't call me 'Gypsy' for nothing.
It's not just me, either. There's a few folks in my family who settled down, mostly on my mama's side, but even most of them have moved and changed and wandered around all their lives. Some of them literally ran away from home, more than once. Many of them could never keep a 'straight' job, and the few who could settle down usually had to stake out a spot that was plenty isolated and able to be shut off from the world completely, if need be. My mother's father and mother settled in one place for most of their lives, but my Papaw spent his days constantly shifting between the river, roads, fields and woods. And my Mamaw, who never learned to drive, spent her days wishing that she could. She hounded me about learning to first ride a bike - she taught me herself - and then to drive***, because she knew.

Yesterday morning, heading down the hill to work, I saw a glimpse of big wings against the sky through a widening gap in the trees. I am always searching the skies for signs of flight, I love and envy all birds, even the ones who swim instead of fly, and so I rushed ahead to see them cross the road. It was a flight of canadian geese, my geese, in full formation, flying very low toward the pond. They were about to land, so I knew that if I hurried I would get to see them touch down on the water. I goosed the gas (haha, "goosed"...****) and swung into the curve by the pond just in time to see the point goose touch down and the other 31 right behind. It was beautiful, I felt like they'd done it just for me.
I've had several starling mornings lately, too. They've taken to roosting in the trees on the hillside across the road from my house, out near the hammock. Usually right after I get out of the tub I hear them coming. I rush out of the back door, and stand on the step in my towel and watch them fly over, thousands of small black cutouts against the slice of crystal morning blue between my roof and the dog wood tree. I look up, dizzy from flock-sound, bath-heat and early-head, and my heart goes with them, black-winged, every time. As much as I love to hear them roosting near, I'm always a little sad to think that they've settled, even for a little while, when they could just fly, fly, fly...
And then I come back in and start my day, put on my armor in layers of smoke and fabric, pick up my million weights, bookbag, phone, accoutrement and keys, and go face another day in the cage.

-s

* I wish sometimes that I'd never seen 'The Matrix'.
**this is almost EXACTLY the spot where I was
***my papaw tried to teach me and failed. this man was seemingly afraid of NOTHING, but nonetheless he gripped the dashboard, white-knuckled, while i attempted to maneuver his Scamp over the little one-lane tie and tin bridge at approximately 8 miles an hour. I was 23 before I got my license.
****that one was for Hamilton

The Wonderful Women in My Circle
(This is one of those e-mail fwds again, but one that really struck a nerve with me, since my girls have been helping me get through this rough time. I changed it a little to share here. Feel free to do the same.)

When I was little, I use to believe in the concept of one best friend,
and then I started to become a woman. I then found out that if you allow
your heart to open up, the Universe will show you the best in many friends. One
friend's best is needed when you're going through things with your man (Ninka, Andi, Sallie...).
Another friend's best is needed when you're going through things with your
Mother (Buffy...). Another when you want to shop (Sarah, Emily...), share (Jen...), heal (All of them...), hurt (CG), joke (Sandy, Heather...), or just be (again, all...).

One friend will say let's pray together (Aunt Sue and Peggy...), another let's cry together (Andi...), another let's fight together (Buffy and Jen...), another let's walk away together (Karly...) One friend will meet your spiritual need (Heather, Maite...), another your shoe fetish (Liz...), another your love for movies (Andi, Nink...), another will be with you in your season of confusion (Ninka), another will be your clarifier (Buffy...), another the wind beneath your wings (Aeryn, Sprout...). But whatever their assignment in your life, on whatever the occasion, on whatever the day, or where ever you need them to meet you with their gym shoes on and hair pulled back or to hold you back from making a complete fool of yourself... those are your best friends.

It may all be wrapped up in one woman, but for many it's wrapped up in several... one from 7th grade (Sandy, Pam...), one from high school (Margo, Leann...), several from the college years (Melody...), a couple from old jobs (Carol...), several from church (ummm...), on some days your mother (well, other people's mothers - Peggy, Helen...), on others your sisters (Mandy, Karly...), and on some days it's the one that you needed just for that day or week that you needed someone with a fresh perspective (Sallie...), or the one who didn't know all your baggage (Bonnie...), or the one who would just listen without judging (Kathy...)... those are good girlfriends/best friends.

Men are wonderful, husbands are excellent, boyfriends are awesome, male friends are priceless... but if you've ever had a real good girlfriend, then you know there's nothing like her. I thank the Goddess for girlfriends, those who honor intimacy, those who hold trust, and those who cover your back when you feel like life is just too heavy. I thank the Goddess for you. The special bond we share, that's unique to us. The words we've shared. The prayers we've sent up. The laughs, the tears, the phone calls, the emails, the shopping, the movies, the lunches, the
dinners, the late night talks, afternoon talks, the weekend talks, all the talking, talking, talking and the listening, listening, listening...

So whether you've been there 20 minutes or 20 years, I love you! Pass this on to the women who make a difference in your life! I just did

This morning I passed the little silver-rippled pond at the bottom of my hill and the geese were back, 32 of them. That’s the most I’ve seen there so far. After that spring and summer two years ago, watching the little family struggle after they lost one of their four babies, I began to regard them as a symbol of the prosperity of my own friends and family. I’ve watched them and rooted for them all along, and you all know how excited I was this last spring when all 6 of my little gosling friends survived, and then I got to see the family reunion of 17. And now the pond is Goose Central… like Bruffy’s house when we all get together. All of our little families are doing well. Aeryn just turned one (MOO! bookiebookiebookie, that little monkie was SO cute in her Aunt Sam prezzie embroidered Chinese silk jimmies!!!) on Thursday and Andi is settling into adept mommy-hood with amazing skill and grace. Elsa will be one in just a couple of weeks, and Steve and Allie are adding nice big rooms onto William and Osa’s old place. Will’s little Emily just had her christening and is growing like a weed; and speaking of growing, our Sprout is big and beautiful and smart and all the things we suspected. That kid’s gonna’ be weird – but hey, that’s how we like ‘em! :) Jen and Burt got hitched at con, and graced me with the honors of literally tying the knot, and they are both doing well work-wise. Silas is getting big and climbing like a monkey, and Tam and Stephanie just got married last Saturday in a truly sweet ceremony. Buffy’s job has shifted into something more lucrative and pleasing to her soul, and they are all doing well and not only coping with all of their own life-stuff, but steadily supporting their ‘adopted’ folks. Stewart has been promoted and is co-managing the paper now (along with Jody, who he loves and respects and admires and works well with) and things are much smoother there now. He also hired Jamie and Erin, so bringing bounty into their lives when both of them had been without work for sometime. And earlier this week, I got the news that my beloved crow-brother and his lady love are nine weeks into their own pregnancy, after having a tough time a while back. Blessed be.
I believe with all my heart (and that’s a lot of heart) that these folks all deserve these kinds of blessings, and many many more. I think that all the good things that come to these folks are the result of the ‘threefold law’, and they are just reaping what they’ve sown.
The thing I notice about all of these parents – despite my feelings about overpopulation and adoption – is that these are all people who deserve to have children; people who are truly capable of loving and caring for a child; and most importantly, people who will raise children that will make a positive difference in this world in a big way. I will be a very lucky girl indeed if I am able to watch these children grow into themselves and witness their wonders.
As sad as I am, as sick as I get, these things give me hope. I hope they do the same for all of you. Friends, when you feel exasperated with your own lives, remember that you are a source of hope for someone else.
Much love,
-s

Well, the good news is - my bloodwork is sterling. The bad news is - I am still sick, my migraine has settled in for a long haul, it seems, and my 'asthma' issues are still present. I'm still weak, but I've found that eating makes me veryvery sluggy and brings on The Pain. Also, either the meds or the allergies or the general feeling of yuk have squashed my appetite to death, so that's a sort of happy accident, eh?
so, I've got a dentist appointment on Monday, I am going in for routine stuff, but I am going to talk to him about the possibility of deteriorating fillings making me sick, and what might be done there, and also about tmj. I've had a lot of jaw pain, and there is some misalignment (I am developing an underbite). That could definitely be tied in with my neck, head and jaw pain. Then on Tuesday I have an appointment with an allergy and immunology specialist.
is this not !@ #$ ridiculous?

last night I reached a bit of a meltdown point in my depression over all of this. I've been thinking a lot about how hopeless the whole circle seems - my job and home are making me sick, I can't afford to take care of myself or move without the job, I'm spending my days sad and sick and thinking that this is how I will be hacking out my middle years, sick, in pain and working a job that keeps me sick in order to be able to almost afford healthcare (my insurance is basically shite) and when I do get time to breathe and play, I am too sick and weak to enjoy it. If my health is ruined now - and I somehow make it to retirement age - will I just sit in a chair and die slow and horrible and sad like my father?
sicksicksicksicksick!#$*&!SICK.
needless to say, my insurance doesn't cover psychiatric counseling, either.

I told Christopher last night that, if I knew I had the courage to 'do away with myself' at the end of a year, then I would drop EVERYTHING in a !#$% heartbeat, pack up my truck and my dog and take off. I would drive around the country - finally - and fulfill at least some extent of my dream of travel. I would visit old friends and draw to my hearts' content, I would have no regrets and I would never look back because there would be no future to worry about, no family to let down because I foolishly left the first "security" I've ever had - the only cage would be my own limitations, and those bars are flexible. But all that would be incumbent on my being able kill myself at the end of the year. THIS IS NOT A WARNING OR A THREAT, FOLKS.
this is me honestly sharing my thoughts and feelings. I wouldn't do that to any of you, to Aeryn and Sprout and Abe and Risa and Stewart and Chris and...
it comes down to this. I am not living for my own future. I never have. I have never had any kind of realistic hope of idea of a future for myself. The only future I've ever dreamed of seems more and more impossible the older I get, the sicker I get, the more tied down I get, and that's my dream of world exploration. Not luxe travel, just travel. Being on the road (or rail or water or in the air), seeing new things, seeing the places I've dreamed of, from junky tourist traps to the eight wonders. The only other thing that I've ever lived for was other people. My friends and family who, although they don't need me, they would be very sad and hurt if I were gone, especially by my own choice.
now that I am in pain 90% of the time, and have been sick for over a month, with no end in sight,
the thought that I either stay in this job and house that have become toxic to me or quit and become a welfare vegetable is killing me. And I promise y'all that depression is doing NADA to make this all better.

but I will not leave you all with nothing but a little ball of sadness and worry - I love y'all (and myself) too much for that. In talking all this out with Chris last night, trying to tell him how bad
I really feel, that I am not just body sick but heart and mind sick - life sick - depressed and memory-haunted, frustrated and afraid that I will never achieve any of my personal dreams,
I hit on an idea. An actual possible escape route. Something that could even possibly end in the kind of security and freedom that I hope for only in my fantasies. Not BIG, but MINE.
I don't want to say anymore yet, not until I have a clearer idea of the actual possibility of it all.
but please wish me luck, or pray for me, or whatever you believe.
I just can't go on like I am now.

-s

I haven't been posting because I've been veryvery sick.
Am waiting for bloodwork results now, but I suspect that it's an allergy specialist for me...
FEMA is coming to assess the library damage tomorrow, all the carpet will have to go, and there will have to be walls and etc. replaced in order to clean out all the mold and mildew. This !@#$ sucks. Sorry for the language folks, but that's the marrow of it.
I have not - will not - abandon thee, my folks. Please do the same for me.
-s

This “rant” needs to be something more than just keyboard-driven digital self-gratification, it needs meaning, like the best possible mutual gratification, so I am writing this as a letter to you. I will not talk about Today, the date, the anniversary. Everyody who reads my 'rant' knows how I feel and my fears and dreams of peace, so I will do everyone a favor and rest on it this day - this day that just happens to be my sweet baby brother's (USAF) birthday (HAPPY DAY TO YOU SHAWN! Stay safe). Instead I will talk about something much smaller, much closer to home. It’s something I'd like to try to say to the WORLD, but it’s easy to talk just to you, mo Hobbes.

I’ve been thinking of writing, knowing I owe you a full three courses, at least. I’ve thought of you throughout the days and phrased poetic posts about my bizarre life at ‘Con, (whoa.) I thought of you again yesterday evening, duskish, in my kitchen, making tea. I thought how you might laugh at my sloppy yet scientific measurements and preparations (I always spill tea leaves and drops of milk). But my cup has to be just so. I thought how much you’d enjoy my VERY hobbity little kitchen and leaning at the back door soaking the misty green mountain air (Gandalf and Bilbo, we) I thought how much you’d know I was trying to be just so for you, and self-conscious of my yank tea-making skills. I wanted you to be there, laughing at the fact that my Discworld calendar’s still on Wyrmberg…

The world has been a bit surreal for a couple of weeks now. Week-before-last I was sick with a cold, then as I was coming out of that I went to Atlanta and spent 6 days, sleeping in an air-conditioned hotel room at night* and watching lobby-bound Super-Geek Mardi Gras spin past me during the long and strangely lit days. I came home to flooded mountain valleys and a water-filled library to discover that I am very allergic to mold, wet carpet, wet paint, wet sheetrock, wet books, wet insulation, dust and people. I then spent a very odd evening in the emergency room of a very nice hospital** where sweet but strangely dressed interns talked to me about seeing Keebler elves, alternative medicine, and the virtues of smoking more interesting plants than tobacco***, having x-rays and snuffalupagus-meets-alien-effects breathing treatments. I’ve spent the pursuant days in a haze of chemical, physical and emotional dissociation. Luckily, I’m used to this. In order to be able to work I am having to take three different allergen combatants. One inhaled, one pill (which I will probably keep having to take indefinitely) and one sticky sweet syrup with a street value of approximately 5$ a teaspoon. Needless to say, my head is not my own. I loll here in a fog of memory and misery. Fortunately the memories are recent and good, or distant past and bittersweet; and the misery is not of the soul but of the congested chest and overmedicated head. This too shall pass.

There’s a river under the ice though, and the insulation of illness and medication allow me a snug little cove in which to huddle and trawl the depths. (you can conjure up your own metaphors about the lampreys and lantern fish of my soul, cleverbritches.: )
I’ve been confronted with a few significant chunks of my past lately. I walked away from it wholesale when I moved here, basically agreeing with myself to just not care. I assumed that this would be mutual, and in most cases, it was. I have very little contact with ANYone from my distant (10 years+) past, including most of my family. There’s Sandy, a miracle of friendship, whom I’ve known since I was 9. There are my siblings, and my contact with them is sketchy at times (and this is mutual and oddly normal/respectful). There are maybe a dozen more old friends – Mississippi, Austin, New Orleans, Tennessee and California people - who I keep in touch with, but few who I talk to often.
Lately though, the internet has been a catalyst for several reunions. None that were truly unwanted and some that were my heart’s desire. This weekend at con I also spent some time with someone special from my eons-distant past, and ran into other familiar faces that I’d forgotten completely. More than anything, more than the joy of seeing healthy happy faces from days gone by, more than receiving long desired attention from role models and crushes, more than a friendly note from someone that I was sure I would never speak to again (but never, never forgotten), was the bittersweet pain of realizing that I just don’t let things go, that I have a lot of growing up to do still.
My heart is heavy. I realized this morning that it’s basically just a crusty old piece of beef jerky anyway. How can I have been through so much and loved and lost so much and still have tenderness there? How can ANY vengeance and anger live next to so much love and desire and sentimentality? And how can I feel so much of all those things for the same people? I immediately think of my mother as a prime example, but then I realize that she IS prime. The prime source. The root of all ME. Can I make peace with all of my perceived traitors without making peace with her? Can I make peace with myself and peace with all of them will follow?
I’ve never failed to come away from a brush with the past without depression and painful introspection. And yet it lingers. I thought that confronting it made it better. “Processing”. Whatever.
I got a note from someone who broke my heart many many years ago. We last spoke angry words to one another, and I thought we’d never speak again. I am so torn in my feelings, if not in my decisions. I would not be myself if I could not welcome anyone who seemed truly ‘safe’ back into my life, no matter the past. There are some that, though I miss them, I feel certain that they would hurt me again in certain circumstances, and so I choose to say, for certain, “never.” Others are not so clear-cut. I am truly delighted to hear from them – real love never dies – but there are echoes in my heart, and I can’t turn them off. I feel that, socially, I should let it go and never mention the, in some cases, ugly past, my own ugly feelings of hurt and betrayal, feelings that should be dead.
There is no point, really in bringing them up, except that they are real, and that for me, they stand in the way of true discourse and the trust and love that friendships require for me now. I’ve learned to make friends who could not hurt me in these ways, or who I could be honest with if I saw this kind of pain coming and perhaps avoid it, or part amicably before the damage is done. These people from the past, though, they own significant real estate on the planes of my heart. These relationships were built there by the love that only fervent young passion**** can construct, and then burnt to ruins by fate and fickle humanity. And so these ruins have sat for so many years, in some cases, all of my life, taking on the weight and mystery and funkiness (ie: metaphorical rats, mildew, ivy, ghost stories, etc.) that such ruins do.*****
This is my doing. I should’ve called “Scary Old Ruins’ Exterminators”******, I could’ve called in the SHT (spiritual hazmat team), and cleaned out the musty corners with some form of metaphysical Lysol. But what do you DO with all that old stuff? Do you pollute clean waters (wail to your new friends in hopes of purging past hurts)? Do you pack it up and deliver it back to the source (wait for the so-called offending parties to open the gate and then dump it back on them) and let them deal with it? These don’t help. They just add insult to injury – except in the rare case that talking to a close girlfriend and pouring it all out seems to soothe a little and leave them none the worse for wear. Those kinds of girlfriends are like an Urban Community Renewal Project for the soul. They take old tires and make flowerpots and plant herbgardens in rusty bed frames. Bless their charitable natures.
I should’ve just let it go, and I suppose, ultimately, that I’ll have to. I know I’ll come across as snobby and pretentious, maybe even as small-minded or pinch-hearted, but the fact is that I’m GUARDED. Can it just be enough that I know I NEED to let it go? That I know I SHOULD’ve? That I’m trying? That I want to?
I hope so.
I feel bad about being so un-evolved. Really. Just as I’m haunted by every betrayal and heartbreak, I’m haunted by every mistake I know I’ve made, every shortcoming, every time I’ve embarrassed myself, or worse, someone else. I remember every horrible insult I’ve taken – especially the ones I’ve deserved… how much can one person not let go in one lifetime – and why?
You’re right, I’m not really an orc. I just long to be. To not care, to enjoy the misery or even discomfort that I cause. To be tough and callous and not wuss out at any fight, run or climb. I long to be unhaunted. To be the scary thing under the stairs myself. But that just ain’t how it is. I want to be loved, I want to be forgiven. I want to love and forgive, and see all old wounds healed. All of them.
Maybe the reason I can’t the past go is because it’s my armor. It’s my history lessons, and I haven’t learned yet. It hasn’t repeated itself, because I simply cut the cycle short now. Even if the situation were the same, if I were betrayed, abandoned, injured, made to look and feel foolish, at least I am different, and I can walk away from it this time and be left with nothing worse than memories and nothing better than a sense that I’ve grown tougher.
The fact that there is hope under all of this really is my saving grace. There’s not enough hope to make me stupid, but just enough to let me try again. First time, shame on you, second time, shame on me. And I can handle shaming myself FAR more easily than being shamed by someone I thought I could love and trust. I am gentler with my loved and trusted self than the world is – more often than not…

Woo, this ice is getting cold, and for now, the fish aren’t biting. Wish me luck. And no polar bears.
-Sam

p.s. oh, and just as a "warm"up...

*well, early morning anyway.
**obviously NOT st. flukes.
***he was congratulating me on having given up cigarettes 17 months ago.
****SAM-passion, no less…
*****ooh, my heart is Gormenghast. You are Titus, "mo ghrá thú". : )
******didn’t you used to work for them?

Well, as off tomorrow, I am OFF TO 'CON!!!! EEEE!!! :D :D :D
Too bad I'm not at all excited about it... :D :D :D

I will be back in one week with a report, wish us - and Atlanta - luck!
And I will leave you with some words of wisdom imparted to me by one of my dear little library children today. He said he wants a t-shirt that says:
"Jesus was my co-pilot, but I crashed in the mountains and had to eat him."

Kids these days.
:D
Much love,
-s

Ladieeeeeeees and Gentlemennnnnn! I am proud to announce that this week Day Off is being COMPLETELY updated! There is already a new Hottie posted for your perusal*, and 3 - yes THREE new pages of 'Day Off' for you to enjoy (hopefully). Before the week is up, we'll have posted a new Photo Gallery with 50+ photos, including faire pics, California pics, and a few other surprises here and there; and MY personal favorite, an all-new Art Gallery, featuring some of my latest work. I can't be traipsing off to 'Con with a dusty old page to show, now can I?
So keep checking the page this week, folks. There should be something there for everyone to enjoy. And be sure to check all the "nooks and crannies" because Stewart and I have hidden a few little treats and "easter eggs" here and there - just to be sure you're paying attention! ;)
Take care, thank you for being patient, and I HOPE TO SEE YOU AT 'CON!!!
xoxox
much love,
-s
p.s. Stewart just informed me that the Art Gallery is UP! enjoy! :)
p.p.s. -the photo gallery should be up before the night is over, too! YAY!
THANK YOU STEWART!

*but hands off, blea-otch**, he's MINE. ;)
**oh wait, that's what Snoop Dogg uses to get his wife-beaters white, 'innit?

Well, if I can’t post with any real regularity, then I can at least try to make the ones I get to JUICY.
I think it’s time for another actual RANT. Some Sam-patented heck-raising. Are you ready?
Wait, I have to get what Stewart calls my “Clint-Eastwood-don’t-!@#$-with-me” face* on…
There. Now…
Of course, with the world situation heating up, I can’t have an Official RANT without some news and opinions regarding the Evil Clowns that are currently running our country. How ‘bout THIS lovely headline:
“Bush Acknowledges Iraq 'Miscalculation'
(complete article linked in title)WASHINGTON - President Bush said for the first time on Thursday he made a "miscalculation of what the conditions would be" after U.S. troops went to Iraq, The New York Times reported. The insurgency, he maintained, was the unintended result of a "swift victory" that led to Iraqi troops disappearing into the cities and mounting a rebellion……Public opinion initially favored Bush's decision to go to war but, after months of casualties and chaos, the public is evenly divided on the subject now.In a separate interview with USA Today, Bush said Thursday that he believes he made the right decision to invade Iraq and thinks voters will not deny him a second term even if they disagree with the war.

[you can bet your bottom dollar, along with all of your friends’ and families’ bottom dollars too, that THIS voter will do her very best to deny him a second term, and precisely BECAUSE of her disagreement with the war.]

With the number of U.S. casualties expected to reach 1,000 well before the election, Bush said, "The president has to make hard decisions. My job is to confront problems not pass them on. And the American people have seen me make the hardest of decisions. That's just going to have to be a part of their decision-making process."In the USA Today interview, Bush was asked why he is staying in politics."There's a lot of my friends who come and bass-fish with me. They don't say it out loud, I know they're thinking it: Why?" Bush said. "And the answer is because the stakes are high. Because there is more work to be done to make the world a freer and more peaceful place**.”

[More work like the work he’s already done? Lovely. And this s.o.b. is !@#$ bass-fishing while our soldiers are being fired on in the desert. In my opinion, the collective Christian vision of Hell is not big enough to contain this man’s administration and their wrongdoing.]

“It is essential that America lead in the 21st century in order to defeat the ideologues who use terror as a weapon, in order to secure the homeland, but also in order to spread liberty.”…

['DEFEAT IDEOLOGUES WHO USE TERROR AS A WEAPON'?!?! Does that include OUR government?! 'Spread LIBERTY'?!?! Is THAT what we’ve decided to call it? This literally makes me sick.]

…On other points, Bush said:”_The campaign for the White House "really doesn't seem that ugly to me" despite the furor over political ads by outside groups attacking Kerry's war record.

[WHAT?!?!]

_The most disappointing thing about his four years in office has been his inability to change the "harsh environment" in Washington.”

[…and hopefully THAT will change when we get him OUT of there in November.]
-end

So, here is our fearful leader referring to our military men and women dying by the hundreds (and soon to be thousands, along with the thousands of civilians) as a “miscalculation”. How can anyone, with any conscience vote for this administration again? Well, technically I suppose we didn’t vote for him the first time. If he wins this time, I feel that this will be the official death of democracy in this country.
The latest nausea-inducing factors, the ipecac of the world situation, as it were, are the ridiculous ploys for the liberal vote. As soon as I heard of Cheney’s big “gay rights confession” I immediately thought “shameless ploy!” – not “Oh how wonderful! They’re actually human after all!” – which is, I am sure, what they are shooting for. And it’s all just going to get nastier and nastier, and more and more people will die in the meanwhile. Sometimes I feel that the only hope our soldiers have is that Dumbya will get so desperate near election time that he will bring them home.
Pray, hope, and VOTE!In COMPLETELY unrelated news (yeah, right), here’s a little medical report that I found VERY interesting:
Revenge Is Indeed Sweet, Study Finds
(complete article linked in title)Dirty Harry had it right: Brain scans show revenge really might make your day. Planning revenge sparks enough satisfaction to motivate getting even — and the amount of satisfaction actually predicts who will go to greater lengths to do so, report Swiss researchers who monitored people's brain activity during an elaborate game of double-cross [see complete article – link in title – for details]…
…The new study chips "yet another sliver from the rational model of economic man," said Stanford University psychologist Brian Knutson, who reviewed the Swiss research. "Instead of cold, calculated reason, it is passion that may plant the seeds of revenge," he said. …The PET scans showed a brain region known to be important for enjoyment and satisfaction — the dorsal striatum — became active in those players who decided to retaliate. It wasn't an afterglow from revenge, but satisfaction from anticipating it.When the retaliation cost them money, a second brain region that helps weigh costs and benefits got involved, too, but the striatum remained key. The level of activity actually predicted which players would spend more money to get revenge."Their behavior does not reflect blind revenge that follows from overwhelming emotions," cautioned study co-author Ernst Fehr, director of the University of Zurich's economic research institute. "They reduce punishment if it is costly for them in the same way as they reduce buying goods if the goods become more expensive."Moreover, that same satisfaction-causing brain circuitry seems to be involved in the evolution of human cooperation, providing incentive to get along with strangers in setting social norms, the researchers write in Science. Punishing violators of those norms even if you personally don't stand to gain may be the flip side.The study involved only men, and more work is needed to see if women and people of varying social and income groups react similarly, Stanford's Knutson said.But the research is important as scientists try to dissect how emotion interacts with analytical decision-making, he stressed."For a long time, sociologists and economists have not paid a lot of attention to people's feelings, especially before an event," Knutson explained. "It's almost like your mind imagines the outcome before it happens. That's a lot of what motivates behavior."
-end

In personal news, I am also dealing with a terrorist situation. I am extremely allergic to most perfumes, all hairsprays, and indeed most mainstream cosmetic and cleaning chemicals, especially those fragrant ones. I get the full anaphylactic monty, the closed throat, tight lungs, sneezing, watery eyes, runny nose, and general malaise. They also kick the fibromyalgia pain up a notch, and - the cherry on the sundae – bring on migraines. Whee. I work in a very public place, and so I have to face the occasional Clinique Commando, those women who come in with the whole !@#$ perfume counter sprayed on. Generally they just breeze in and breeze out and usually an ephedrine tab and a few minutes outside can set me fairly straight, though I always feel like crap for the rest of the day after I’ve been ‘attacked’. I have one visitor however whose personal assault array of chemicals (hairspray, body lotion, hand cream, perfume, body spray, butt spray, flea spray (hell if I know, this woman is FRAGRANT) clear-coat, etc. is SO particularly vile and noxious and overwhelming that I not only can’t be in the same room with her, but I can’t come into a room she has been in – even briefly – until several hours after she’s left without getting very sick. I’m not the only one either. When she goes downstairs to use the lab, people surge upstairs like rats leaving a stinking ship. The brave few who remain at their computers down there sound like a cholera ward on the intercom – it’s ugly.
I finally had to mention it to her. My reaction to her chemical blend and it’s lasting potency is so strong that I am afraid that I am going to have to start wearing a mask and get a prescription to keep steroid shots on hand. I was as gentle as I could be when I brought it up, of course. I was embarrassed for myself and for her, but it couldn’t be helped.
Do you know what she said?
“Well, yeah, my kids and I are allergic to it too, but I don’t care.”
…
WHAT?!?! Maybe we should ship HER to Iraq. Or better yet, the White House. Oh wait, Dumbya’s never there, he’s !@#$ BASS-FISHING. *sheesh *.
I honestly believe that she has been trying harder since then to make it worse, and what can I do? Hosing her down as she tries to walk in the door is a favorite fantasy… or just pulling out the fire extinguisher and giving her a taste of her own medicine… RAAR!

And, last but not least, what would a good, healthy, red-blooded, all-american, end-of-summer Sam-rant be without griping about the inevitable onset of winter. *sigh *
I will spare you TOO much rantage today, though, because I am starting so early, I know y’all will be reaaaalllly sick of it by next spring. SO I’ll just leave you with two lovely poems reflecting my feelings on the subject, by my favorite poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins:


Spring and Fall

To a young child

Márgarét, áre you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

***

‘In the last few years of his life, Hopkins sank into a bleak depression from which he was never to recover. "I began to enter on that course of loathing and hopelessness which I have so often felt before, which made me fear madness ... All my undertakings miscarry: I am like a straining eunuch."

My own heart let me more have pity on; let
Me live to my own sad self hereafter kind,
Charitable; not live this tormented mind
With this tormented mind tormenting yet.
I cast for comfort I can no more get
By groping round my comfortless, than blind
Eyes in their dark can day or thirst can find
Thirst's all-in-all in all a world of wet.
Soul, self; come, poor Jackself, I do advise
You, jaded, let be; call off thoughts awhile
Elsewhere; leave comfort root-room; let joy size
At God knows when to God knows what; whose smile
's not wrung, see you; unforeseen times rather -- as skies
Betweenpie mountains -- lights a lovely mile.

Hopkins died in Dublin in 1889, aged 44. The first collection of his poetry was published in 1918***.

-Poor Gerard. He probably hated winter too.

Oh, and one more interesting note. I was driving down the hill o’ death in Chris’ car the other day when my neighbor’s sweet little Shetland pony, Sonny (family member of Delilah the Goat), CHASED THE CAR. (Have I mentioned that Delilah and Sonny have about 5 dog-siblings and that Delilah thinks she’s a dog?)As I drove by, Sonny got a wild look in his eye and suddenly took off – just like a dog – running alongside the car. Instead of biting at the tires though, he executed a very sharp hind-leg kick – both legs – in the direction of the car.

“Vend-a-moos”, miniature car-chasing horses, the American government, Jen and Burt FINALLY tying the knot… all signs of the Apocalypse, I’m telling you! Go to church! Stockpile canned goods! Read those dumb Lahaye/Jenkins books! Repent! But then how can we repent if we haven’t even pented yet?
*sigh *

Enjoy summers’ end my lovelies. Depending on what happens in November, it could be a VERY long winter.
Much love,
-s

*those of you who know my mother do not have to wonder where I got THAT from…
**can you !@#$ BELIEVE this?!?!
***this is a MOST interesting and valuable site...

It's a good week for Geek Birthdays! (mine is Friday) -

"2004-08-18 - Wireless Flash Weird News

Dungeons & Dragons Turns 30

BOSTON (Wireless Flash) -- Players of the role-playing game "Dungeons & Dragons" have cause to celebrate.
No, they're not finally moving out of their parent's basement. This year marks the game's 30th birthday.
The game's anniversary will be celebrated at the upcoming Gen Con Game Fair in Indianapolis tomorrow through Sunday (Aug. 19-22), but the game's creators at Wizards of the Coast, have a few other cards up their sleeves to celebrate the milestone.
In October, a coffee table book of "D&D's" history will be published which contains game-playing celebrity anecdotes from stars like "The Daily Show" correspondent Stephen Colbert, Mark Tremonti, former bandmember of Creed and a forward written by 25-year veteran player Vin Diesel.
Then on October 16, a spokeswoman for the company says they will hold World Wide D&D Game Day by trying to set a world's record for the most people playing a role-playing game at the same time."

- OCTOBER 16, GAME THE ! @#$ ON, GEEKS!!!
Much love, and good dice,
Magpie, Queen of the Geeks

For those of you who want to keep deluding yourselves about whether or not we 'bleeding heart liberals' have a skewed and biased view of the situation in the Middle East, stop reading now. And for those of you who feel tempted to reply in some - in ANY - smarmy way about this letter - please don't. This is REAL. This is my heart and soul, my family.

The following letter is from my beloved Adam, who just turned 19 over there, a week ago today. Adam is no wuss, not by any STRETCH of the imagination, as you can tell from his letter. Adam won the Medal of Valor before his 19th birthday. He joined up with the intention of doing what whatever he was called to do, and he is doing that and trying to keep his head up. But he told me the last time he was home, right before he shipped out to the desert, that I was right about my fears, and that he didn't believe in this war, that he thought Bush was in the wrong. This is not some hippie liberal speaking, this is not someone who hasn't got the courage to do what the rest of us won't. If he were fighting a just cause, he would say so, with pride and a loud "HOO-AH!" - and he would feel like he was putting his life on the line for a reason. As it is, he feels like he is finishing a sentence, and just trying to keep himself and his buddies alive until they are freed from the prison of our government's insanity. I warn you, this letter is heartbreaking. It confirms all of my worst fears and suspicions about the ! @#$-up our government has made of this situation and of these soldier's lives.

All of you who think otherwise, up to and including ! @#$ George ! @#$ W. - AND his whole ! @#$ SHRUB clan - can officially kiss my @$$. I'm sorry to be so blunt and rude, I try to be open-minded, I try to see all sides, but if two people, in such very different positions can see this situation the same way, then something is very, very "rotten in Denmark". You can say what you want about MY opinion and feelings on the matter, but the following is the opinion of a very typical, ABOVE average (according to his CO's) soldier living right out on the front line. And no matter how you feel about the politics of the matter, please pray, or send good wishes, or good energy - or whatever you believe - for these soldiers. It is obvious that they need them.

-s

"Howdy from beautiful B-------, Iraq

Hey Sam , sorry it took me so long to write you but I’ve been busy like you wouldnt believe. I’m glad everything is good with you. Being out here really puts everything into perspective and how much those who are close to you really matter. I really miss home and well, just being free to do as I please. I might should have let you talk me out of joining. But its okay. I don’t like what I do most of the time but I am good at it. Life is such a precious thing and it is taken out here so fast. I don’t enjoy taking life at all but you become numb to it all after a while. Combat brings out a person inside of you that you don’t like and who you are afraid of. There’s nothing in this world like that. There is so much hate out here. People that hate us because they don’t know why we are still here. And us soldiers hate them because they have killed our friends who we were hanging out with the other day and who didn’t even know why they were here or what they were fighting for. It's not that we are fighting for a cause that we don’t believe in its that we don’t know what the cause is. We’re just fighting for our lives and that’s all, fighting scared that we wont go home.

[I had to edit this part out because it's a surprise... -s.] I miss you Sam, I miss the porch chats and [and i had to edit this part out because it's illegal. :) -s.]. I miss everything about regular life I should have spent more time with you last time I came home and for that I apologize. And I will not neglect your friendship again this time because now I cherish everything valuable like that more than ever. I’ll leave you now and I just want you to know that I love you and cherish you and I’ll see you soon

Love, your loyal Vice President

PFC Adam P."

ooh, today's google-ads ^ are "quality masks" and "bunny slippers". yeah!

Hello faithful site checkers! (um, that would be ANDI!)
My most sincere apologies for not keeping up with my rants for some time, I’ve been very busy (with mostly good stuff. Some quackery, but a minimum, thank Goddess) and I really haven’t had a topic that set me on fire, at least not one that I really felt like being blasted for*. I hope that it makes you all feel good that I’m not just writing to, uh, hear myself type. I’m really not. I honestly feel bad when it seems as though I have little to offer here, or when I’m seeming to harp, kinda’ thing.
Finding subjects worthy of my good readers isn’t always easy, y’know**? But today one landed in my lap and I think all of you – especially the moms of the group – will find this interesting. This involves folks I know, so I won’t use names. They probably wouldn’t mind, but it’s just polite and journalistically honorable. Bear with me.

A friend of mine has three children, a 13 year-old daughter and two other girls who just turned 11. We were discussing several topics, mainly the changes that each child goes through at the same age, and how one child can mature at a VERY different rate than another at the same ages. We were also talking about how much a single child can change within a very short period of time. One of the girls is turning out to be very “girlie” - short skirts, makeup, lots of pink and denim and those little rubber Madonna bracelets, Boys-R-Us posters, flirty - the works. The other 11 year-old is definitely leaning more toward a serious, tomboy kind of attitude - shorter hair, more practical clothes and accessories, and not so much “frippery”, but still cute and girlie in her own style. The mom said “Can you remember them at this time last year? I would have sworn then that [the “tomboy” one] would have always been my little ‘princess’ and that [the other one] would be the serious tomboy!” I remembered and agreed, and then she said, “Well, you know why [Tomboy] asked to be home-schooled this year, right?”
I didn’t know.
“Well, she announced to her class last year that she was a lesbian and her friends told her later that their families were Christians, and that she was going against the bible, so they couldn’t be her friend any more.”

…

Wow.
A ten year old brave enough to make that decision for herself; a mom open-minded enough to both celebrate her child’s bravery and to also talk to her about not confining herself to one belief so early on; a teacher understanding enough to explain to the child that the friends who shunned her came from a much smaller world than she did (this child and her siblings are bi-lingual, well-traveled and very smart) and that it is just hard for them to understand, THEN have a talk with the girls about how school and religion really are separate things and that everyone doesn’t believe exactly as they do, and that’s ok.
Wow.
Parents (or potential parents, or even siblings and friends), can you even imagine having a talk like that with your ten year old? Can you imagine saying “Well honey, you don’t know for sure, you might be bi.”? To your ten year old? And yet, this is precisely the talk that a parent SHOULD be having in this situation.

I worry so much about the kids I know. There are a lot of them, so there’s a lot of room for worry. Fortunately, most of them are NOT like us (my sibs and I) and actually have parents around, looking after them, wondering where they are occasionally, and if they’ve eaten… I worry very little about whether these kids are happy at home. In fact, now that I think about it, I am a little amazed and VERY pleased to say that of all the children that I am close to (there are some I ‘see around’ that I am not sure about…) have loving families who seem as normal as is possible in this world, and who all seem to be, if not happy all the time (and who is), at least healthy. Mentally, physically, emotionally. That means mad sometimes, hurt sometimes, in trouble sometimes, bored sometimes, etc., but loved ALL the time.
No, I worry about them Out In the World. In school, dating, walking around the town, visiting friends and neighbors, etc. I worry about them being hurt, shunned, un-popular, mistreated in “dating situations”, lied to, beaten up, ridiculed, left out, depressed, disappointed, feeling misunderstood, making bad choices – all the ‘parental’ sorts of worries, I guess. Things have changed SO much since I was 11. If a little girl had told her class that she was a lesbian when I was 11, she would have earned herself a short sharp trip to the shrink and some SERIOUS religious counseling at the very least, not to mention being grounded for life, and possibly corporally punished, too. (That means beaten, folks.) To see this young ladies’ mom’s eyes shine with pride for her daughter’s guts and concern for her feelings, without a trace of disappointment or fear was amazing.
As scary as this world seems, it’s nice to see some things change.
I’ve heard so many people in my life say “If my child came home and said they were gay, I’d beat their ass/kick them out/disown them/etc.” Oh yeah, that’s good parenting - and unconditional love. It is so wonderful to hear of a situation where, first of all, the child felt confidant enough within her parents love to explore her feelings and come to such a mature and important decision about herself, and where her parents were so understanding and accepting.
One friend I mentioned this to said that they didn’t think you could know such a thing about yourself at such an early age. I was “boy-crazy” from my first memories, since I was almost five. Most kids have little crushes on the opposite sex by a very early age, little “boyfriends” and “girlfriends” in play-school and church – why wouldn’t someone know that they had a similar crush on a same-sex friend or idol? It happens though (that they don't "know" this about themselves), more times than not. That’s precisely why it seems so improbable. The majority of children who have experienced this have probably felt terribly insecure, confused, and afraid of what their parents or friends might say or do, and so they hide it from themselves as well as the world. I’ve seen this kind of confusion lead to serious psychological trauma, and create tortured souls, or even near-monsters out of some very sweet, good people. I’d ten-thousand times rather see my child become strong from dealing with the (thankfully) rather mild stigma*** of being “differently oriented” than becoming a twisted shadow of whoever they really are, not to mention a stranger to me and to society, from having to keep something so natural and such a part of them hidden.
I guess the point of all of this is that my faith in the world is restored a little by this tale. ‘Lord knows I need all of that I can get these days. We hear so much of hate and misunderstanding, violence, greed, dissension, and not enough of true, unconditional love, of being one’s self in spite of the odds, of feeling right with who and what you are and what you believe despite the “popular opposition” because you know in your heart that God lives in ALL of us.
Today I celebrate the love of parents for their children, the real kind that never fails, even when that parent is gone, because their words and love and strength and faith live on in their children’s hearts and minds. I celebrate the children who have righteous faith in their parents. I celebrate true, unshakable love of one’s self, belief in one’s self, faith in one’s connection to the Divine.
And I celebrate, most of all, the fact that there some really important and sacred things, despite all the evil in the world, left to celebrate.
"Feed the right wolf" (see 12/06/03 rant), folks.

Much love,
-Sam


*for example: my beloved Adam spending his 19th birthday in !@#$ Tikrit while his mama sits at home and worries (I took her a dozen roses); or the fact that there’s been a little snap in the air lately, and as lovely and pleasant as it is, it means winter is coming. * sigh * * blah * … * BLAR*. : (
**though I really know that you, my faithful readers don’t give a rat’s boo-tay, as long as I’m trying to a. be myself, b. be funny, c. get something off my chest, or d. all of the above.***well, slowly but surely.