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Printed from https://p15.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1923005-Stripping-Off-The-Mask
by susanL
Rated: 18+ · Book · Biographical · #1923005
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou
I'm doing it again, looking towards a fresh start on the road to throwing it all out there. I want this road to be paved with meaning and intensity. The way I try to do everything. I'll lighten it up along the way, but not too much. Complacency is not what I have ever done; I think I have tried for "complacent" in recent years and have failed spectacularly. So this new beginning?

I'm stripping off the mask.












** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **





Well we all have a face
That we hide away forever
And we take them out and show ourselves
When everyone has gone
Some are satin some are steel
Some are silk and some are leather
They're the faces of the stranger
But we love to try them on
-Billy Joel


Previous ... -1- 2 ... Next
July 9, 2017 at 12:27am
July 9, 2017 at 12:27am
#914982
What does it mean to "live forever?"

When my mother died almost three years ago, I was slammed in the face with it. Mortality. We, in my family, thought she'd live forever. She was larger-than-life, she was exuberant, she was flamboyant. She was the woman who sat up straight, one, day, at the age of seventy-five, and said, "I want to pop somebody!" Of course, that was before she became horrifically depressed in the last year of her life. She was bipolar, my mother...they like to say it was her liver that killed her. I know better. It was her brain.

She stopped doing-well-anything. She wouldn't watch television, she wouldn't go out. My brother could barely get her to talk on the phone. During this time, I was going through some serious transitions in my own life. I'd separated, divorced, moved. I was trying to start another life in another place. As a result, I had very little of what's called "disposable income." The short of it? I couldn't visit. I couldn't visit during a critical time in my mother's life.

I talked to her on the phone. I cajoled her to eat, which she wasn't doing. I prodded her to sit up, take in nourishment, watch TV, interact, for God's sake! I guilted her mercilessly, over the phone, about taking care of herself. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

In the end, it didn't.

I work through guilt about this daily. It just is.

But I think about "forever." I think about the song..."who wants to live forever?" What a haunting song, sung originally by an amazing man who did NOT live forever...

I can't answer that, yet.

I'm not a fan of death. I don't know what I'll find on the other side, not sure it's something I'll want to pursue. But it doesn't matter. In the end, every single one of us, from the meek to the strong, will have to face this chasm, this great unknown...

I have friends who have faced the "great unknown." I have friends facing it, now, who are walking-being pushed-towards the exit they are not in any way ready to pass through. I'm in awe of them, because what I have seen, what I continue to see...is a strength I don't yet possess.

I don't think I'll be like my mom. I won't WILL myself into the abyss. I'll be dragged through. We all will.



"Who Wants To Live Forever"

There's no time for us,
There's no place for us,
What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us.

Who wants to live forever,
Who wants to live forever.....?
There's no chance for us,
It's all decided for us,
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us.

Who wants to live forever,
Who dares to love forever,
When love must die.

But touch my tears with your lips,
Touch my world with your fingertips,
And we can have forever,
And we can love forever,
Forever is our today,
Who wants to live forever,
Who wants to live forever,
Forever is our today,
Who waits forever anyway?

June 18, 2017 at 2:17am
June 18, 2017 at 2:17am
#913545
I cannot stop thinking about it.

I "followed" a family probably a year and a half ago, discovered them through a facebook page called "center cut cook," which is actually the introduction to a website of the same name. The owner of this site is a lovely young woman named Ashley Wagner, although for the past few years she hasn't had much to do with it.

When I went to her site, I noticed a link to a page called "Team Ryan." Through that link I realized her husband had been diagnosed with colon cancer. These are young people, mind you, still in their twenties. Ashley was a teacher who resigned her profession to work on her website and concentrate on getting pregnant. Which she did. Right around the same time Ryan was diagnosed with colon cancer at age 29.

I was sad for them, empathetic, caring, distantly interested. I have never experienced what it is to have a loved one diagnosed with this illness. We, as a genetic unit, are incredibly blessed to have dodged this particular, horrific bullet. We have a LOAD of mental issues, thank you very much, but the cancer bullet is a decided dodge.

Ryan, at such a young age, would surely go into remission, right? The oncologist was optimistic...until scans and ultrasounds came back. His symptoms hadn't gone on very long, but here he was, faced with something that was not just colon cancer, but metastatic colon cancer. For the first couple of months they had the luxury of thinking he could fight it, defeat it. But the word "metastatic?" New ball game, bad, bad, bad prognosis. Unbelievable. So young?? Surely not!!!

But surely so. Ryan started those chemotherapy treatments that both heal and harm. In the end he went through over 73 chemo treatments, but I'm ahead of the story, here...

Ashley gave birth to their baby boy. For the first few weeks, all was at least blissful in "babytown." But by week six? The baby was screaming just nonstop, and Ashley knew something was wrong. She knew like a mother knows. Multiple visits to the ER finally revealed a diagnosis. Miles' (the baby) liver was producing an enzyme at quadruple the rate it should, which had caused his kidneys to shut down after attempting to process what they couldn't. He was in desperate need of a double transplant-liver and kidney. SERIOUSLY?!? This family, who had already been through so much before either one of them was thirty, were now faced with this?? It couldn't be written any more melodramatically. Just sitting on a chair, reading their news from the comfort of my home, on my laptop...I just could not believe what they had to face, next.

So followed a year of hospital visits for both Miles and Ryan. For Ryan, endless rounds of chemo with the accompanying nausea and weakness. For little Miles, endless rounds of blood draws and dialysis. Finally a liver was found for Miles through the tragedy of another family. Although the transplant was touch-and-go for almost a week, this liver began to work without producing that life threatening quadruple enzyme production. It was a miracle, followed up almost a year later by an amazing kidney transplant from a wonderful live donor. Miles, although far from "normal," whatever that is, is looking at an actually future. He's two and a half years old.

Ryan, however, at thirty-two, is surely looking upon the end of his own future. He and Ashley jointly agreed to begin his transition from oncology into Hospice. His pain was unbearable, the stuff of horror stories. His cancer has spread throughout, he was in so much pain he couldn't stand, couldn't look at his little boy...which was unacceptable. What he has learned in this incredible, tragic journey?

He's learned about the value of quality. He's learned that, sometimes, winning means bowing out with dignity and grace. With his pain during this last bout of treatment so nightmarish, so very, very bad...he had to concede. He and Ashley called Hospice. They were present in the home in a matter of hours: social worker and nurse practitioner. They took his history, consulted their on-call hospice physician, and Ryan was pain-free in two days. He could eat, converse with his family...he says he feels human, again.

While he is on Hospice care, he is off of oncology. No more cancer treatments, only pain management. But what matters is his precious time, which he knows has a finite number.

Being a part of the Wagners' journey had been eye-opening, humbling, sad, upsetting, crazy, and a blessing. There is no word to describe what they give to us who are afforded a glimpse into their world...how does Ashley DEAL with all this?! How does Ryan so calmly accept his inevitable fate?!? No novel could hold more raw, emotional truth.

I can't stop thinking about them. I hope I never do.


https://www.facebook.com/teamryanstrong/
December 3, 2016 at 3:37pm
December 3, 2016 at 3:37pm
#898952
Sometimes I feel like a relic.

But conversely, sometimes I feel like I shouldn't BE a relic.

Maybe I'm in the minority, but maybe I'm not...

Once, in one of her shows, Roseanne used the words "This is all just going too damned fast." It really is.

November 12, 2016 at 6:04am
November 12, 2016 at 6:04am
#897196
Everyone matters.

Not just people, but individuals.

It doesn't matter what I think of someone's intelligence or life choices, or even if I completely disagree with what's in the heart of another. Each individual person matters.

And this is where I differ from the person who, by some horrific fluke of fate, has won, this week. He does not see it this way. The people around him do not see it this way. THIS is where I-and those who think the same-need to get to work.

Can we change the minds of those who think differently? Probably not. Mostly not. It can't be the focus of what needs to be done.

Banding together in a united front, putting them on notice that we're not going anywhere, that we'll fight discrimination, misogyny, hate of any kind. That we'll link arms and stand for our Muslim, Hispanic, black, Asian, African brothers and sisters.

We will not be silenced. Not ever.
November 9, 2016 at 12:46am
November 9, 2016 at 12:46am
#896944
Hate wins.

I could handle "the other side" winning. I would certainly have issues with it-who wouldn't-but what I can't handle is the simple fact that hate wins.

This is a person who has been nothing more...or less...than evil about minorities of all kinds. He has absolutely no respect for women on any level, no care for anything or anyone outside of himself. We just elected a narcissist to the highest office in the land. I'm more than appalled. I'm...traumatized. I'm seriously traumatized. I feel like a deer in the headlights, about to get reamed by a semi truck. Where do I go, what do I do?? There has to be SOMETHING!

Unbelievable.

Why? Why would a ridiculous amount of people put their vote in for a person backed by the most heinous organization on the planet?! WHY would anyone back a person who strikes fear in small children when they hear him speak, when he is nothing but hateful and nasty to anyone who is not white, male, and rich...believe me, he has no care or time for anyone else. And even then, only when he sees the image of himself reflected back. No one else matters, to him. And THIS is who we've put into the highest position.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH HUMANITY.

I'm heartsick.
October 30, 2016 at 1:35am
October 30, 2016 at 1:35am
#895953
Me. I want to live forever.

I have too much to do.

I haven't done anything. That's how I feel. I enter my fifty-second year of life and what have I done? Anything I set out to do??

I had kids. That I did. I now am raising a granddaughter..way more responsibility than I ever wanted or was ready for...but when my daughter was diagnosed with bipolar disorder way back when she was fifteen-almost fourteen years ago, believe it or not-I knew, then. I knew, deep down in my soul, that I'd be here. That I'd be raising a child of hers at some point. I had no illusions in my soul of souls.

But here's the delimma: I wanted things for myself. Things for ME and me alone. Am I selfish for wanting them? So be it. I can't deny how I feel.

I wanted to be free, by now. I wanted to have time for writing, creating, BEING. I wanted to give myself over to the birth of artistic endeavor. I wanted to travel, drink in, explore. I wanted this period of my life to be set aside for no one but...ME. For my creation, my exploration, my own artistic birth.

It was not to be.

I'm raising my granddaughter. I will not abandon her, not ever. I'm as committed to her as I was to my own children. Do I pine for different? Yes. Will I act upon it? Nope. I can't even imagine a scenario where I would be able to do that...only if Olivia were safe and happy without me in the picture...so again...no.

I'm fifty-one years old. I tire so much more easily than I did at an earlier age. Olivia exhausts me to the point that I'm ready for bed when she is. Five nights out of seven I'm unable to act upon that need. Instead, I trek off to work until after 7:30am, upon which I trek home to get her ready for school, get her on the bus, and THEN am able to collapse. I do, however, suffer from insomnia...so this is not an easy task and often only managed for a few hours a day. Such is the life of a grandmother pressed into service when the daughter is just not..around or equipped...to take up the burden.

I'll get back to you on the writing. *yawn*



August 21, 2016 at 5:17pm
August 21, 2016 at 5:17pm
#890511
So. I have this friend. She paid for an upgrade to my account...thanks, Jamie! *I'd link you but I completely forget how to do that...log in more time with writing.com, noted* I also have a friend who has just given me some great advice. She said, "Next time you're alone, instead of doing laundry or dishes-even if you have to kick people out-WRITE! Just do it. No excuses." I have to listen to my friends. I mean they're my friends for a reason, right??

Friendship doesn't seem like it should be such a tricky issue. We talk, we enjoy each other's company, we decide, "wow, that's a friend. I really like her/him." And that should be it, right? Of course life is NEVER that easy, never so cut-and-dried.

We change, we grow, we morph. Much like the lizard who sheds its skin, there are times when, no matter how long a friendship seems to have lasted...we end up shedding it. Not a popular thought, but an honest one. How many of us have experienced the phenomenon? We enjoy our friendships, even consider them to be a vital part of who we are...until one day when we realize we have nothing in common, anymore. We judge ourselves for this. We judge our friends and ourselves when the "skin" has been shed and we just do not connect the way we once did. How crazy. It just is.

I think back to my childhood. Who were my best friends? I'd have to say...my brother and the boy next door. My brother goes without saying...we have both morphed and changed, but we consider each other important enough to include each other in those changes. I think that's the key...is your friend accepting and understanding of your changes, and is he/she "there" for them? And let's face it, we're enough alike that any changes either one of us face wouldn't change our relationship. I still punch him about five minutes after I see him. *Bigsmile* The other guy? Not so much.

Shawn. I was just thinking about him a few days ago even though I haven't seen or heard from him in, probably, thirty years. Our only "thing" in common was proximity. We lived next door to each other, so as children we played together. He was a year older than me and hero-worshipped my brother, enough said. Any closeness to my brother, including me, was an acceptable sacrifice. We-along with the sibling, of course-built forts, played "cops and robbers," and traded comics. When my brother went inside, which he did often because he's an introvert who can only stand so much human contact, Shawn would lament until Fred came back out. Needless to say, we drifted apart when we got too old for forts and comics.

Adolescence reared its ugly head in the form of female friends who shared my angst over boys and life, in general. There was my friend Glynnis in seventh grade, an unfortunate casualty of her Army father who moved a couple of years after arriving in our fair town. Then that "clique," my friends in the eighth grade who disowned me when they decided I wasn't "cool" enough. Little did I know, through the heartache felt like forever, that THIS is where my mind grew. This is where I mulled and thought and learned about what I wanted in someone called "friend." It was then I knew there was more to a friend than proximity and convenience.

Over the years I've experienced relationships with countless others. Some have proven their staying power-as my presence as done for them-while others have fallen away...for a reason. There are those I regreat losing-like Glynnis-and there are those whose absence I understand. Like Shawn.

What do our friends say about us? My friend Jamie and my friend Leah.. I've never stood in front of Jamie in 3D but I don't need to. I can tell, and I can FEEL, that she's in my life to stay. She just GETS me. I'm pretty sure I GET her, too. I wish we had more time together, but that's where hope springs, ha ha. My friend Leah? I met her when we both worked on a play. She was young, single, and introspective. Now she's married to the man of her dreams, "mother" to young children and perpetually exhausted. Even though she's in a completely different place than me life-wise (as is my fabulous friend Jamie), I'm pretty sure of our staying power.

Friends. They are really...a barometer of who were are, a gage of who we want to be. Those women ROCK. I can only hope to be who they are, someday. *Heart*
July 3, 2016 at 3:26am
July 3, 2016 at 3:26am
#886309
I have a friend from "back in the day" who refers to me as "her dancing friend." (you know who you are) This annoys me. Why? Many moons ago I really WAS a dancer. This person was in the same dancing class I was when we were children. So why does it bug me?

I don't want to be identified with one simple moniker. I suppose? It seems weird that someone I've known my entire life-no really, she was born a month before me in the same town-would reduce me to simply this..."my dancing friend." Surely I've made more of an impact than THAT??

Then I begin to think. *which I do too often, but in this case it might be warranted*

Could the fact that she refers to me in this manner have everything to do with what she saw in my dancing? That, perhaps, I was talented as a dancer, so she remembers me in this way? Which is actually a compliment, considering the fact that we went to the same schools, were members of the same brownie troop, and even went to the same church. But what she recalls most about me is my dancing. And for some reason I RESENT this?! Of course, being me, I have to examine my reaction more closely...

I was two years old when my mother, who was teaching a dancing class to four-yr-olds, couldn't get me to move from an X she had designated for the children. There was one X left after all the children in the class had arrived and were standing at attention. I took the spot. My mother kept telling me to move, to vacate, to get away...but I wouldn't. It's one of those legendary stories. I'm pretty positive I actually remember this moment, but perhaps it's been told so much I inserted the memory into my psyche. I stood stoic, refusing to move for several weeks, until my mother finally relented and allowed me to be part of the class. So there I was, surrounded by three and four year olds, learning to dance when I was two. Some would say it was in my blood. My mother was the teacher, my aunt taught her.

I continued to dance until I was fifteen, when cliques moved me away from the people in the dance class I ultimately became a part of. There just wasn't enough money in being a dance teacher in our small town so my mother had to quit and become a nurse. As a result, I joined the Ada B. Coons dance studio. My mother was committed to my continuing dance education, but when you're fifteen...where you belong is EVERYTHING. And I didn't belong with the popular girls in that dance class. So I bailed.

I continued to act, there was no "faux pas" against that in my current circle of peers. But the dancing? It was put aside, buried amongst the relics that became a history of my life. Enter facebook.

Reconnection with past lives is part of the experience, and my hometown, with all its angst and history, is most definitely a part of that. Among the memories? Dance. I loved to dance. I was good at. Hell, I was GREAT at it. So why does it bug me when my old, very sweet friend, refers to me as "her dancing friend?"

I wish I'd pursued it. I wish I'd realized my potential when it came to dance. Now here I sit at fifty. My knees are so very bad. My weight is so very high. What I can do is watch. I watch all those dance shows and critique every move they make because I know. I know what they SHOULD do. I know the names of the moves and the fluid of the movement, itself. I know what it feels like when every motion made syncs up with the music, when rhythm rules and it all comes together. I get the euphoria because I was there

Dance is who I am. It is my legacy, my heritage, my history.

"My dancing friend." It really IS who I am. *embrace*






June 20, 2016 at 5:45pm
June 20, 2016 at 5:45pm
#885245
Before I left my house today, I had great ideas for a blog entry. I was thinking about what it means to be the age I am-yes I know I'll probably work the crap out of this theme when I finally write. But I was thinking about how many celebrities I've outlived already...and why am I surprised by that? I've outlived David Bowie. Wasn't he in his seventies? He was big when I was little, so the math bears itself out. Those rock heroes and actors I watched, who seemed larger-than-life to me, will start to pass. There's nothing surprising or unusual about that. Except I feel like I should still be in my twenties and these people should be rollicking around, making music and movies. I still don't feel it. I don't understand it. I was fast-forwarded into an era of my life I don't feel ready for. But then this is not new. I don't think I've ever been ready for any "new era" I've hit, yet. Maybe I'll be prepared when official "old age" comes calling. I doubt it, though. I'll probably slide into that with the same sense of "wataminutewaitaminute!" I didn't sign up for this! Unfortunately for all of us, we don't have to sign on any dotted line for time to wind down the slope. It just happens. Dammit.

I thought I'd handle aging a lot better than I am. I don't know WHAT made me think that, considering my track record. I did enjoy reaching my teenage years from childhood, THAT I'll cop to, but from there? Yeesh. I wasn't ready for adulthood EVER. Shoot I'm still dealing with being a grownup. I know now, thanks to social media, I'm not alone in that. To THIS DAY I keep waiting for some responsible adult to come out of the shadows and reprimand me, tell me this is all a big joke and please get my keester back home, where my grandmother and mother-both deceased, of course-will deal with my audacity. You know, the audacity where I think I'm anywhere NEAR ready to have a home, grown children of my own, and grandchildren. I mean seriously. ???

So here I am, past middle age but not elderly, at this apex, and still wondering who I am and what it's all for. Aren't I supposed to be past all that, by now? Or am I stunted, hopelessly stunted and destined to be ninety years old, on my deathbed whispering, "Who am I, what's it all for?" Maybe I'll be calling out "Hold on! I haven't even begun my great novel, yet! I can't be dying, I can't be dead!"

I wish I could say "But I never KNEW it would go this fast, that my life would reach these milestones and that every day had to matter, that I had to look towards what I want to leave and get to work actually LEAVING it!" I wish I could claim ignorance. But I can't. I knew, I just didn't WANT to know. I thought that would work. Trust me, it doesn't. Sigh.

So where is all this going? I don't know. I find myself, as usual, "chomping at the bit" of the life I've created. I'm fifty. I'm paying for a home, taking care of a child, working hard to be responsible. I work a job I dislike so I can provide for, mainly, my granddaughter. She doesn't have much stability. SOMEONE needs to provide her with that. I feel like, once again, it falls to me. My brother and aunt still need my help in every way--financially, emotionally. So I step up. But every day, about fifty times a day-ironically-I ask myself if I'm "stepping up" at the expense of myself.

But then again, I'm not sure I'd be doing much more, anyway. I just know I WANT to do more. I want to travel, write, write some more, get out there and experience LIFE! I can't really use family and responsibility as an excuse, which is what I tend to do. My own "bullshit" meter starts to rise.

I've had adventures in my life. I've experienced a smattering of the life I claim to want...then I pull back. I start an e-mail conversation with a noted author, someone who could give me not only advice, but perhaps a leg up. I terminate it ALL on my own. What the hell...?? WHO DOES THAT?? Me. That's who. I landed a magazine writing gig, once. It could have parlayed me into more writing, an editor job...I missed a deadline, then another. I never received another call from the magazine. WHY DID I DO THAT??? I had an opportunity to work for NPR when I lived in the Quad Cities. I was all set, actually, to start on a volunteer basis, to read aloud to the blind. Then moving away from the area became a reality, but still...could I not have contacted the NPR people HERE? Could I not have re-worked my contacts and actually created a chance to do something that would feed my passions in life???

There are so many chances like that I've skirted around. I have no idea why I do that. Perhaps, at fifty, it's time to figure out why. Perhaps THAT would be the key to sliding into "elderly land" without all these "what-ifs" and regrets...without having to yell

"waitaminutewaitaminute!"

May 17, 2016 at 6:51pm
May 17, 2016 at 6:51pm
#882365
Yup, it's me again! *BigSmile* I will say that TODAY is the first day of the rest of my blogging life, but hahahahaha, we all know how that works out so what I'll go with is...I hope so. I'm going to work at it.

So today--and yesterday, and the day before--I feel old. I mean I feel REALLY old.

It started when my mom died. My own mortality, of course, stared me in the face. I didn't like it, I'm still scared of it. I have to deal with the reality that this-all of this-doesn't last. It just doesn't last, I can't force this issue, so I have to do something about it. Since October 2014, the "something" I've done about it is...pretty much nothing, other than occasionally obsess about my mortality, my unhealthy state, and what amount of time I might have left on this planet. I know I'm being crazy/stupid when I do this. What I need to do, I tell myself, is just LIVE. I need to get out there and make the most of whatever it is I want my life to be about. Inertia, however, has held me in its grip. Its nefarious, tenacious grip.

I work, I sleep, I take care of my granddaughter, I clean the house, go to the store. Sometimes I go out to eat, I shop for clothes, I peruse the internet a LOT. I watch way too much TV-on my laptop, of course-and then I go back to work. This is what I do with the time I have left on this planet. It's not a bad life, but it's not the adventurous, creative one I would choose for myself. Not by a long shot. No matter how I slice it, the bottom line remains that I am mortal. Someday my journey on this big blue marble will end. Will I be one of those memories where others will smile and shake their heads at the audaciousness that was me? Or will I end with a whimper, a whisper that will fade from minds with the changing of the season? It's pretty much up to me.

So here I sit, blogging for the first time in a year and a half, doing what I know comes as naturally to me as breathing. With this first step, there needs to be a second, and a third. Maybe even a fourth. I live. Not a subject or an object, but a verb.

I LIVE. *Think*
December 25, 2014 at 5:20am
December 25, 2014 at 5:20am
#837021
I need to write. Not about daily events-how boring-but about more, about a bigger picture.

So much has been dealt to me since my last entry...so much to process and handle and deal with. And yet I do not write. Why?! What am I afraid of, what insight am I seeking o avoid? I have become an orphan. That's weird. Why can't I write about that?!?

The time has come to find out.

I'll be back.
August 28, 2013 at 1:34pm
August 28, 2013 at 1:34pm
#789918
I keep wondering when I'm going to come back, when the call of the written word is going to send me scurrying for a reason to write between the folds of what I call "my blog." I miss it, I won't deny that. I miss looking inside the lives of you who come to take a peek inside mine. But not enough to get back here, to discipline myself enough to get to the writing process? Why??

Then I was watching a show, one I love that I'll keep to myself, but some of the writing in it is profound. There aren't many who think so but they don't stop, they don't still themselves and listen to some of the real beauty that came out of the show I've been watching. And I heard it, the thing I need to do to come back, where I need to go from here...

I surely need to write, but maybe not so much about my LIFE which is kind of depressing, if I were to be candid. I don't MEAN for it to be depressing, but when I write about my life I depress myself and I don't want to do that, hence I have pulled back yet again from this sharing of my inner person.

Because there's not much inner person to share, lately, and that in itself depresses me. I go to work. I come home. I try to sleep...I spend most of my day in the endless pursuit of sleep...then I try to pick up and clean and cook and I try to get in just a little quality time with a granddaughter who needs me much more than I feel capable of being there for her. Tom's as frustrated by his work as I am, so we are both physically and mentally...tired. Just tired. I think we're at that age.

We're at that age when we have looked around and asked, "Is this it? Is this all there is?" And for the most part, the forces of nature have answered back a solemn, "Yep."

Well that's depressing.

There will be no great fortune, no fantastic future just waiting for those lucky enough to feel the energetic burst of youth and vigor. We've had that, maybe squandered it and maybe not--it's all in your perspective--but the bottom line remains that it is well and good and forever...gone.

So what is there to write about? My arthritis? My work woes? My sleep-chasing? My frustration with the people who fill up my house with their refuse??

Speaking of tired...I'm tired of all that.

So I'm thinking that when next I set writing onto this blog o' mine, it's going to be about anything BUT me.

I'm biting the bullet, taking the plunge, diving right back in...I'm going to write me some fiction.

I hope you'll join me in reading up on whatever adventurous soul chooses to dig himself out of my musty, underused brain.

Fair warning for anyone who has yet to read up on the people who emerge from the depths of this here cerebral cortex: they are not always pretty people. But they are interesting, I think.

*Wink*

August 18, 2013 at 12:47am
August 18, 2013 at 12:47am
#789079
Yeah well that didn't happen. Sigh.

So this time it really HAS been life which rears its ugly head. SO busy-and frustrated and fed up and at the end of my rope-at work, so tired at home, no time or will to write. *Frown* I hope that changes but who can predict the future?

I'm going to link a show here, something I think sums up how I'm feeling about my job, these days:



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5znYiOQWUM


I hope you have time to watch it. It's a good one.


Hopefully I'll be back to writing within a few days. Fingers crossed!


August 2, 2013 at 4:57pm
August 2, 2013 at 4:57pm
#788048
I just came from a visit over to carlton607 's place and I was amused, sighed, and nodded my head.

He posted a series of "complaints" about travel from the internet...and it is quite amazing. Things like "the sand was too white" made the list. Oh yes. Yes indeed. I'm quite aware of how...strangely crazy/stupid/weird people can be when they venture away from home. *Rolleyes*

The best explanation of my job goes like this:


I AM A FRONT DESK CLERK!


I have advanced degrees in accounting, public relations, marketing, business, computer sciences, civil engineering and Swahili.

Of course I have the reservation you made six years ago, even though you do not have a confirmation number and think it was under a name that starts with an "S."

It isn't a problem for me to get two connecting, non-smoking, pool side, downstairs outside suites (with two king size beds in each), four rollaways, and yes, I would be happy to install a wet bar in each room and stock them at no charge. Of course it is my fault we don't have a helicopter-landing pad.

I am a front desk clerk - I am expected to speak all languages. It is obvious to me that when you booked your room for Friday, that you really meant Saturday. My computer has entrusted me with all our financial information and decisions. Of course I remember that when you were here four years ago we accidentally charged you for a 72 cent long distance call you hadn't made and will make sure it doesn't happen again.

I understand that MacGillegetty's Widget Manufacturing Corp. is a vast empire that can make or break our hotel. Yes I am lying when I tell you we have no more rooms available. It's not a problem for me to quickly build two more so we can accommodate you and this time I will include a helipad.

I am a front desk clerk - I am quite capable of checking three people in, two people out, taking five reservations, answering twelve telephone calls and unplugging the toilet in 420, all at the same time.
I also know where the best vegetarian, kosher, Mongolian BBQ restaurants are. I also know exactly what to see and do in this city in less than fifteen minutes and at no cost.

I take personal blame for airline delays, traffic jams, rental car flat tires and the national debt. I should have realized that you meant to make your reservation here and not the
"Galaxy Delight Motel" down the street and that you are entitled to the special five dollar discount because you're a member of the Accounting and Bagel Club of North America. Yes I will be happy to cash your Japanese travelers checque for 10,000 yen into Canadian currency. Even though it is Sunday morning, I am constantly aware of the exchange rate for all the world's currencies, after all, I am a front desk clerk.

We are expected to smile, empathize, sympathize, console, upsell, downsell, (and know the difference), perform, sing, dance and fix the computer (all at the same time).

I am a front desk clerk, I can do all things(and look busy when the boss is nearby).



Pretty much. Sigh.
August 1, 2013 at 10:57am
August 1, 2013 at 10:57am
#787942
Please read the previous entry...it's the latest. I got myself all turned around...hard to explain. *eyeroll*
July 31, 2013 at 6:41pm
July 31, 2013 at 6:41pm
#787891
I have a friend over at "the other place" who has a young son, age twelve. He's a handsome boy; dark-complected, smooth-skinned, tall and lanky. His hair is dark to match his liquid dark-brown eyes. Seriously, a very handsome boy! He's smart too, which is no surprise. Both of his parents are extremely intelligent and very talented. This smart, good-looking, talented young man, about to enter the tumultuous world of middle school, is already afflicted with a life challenge: He has Tourette's Syndrome.

It bothers me that even when I write the word here with "google chrome," the word gets a red underline because Chrome doesn't recognize it as a WORD. It's not like this is a new syndrome. The first time I learned about it I was probably Vincent's age, about twelve.

I watched an episode of "Quincy, ME." Does anyone remember that show? I used to watch it religiously when it was on...even then I was intrigued by the kind of medical mysteries that television show highlighted every week. Not only did they cover medical anomalies, they also delved into social conscience. It's still my favorite kind of show, just like it was then.

One episode centered around a young man with Tourette's. It began in a darkened theatre, where he was calling out and obviously twitching. People in the theatre became upset and eventually had the young man thrown out. So began the episode of Quincy, ME that taught what Tourette's Syndrome is, how those who suffer from it have no control over their physical and auditory ticks. This was back in probably 1978 when I was, indeed, twelve: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6M5dfz1hklc

If you watched the excerpt I posted here, you'll see that the end of this episode dealt with the reluctance of drug companies to treat a condition like Tourette's because there weren't enough people who suffered from it to make the production and marketing of these drugs profitable...some things never change. *Rolleyes*

In 2013 there are drugs that help, but there's nothing which cures the condition. Most of the drugs that slow down the ticks also have side affects, like sleepiness and lethargy. They also have a limited time span of viability. So if a child like Vincent takes the drug at ten in the morning, by two in the afternoon he's most likely going to be ticking again. Perhaps not as severely as he would without the drug altogether, but it will still happen. There are even sufferers of Tourette's who are, so far, drug drug resistant. For some reason their brains aren't helped by the drugs currently out there.

But none of that is even the point. What really gets to me is us, the public. The general population. In this twenty-first century you'd think we'd know better than to pass judgement upon others who are "different," who obviously seem to be suffering from something uncontrollable and debilitating. All it really takes is a good look at someone suffering from Tourette's to know what's really going on. All it takes is ONE decent, comprehensive observation to know when someone is not being "slow" on purpose, when there's something physically or mentally wrong, something that dictates we all slow down and practice an archaic behavior called PATIENCE.

I've been there to a very minor degree. I walk "funny," these days, I'm not fast and I can't walk "normally," anymore. When I know someone is behind me, I grit my teeth and work really hard to quicken my pace and equalize my gait as much as I possibly can, even though that means I'll be in more pain. Why? Because I'll admit it, I don't like the frustrated sighs that are audible behind me. Whenever I can I step aside and let others pass in front of me. I really don't mind doing that because I know I'm slow, I know I struggle. But sometimes even doing THAT garners me a frown. Those of us with an affliction of some kind just can't seem to do it right...

The elderly gentleman who yelled at my friend about her son in the mall, yesterday, said "Decent people don't need to see that."

If he was looking at his own reflection, I completely agree. *Angry*
July 30, 2013 at 4:38am
July 30, 2013 at 4:38am
#787794
Kind of funny...I was going to write this in a "reply" to my fabulous friend Just Jamie until I realized it was turning into QUITE an e-mail...and I needed to write a blog-o'-the-day, anyway! So why not. Here it is, the "saga of the knees:"

When I was twenty, the spring before I joined the army (and yes I lied to get in..."of COURSE I don't have any health issues!"), I took to riding a bicycle. Now even before this I'd had some trouble with this particular joint. I was a catcher for softball and baseball, and there were times when I would try to rise up from my squat and one knee or the other would lock. And lock painfully. I would fall over groaning, someone would have to FORCE my leg straight, and there would be an audible pop. Miraculously the pain would be gone within seconds of the pop and I would be fine. Until the next time. I also always thought it was weird that I could move my knee caps around freely-I noticed other people couldn't. I had what they call "floating kneecaps." People always told me it spelled trouble. How right they were.

So one day, at age twenty, I lifted my right leg to swing it over the bike for another marathon ride on a balmy spring afternoon. My left leg protested by moving in one direction while my left KNEE moved in quite another. I was on the ground, writhing in pain. And this pain didn't go away in a second, or two, or three...or at all. I made my way as best I could to the nearest college campus building, called my mom, and promptly received a ride to the ER. Two weeks on crutches later, I went to my doctor for a follow up visit and he told me, "If you don't get the cartilage out from under your kneecaps, by the time you're forty you are going to be in serious trouble." Don't you hate it when doctors are right. *Rolleyes*


After that incident, both knees would "go out" at random times and I'd be on the ground in a similar writhe. I totally freaked people out...I'd be about to get into a pickup and it would happen. I'd raise my leg to climb steps and land on the ground. But when you're twenty and these episodes don't hinder your life TOO much, it's easy to sweep them under a rug of denial. Once I joined the army and they worked me into the ground-ha ha-the ligaments around my floating kneecaps started to take up the slack and I was golden. Or so I thought.


At this point I can barely walk. I'm not exaggerating. Health care? I have none. I can't do anything about my knees so they just get worse and worse. Once I was out of the army it took about five years for the knee problems to come roaring back...on a gloomy, icy day when I was walking into the house of an elderly lady I was supposed to care for. Ironically. I was insured at the time, so I went to the orthopedist who wanted me to lose weight before they did surgery. During this time they shot me up with cortisone every three months which DID help immensely; I was able to truck along in life, almost forgetting about those pesky "little" knee issues. My Orthopedist eventually encouraged me to surgically reduce my weight so I could get the surgery. He told me time was running out, and I do understand their reasoning.

How much I weigh directly affects how long the implants will last. Ten years versus twenty so it's a no brainer. I even went so far as to attend a meeting about the surgery but at the time my insurance wouldn't pay for it. Ironically, right after I fought for the right to lap band surgery, wrote people like crazy and even met with agents personally, they "approved" it for tricare-that's military dependent insurance-and I had just lost it due to my ex's extreme stupidity. Unbelievable. It was a headache kind of moment.

So here I sit without current healthcare resources. I am trying to get insured through the Veterans' Administration, but it takes loads of paperwork and the hurry-up-and-wait our nation's military is famous for. At least there's a glimmer of hope for me...

I read, not too long ago, an article from a British gent about the current state of THEIR healthcare system. He was advising Americans to be careful what they wished for because state-covered care isn't what is should be. Maybe not, but it's certainly better than nothing.

There are so many like me in this country, stuck between poverty and middle class who have no way of receiving much-needed health services. We're the few million forgotten, the people who don't qualify for public aid who can't afford to buy our own healthcare, stuck with employers who refuse to provide it. What kind of system IS it when it's better to remain below the poverty line or face a lack of healthcare?! A completely insane one...

But Obamacare-and a complete overhaul of the American healthcare system-is unnecessary. Well sure. If you're not me. Or one of the countless others like me.

*Frown*
July 29, 2013 at 4:31am
July 29, 2013 at 4:31am
#787730
Well it didn't work out, did it? *Rolleyes* I'm going to keep plugging along though, trying again...

So we'll consider this yet another "day one."

I have so much I could choose to write about, but I'm tired. I don't remember ever being like this "back in the day," when I wrote in my blog with that eagerness every day. I didn't get "stagnate-brain-tired" like this. I had jobs, back then, two part time ones. I worked night audit at a hotel three to four nights a week, plus I was an assistant speech and debate coach at the local high school. I kept my house relatively clean, I did the laundry and was a brownie/girl scout leader. I also volunteered at church, teaching on Wednesday nights and taking my turn at least once a month for children's church. I did the "room mom" thing for Sarah's elementary school classes and found myself volunteering for sundry other roles that needed to be filled...so what happened to alllll that energy? I miss it. *Frown*

I know that age is a factor and it always will be, but there's more involved in the sapping of my strength and fortitude. Health. It's a word I don't pay attention to because, to be honest, my family is actually pretty weirdly healthy...at least most of them. The women.

We don't get cancer, at least not so far. I mean NO ONE in my immediate OR extended family has been unfortunate in this way. Even my 79 yr-old-mother, frail as she looks, doesn't have any glaring health issues to address. When she gets sick it's usually minor even though doctors run tests to check...they're always amazed by her health. Mine, too.

I'm significantly overweight, I have menopause issues, my knees are just CRAP...but no high blood pressure, no blood sugar problems, none of the concerns that are supposed to accompany the extra weight I carry. I'm ridiculously healthy and I know it. Do I appreciate it and take care of myself? Of course not.

The problem with being "ridiculously healthy" is that we tend to take it for granted. When doctors say, "Let me test that," we smirk and say, "okay," knowing they won't really find anything. There's nothing to FIND. But what I don't do is eat correctly, take vitamins, get enough sleep, de-stress at least once a day...and even with my horrendous knees, I could find a way to get my body moving more than it does...

Because the thing about good health as a result of good genes...it doesn't last if you don't respect it. I think my constant fatigue for the last couple of years is trying to tell me that. It's a knock on the door, a "hey, remember me? Your body? Yeah. You can't do much without me, you know. Could you take care of me, please?!"

Okay okay. It would be nice to experience a day without this bone-crunching tiredness. I've known for a while that I need to change the way I eat, sleep, and generally take care of myself.

I love vegetables, no reason not to do it. I like to swim, no reason not to do it. I enjoy sleep-perhaps if I eat better and exercise more, the sleep will come...

And then I can write.

Amazing how it all ties together.
July 23, 2013 at 8:27pm
July 23, 2013 at 8:27pm
#787367
What makes me laugh is when people comment "who cares" and "I don't care", etc. Obviously you DO because you take the time to read and comment, don't you? Good grief. It's fun, it's a pleasant news item, they seem like decent people...and congrats to them.


The previous statement was written by me in response to a Yahoo item over at the other place. *Wink* I do find the birth of the little Prince to be sweet and something pleasant to read about and watch over the rest of the downtrodden and dark newsbites we're inundated with, these days. It's like fresh air...sometimes we just need it.

But the response to my simple little comment was completely nuts. I did get 609 "likes" at last tally *Shock* but the number of replies and likes to those as well...let's just say I started to feel a little like a mini celebrity. *Laugh*

What I don't understand, though, is the bitter venom. I really don't. Why take the time to say "I don't care" if you don't? Why take minutes-to-an-hour out of your day to find something rude and/or snarky to say about people you don't even know, about comments from people you don't even know, or just in general? The way we talk to each other troubles me. The "pass" people seem to think they get because they're behind a screen and not facing the person they're addressing, like that somehow changes the rules of common decency. Really? No it doesn't.

I used to tell my girls-not that it worked-that if you wouldn't say something to a person's face, don't say it at ALL. I don't think many people subscribe to that realm of thinking. What does this indicate about the future of society? Maybe nothing, maybe everything. All I know is...I find it troubling.

As for the presence of a new Prince in the world...I admit it it, I find the news uplifting and sweet. If you don't, that's okay. But you don't have to call me names or belittle and berate me because I do. Just like I don't have to belittle and berate you for thinking differently from me.

New lessons for kindergarten: Internet Etiquette. Or maybe a mandatory college course. *Rolleyes*
July 22, 2013 at 4:57am
July 22, 2013 at 4:57am
#787247
But you know that when the truth is told,
You can get what you want or you can just get old-
You're gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through...
When will you realize...
Vienna waits for you...



I've written about the power of some light, fun music in my life. But I need the other stuff, too. The music that "speaks" to me in ways which perk up my mind, the songs that remind me to think, to ruminate, to ponder...to write, to create.

Billy's songs do that like none other. If you've been my friend for very long, this is not a surprise or even very newsworthy. *Wink* I love Billy Joel. Why? Because his music talks to me. It tells me stories. Some of them are about me, some of them are about people and worlds yet to be realized. But they start and end with Billy's music-with the notes and the lyrics.

I'm not necessarily more calm, but I have decided to channel the adrenaline pumping through my veins in more productive ways. Anger, even justified anger, can only go so far before it starts to break a person down, before it becomes as useless as an old, dirty sock with no match. I'm not happy, I'm not even a little satisfied. Why? Because things aren't happening the way I want and need them to. Okay, so what's it going to take for me to redirect myself?

For now? Vienna.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride
But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idDOW8JeR04&list=LLIPj6mkKldEhZsCGdovOy3w&feature...

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