An Honest Laugh

I've learned some interesting math, or else reinforcement of the adage "appearances can be deceiving." I already learned that lesson the hard way September 12, a day holding far more pain for me than September 11--the day my entire world, my reason to continue breathing, my life and everything I've worked for, was shattered because of another "person" (I use that term loosely, since it's still undetermined whether they are, in fact, human or just a reasonable facsimile) and their web of deceit, which became too heavy to support itself and I "just happened to be in the way." I think it's called collateral damage in the military, but I have no idea what it is when it's a civilian pursuit causing destruction. Life's just shit, now. I no longer feel any reason to get out of bed, no will to function, and certainly no desire to laugh--not a REAL laugh, anyhow--and I force myself to go on day by day, minute by minute, second by second, all the while withering away inside to a dry and brittle shell of myself, awaiting the final hammer stroke that will pulverize me into dust.

For the first time in 137 days, last night I had my first real laugh. Sorry that it had to be at the expense of my husband, but I'm cautiously optimistic. Since my ultimate annihilation as a "person" is still underway, I don't want to bring my mental state too high or it will just have that much farther to fall and crash on the day my destruction is finalized, the day my world is crushed beyond any hope of repair and probably the end of me as I know myself.

I made the mistake of venturing out in public for the first time in a long time, to a restaurant. I can't deal with public places because there are invariably children in public and it nearly brings me to my knees in emotional pain seeing other people's children. I did it, though, because it's not fair to my husband that I completely close myself off from the outside world when THAT IS NOT THE PERSON HE MARRIED. I know he's experiencing the same pain that I am, that his life is being destroyed in the same way mine is, and that after it's all said and done, we will only have each other. So I did it. We only went to Ponderosa, but baby steps are important, I guess.

I ordered two dinner buffets and we sat down to eat. At the end of the meal, I glanced at the receipt and noticed that one buffet was given a senior citizen discount. I couldn't control myself. I started laughing, and it felt GOOD. Husband's face corkscrewed up, looking at me with head cocked, "What's so funny?" I showed him the receipt and a smile spread across his face, as well. He signs to me, "I'm old man. Are you happy, $1 off dinner?" I told him that maybe the cashier (who was a young kid) thought I was a good daughter, bringing my old daddy out to dinner. Husband snorted. "Why you not wear wedding ring?" I realized I'd forgotten to put it back on (I can't type with them on since they get in the way, so I take them off while working). Oops.

What's so funny about it, in retrospect, is that my husband is only in his 30s. He doesn't have an "old" face, but his hair and beard are white as a result of Waardenburg syndrome--which also causes his deafness. So, appearances really CAN be deceiving--just because he has white hair doesn't mean he's old enough to qualify for a senior citizen discount. Or maybe it's the new math?

Shocked

All my life, people have been shoving their opinions down my throat and up my ass, oftentimes the former and always the latter without my consent. I'm obviously quite the pushover since people have been running roughshod over me quite regularly for much of the last 20 of the 35 years of my miserable existence, making it that much more miserable. I ASK for opinions, and what do I get? Not a peep. This little nibbet has been bugging me since I first crossed paths with it, and I just would like some confirmation as to whether or not I'm seeing what I think I am. Maybe it was just too vague in its "depersonalized" state last time? We can try, try again and seriously, I really want to hear your thoughts on this:

how does it feel now, huh? how does it feel to have the county rip your kids right out from under you? if what "B" says about "F" touching her is true, and i know it is so don't you DARE sit there calling MY daughter a liar!, then your sons are the worst i have ever met in my life! you and "E" are THRU making my life a living hell! god-willing you will NEVER see "B" and "J" again!

Come on, people, tell me what you get out of this! Again, PERSON-X sent this to PERSON-Y, after PERSON-X called CPS for the 8th time against PERSON-Y and mere hours after CPS took custody of PERSON-Y's children, PERSON-X having willingly admitted to CPS that they were making these complaints maliciously in an effort to conduct a custody battle (over "B" and "J.")

My Stairs

Oh, am I getting excited. We have the lower staircase in, awaiting the rail and the "finishing touches" that I have yet to get off my large ass and take care of, and then the upper staircase. Yeah. I was taking photos through the process, so I can giggle over how horrid the temporary stairs were. The new ones feel sooooooooooo good on my feet - 11-inch-wide treads instead of 8 inches, correctly spaced so that you don't fall on your ass as you step off the bottom stair, and oh so purty. Photos soon, as soon as my computer stops bitching and moaning. I really think it's time to invest in a new one, but first THE STAIRS! :)

Y'all Got Quiet

Where'd you go?

Opinions Sought

What's your take on this?

PERSON-X messages PERSON-Y, hours after PERSON-X learned that CPS had ripped PERSON-Y's children right out of their arms (action known to PERSON-X because they had registered said complaint with CPS against PERSON-Y, along with 7 others over the course of the prior 18 months, even after admitting to CPS that they were done out of malice, in the course of a custody battle):

how does it feel now, huh? how does it feel to have the county rip your kids right out from under you? if what ##### says about ##### touching her is true, and i know it is so don't you DARE sit there calling MY daughter a liar!, then your sons are the worst i have ever met in my life! you and ##### are THRU making my life a living hell! god-willing you will NEVER see ##### and ##### again!

Or how about this one? PERSON-M messages PERSON-N at the request of PERSON-X:

Look motherfucker, I hear of it again, I will come kill you...I know where you live.

Or this one, conversation between PERSON-X and PERSON-N:

N: the children live with me.
X: oh, that'll change, don't worry.

Whatcha think?

The Cat's a Freak

I think my cat is depressed. When there was a herd of kids chasing her, she played hide and seek to her heart's content. She ran and played and jumped and snuggled with a different kid every day of the week (almost). Now that it's just me here, I've had to take her affections alone, in all their brute force. She won't leave me alone. I go to bed and she curls up beside me, under the covers, head on the pillow beside mine. I sit down to work and she lays on my foot, even though I'm working the foot pedal to do my transcription. I go to the bathroom and she forces the door open and sits there eyeballing me as I'm on the toilet. I venture out of my rooms and she follows me or, more often, leads the way, as if she knows where I'm heading. Sometimes I'm suspicious that she's on a suicide watch, but then if I leave for a doctor's appointment, she sits at the door waiting for me to come home and then wraps herself around my legs as I try to go down the stairs, almost like she's trying to kill me for leaving her alone.

Yes, I think she's depressed. We make a good pair, depressed and lonely, dying inside from missing our babies. So much for the myth that there's a law against "cruel and inhumane" punishment being inflicted upon the residents of this country, but then, I'm not a "criminal" so I don't really count--and obviously neither does my cat.

The Simple Things

Amazing how a few (relatively) inexpensive doodads can spice up a house, look sharp, and give the place some character. One of these days I'll post some photos so you can see what I'm all excited about. Still kicking myself in the ass for not taking photos before we started this project, which has really been quite a nightmare. The house is only 30 years old but had very little maintenance during that time and suffered from severe lack of TLC (and somewhat of a lack of imagination in the planning and finishing). Being forced childless, I have a lot of attention to focus on this place and A LOT of ideas swimming around in my head to make it somewhere I'll actually be able to stand being imprisoned for the next 40 years or so.

Maple Syrup

Back in the day, when I was still a real person and not a quivering blob of flesh afraid of being attacked from all quarters, I was young and healthy and actually saw that big yellow thing in the sky that I hear tell is called "the sun." I grew up on a farm, outside all day working in the fields, and I had beautiful bronze skin that was frequently marred by that notorious farmer's tan: Noticeably darker on the tops of my arms and legs and across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Then when I was 16 (fortunately before my senior photos were shot), I became ill with SOMETHING (no one still knows WTF it was) and my skin turned green. I looked like a fucking Martian or something. I was green and when my oldest son was born he was yellow from jaundice, so we were a rainbow-colored family. We both lost our respective odd colorings, the boy with treatment and myself with time. After that, I was just white. Painfully white. Glaringly dead-fish-belly white. This became known as my "moon tan." Now, I'm so frigging white that I'm worried soon I will be transparent, although that might end up being beneficial to my herd of doctors. I tell ya, I hated that farmer's tan when I was forced to live with it, but I'd give my left nut to have it back. Unfortunately, since I have no nuts at all, left or otherwise, I'm stuck with being white--I don't tan anymore since whatever it was that made me turn green.

Anyhow, I only mention this because I happened to notice today that my white is getting whiter and my veins look bluer and now I can actually see arteries, and it's really kind of freaky.

As for my staircase, I am finally ready to rip out the old ones and put in the new ones now that the bulk of the remodeling work that could have damaged them is done. I'm excited, too, because now that I'm a gimp, I'm reduced to exercising my "creative mind" and managed to come up with some real doozies for the new stairs going in. I can't wait to see my mental picture take shape in physical form. I remembered to take some "before" pictures this time.

Sad, when I've been reduced from being excited over my babies achieving their next developmental milestones and learning new words and skills to getting excited over some fucking stairs. My life sucks.

Oh, and I seem to have developed an aversion to maple syrup. Don't ask me where the hell THAT one came from.

Rare Find These Days

Mom-law and her significant other are here for a visit. Usually when they're here, I'm working and can spend very little time with them, but I just happen to be off work the rest of this week due to feeling like shit and having a slew of appointments to inspect the waiting rooms, exam rooms, and bedside manner of half a dozen doctors. Anyhow, I digress.

We went out to dinner tonight at my absolute favorite restaurant, Badawest in Flint. I'd live there, if I could. Unfortunately, they'd never eaten Lebanese food before, but I had the pleasure of introducing them. Mom-law was impressed with the food as well as the restaurant itself. They have beautiful murals on the walls and a number of times she commented on how pretty they were. The part that impressed me, though, was the fact that we walked in about 30 minutes before they closed and they were only offering take-out but decided to seat us and let us eat our meal there. I love that, going above and beyond to please a customer. Our waitress was helpful, pleasant and friendly, and she never once pushed us to hurry up so they could close. The last time we'd gone out to dinner with the in-laws, it was a less than pleasant experience that left me in a position where I felt the need to voice my opinion (like that NEVER happens, right?) and ended with a discussion with the manager--and a free meal that totaled well over $250.

The moral of the story: Don't be afraid to voice your opinion if your experience is less than optimal; if something needs improvement, they won't know it unless someone tells them, and this costs them business through loss of customers and word of mouth of displeased patrons. That doesn't mean being nasty--tact works like magic--but politely letting them know your thoughts and feelings helps you feel better and also helps them improve customer service. In the end, its a win-win situation. I was upset, which led to my speaking with the manager, but knowing that he took action assured me that it was unlikely to happen again and assured him that I would return and would not bad-mouth his restaurant to everyone I know.

Someone's Been Shitting in My Gene Pool

Oh, how I wish I could twiddle my thumbs as I while away the time, waiting for God to come and collect me from Unclaimed Baggage. Something tells me He's busy and I've got a while to wait my turn. Like they say, wish in one hand . . .

I was out of my booger mood briefly. For all of about 10 minutes or so. Too bad you missed it. I was getting ready to crack open a fresh bottle of Dew and the Cheetos so we could have a party, but then that big-green-sticky-booger mood came back. As I'm not a professional booger-picker or a booger-picker of any sort for that matter, I just don't have the skill to pick it and flick it so it doesn't come back and stick. Yet another of life's lessons I've failed to learn, I guess. I think it must be like learning not to piss into the wind, but I'm not equipped to do that anyhow.

On to the "good" news. In the past couple months and particularly the past week, I've:

• For the second time lost about 1/3 to 1/2 of my right eye visual field that had finally mostly come back after a bout of optic neuritis I got as a Fourth of July surprise. Attacks of O.N. can leave residual visual loss, so I'm not anticipating much of it to return this time around, based on the prior 25% residual loss I already had. Seeing's overrated anyhow.
  
• I'm down to maybe (if I'm lucky) 10% functionality with my right arm and 50% with my right leg. It's just too bad I'm right-hand dominant and that I actually like to WALK. On a positive note, I'm learning to eat without the use of my hands. Dogs have it made, you know, and straws CAN be your friend. I want a motorized scooter like I "seen" on TV.
  
• My left arm has now become affected by weakness to the point that I had to ask my husband to comb my fucking hair (which is coming out by the double handfuls now) and I've developed a tremor. This is really putting a damper on my cigarette smoking habit, but I'm highly adaptable and will find a way to light those little bastards up one way or the other.
  
• I'm constantly dizzy and lightheaded to the point of nearly collapsing and falling down the stairs on the way to take a shit, yet another function which tends to be impaired when one suffers from MS. I guess I should have read the fine print, that ALL nerve/muscle function can be impaired, including those regulating the digestive tract. Wonder how long until I start pissing myself?
  
• I've had a headache out of the ordinary from my usual migraines for about the past 2 months that I can't even take the edge off with Excedrin - and I can't use anything more powerful because I'm intolerant to most analgesics. Although, I imagine projectile vomiting might take my mind off my headache for a while. Then maybe I can have a movie star career like what's-her-face that had the spinning head and puking on the priest. I don't know any priests, though, so I can't practice.
  
• I'm suffering from confusion and disorientation, which I had not had a problem with before but I think are part of the MS process, and night terrors, which I KNOW are from the trauma being inflicted upon me by Big Brother these past 4 months. I'm just shocked it took that long to catch up to me. After all, it only took about 2 weeks for me to be unable to leave my rooms in my house.
• I have these odd joint pains (? where'd they come from?) not just in my large joints but in the small joints of my fingers and toes. It wouldn't bug me so much but I TYPE FOR A LIVING, AND THAT'S KIND OF HARD TO DO NOW.
  

I'm a fucking wreck. I've been on this Copaxone for nearly 2 months and it's function is supposed to be to reduce exacerbations in severity and frequency, but I am getting worse even while on it, so my next question is: WHY THE FUCK AM I POKING HOLES IN MYSELF EVERY DAY WHEN IT'S DOING NO GOOD?

I think someone must have taken a shit in my gene pool, cuz there's no reason for me to be this fucked up. It doesn't make any sense, though, since everyone else in the family, for generations back, has been relatively healthy except for the cancer that seems to kill them off in their 40s and 50s. Not one of them had any of this other off-the-wall shit like I've gotten. So where'd it come from?

Another Day, Another Nickel

Or in this case, a couple more awards. Y'all know I haven't really been doing a spectacular job of paying attention lately, but a couple of really awesome ladies dropped off some really awesome stuff for me and it's high time I acknowledged it. It means a lot to me - more than I could ever tell you - how much your friendship means and that you're thinking of me (and still willing to come back and read the drivel I've been spewing lately) and wanting to share your goodies with me.

A couple of weeks back Becky set me up with this great award, the Colors of Friendship. In the spirit of "lifting" the paragraph that accompanies the award, here goes:

"I read their blogs because whether they are simply taking care of family or working to make others’ lives better, they do it with grace and dignity despite any roadblocks along the way."

Again, it means so much to me that you're here and that you know I've hit the biggest roadblock of my life but still trying to hang in there. The best part, though, is knowing I can count you as one of my friends. I'm doing my best to try to keep grace and dignity, but every once in a while that F-bomb strikes before I hit "publish" and I read and re-read it and think that even though it's not very dignified, it's what I'm feeling at that moment and it needs to stay. This blog is my catharsis, my journal, my bitch box, my place to share some of the crazy shit I get in the email or read or think or feel , and I think it's important to preserve my feelings in order to maintain the true spirit of why I'm here in the first place.

Another blog-sis, Diamond, has given me this next award and says to keep my head up, giving me yet another finger to count a great friend upon instead of closing it with the others into a fist and banging myself on the forehead in ASL's sign for "dumb". Thanks, girl. It's a picker-upper if I ever saw one and surely is appreciated.

I'm either too lazy or too preoccupied today (and for the next few months, apparently) to build a monster post listing all the great folks I'd love to share these with, but it's easy enough to identify them: They're each mentioned in the last round of awards and Friendship Roses (12/15/07, "It's Been A While" - no post pages so it won't link directly to the post, sorry), so feel free to just snatch them up, folks.

The Panther

Der Panther
Im Jardin des Plantes, Paris

Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, dass er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,
der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,
ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,
in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.

Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf -. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille -
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.

In my interpretation:

He peers between the bars, his gaze growing weary
And his memory flickering and diminishing,
As if there were one thousand bars
Imprisoning dreams of a world he once knew.

He paces the confines of his cage and of his regard,
Circles drawing tighter as the past recedes,
A dance of power, a struggle to maintain,
His spirit stunned but longing to run free.

Occasionally, the curtain of the eye is pushed aside.
Silently, an image is imprisoned within
And flees through a body tense with desire--
Only to echo and fade within the soul.

Out With the New, In With the Old?

I am not ready to lay to rest the memories, hopes, dreams, goals, ideals, beliefs, and passions of the person who occupied this body before me, presumed dead 9/12/07. These were powerful within her, and their combination created an energy that radiated from her and drew people to her. She was loved and respected. She was thoughtful, caring, kind, generous, honest, and loyal. She was someone worth knowing, loving, being with; a truly commanding presence. I realize now - hopefully not too late - that she was not my friend but the most essential part of my being and my existence. Knowing that without her I am but a shadow, I can neither let her go nor stop searching for her, to restore her to her rightful place. I cannot exist as an entity torn in two. I need to reclaim the life that is rightfully mine and restore myself to what I had been rather than what I've become - because, personally, I liked that person much better than the one sitting here staring at this computer screen right now.

I sound like I'm all full of myself, but I don't believe that's the case. I'm proud of the fact that I'm a bit odd: I can objectively look at something, including myself, pick it part and analyze it. These past 4 months have provided ample opportunity to do this. I see what I've become and I DON'T LIKE IT. I am now depressed; before, I looked positively upon life and sought the proverbial silver lining. I am now cynical; before, I looked at the world as a glass half full. I am now angry, frustrated, and bitter; before, I eagerly awaited the lemons so I could share my lemonade. I now hide in my rooms, dreading being hurt further; before, I greeted life and all its challenges with a smile. I now believe that evil lurks in every nook and cranny of my fellow man; before, I believed that there was good inside each of us, just buried a little deeper in some than others. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was just stupid. Or maybe I really was just full of myself.

I believed - and part of me still does - that I had been touched by the Finger of God. I forgot my place, though, and felt I was impervious to the actions and reactions of other mere earthly beings. I had forgotten to place my spirituality above all else and forsaken that Touch, suffering pain at the perceived loss of its presence, not realizing that it had been there all along but that I was too focused on my losses and grief to notice.

I am awake now. I am listening now. I am watching now. There is a breach in my heart of hearts and in my mind, thousands of thoughts and thousands of feelings washing over my conscious being, and I see that my soul is what I have been seeking, that part of me that I thought was gone.