"The grass can't be greener on the other side if you don't know that there is grass there. Joy comes easily to the ignorant."
---Lily#5 from "Invalid Item" 


The truth is.....

I have no idea what joy is. I'm very aware that I have never felt it. I've been happy but my happiness always has some reserve to it. Some holding back. Some nervousness to it. My happiness is always aware that someday there will be no more happiness.

Does that mean I am messed up or just pragmatic?

I feel that I am pragmatic. I'm very evenly tempered. Ask anyone who knows me. Most people would say they have never seen me angry. Fact is, I rarely get angry and I rarely get sad. (but when I do its big) I am most often content.

But Joy? Joy is elusive. I have never sought to obtain it. I would never say "Someday I want to be joyful." Is that a practical goal? No. I think that having such a goal, when you can't obtain it, would cause the opposite to happen.... Sadness.

With Lily#5 take on joy, maybe I have another perspective now. Maybe its not my pragmatism that prevents my joy but my intelligence.

I always knew I was too smart for my own good.


"Day 3 Writing Challenge"  
"Invalid Item" 
 

“We tell ourselves so many lies and half-truths ... We listen and are duly impressed by these inner voices that turn into unseen judges that nag at us. We give each of these judges a seat of honor in our minds, all the while hating their guts and their never-ending supply of judgements ... We give the judges permission to accompany us on each journey of life, never daring to realize that we can park them, at least momentarily.”

-- Eloise Ristad


That inner voice. I hate her half the time. Sometimes I just wish she would shut up for just a moment.

Do you know that she never gets drunk. I get drunk but I can't do anything "wrong" because she won't shut up about it. It gets so tiring sometimes. I don't always want to be good. Sometimes I just want to say F everything and do exactly what I selfishly want but I can not. That voice in my head says "You know, if you do that so and so will get hurt" or "You know, if you do that you will regret it later". Alright already! Leave me alone!

That same inner voice is present when I am writing or trying to come up with ideas for writing.

"You know, that idea has been done already. What? Do you think you can do it better? I think not," she says.

Or what is worse;

"You know, this sucks."

I hate it when she does that. She does it all the time. According to Eloise, in the quote above, I can stop that voice. I don't know about that. Like I said I've tried to get her drunk and it doesn't work. Maybe she is quiet sometimes. I am not sure because all I hear is Nag Nag Nag.

Maybe Eloise has a secret she is not revealing. I wonder if the secret is simply to stop listening. That no matter what warnings she gives you do it anyway. Take away her power. If she has no power maybe she would keep her trap shut.

Huh. It's an idea. And right now she is saying that it is a bad idea. She is practically screaming it. She is telling me that if I stop listening to her my life would fall apart. I would do stupid stuff that I would regret later. I can't live without her she says. Well maybe that is true in some area's of my life but writing probably isn't one of them so starting today when I am writing I will not listen to her nagging. Lets see how that works out.


"Day 2 Writing Challenge"  
"Invalid Item" 
 

"No one should criticize someone else’s intellect under any circumstances; intellect like beauty is in the eyes of the beholder." by Hippie chick written for "Invalid Item" 


My immediate response to this quote was it sounds nice but it is not in good judgment. I have a natural tendency to distrust absolutes of any kind. Absolutes tend not to be true because, in most cases, there are exceptions. For instance, one could argue that... No one should jump off a cliff because they will die. Well an exception to that is..... if the cliff is not high enough then you might not die. Or another exception is.... if you are wearing a parachute then you will most likely not die.

But keeping an open mind, I decided to delve a little further into the possibility that this could be one of those absolutes that is truth, like....you will die some day or all humans are born from a woman. Oh wait, with cloning that might not be the case anymore or probably wont be soon. See those exceptions pop up everywhere. Oh yeah, back to the open mind.

So with my mind opened I looked up the definition of criticize.


crit·i·cize
–verb (used with object)
1. to censure or find fault with.
2. to judge or discuss the merits and faults of: to criticize three novels in one review.
–verb (used without object)
3. to find fault; judge unfavorably or harshly.
4. to make judgments as to merits and faults.

—Synonyms 1. condemn, blame. 2. appraise, evaluate.



So on the one hand, to criticize means to find fault, on the other hand, it is to judge the merits and faults. To condemn or evaluate.

Evaluation is always

Not too long ago I went to my local convenience store to get some Ben & Jerry's for my husband. On my way in the door a young man of no more than twenty years approached me. He was a clean cut, nice looking young man. He looked like a college kid. He asked me for ten cents. I looked at him astounded. "Ten cents," I ask. He confirmed my hearing and explained that they sell hot dogs inside for ninety-nine cents and he had only a dollar. He needed enough for tax. He looked earnest enough and he assured me that he was just hungry. I was positive that he wasn't going to use my ten cents for drugs. So I decided to give him money.

For me, finding ten cents in my purse would be a ridiculous amount effort. I would have to root around in the bottom of my purse to come up with any change. I decided to give him what was easily accessible. I reached in my purse, without looking, and pulled out a bill. It was a five dollar bill. I knew it would be that or a twenty. The only two bills I had in my purse. I handed him the five. When he realized what it was he thank me profusely. I mean, what is a five dollar bill to me? In my world, it is equal to the ten cents he requested.

He ran into the store and went right for the hot food section. I went and picked out a Ben & Jerry's flavor that I knew my husband would enjoy and as I walked to the counter with my purchases I noticed the young man fixing his meal. He had two hamburgers and a hot dog laid out in from of him and he was piling on condiments. He had a tense and excited air to his posture. He was starving. I wanted to go back and give him the twenty I had in my purse but I didn't. I wish I did now.

I wondered as I drove home what could have possibly put that young man in that position. Where was his family? Could he not find a job? He saddened me.

Today I came across this article on MSNBC entitled In hard times, tent cities rise across the country. In this article there is a picture of a tent city near where I live and a quote from a nineteen year old boy who came to Reno for a casino job. I wonder if it is the same boy that I gave five dollars too?

Out of a dozen people interviewed in the tent city, six had come to Reno from California or elsewhere over the last year, hoping for casino jobs.

"I figured this would be a great place for a job," said Max Perez, a 19-year-old from Iowa. He couldn't find one and ended up taking showers at the men's shelter and sleeping in a pup tent barely big enough to cover his body.

The casinos are actually starting to lay off employees.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26776283/
 

I wonder what the outcome of this is going to be?

EFF Sues NSA, President Bush, and Vice President Cheney to Stop Illegal Surveillance

"The Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF) filed a lawsuit against the National Security Agency (NSA) and other government agencies today on behalf of AT&T customers to stop the illegal, unconstitutional, and ongoing dragnet surveillance of their communications and communications records. The five individual plaintiffs are also suing President George W. Bush, Vice President Dick Cheney, Cheney's chief of staff David Addington, former Attorney General and White House Counsel Alberto Gonzales and other individuals who ordered or participated in the warrantless domestic surveillance.

The lawsuit, Jewel v. NSA, is aimed at ending the NSA's dragnet surveillance of millions of ordinary Americans and holding accountable the government officials who illegally authorized it. Evidence in the case includes undisputed documents provided by former AT&T telecommunications technician Mark Klein showing AT&T has routed copies of Internet traffic to a secret room in San Francisco controlled by the NSA. "

There is a tad more whining that I need to get out of my system. I don't want to make a habit of this type of blogging because it is depressing to me and I am sure it is not inclined to gather readers either. So here goes.

I am out of shape and overweight. This is really surprising since I have spent a ton of money on a gym membership that I have had for three years, a private trainer that I had for about six months, and on many exercise tapes. Not only that I have purchased memberships at Jenny Craig, purchased many types of diet pills, and diet books. The only thing that you can't purchase, I have discovered, is will power, determination, and a body with a higher metabolism. Damn!

I have decided that I need to do something about this. Again!

Alright done whining and this time is the last time. FINITO!! No more depressing blogs about a common American malady.
 

It happens to just about everyone, like death and taxes......age-related vision loss (Presbyopia).

As we age, the lenses of our eyes become thick and stiff, making it harder to focus and see up close. This affects nearly 100 percent of people over age 45, according to the National Library of Medicine.

And true to form I got reading glass recently and I hate the fact that I got reading glasses recently. I hate the fact that I am getting old. I am starting to feel it too. I am trying to come to terms with the fact that I am no longer that sexy young chick and haven't been that chick for quite some time. I know that I will never again see that sexy hard-body guy stop in mid-stride as I emerge from my car sheathed in little black dress wearing three inch heals with my red hair flowing loose down my back; unless, of course, that guy is 80 and the hard-body is because he is nearly all bone and mid-stride means he stopped and is leaning over his walker. And that so sucks. I will miss turning heads because I look sexy and hopefully I don't start turning heads in laughter.

Oh don't get me wrong I can still turn heads but I can see the decline especially when the decline looks like this .... http://www.pbase.com/csw62/image/79334747/large It would seem that the stock market and I have a thing in common lately.

I still get compliments but they are no longer like "Wow, you are hot". Often they are like "Wow, you don't look 42" . I am on the fence about that compliment. I mean, is 42 supposed to look old and I somehow was spared the old, FOR NOW?

And dammit, I have reading glasses! It is a symbol of old and I hate it.

I know, I know, looks aren't everything but isn't it the first thing to go? Of course on the bright side at least I have my health, right?

Okay whining is over till next time.




 

Robert Waltz
A writer without faults
He is great, he is grand
I know I am a fan

Cathartes02
Compares to so few
A man of "Complex Numbers" 
Writing poems envisioned in his slumbers
Like "Ghost Poem #2"  and "Ghost Poem #4" 
Oh, but there is so much more

He is a man of "Dreams and Secrets" 
I can't hide that he is one of my favorites
He has been since "1984" 
But those are the days of yore

I have to give him thanks
For the many Outer Banks
I won't provide a link for you
So you can keep your virtue

You might think of him as "Saint Nick" 
But that would make him sick
You might think he is a "Hermit" 
And that he could possibly permit
I am sure you have your opinion
but I would love to be a minion ("Minions of Waltz" )

This Ode to Waltz is complete
A writer I would read in a heartbeat
There is so much more I could say
But I need to post this without delay




Authors Note: Thanks for being here Waltzy!

As ordered: "Waltz Is Great Day" 



 

I have discovered, since starting this blog, that I have a very boring life. I really want to write in this thing everyday but I just have nothing to write down that is really interesting. Everything interesting has already happened in the past. Interesting current events are minimal at best. I am a boring 40 year old (okay so I am really 42 but whose counting???). Before starting this blog I really felt like I had an interesting life but this blog acts like a mirror and now I can truly see myself (my life). And what do I see? I see that I live a boring life.

Just as an example. What did I do today?

I got out of bed at 7am
I got to work at 8:30 am
I went to four meetings involving defects in the new system we are building
I went to one meeting about V2 of the new system we are building
Played on the internet between meetings: 
      Internet playing includes:
           Reading several blogs on writing.com (this list is not comprehensive, it's only what I did today)
                   "Something Borrowed" 
                   "I'm Studying You" 
                   "Invalid Item" 
                   "Invalid Item" 
                   "Invalid Item" 
                   "laurie's weird little world" 
                   "Complex Numbers" 
                   I am sure I will read more later
            Perusing my normal staple of internet sites (this list is not comprehensive, it's only what I did today)
                   http://icanhascheezburger.com/
                   http://editorialass.blogspot.com/
                   http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/
                   http://www.boingboing.net/
                   http://engrishfunny.com/
                   http://failblog.org/
                   http://nathanbransford.blogspot.com/
                   http://www.nytimes.com/
I wrote this blog

I have a very healthy dislike of spiders. There was a time in my life when I would literally run out of a room when I saw a spider. My parents would have to kill the beast or I wouldn't return, ever. Later, when I was the mom and living alone with my twin daughters, it was up to me to get rid of the invaders. It was either get rid of them or let them crawl around the house and risk them getting into bed with me or in my shoes or on my bath towel. *shivers at the thought* So really I had no choice. I had to learn to be a killer of spiders. I managed, though; but not with dignity. Even this metamorphoses from "one who flees" to "one who kills" didn't prevent me from doing the spider dance if ever there was the slightest indication that a spider was on my body. *shivers at the thought*

At one point in my life I moved with husband number one to a small town in Missouri just outside of Springfield. We found a nice old house to rent. It was so cute. Built in the early 1900's. I loved this old house when I first laid eyes on it. The landlord showed me around. It was clean, well maintained and had beautiful old oaks in the front and back yard. I was in love. We moved in a few days later. I don't know about you but when I move into a new place I like to get everything situated. I like to get my kitchen organized, my bedroom and the living room done right away. This move was no different but I always leave some boxes half-packed. You know those boxes that have things in them that you want to keep but you just don't know where they should go. In this case, I had half full boxes of nick-knacks and books; probably about three or four at most, in the hallway and they stayed there for about two months.

In the intervening two months I discovered something horrifying about this old house. You guessed it. It was infested with spiders. It didn't take long to realize it. They were everywhere. I was in hell! Let me tell you about hell... Spiders love warm places and at night they would usually find those places under the covers with me and my husband. I would wake up with spider bites all over me in the morning. Eventually, I would wake up in the middle of the night if I felt one crawling on me. I even woke up one night because one was crawling up my back, under my nightgown, and it was moving fast toward my head. I didn't want the thing in my hair so the only thing I could do is reach back with my hand an kill it. I did. I got up, when to the bathroom and disrobed and inside my nightgown smashed was a very large brown spider. It was huge! I took a shower, a long shower. Over time I would become very adept at waking up at night and killing spiders with my bare hands and then go back to sleep. In the morning I would remove the dead carcasses out of the bed. *shivers again*

One day at the end of that two month period I got the urge to get rid of the boxes in the hallway and I wasn't aware at the time that night spiders need dark quiet places to hang out during the day. The dark quiet place they found was in those four boxes in the hallway. I reached in and grabbed a book, just one book, and out flew what looked like to me like a billion brown spiders of all sizes. It was like mud oozing out of the box and spilling onto the floor around my feet. There were so many spiders I could distinguish one from the other. They were crawling on top of each other in a panic to get out of the box. I ran. Killer or no Killer, I ran.

I left the boxes alone hoping they would all return there. And after a few days I build a fire in my backyard. Found something to cover the boxes with and took them and burned them in the fire. I burned the books, the nick-knacks, and the spiders. Let me tell you I hate spiders.

So with that story here is a great link where you can play with a very well done animated flash spider. It's kinda cool.

http://www.onemotion.com/flash/spider/

Enjoy!
 

I have shoes on my mind today. The reason being, you may ask. Well I will tell you.

Last night when driving home from dinner I stopped at an intersection and above my head was a pair of shoes, sneakers to be exact, tied together by the shoelaces and dangling from a power line. You may have guessed already that the intersection exists in a neighborhood that is not the best of the bunch and you would be right. I thought about those shoes and what they mean. I thought if I were so inclined right now I could wonder around here and see if I could spot the crack house or maybe pick up some heroine of my very own. I thought about the first person to do this. What made the first person decide that this was an adequate signal to attract customers? Was this person is a pioneer of symbolism or has the hanging of shoes been around since the beginning of shoes and if so what did it mean then? Did it mean the same thing? Did the American Indian hang their moccasins from trees and the customer had to find the tepee that contained the Marijuana when really all that was necessary was the use of the olfactory system? And really when you think about it, is it a good idea to advertise this way? Isn't it the same as having a neon sign on your house that flashes "Heroine Here" or "Crack Depot". Plus these things need no advertisement. They have their own compelling reasons built in that induces future sales. All you would really have to do as a future crack addict is ask the next twenty-five-year old that looks like Willy Nelson where she gets her dope. She will gladly tell. There might be an incentive program where she gets one free hit for every new customer referred. So what do the shoes really mean? Do they mean anything at all? These questions remain unanswered because a subsequent search of the internet only prove the same person who wrote the Shoe Tossing Wikipedia article also wrote the economicexpert.com article on shoe flinging who also wrote the NationMaster.com article on Shoefiti. Seemed circular to me.

So this line of thinking led me to my next issue on shoes. For nearly all my life I have witnessed the mistreatment of the shoe. We have all seen it, the deliberate abandonment of one shoe along a roadway. Left alone without its sole mate . Why do we allow this to happen? The break up of the shoe marriage is cruel and we all have seen the effects of it everyday of our lives. We see the abandon shoe and do nothing. This has got to stop. We have to rally around the shoe marriage and prevent their cruel owners from breaking them apart for they are useless without the other. And what possesses someone to throw a shoe out the window of a car anyway? And why is it an epidemic?

And lastly, on shoes, a more somber topic. One shoe memory that I will never get out of my mind, is the shoe room at the Holocaust Museaum in Washington D.C. The room is dimly lit, and smells of rot. It contains a enormous pile of old leather shoes collected from concentration camps and put on display. When we die, is that what's left, our shoes?

http://www.ushmm.org/uia-cgi/uia_doc/photos/13734?hr=null



 

Lately I have been thinking about my muse. He is fickle. He doesn't like it when I work, at all. He becomes very silent when I work a lot. He also likes to brainstorm with other people. He gets his ideas that way and he is very good at it. The funny thing is I am not like that at all. I am a loner for the most part. I like to work alone

I really think it is nearly impossible for a muse/writer to write really good when isolated from people or the world for that matter. I am sure there are notable exceptions to that but I can't think of any off the top of my head. What's that silly saying "It's the exception that proves the rule". That is an interesting saying. Logically, it doesn't work. It makes my head spin when I hear it. It's like saying all birds fly and because there are flightless birds it proves that all birds fly. Egads. I looked it up one time and learned it doesn't exactly mean what is exactly says. It's more like because there is a rule you recognize that there is an exception to that rule or some such thing as that. I guess I could look it up again but I am not in the mood.

So now where were we? Yeah, Mr. Muse. I wonder if other people have a muse that they recognize as different than themselves. Not different, but at least distinct. I wonder if that constitutes a split personality. The interesting thing is my muse is male. I also think of flowers as male too. How weird is that. I wonder what that says about me. Come to think of it, its not that weird really. I mean in nature it is the male that is more colorful, more beautiful than the female. With humans its a bit different, women are definitely more beautiful than men but with that said, men are damn beautiful. I could go ahead and talk about the exception to the rule again but I am done with that.

Ok back to Mr. Muse. I just wish he was more of a task master. I wish he would get out he whip and make me write, compel me to write. He has none of those qualities though. He relies on me for that and unfortunately I have not been very diligent in that area. I gave up writing for a very long time. I was busy just living life and working out my major issues with it. My muse never left me during that time. He made his presence known. He nagged me on a regular basis. Maybe nagging would be as good as a whip if I didn't have a muse gag. I already mentioned what my muse gag is. It's working a lot. I am a problem solver at work. It is my job to identify problems and come up with simple effective solutions to fix them. Its a fun job. It exciting when what I came up with works. It is less satisfactory when what I came up with doesn't work or makes it worse. Fortunately that has only happened once or twice. When something is so uncomfortable you try to avoid that situation in the future and I really hate crow. Plus I wouldn't have this job if I didn't make it right the majority of the time.

I have thought of giving my muse a name but my muse is silent on this subject. Maybe he prefers to remain nameless. I think I need to develop more of a friendship with him. Maybe I need to learn to be more quiet so he can talk. Maybe he is so silent sometimes because I am too noisy on the inside. Maybe he doesn't like to compete. He probably wants to command my attention. What was that commercial? "When E.F. Hutton speaks everyone listens". Maybe that is what he wants. He wants me to listen so closely that if he utters the smallest of sounds it will be like THX to my ears.

Maybe I can learn to be quiet on the inside. Just maybe, because I need my muse. I miss him. I am glad he hasn't given up on me. I was afraid he might have for a while there.


 

Hey have you saved a house lately?

ID: 1469500   (Rated: E) Superman Fans  If you are a superman fan you have to watch this video. by Ellee Unfettered

 

Well folks I entered my first Writer's Cramp. Okay, It wasn't my first. My first was a found poem of six lines and I didn't write six lines anywhere so I wasn't considered. (I don't follow directions very well. Heck I don't even read directions. It takes too much time. I'm a wing-it kinda gal) So since it wasn't considered, technically, I didn't enter. See how my brain works. So back to the point at hand. I entered my "first" Writer's Cramp and I actually won it. I am surprised. So if you want to read it here is the link:

ID: 1468842   (Rated: E) Fireflies in the Garden  When it doesn't come easy by Ellee Unfettered

It's only 510 words so have no fear it won't take long.


 

So I am in the mood to tell a story about myself today. This entry is on the super long side compared to my usual fodder.


The story starts when I was 19 years old.

I was living in Florida. St. Petersburg, Florida to be exact. I moved there with my 22 year old boyfriend, Jack, a year before. Living in St. Pete is a lot of fun when you are 19 and have no cares in the world. Besides the slow-driving, fist-shaking old white people, St. Pete comes with white sandy beaches, suntanned men with no shirts, and bars on the beach.

Jack was a good-enough boyfriend. He was a gorgeous, blond haired, blue eyed, suntanned man, with an IQ of no more than two digits so he qualified as satisfactory back then. Really my only interest in him was his looks, his six-pack abs, and his looks. His choice of conversation was only slightly annoying if I ogled him a bit. Sometimes while ogling him, I could distort his droning to something akin to what Charlie Brown's teacher sounds like and that was when I loved him.

Okay I admit I was shallow but at nineteen what can you expect? I wasn't looking to get married. I was just looking to have fun and Jack = Fun. Physical fun, not mental fun. I didn't require mental fun until I got older.

Jack spent his money on stereo equipment, beer, tire rims, beer, and used cars which meant that the rent and food took a backseat. I was in charge of the backseat. That was fine with me. I mean Jack = Fun not Jack = Responsible. Jack was eye candy. You can't expect eye candy to make a living.

The only problem I had with Jack was he wanted to marry me. He started asking about six months after our first date. I parried like the best of them but he never let up. After living with him for a little less than a year, I started trying to devise a way to move out. For some reason, at that time in my life, I felt the need to somehow ease out of a situation instead of just saying truthfully "I am leaving". The blunt "I am leaving" conversations with boyfriends comes later in my life.

About the time when I am plotting my escape I discover a little glitch. I am pregnant. I didn't know that eye candy = baby formula. If I had known that in advance I would have gone for pocket-protector guy. With pocket-protector guy, I could have mental fun and not physical fun. Mental fun <> baby formula (<> means 'does not equal' or 'not equal to' for those of you that don't play with code or excel formulas) Later I would discover that the best man provides both mental fun and physical fun.

When I broke the news to Jack, he took it like a pro and said, "Now you have to marry me."

At first, I thought he was right. I did have to marry him. It was the right thing to do since I was carrying his baby. That lasted about four months. During the "Jack is blissful" four months, I was sick most of the time, Jack and I moved back to Virginia to live with my parents "temporarily", I turned twenty, and I broke the news to my parents who were not surprised. My dad suggested that I get an abortion. I had already thought of that and decided against it since Jack and I were getting married and I felt like I couldn't go through with the abortion. I watched a friend go through it and I didn't want to experience what she experienced.

After settling in with my parents, Jack went back to his old ways. Staying out with his "friends" until 5 am in the morning several times a week. What does said eye candy do with friends till five am when all bars have last call at 1am? It is a question I still have not adequately answered.

That's when I started to assess my situation.

Situation = eye candy + baby.

Eye candy <> responsible.

If eye candy <> responsible then
Me = working all the time to support Situation.

Solution: remove eye candy

I thought very hard about that solution. Could I take care of a baby on my own? Well, I took care of eye candy. At least with eye candy removed my expenses would be reduced. So that's what I did. I removed eye candy. Bluntly. No gently laid plans. No easing into it. Just "please leave". He left. He thought I would come to my senses later.

During the ensuing five months, I grew. A LOT. I went to the doctor for my regular check-ups. I didn't get a sonogram. It was something that was optional back then and I couldn't afford the extra cost. My doctor assured me that everything was going fine. The baby's heartbeat was strong and she predicted a big baby boy. Her only concern was that I was gaining weight very fast and advised me not to eat so much and to exercise more. I defended myself against these accusations by informing her that I didn't eat a lot and it really hurt my back to do the exercises she prescribed. She didn't believe me. I still didn't do the exercises and didn't watch what I ate.

Finally, right on time, my water broke and I started having contractions. All was going as the doctor had planned. My parents and I went to the hospital around five in the afternoon on July 15th. Fourteen hours later they decided I needed to have a c-section. An hour or so after that I am laying on a table in the shape of a cross. I have a straps on my forearms, biceps, across my chest, across my thighs, calves, and ankles. This situation does not make me feel comfortable at all. The nurse drapes sheets across a bar preventing me from seeing anything beyond my chin. Someone starts rubbing my protruding belly with a wet substance.

The male anesthesiologist with honey brown eyes and gorgeous face tells me that the doctor has cut me open. "Really," I say, "I didn't feel a thing". They had given me an epidural about twelve hours into this mess. I was super excited that I couldn't feel it. I thought This is going to be a breeze. About that time, honey eyes says, "Ok, you are going to feel a little tugging. The doctor is going to pull the baby out." Ohhh, a little tugging. That's nice. I could stare into your honey brown eyes forever.

A little tugging turned out to have the vacuum force of a 747 jet engine at full speed. I screamed, long and loud. Honey eyes shoved a clear mask that was emitting a foul smelling gas over my mouth and nose. I shook my head from side to side trying to get away from the smell. Honey eyes held it on and it had its effect. I was still aware of the pain but couldn't place where it was coming from. It was like I could feel the shadow of the pain but not the pain itself.

Someone said "It's a girl."

I saw a nurse caring a little red wrinkled baby over to a small table. I watched her clean the baby's nose and mouth out with a blue suction device. The baby started to cry. Everyone in the room started clapping. The clapping sounded as if there were thirty people in the room. I could only see the nurse, honey eyes and my baby girl because of the draped sheet.

I hear my doctor calling out for surgical items with unrecognizable names in rapid succession. A nurse, I assume, says to the doctor, "You already have those."

"I know," she says, "I need more. There is another baby in here!"

The operating room erupts with laughter. I can here excited voices and chatter everywhere. I look up at honey eyes and tell him emphatically that she is lying. He as one of the natives refuses to believe my assertion. I on the other hand believe every word I am saying until they turn on the 747 jet engine again at which point I scream at the top of my lungs, "Noooooooo! Put it back! Put it back! I don't want two!".

Honey eyes has the audacity to say, "Shhhhh, you don't want to say that".

"You don't know what I want to say right now," I snap back.

"It's a girl," cried the doctor and the room exploded again. Laughter and twittering was everywhere. Joy was bouncing off the walls and careening around the room haphazardly. I didn't feel any of it. My mind was reeling. I see another nurse with the other baby using the blue sucking device on it's tiny nose and mouth. The baby starts to cry. I did too.

to be continued.....
 

I am finally home and if feels good. My cat barely knows me and is not sure what to do with me. My husband has no problems in that area. It is strange being at home. I had the desire this morning to call my mom to see how she is doing because I felt like I couldn't start my day without knowing her condition. It's almost like I have a symbiotic connection to her. I can't take a breath without knowing if she is taking a breath. Maybe I should have asked the guy with Dr. Phil's face what kind of psychotic condition this is. That would have made good conversation.
 

You know there are certain people that you meet in life that you never want to see again. You know, like the guy with Dr. Phil's face who opens the airplane lavatory door that you forgot to lock while you are in the lavatory doing your business.


Yeah, that guy.


The bright side. I am an hour and a half away from home!
 

My mom has been released back into the wild. She is back in her native habitat and very happy about it. I am too. This means that, if all goes well, I will be back in my native habitat by (drum roll please) MONDAY!!!! Whew.

Days spent with Mom:

6 at her home
24 at the hospital

I left my home on July 26 and will be returning to my home on Aug 25. Thirty long and excruciatingly emotional days gone without seeing my husband, my home, my cat, my sanity.


Can you see my smile where you are?