Moving!

Hear that? That clunkity clunk...that shuffling around? That's the sound of the Kodosblog moving!!!

Melanie is in the process of writing a script to migrate my older posts to my new blog. In the interim, please bear with us while we try to figure out how to get my ideas out of bloggerbeta and into a more user friendly, beefier platform.

Ooooh...and the new address: http://kang.vannat.se/

Please update your bookmarks and come along for the ride so I won't be lonely.

Krammies!
Kodos aka High Priestess Kang aka Marnie

The List(s)

12 days to go until surgery. Dock has asked me to prepare a list of all of my favorite foods that I will not be able to eat for a couple of weeks after the yankage.

You know...it's just not that easy to think of all your favorite foods. The urges seem to strike at random. I am not really sure what I'm going to miss.

Here is the list thus far:

• Mushroom and fried onion cheesebomb from Five Guys
• Pizza
• Chicken piccata
• Wonton Soup
• Salad
• Onion rings and/or pommes frites (or hommes frites if you're Dock)
• Bagels and cream cheese
• Bread (anything except that white, sandwich shit)
• Baked potato from Jason's Deli
• Gyro (because we seldom, if ever eat them)
• Chocolate (cake, cookies, candy...)

I know I am missing something. What is it??? Blargh! =(

On the other hand, Dock will be supplying me with the following during my convalescence:

• Popsicles
• Popsicles
• Popsicles
• Jell-O
• Season 3 of the Gilmore Girls
• Water
• Drugs

Lastly...please do not forget the, "Get a Llama for Kodos Campaign." Kodosdaddy has never been one to buckle under peer pressure, but since I will not be able to partake of the normal panacea (Famous Amos cookies), I am hoping he will reconsider his position on the llama. Please help Kodos get her llama.

Tagged by Emory!!!

Today...
Height: 63 inches or 160 cms
Color: Green (all right...white)
Piercing: Ears (one hole in each lobe)
Tattoos: 3 (left inner calf, right inner calf, right outer ankle)

Right now...
Time: 7:55 pm or 19:55
Mood: Take no prisoners
Taste: Rice Krispy Treat
Weather: Dark, mostly cloudy, 66 degrees or 18 degrees
Bad Habit: Smoking

Favorites...
TV Show: Countdown with Keith Olbermann
Book: A Widow for One Year, John Irving - Current: G-d Bless You, Mr Rosewater, Vonnegut
Non Alcoholic Beverage: Coffee (black)
Brand: Europa blend from Southern Season (current)
Perfume: Poison by Dior
Designer: Michael Kors

Random...
Work: State Employee
Currently spinning in Inga: Ett kolikbarns bekännelser, Håkan Hellström
What makes me happy: Dock's funny stories, my family, friends and pets

When/What Was the Last...
Received a real letter: Three weeks ago, get well card from Kate
Got an e-mail: Constant flurry of activity
Thing I purchased: Venus Flytrap
TV program watched: Hardball with Chris Matthews
Movie seen in a theatre: I don't go for fear of cooties
Hugged: Daphne the cat
Song I heard: Gårdakvarnar och skit, Håkan Hellström
Phone call: Friendly supplier with question about a Purchase Order

Tag! You're screwed. ;)

Tonsillitis in Adults

My surgery has been scheduled. On November 15th, my darling, oversized tonsils will be ripped from my head.

I'm not looking forward to this. Actually...I'm absolutely terrified.

Don't get me wrong. The procedure itself does not concern me. It takes a whopping 45 minutes, about as long as wisdom tooth extraction. The recovery, on the other hand, has me shaking like a little girl.

Here is what I found whilst Googling for fear.

Post-Op Tonsillectomy Hell:

Tonsillectomy tends to be a very painful operation in adults; children fare much better. In my experience, children will usually "bounce back" in 4 or 5 days (sometimes sooner), teenagers in 7 to 10 days, and adults in 10 to 20 days. Some adults continue to have significant throat pain (such that they limit their diet) for a month or more. Some fortunate adults behave more like children, however. It is not clear why this age variation exists; it may be due to a change in innervation of the throat as we age.

The main risks of tonsillectomy are bleeding, pain, and dehydration. Dehydration is due to poor oral intake, which in turn is due to pain. It is, of course, preventable. In fact, dehydration INCREASES pain, and so it is possible to fall into a vicious circle of pain, poor oral intake, dehydration, MORE pain, POORER oral intake, MORE dehydration, and so forth. Bleeding seems to be more common in dehydrated patients, in my experience.

Bleeding deserves special mention. Bleeding can certainly occur during the operation, but this is usually not too worrisome; the surgeon takes care of it immediately. Bleeding can also occur as you are waking up from the anesthetic. This is unfortunate when it occurs, but it is usually only an inconvenience; you will be placed under a second general anesthetic, and your surgeon will promptly control the bleeding.

No, the really nasty bleeding is that which most commonly occurs 7 to 11 days AFTER surgery. We think this is the time when the "scab" first begins to slough. Approximately 1 in 20 patients will experience a significant degree of bleeding at this time. (By the way, "7 to 11 days" is only the most common interval; I have heard of folks who bled 20 to 30 days after surgery! This, fortunately, is very rare.) What is "a significant degree of bleeding"? Enough that you will feel compelled to call your doctor, or come in to the emergency room.

Late bleeding is worrisome. If it does not stop spontaneously, or if it is not easily treated in the emergency room, you will have to undergo another general anesthetic so that your surgeon may stop the bleeding. In contrast to the tonsillectomy, this time you will probably NOT have an empty stomach. At the very least, you will probably have swallowed some blood. This is hazardous, since you could vomit and aspirate (choke on) this blood while you are being placed under anesthesia. Anesthesiologists have ways of coping with this situation, but I have never met one who did not dread these cases to some degree.

This is just a brief discussion of the surgical risks; I recommend that you discuss this thoroughly with your surgeon.

How long should you take off work? If you have a desk job, you may be ready to go back after a week to 10 days. If physical exertion is part of your work, I would be much more cautious than this. This also applies to resumption of daily activities. Anything that might tend to increase your blood pressure (exercise, strenuous chores, sex, and so forth) could cause a hemorrhage. Once again, discuss these issues in detail with your surgeon.

You will have some swelling within your mouth. The tongue and uvula occasionally swell following a tonsillectomy. Bruising is very uncommon. (If you bruise or bleed easily, you must share this with your doctor! Also, if you are taking aspirin or nonsteroidal antiinflammatory drugs (such as ibuprofen), you must tell your doctor. Give your doctor a very complete list of all of your medications, including vitamins and herbal remedies. You would be surprised how many different things can decrease one’s ability to clot.)

These are my opinions regarding the risks of tonsillectomy and what to expect after tonsillectomy. It is essential that you have this discussion with your surgeon. Only then can you weigh the discomfort of having to live with your bothersome tonsils against the risks and discomfort of tonsillectomy, and then decide whether to proceed with surgery or investigate nonsurgical options.

Enfin!

It started innocently enough. A low grade fever and a horsey throat in December of 2005. At the behest of one of the directors, I shuffled off to see her husband, the chair of the ENT department at the hospital, after coughing up my lungs for a few weeks. Dr Pillsbury, whom I love and fear, prescribed me some antibiotics and Nexium for the GERD and sent me on my merry way. Except...the fever never abated.

Dr Pillsbury and I spent January, February and March trying to identify the origin of the yuck. The fever broke every time I took antibiotics, but returned the moment I stopped. We decided that it must be a weakened immune system (which I already kind of have) aggravated by allergies. After enduring the needle stick allergy test (not as bad as one fears), it was determined that dust mites were not my friends. Allergy and asthma meds, along with allergy shots, were added to my daily routine and I bebopped along.

Then I went to Sweden.

Right about the time I left Stockholm for Alnö, home of Mamma och Pappa, I came down with an earache strong enough to cripple a giant. I sucked it up because I was on vacation but I really wasn't feeling 100%. I also recalled a time when Magnus and I both got the flu and decided the only thing that would make us feel better was getting entirely bombed out of our minds, so I spent the rest of my time in Sweden drunk. If I felt badly, I wouldn't really care. Alcohol is wonderful that way.

Once Dock and I got home, I started feeling crappier and crappier. The earache abated but the fever strengthened and would not go away. My stomach started to turn and reject any offerings of food. I was so lethargic, the idea of getting out bed was too much to handle. It became so insufferable, so intolerable, I dragged my ass to the GP, whom I despise.

The next thing I knew, I was working part-time and shuffling in and out of various offices of various specialists. Infectious Disease, in the event I picked up some sort of exotic köttbullar sjukdom while in Sweden. Rheumatology, as my body is just waiting for the day that the protein/compliment test (or whatever the phuck they call it) clicks to positive and I get to live with Lupus, too.

Hours spent with doctors who take care of the really sick, 21 vials of blood, two stool samples and one series of X-Rays later...no diagnosis, other than a running scrip for muscle relaxers to help with the kinks in my body thanks to Raynaud's. They tested for everything from Leukemia to Lupus to köttbullar sjukdom. Nothing.

Except for one thing:

GP: Kodos, your tonsils are huge!
ID Doc: Kodos, why haven't you had those removed?
Rheumatologist: You should have those tonsils looked at.

For years, I have shrugged off all commentary about my enlarged tonsils. It is odd enough that someone in my generation still has them at 35 years old. My pediatrician simply did not believe in surgery or medication, for that matter.

I decided to make an appointment, in late August, to visit with Dr Pillsbury to silence the tonsil critics. In the interim, I took a leave of absence from work because I was too exhausted to complete a full day's worth of work.

I returned to work three weeks ago. I went to Dr Pillsbury, the ENT G-d, today. Within fifteen minutes of my sitting in his exam room, the diagnosis came down. Tonsillitis. I'm a 35 year old woman with tonsillitis.

I'm not overly upset about the time invested in seeing specialists who couldn't help me. There's no point in getting hopped up over what we cannot change. I am, however, stunned that the malady was something so pedestrian and phucking obvious. All of this time spent, ailing, fretting, worrying and crying...to find out that my tonsils need to be removed.

Dr Pillsbury cautioned me that this may not be the cure-all. However, it will certainly help keep my immune system a little stronger if it's not having to fight off an infection which refuses to go away.

Dock is now joking that all non-essential organs will be removed from my body. Appendix - bye bye! Spleen - Adieu! Take a kidney for good measure, I have one to spare.

Now, I get to look forward to a brief surgery and rather challenging and painful recovery. But...at least...it may be the road to wellness. A much desired, much long for road to wellness.

I think my director summed it up the best when I shared the news with him. "G-d damn tonsils."

Heh...

My Uncle Duck says, "Time is the big Band-Aid." A beautifully simple, yet profound statement that I have oft relied upon through this oh, so fun journey we call daily existence/life.

Off and on, throughout the past few months, I have been bemoaning about a specific angst, which has been troubling me. The bloggy-blog has been quite a wonderful vehicle for my rants and vents. Albeit, a little embarrassing to read now that the stormy waters have quieted a bit.

At the risk of saber rattling, things seem to be calming down. The delightful e-mails have abated. The trolling has ceased. I started feeling a lot more comfortable in public (forums) and certainly a lot more relaxed. I found myself coming out of my crab shell again. Even scarier, resuming the somewhat out-going posture I have towards complete strangers on t3h intarwebs. My security lead me to pursue a friendship with a random stranger which has proven to be not only delightful, but remotely reassuring in the sense that not all people floating around in cyberspace are complete freaks.

Until two weeks ago, that is.

One of my demons, my closet skeletons reappeared, along with all the baggage and bullshit he brings along with him. Initially, I was not pleased. As a matter of fact, I was borderline furious and most certainly jarred and emotional. How dare the non-person reappear in my world after dumping a pile of shit (with assistance from his equally enchanting, hyper-critical sister) in my lap, so steaming, I could have filed a law suit based on the precedent setting MacDonald's coffee case?

It is entirely too easy to manipulate and twist those who try to find the positive in everything. It is entirely too easy to manipulate and twist those who are vulnerable. For so much as I openly gripe and try to make light of a situation with satire, for as hard as I try to display an aura of fortitude, I am still the same person who will sit up a night and worry myself into a frenzy.

I had a difficult decision to make. Do I reach out and let the shitstorm back into my world or do I remain silent, keeping the door not only shut, but also dead-bolted? It is not my nature to shut people out. It is not my nature to hold grudges. I will doggedly try to make everything work.

This is one instance where I could not.

I had to rise above the bait and maintain a very cool and aloof posture (something which, I have been told by numerous people, I elevate to an art form). I could not reciprocate. I could not do anything to initiate direct contact. I had to keep the door to the past shut. I had to resist the temptation to be cordial. Basically...I had to take a path entirely unknown and unexplored by me previously. It was tough but I see it paying dividends now.

Uncle Duck's comment about time being the big band-aid is so very true. Time has passed, the hurt and anger have transformed into ambivalence and indifference. My need to make everything in my world glorious and harmonious has been supplanted with a more pragmatic, realistic outlook.

Some people...some people are simply toxic and bad. There are relationships that are of no benefit to either party. There are times when you simply need to look ahead. The loss I felt has been filled with a feeling of empowerment, a greater sense of self and a sense of emotional fortitude I did not realize I possessed.

The wounds have healed. It's time to move forward. Without carrying the baggage of others, no matter how much they think they need my attention or me.

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat

Well...first day back at work as a full-timer today for me in well over a month. Nothing was broken, thrown or stomped on. I did not fall over, sleeping and drooling at my desk. I did not cry. I'm actually...gasps...in an unusually terrific mood.

What gives with that? A happy Kodos is not a creative Kodos.

I must figure out where I left my bitterness and spite. People will really think I have gone over the edge if I keep smiling as stupidly as I am.

Kodos goes adventuring

Gcccccccchhhhh....

My driver's license expired. A few weeks...erm...a couple of months ago. I am always forgetful about having that damn thing renewed. It is such a colossal pain the the ass. I hate it. I absolutely dread it. Dock is a little pissy with me because I let it lapse, then got tagged for speeding. So, to pacify Dock (and the police), I set off to renew the license this afternoon after work.

Five years ago, the last time I had to go through this root canal, I drove out to the sticks of North Carolina to visit the Hillsborough DMV. No one goes there. It's basically empty with clerks grateful to serve whomever actually goes there (and they will give you the answers to the test should you forget). Rather than waiting for hours in Carrboro or Raleigh to have the worst photo of me taken, I decided to return to my favorite, country store for the renewal. A surprise awaited me, however.

Surprise! Even though the office is still listed on the DMV's website...the office is no longer there! Or anywhere! Presto! Gone! I drove around Hillsborough, up and down Route 70 for a good 45 minutes trying to find this damn place. I called my cellular service for directions. They gave me the same ones provided by the DMV website. The damn place is just...gone.

Knowing that if I went home today, sans valid license, Dock would chew my ass to bits...I decided to bite the bullet and drag my greenness to Capital Blvd in Raleigh. I knew I would spend the rest of my afternoon there and resigned myself to hanging out with a bunch of snot-faced teenagers hoping to get their permits and non-English speakers hoping to get a license. Grrrrrr.

Much to my surprise, the entire process at the Capital Blvd office took a total of 20 minutes. 20 minutes from the time I darkened the doorstep to the time they handed me the scariest driver's license ever known to man. It's raining so my naturally, curly hair is big. I mean...BIG. My face looks like a bloated puffer-fish. I thought the passport photo was the worst I have ever taken. Not now.

So...I'm legal to drive like mad on the highways again. Ready for officer friendly to pull me over again for allegedly going 80 mph. As if I would ever do that. My only hope, for the next infraction, is that the officer takes pity on the horrendous photo and lets me off the hook.

The Witch Hunt

Or in my case, The Bitch Hunt.

At the behest of many close to me, I have been refraining from writing about anything personal (aside from politics and religion, two very socially acceptable topics) lately. I have been trying to limit my commentary on things specifically Kodos oriented, as the prophecy self-fulfilled. My words were used against me.

So...I stopped writing about being sick.

As the twisting and artful research conducted by others for their own gain, continues...I have decided that the content of my blog matters little. Those who are irritated by my words will remain irritated. Those who find my rationale behind using such a mechanism to voice my concerns, opinions and thoughts will still twist, modify, take things out of context for their own benefit.

What is that saying, "there is no such thing as bad publicity?" One has readers who read because they enjoy it. One has readers who read because to not engage in schadenfreudish behavior would mean they would have to reflect upon themselves, a far too scary concept for them to digest, let alone practice.

For months, beginning in December 2005, I have been battling some mysterious yuck. I have been slapped the label of medical mystery. I continue to feel like crap on a daily basis. Some days, really crappy...others not so crappy. But there is a crap like feel for me to endure each day.

The problem with these weird, crappy illnesses is that people fail to accept them as true. When you have funny things creeping around your blood, when you have odd CBC results, when you run a fever daily, when you lose a significant amount of weight in a short time...people do not see that there is a problem. People can only accept what they see with their own eyes. If you have the misfortune of being ill and you do not sport a cast...watch out! Soon, you too, will be called a lying nancy pants.

I suppose I am extremely frustrated with the lack of compassion and support I see exhibited on a daily basis. I am not a drama queen nor am I a drama whore (sorry dissenters...I am far from that). I am not seeking anything but understanding. If your limited mind-set does not allow you to understand, then I seek your silence...not criticism and condescension.

People typically lack the ability to be empathetic. They typically let their value set and uninformed assumptions make decisions for them. That is fine. Be as narrow minded as you so desire. But when your assumptions start negatively impacting my life, please do not act surprised if I take umbrage at your apathy. Please do not act surprised if I tell you, in my own adorable way, that I find you to be a lesser person. Most of all, please do not be surprised by my indifference to your pain and suffering when it arises as you have pushed me so far away from caring about you, that I find it difficult to embrace those who have violated me so deeply.

I suppose, through my rant, I am trying to convey the message that, "you only know what you know." When you drift into the waters of ignorance, allow your assumptions to make the final ruling without considering any other extraneous facts...you need to eat that. That portion will also be served with a side of resentment and lack of trust. Resentment and lack of trust that will remain, ever lasting, within the heart and mind of those you hurt.

I pray daily that no one experiences what I am experiencing. It doesn't make me a better person, by any stretch. However, it does make me compassionate and empathetic. Something my critics seem to be lacking.

Oh...and silence and ignorance of the elephant in the room because you think you do not know what to say or you think you have all the answers...conveys the same message as anything else. It tells the world you do not give a shit.

Again. Fine posture. Just so long as you expect reciprocity for your shitty behavior.

I am going to continue to write, journal, capture my thoughts, whatever. I am going to continue to write because I enjoy writing and have been told that I have an aptitude and affinity for the word. I should hope you continue to read. I should ask that you remove your blinders when you do, however. There are human beings behind the words. Human beings with valid feelings and challenges to navigate. Human beings that should not live and die by your ignorant and arrogant assumptions.

Your value-set is exactly that. Yours. Do not be surprised if respect for yours is not forthcoming when you withhold your respect from others, either.

The Implosion of George Allen

For those of you living under a rock, Virginia Senator George Allen made quite the social gaffe back in August, referring to a dark skinned attendee of a whatever as a, "Macaca." He also graciously welcomed him to America. Funny...the dark skinned man was already a citizen, having been born here.

Much lulz has ensued. Much ass coverage has been attempted, resulting in further lulz as the Allen campaign keeps digging itself in deeper. I do not know what sort of shovel he is using, but I should certainly like to borrow it the next time snow falls on Raleigh.

It appears that the main defense employed by the Allen campaign is the platform of, "ignorance." Apparently, stupidity is absolution for making any sort of remotely racist remark. Allen's handlers insist that it was a slip, a mistake and that he had no idea what "macaca" means. This...from a man (Allen) who had a noose in his office of his law practice years ago ("it was a gift to fit with the western decor.")

Aside from jumping on the Allen-slamming bandwagon, where am I going with this?

Years ago, I dated a charming, young lad in Pittsburgh (*gags*). I should have known to expect trouble when the mother 's (of said lad) first comment about me (after meeting me for the first time) was, "She's Jewish, isn't she?" Alas, I was young and stupid and did not see such a remark as a sign to run like hell.

One lovely evening, the charming lad and I were hanging out in the living room of his parents' house when he called me (apparently in jest) a, "kike." Yikes! Naturally, I tore into him in a most self-righteously smug fashion, chastising him for using such a dreadfully racist term. His mother, always one to defend (Oedipus, anyone) her precious offspring, flies into the living room on broomstick and says, "My son doesn't know what that word really means. I did not raise him to know those words." My retort was along the lines of, "Ok...so you raised an ignorant man who passes as a bigot? Or you raised him ill suited to be among people of different cultures and/or faiths?" The mother and I never really got along well.

A few years into our relationship, the charming lad and I bought a vehicle together. The broom riding, bitch of a mother, turns to us and says, "Did you Jew them down in price?" My only reaction to that display of diplomacy was a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. It took a few years, but I finally wheedled the truth out of that ghastly creature. She doesn't care for t3h Joos.

No. She didn't raise a bigot. She didn't teach her son words like kike. She was a good Lutheran lady who loves everyone.

Even scarier...she molds the minds of the youth of Pittsburgh as a sixth grade teacher. I wonder what argot she teaches them.

The moral of the story (aside from my sheer contempt for that horrible woman) is that you need to take responsibility for your words and your actions. If you phuck up, if you slip and say something absolutely abominable in public...do not employ ignorance as your defense. Admit that you may be a skosh bigoted, learn from your phucking mistakes and wash the hate and sense of superiority from your mind and soul.

Oh...and feed your sons pork chops and have them tell the world about it when your Jewish heritage has been uncovered (Sen Allen).

Article from the Washginton Post is here...for you under rock dwellers.

I need this!

Well, Dock would say that I need to get my ass off the sofa in the den, go to work and bring home bacon for bill payage. I disagree. I need this:

I am wondering if this would be as appreciated as my, "You are dumb" mug that I use at work (for meetings with suppliers and annoying higher ups).

Le Suck

I am so le suck. Sorry for not responding to comments for a while. Apparently, I lodged my head up my ass and forgot to pull it out for its daily dose of sunshine.

I will be a better friend in the future.

Rofflecopterz!!!!

Painstakingly created by Melanie for me:

It's 1985...

...at least in my den.

Currently spinning: This is the Sea by The Waterboys.

Mmmmmm.

Nostalgiaholic

Ennui. Complete and total boredom with news has driven me to the cd rack. Dock and I have too many cds. Yes...you can have too many. So, with squinted eyeballs (because I'm not wearing my glasses), I scan the rack to find something to tap my tentacles to.

I yanked out something I haven't listened to in ages. My collection of Terri Clark cds. Surprise! Surprise! Kodos does like country music.

It's always fun listening to something you haven't listened to in years. It evokes fond memories (or maybe not so fond memories). This particular cd, Fearless, is reminding me of one trip I made to Atlanta about five years ago. Kate and I did not necessarily rock out to this, but it reminds me of cruising up I-85 in the foothills in South and North Carolina (Kings Mountain area). The sun was shining, I was singing (in tune and hitting all the notes) and felt rather liberated and free.

That is the way to live.

Calliope music plays again...

The "circus" came to town again. I do not care for clowns (ok...Caitlin and Ben excluded). On the other hand, I was grateful for the opportunity to practice my French, which I have ignored while trying to learn more Swedish.

Would someone please explain to me why most of the francophones I have encountered as of late are one baguette shy of the proverbial picnic in the countryside with a bottle of Beaujolais?

Thanks for sharing. No, really...thanks for sharing.

My boss made a statement to me a few years ago when I was whining about having to clean up someone else's crap. He said, "Do you think it is right to make the your problems the problems of others?" Phuck. How do you answer that? Really.

Since that day, when confronted with an issue I should much rather avoid, I will use that question as my litmus test to see if I am making the right decision. When is it appropriate for one to dump his problems on someone else? When does it cross the lines of decency in any relationship (work, friend, romantic or any other)?

Perhaps now is the time where I state, for the record, I am not mad. I am not upset. I am not frustrated. I am, however, a little confused, having an enormous load dropped in my lap. And...having no one to speak to about this load.

No need for details, really. They are actually quite boring an unnecessary. They are, however, keeping me awake at night now.

So...for the sake of the game, when you are fed information what do you do with it? Sometimes, the challenge lies solely in the digestion process, ensuring that you fully comprehend what has been shared with you. Sometimes, you can handle the situation without having to seek counsel of a friend, peer or authority figure. Sometimes, you cannot.

I find myself in the, "sometimes, you cannot" scenario. It sucks.

What does one do, upon learning a friend is in need, a friend is dealing with a struggle for their daily existence and you find yourself on the outside looking in? A request for my assistance had been made. The door, however, had been abruptly shut. Someone made their problems my problems. Any normal, rational person would say either get really angry or take the position of, "phuck off." I am not normal. I cannot do that.

So here I sit, at 04:08 on a Thursday morning, trying to develop my next action. The only thing I can really do is patiently await an outcome and accept it for whatever it will be. It's saddening, frustrating, disheartening and exhausting.

I suppose the only thing I can do is remember that statement from my boss and try to mold that into some form which I can handle. Someone else's problem has now become mine and I am helpless.

Then again, there is always the super-duper, handy-dandy denial box where I tuck away all of life's little annoyances and/or goat phucks which cannot or should not be presently addressed.

On Trust

Trust: something, perhaps, you discuss while sitting around with your girlfriends, drinking coffee, wine or whatever is readily available. Maybe it is one of those discussions that rears its head at the most inopportune times, like whilst out shopping, when you do not have the ability to fully pay attention to the words being exchanged. Or...maybe during this conversations, your ears are focusing on the discussion but the root of your discord is fighting your mind for the attention it feels it deserves, distracting you, depriving you from the messages you so desperately seek and need.

One thing that sucks about lulling about the house for days on end is the lack of distraction or better things to do. Certainly, one can pick up a book and read, turn on the television and have the eyes glaze over or dig around the garden...but the mind always races back to the very issue it is trying to reconcile. I am not so sure that it is a case of idée fixe or a case of one's dire need to make sense of a plaguing trouble, that nagging annoyance that will not loosen its grasp on the psyche.

I find myself in that weird time/space thingy where I have an unyielding issue which is defying resolution. No matter how hard I try to logic my way out of it, no matter hard I try to stuff it in the denial box, it keeps rearing its ugly head and taunting me.

I am simply unsure of people. I have been profoundly shaken by certain events in life which have me doubting everyone new I encounter, doggedly seeking the angle from which they are approaching me. Typically an optimist with regard to inter-personal relationships, I find myself behaving in a completely insufferable, cynical manner. This is not who am I. This is not who I want to be.

When people appear in your life, or reappear for whatever reason, what does one do? How are they sure of the sincerity? Or...is the onus really on the wounded party to heal, move forward and accept that the world is not so cruel as we are afraid of it being? How does one muster up the strength and courage to return one's former self? How does one find that sense of self that allows them the ability to accept new and different things? Or is this just another growing pain we experience as adults?

I am hoping, through verbalizing my inner turmoil and confusion, that I can make these mental aggravations take leave of my feeble mind, allowing me to regain focus on what really matters. Certainly not everyone we encounter has a hidden agenda? I should like to think not. I long to return to the days when I was naïve and accepting of anything new. As of today, I am nothing more than a xenophobe clinging to what I know to be true, real and genuine. It is a side of me I neither respect nor like.

Stealing Vonnegut

When I read, I prefer to read works by a specific author sequentially. It doesn't always work out for me, but I do like to see how authors progress.

Anyhooooo...I have finished Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I meant to read this while I was in Sweden but alcohol derailed me. I had all but forgotten I had this book until a week ago. I read it. I love it. Kurt Vonnegut's writing style is amazing. He writes with a forked pen (as opposed to speaking with a forked tongue). Vonnegut is everything that everyone says he is. And more.

I had some time to kill this evening before a doctor's appointment. As is my ritual, I scooted up to Barnes & Noble to troll the aisles. I figured it was the golden opportunity for me to snap up another book or two. Much to my surprise, I could not find a single copy of a Vonnegut book on the shelves. Not in fiction. Not in classics. Before I dragged myself over to sci-fi, I found a clerk and asked, "what happened to Vonnegut?" How could a bookstore not have any Vonnegut in stock?

It turns out that there has been some rampant theft at the Barnes & Noble (hey...it is in Durham). Someone has been stealing all of the Vonnegut books. The situation is so dire, they relocated all copies of his books to a corner behind the cash registers.

Imagine...stealing books? Stealing Vonnegut? His demographic does not appeal to shop-lifters and petty larcenists, does it?

I snapped up one copy of Deadeye Dick and one copy of G-d Bless You, Mr Rosewater. Rosewater is first on my agenda, as Dock has not read Deadeye Dick (so he gets dibs by default).

At least I know how I will be spending the next two weeks, since working is not an option right now. Reading. Not thieving from the Barnes & Noble in Durham.

Chasing bliss...

Today marks the seventh (wedding) anniversary of Dock and Kodos. Our stretch of bad luck caused by the accidental shattering of a mirror is coming to a close. Or...so I tell Dock as he wearily drags his knuckles across the floor, fearing the next onslaught of Kodos style emo drama.

I'm not necessarily a romantic. I think of myself as a pragmatist. The few times I allowed my heart to be my guide (eschewing the gut and the brain), I have landed in heaps of trouble. Pondering relationships seems fitting on an anniversary. After all, each relationship I have had has contributed to who I am today. The confusing ball of goof with which Dock must live, interpret, pacify and attempt to gain understanding.

About a month ago, someone posted something on a forum about trying to find the "right" person for her. I do not believe in the concept of a "right person." Ok...I do...but that's an alternate reality. It's like trying to find Narnia. It only, in my opinion, exists in literature or the imagination.

As we bumble through life, like Goldilocks tasting porridge, we have a tendency to keep the ideal in mind, while eschewing the practical. There is nothing wrong with reaching for the stars, so long as you are grounded enough in reality that you don't miss the incredible gifts right before your very eyes.

In our undying quest for perfection, we oft overlook the "perfection" before us. The special gifts we have at our very fingertips each waking moment of the day. The nice environments we have managed to carve out for ourselves in this bitch of a world. We allow notions of fantasy to govern our lives. Dreams are good. They are inspirational. They are also exactly that...dreams. I haven't met one person who successfully lives in the dream state.

Appreciate what you have. Grab the goodies in your life and clutch them dearly. Chasing rainbows and moonbeams isn't necessarily the worst thing one could do but it will result in your ignorance of a pleasant reality.

The magic you seek...you already have. You are just not aware of it.