Dear Dear Diary
Colon preparation sucks more than the actual colonoscopy. Always.
The best advice I can give:
Be smarter than your clothes. If you're wearing a ballcap backwards and holding your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun, you aren't. If you are holding a veil, and your shivering or getting sunburnt and not using that fabric to cover your back and/or shoulders, you aren't. Even the tiny furry scarfs can be warm if you wrap them around your throat several times.
Save for emergencies and for your retirement. It's a long way away at 18, but that really is the best time to start. Don't put it off. I wish I hadn't.
Indulge yourself in moderation. Little things can mean a lot to brighten your day and your week. Send yourself flowers for your birthday or just because it's Tuesday. This is especially important to reward yourself for doing things you don't want to do.
Take care of yourself- you're the only you you've got. Physicals suck. Dentists suck more. But letting a problem build into something terrible is never good. Worrying about it doesn't help- it makes it worse. Give yourself a cookie for doing this.
Smile with your heart. Happy wrinkles are better than no wrinkles- beauty lies within the joy you share. It's amazing how much further you can go by smiling and being honest.
Lies suck. They build until you dangle from them. They poison you and those to whom you lie.
Love isn't a fairy tale. There is no such thing as one kiss that lifts you up to the heavens and is so damn pure nothing will ever get between you. Love is hard work to maintain. Fall in love over and over again- preferably with the person to whom you have committed. Work on that relationship and be honest with each other and yourself. Know what your bedrock is and touch on it often. If your love doesn't have bedrock, it's poppy dust.
Never ever let them steal your joy. Not for anything or anyone. You have to keep a laugh simmering within you - a light to brighten your darkest days, to guide you to brighter things, to hold onto your sanity.
Something about this time of year, when I'm watching the river in flood stage and the snow is melting off and it's warm enough to not need a coat but chilly enough to warrant several layers, I get to thinking this is a great time for a body dump. The river is moving at a great clip and in flood. You could toss in a body that was strangled over any bridge, and it would be found miles and miles down stream, if ever at all.
And there is a rational, non-sociopathic part of me that thinks such thoughts are horribly unhealthy and I really ought not read so many mysteries or watch New Detectives so much.
Its opposite wants to start plotting about whose body it is and who finds it and how does it get tracked and write its story. Who is the poor soul who took their basset for a walk in the woods a week after the waters withdraw and finds a corpse in a tree? So many reasons for murder and none of them socially acceptable and very few justifiable. Do I want to feel sorry for the corpse? Do I want to make someone feel sorry? Who am I to play god with other people's feelings? But any good piece of writing always does. The act of writing changes the writer as much as changing the reader, and it is that change which so inherently makes it all interesting.
Just as I confess the knitting is becoming an interesting obsession of late, I have this quilt to make, and my knitting is set aside. But not in the books I've been reading.
I learned to knit just the garter stitch and barely learned long-tail cast on. I never learned a proper cast off. I did manage to learn to purl and k2p2 ribbing, so I could make slippers. I made slippers for the entire family, and then ran out of things to do. So I made huge garter stitch scarves, and learned to splice in the ends. I even made an amusing angora-type scarf with one there and back each of white and black so I never had to snip the ends. The longest scarf was 27 feet long and 5 inches wide, taking 3 skeins of a very cheap acrylic. It was the very cheap acrylic that finished my knitting for a while. My mother hated acrylic because it itched, and she did not either know about alternatives or did not feel like furthering that education. She had moved onto counted cross stitch (which I hated because I was required to count- and I was annoyingly insistent on doing each color all at once, thereby making it harder on myself. Now that I know to grid my cloth I may try again!) and quilting, which I took up with enthusiasm. Learned a lot about color from quilting, but that's not what I want to type about today. Then Joanne's expanded their yarn selection beyond cheap-ass acrylic. Ooo. I started picking up yarns based on texture, and then I made huge afghans out of them. Straight garterstitch only, but the feel of the yarn kept it interesting.
And this past year, I started reading knitting blogs. They are far more interesting as a personal rule than the quilting blogs. You can produce more writing about your project when your project is more portable and you can cycle through them quicker. Anyway, I was challenged to make Socks. So I did. So what if I had never used DPNs before? That didn't bother me. The yarn shop I found tried to convince me that I could take baby steps with chunkier yarn and two circular needles, and showed me a pattern for it. But no, they weren't what I thought of as Proper socks. The heel of her top-down pattern was ugly. Aesthetically, I don't like the "toe-flap" heels. And they were too thick. I want something like a sock I would wear, and not just treat as a slipper. So I tried The Wendy's generic toe-up sock pattern. And lo, I made socks.
And now, I'm interested in learning more about knitting and in socks. This has lead me to want a prettier bind off than just running the yarn through the top of the sock. I've acquired the book "DomiKNITrix: Whip Your Knitting into Shape" and it is wonderfully clear explanations of what all that ssk k2tog stuff means, since I didn't have a clue, in addition to proper bindoffs and other cast-ons. Granted, I don't have the body to wear 90% of the patterns she has in the book, but I didn't buy it for the patterns. Hearing that I had acquired this book, a kind person also sent me "Naughty Needles." I do adore the humor, but again, I don't have the body for much of the patterns. I'm not horrifically fat, but I do need to lose about 50 to 80 pounds before I should consider bouncing around in a knit bikini. The "condom critters" looked amusing though, and I know several kids that may get one when they reach college age. And I do want to make the knited and felted capelet. It's something I could wear in the SCA. I could even imagine knitting it with my arms on it, or even a bordure of the badge.
On diets and cats-- I posted this elsewhere, and felt it deserved a mention here. Someone asked ways to get a fat cat to lose weight in a multi-cat household. This is most of the methods I have tried/had recommended to me to get Sassy fat cat to lose weight (and yes, she's been diagnosed with diabetes). Note: We have 4 cats, all rescues, and they all have issues.
1. Feed the cats on a schedule and only feed them as much as they need. Feed the fat one apart from the others, and feed her diet food in set portions. you can feed 3 or 4 times a day, in small portions to prevent binge/purge issues. (I have a skinny cat that does that). We free-feed and have a cat that will not eat while watched/skittish by nature. He would rather starve than try to be put on a schedule.
2. Segregate her in part of the house with the diet food, ideally with portion control. If this is unbearable, consider only segregating her at night/while you are at work, and picking up the main food dish while she is socializing with the rest of the family. This way you can continue to free feed the rest of the cats. We tried putting Fatso in the basement with a bowl of water at night. She clawed her way out. I am home all day, so shutting her up all day didn't go over well at all.
3. Put the food dish in different locations so she has to climb/hunt for it. Make her exercise to get her food. This is also fun for the other cats, unless you have one with mobility issues. This also helped keep the dogs out of the cat food. Unfortunately one of our cats has only one good eye and a badly set hindlimb, so jumping is ... interesting. I like this one best, because it is mental stimulation and breaks the monotony a little.
4. Put everyone on the diet food. Theoretically, the skinny cats will just eat more. Unfortunately, the fat cat ate more and the skinny cats got skinnier. One of the cats was having other health issues and could not afford to lose weight the last time we tried this.
5. What worked best for us- Sassy went from 17.8 pounds to 10 pounds- by living with another household for a year. They also had a fat cat, and I paid for the diet food for both cats and Sassy's regular vet care. It was clear that she was still Our Cat. But there were no competition/segration/portion control issues this way. We called it Fat Camp. This is a rather extreme solution and not usually practical.
When Sassy came home from Fat Camp, she slowly gained weight back and was diagnosed with her diabetes. She is now 14.3 pounds. She has never been energetic or interested in playing, so doing anything for her exercise is difficult. I like to pick her up and hold her 6 inches above the ground and she will squirm for all of 5 seconds before going completely limp. But that's more exercise than she got without my lifting her, and it's good exercise for my lazy bum too.
One step away from Soylent Green
If you haven't heard about the pet food recall, please get the bare bones here: http://www.menufoods.com/recall/index.html
Then if you want more info, you can get it here: http://petconnection.com/blog/
and here http://catmanager.wordpress.com/
(but if you are reading this blog later than a week from when I posted this, the best posts will have moved down. I won't link to A particular post, because there are too many about it.)
It's killing 1 in 5 cats in a week of eating. 1 in fucking 5. And that was in their own trials done after the first deaths were reported. Then they waited another week or MORE before telling the public on a Friday. With no information sent to the distributors to inform their clients, either.
If this was people that was getting this wheat gluten, it could easily appear in 75% of our foods, which would take out easily a 10th of our population. And yes, this could be killing a tenth of our pets. That's mindblowing. That's possibly the worst pet disaster I've ever heard of- comparable to Katrina. We are so not safe.
This just makes me wish I could do what Gram used to do- raise 80% of her own food with a huge garden. But we are so stuck on the Modern teat and the convenience of groceries it ain't practical any more (besides my personal issues with other people's laundry and flower gardens).
It makes me feel completely bleak. We're one step away from Soylent Green, my friends, and it ain't pretty at all.
This morning, I dreamt of Colin, and he came running to greet me as I cried with joy. I knew at that moment, we would see each other again, and maybe it would be soon. Then my dad came and took him from arms, and said, not right now. And then he showed me Colin as a baby kitten just able to fit in his hand, and then he put Colin in his pocket and just smiled. And then I was reborn back to life, and I welcomed all of my friends back into my life... I forgave them all and they forgave me and I just opened my arms and let them fill with joy. What a lovely dream to wake up with.
Now if only I could reach out and grab any reality in it. Yea, and I would even welcome Kseniya now, I've missed her so.
The pocket is a womb, Colin will be reborn into another of his lives. Or maybe me. Or both. But there's a great deal of comfort in knowing I'll sleep with his fuzzy face pressed to mine again. Some day.
What with hunting season still ongoing and the river swollen with ice and melt, now would be a great time to hide a body.
I still think about writing murder mysteries. This blog was originally supposed to be where I would write for a little every day, and then eventually I should be able to produce something marketable. Do I do this? No. Should I? Probably.
I talk too much to D. I always say things I mean but never meant to say to anyone. I want to offer my weakness to her as she did once to me, and I hurt her badly. There is a perverse thrill in showing my chinks and offering her revenge, and knowing, even after all that passed between us, she will be trusted. We share the tea and sympathy and a strange friendly bond, like we've known each other thoroughly for far longer than we ever could. And yet, neither reach out regularly for companionship. It isn't necessary. It isn't wanted. But oh, we can stitch.
I feel how fragile I am and entwine my strength. I am iron wrapped in silk, and I cannot forget that. I am as resolute as a moutain, ignoring the wearing rain. This too shall pass, and somehow, somehow I can make it through.
ONE OFF (the wrist)
are open to the world's gaze
and how easily you forget
lost in the figures moving on the screen
no lace softening your hand jerks
your head rolling back
and i think of you often
if you even know
who i am
More chronicles on my ass. If personal sordid details do not interest you, skip this one.
Went back to the gastroenterologist today. I showed him my picture from my last colonoscopy. He just glanced at it. "Yep, we really need to go look at that again. That was from five years ago? Wow." Later, "so the medicine did not work. Okay. Yeah, we want to look and see what's wrong."
My regular doc did order blood work for me to make sure I'm not bleeding too much, but those results aren't in yet.
But the nice thing was this time, I was shown into a cheerier room. It was better lit and peachier toned. The Poster of the Entire Gastroenterology Tract was on the wall by the door instead of front and center. And this time I saw the nurse follow us into the room, instead of feeling like I was alone with him. I could make fishlips at her while holding a cheek up. That made me feel much more comfortable.
For the record, I like anoscopes TONS better than the standard "well woman examination". I get to lay on my side, not dangling bits off the side of the table, for one thing.
And any man out there who feels badly about getting four inches of finger can shove his own finger up his own ass and just leave it there, okay? That's nothing to what I've been through, and what they intend to do me very soon. Yes, I've been scheduled for a colonoscopy. And that's taking a camera and shoving it where the sun don't shine, and keep shoving until it can't go any further without risking perforation. Risks for colonoscopies include perforation, infection, bleeding, and the usual risks of death and brain damage with general anesthesia, but these are played down because they are so rare. Risk of sticking a finger up your ass? Well, it might get shit on it.
And some days, I am just moved to tears by the kindness of my fellows.
Linda knocked the price down for the fabric, and another lady has offered to pay for the floss outright- the linen floss, to make it match as much as possible the other quilt made. I'm so happy to be part of a thing to be done together as a shire, and people *want* to do this. They don't want to do it for me- they want to do it for Angelik, and this is how it needs to be. :)
The problem of War is that it utterly fantastic for the powers that be. Oh that heady rush of power as things burn and are Conquered. How overwhelmingly masculine that can make one feel- the ultimate dick wave at the entire planet pissing on another country, and how sweetly rich the spoils of war. Plus it's a great way to rob civil liberties of your country or convince the poor they don't need so much, for we all must make the great sacrifice to the leader's overwhelming ego and pocketbooks. It's all in the Prince by Machiavelli, The Art of War, and other great books. To gather power all in one place, and be the closest thing to Napoleon we can get in this day in age. Napoleon, Alexander, Attilla, Charlemagne, Ghenkis Khan.... great men. Remembered men. Who would not want to be that?
But we have a generation of Americans taught to be more sensitive. We no longer think about Epics, we think about Private Ryan, each soldier a brave and courageous individual just trying to survive doing what he is told. Believing that if all the soldiers do what they are told, they can all survive. No one talks about amortization in war, the "necessary" sacrifice of an expected percentage of men in any encounter. We worry about if our neighbors and our sons and our husbands and our fathers and our daughters and our wives and our mothers are getting enough to eat, if they have body armor, if they are doing anything dangerous, if they are warm enough over there. It irritates me when a quilting group with which I am affiliated starts talking about sending active soldiers quilts, because they simply cannot enjoy that luxury. But I can't send enough cookies to that young woman who has taken it upon herself to make a quilt for every single wounded soldier who comes home. And yes, she's made several hundred and plans to make thousands more. This is a job she could do for the rest of her life.
I chaff at the loss of my civil liberties. At the artificial increase in the cost of gas and the complete and utter lack of viable alternatives. And how I am getting poorer every week this war goes on. Not just via taxes, but in the rising cost of my daily life from groceries to lights and heat for my house. I am grateful none of my family are actively serving in the military, so I don't have to worry about them, but I still worry about the nameless to me out there, and the few friends I have made that are serving. And it's just so stupid and pointless of a conflict. I want to scream and punch and kick - just have a lovely tantrum like I did when I was little, but dammit that won't help. I do little things, and I sincerely hope that my voice is heard more than a drop in the ocean, wearing away at the shore.
And working where I do now, man, it's hell on my depression, because I feel for every one of these people, even though I will never meet any of them. I think I may have to seek alternative employment just not to have to cope with it, and feel terribly guilty about that. I wish I could get a job doing something Positive for the planet and for myself.
Good day, bad day, bah. It was a day, like any other, with its highs and its lows, and I even got a nap. Which is part of why I'm still awake now. This weekend, Jazz decided we would sleep 2 am to 7 PMish. This means my body thinks going to bed at 2 AM is acceptable and Normal, and my body LOVES that schedule. It's hard to get it off that schedule. So by the time next weekend comes, maybe I'll be able to sleep back on our normal schedule of in bed by 10 and up at 6. And of course, he's already announced next weekend will be more of the same. Sigh.
Tempted to let him sleep whenever the bleep he can, and sleep when I want to. Except, I tend to get up to take him to work in the morning, even though sleeping in until 9 AM would be perfectly fine with my job. Grumble.
But you don't read this to hear me whine.
The next three months will be absorbed by making a quilt for Angelik. I made her husband one a little while ago... http://runningscared.org/files/quilt1a.jpg
and the local shire has agreed that it would be really cool to make her one to match. So as a group effort, we'll be creating one for her too. It will say, "For Angelik, who inspires us all." I don't think it could be any sweeter. Fortunately, many hands will make light work of it. I hope. I will design it tomorrow. I have ordered the fabric. I have the batting, the needles, the thread. A shire member is donating floss. It feels good to work on a major project with friends. It feels important to be more of the group. And hopefully, I can stitch some friendships further together and just remember how to be social again. I spend so much time away from other people I forget how to behave. I err on outrageous and forget polite distances and the discomfort of TMI.
Yesterday was a pretty good day. I went out, and the sun was shinning enough to make me feel warm. The snow was sublimating, and I could watch the tendrils of steam in between puddles between piles of snow created by the plows. It could be muddy and dirty, but it wasn't so much where I went. I let my long black coat billow around me, and I remembered as a teen wanting such a coat, such a feeling, my scarf floating in the wind, and I had to laugh. It was good to be something so positive for however brief a moment in time.
Other than a mild lethargy and inconvenience, this turn of my health isn't painful or terrible. I still don't like it a lot though. I'm too complacent, I think about bleeding, because I do it on a semi-regular basis anyway. It's just a different location for a pad, a different stain on the underwear.
It is however going to get me out of my sister's wedding. I am NOT going to travel several hours, stay in hotels, deal with people and situations outside of my comfort zone. Particularly not for a wedding of a marriage I honestly can't believe will last longer than two years. I'm willing to bet she'll get pregnant, he'll insist on keeping it, and he will also want her to quit her job and stay home and raise the kid. This is not a lifestyle choice my sister will want. Ever. She's 41. She didn't want to change diapers of her first two kids. She's not fond of staying home. I don't mind her dating this man, but personally, no, I don't like him at all. He reminds me too much of creepy ex-boyfriends for everything they ever creeped me out about. I call him Bobbert, because he insists on Robert. But here, I'll probably refer to him as the man my sister married.
Scot, my fabulous ex-brother-in-law, will laugh his ass off. He will devotely hope the marriage happens soon, so he doesn't pay any more alimony. He is already avoiding child support, because their son now lives with him. Kudos to Danny for making such a wise choice. I love my sister's kids very very much.
thought I was doing better, that the medicine was helping, and that it would be something simple.
I am apparently wrong.
guiltguiltguilt because I can't just sit here at the puter and work as much as I should.