I have spent years drinking and not drinking.
I have reasons. I have excuses.
I had too much to drink tonight.
I am too old to drink much, and I feel like crap, really.
I am in a play in which I am supposed to be an opium addict. Alcohol probably doesn't equate to opium, but drugs are not an option. What a stupid idea, though, that getting drunk would assist me in building some character. Ah well. Folly.
This theatrical endeavor reminds me of myself - who I am - underneath the job, the complaints, the compulsions. I am, at heart, an artist of some sort.
It is a breath of fresh air to spend time with people who are as off-task as me.
Drunkenness does not aid my artistry.
I think I'll wait and let this wear off and hope to feel better tomorrow - or Sunday at least.
29 September 2006
27 September 2006
Tinnitus
You remove the foam-padded headphones before leaving the room on a break. Walking outdoors, you hear a quiet, constant ringing from deep inside the tiny canals in your ears. You hope this is not a sign of developing deafness. Your music is so important, you assert, regardless of your undisciplined, sporadic practice habits. Beethoven was deaf in his later years, composing through his deep understanding of theory and tonality. He probably intuitively, instinctively remembered the sound each dot on the page made, and the chords as notes rang together. Your memory is not so sharp, your distractions are many. Deafness would be the end of your musical life. You hope the ringing is from last week's cold, rather than some type of permanent damage caused by call-center headphones. You hope.
Maybe later you should practice some music, while you still can.
Maybe later you should practice some music, while you still can.
23 September 2006
Faces, Flashes, Memory
Faces
Flashes
Memory
Fear
Regret
Anxiety
I played a role
Once and again
Reciting lines I learned from them
Perfecting poems
Reflecting smiles
Expecting nothing less than lies
Acting
Asking
Faithfulness
Leading
Bleeding
Breathlessness
Earning
Yearning
Turning past
Aching
Breaking
Love can't last
Designing loss
Baking disdain
Project "Procreation Pain"
Again
Anew
Attempting this
Love lives
Love gives
Love seeking bliss
Lying
Longing
Rooted deep
Waking
Within
Leaving sleep
Twisting
Turning
Seeking sight
Growing
Groaning
Towards light
Instincts leading
"Dance again!"
Sifting past
"Remember when?"
"What might have been?"
Holding hostage hoarded past
Mourning moments I've amassed
Nothing sacred, nothing lasts
Questioning each present task
Wishing
Wond'ring
Worrying
Making more of daily scenes
Dramatising
Empathising
Synchronising
Anesthetising
Euthanising
Flashes
Memory
Fear
Regret
Anxiety
I played a role
Once and again
Reciting lines I learned from them
Perfecting poems
Reflecting smiles
Expecting nothing less than lies
Acting
Asking
Faithfulness
Leading
Bleeding
Breathlessness
Earning
Yearning
Turning past
Aching
Breaking
Love can't last
Designing loss
Baking disdain
Project "Procreation Pain"
Again
Anew
Attempting this
Love lives
Love gives
Love seeking bliss
Lying
Longing
Rooted deep
Waking
Within
Leaving sleep
Twisting
Turning
Seeking sight
Growing
Groaning
Towards light
Instincts leading
"Dance again!"
Sifting past
"Remember when?"
"What might have been?"
Holding hostage hoarded past
Mourning moments I've amassed
Nothing sacred, nothing lasts
Questioning each present task
Wishing
Wond'ring
Worrying
Making more of daily scenes
Dramatising
Empathising
Synchronising
Anesthetising
Euthanising
18 September 2006
A Cold?
I have a cold in my nose.
My manager had pneumonia last week, walking pneumonia. She didn't know she was very ill until she coughed blood. Wow. She said the P.A. told her not to jog anymore until they cleared her. Apparently her difficulty exercising was not due to mere tiredness, but rather to her congested, BLEEDING LUNGS.
I have no such excuse.
I imagine calling in sick today, but really I don't feel that bad. I'm hoping this morphs into tuberculosis or something equally morbidly impressive. People could come visit me, gazing through my oxygen tent, at the hospital. I could press my hand to the plastic, to touch a hand on the other side. Actually, I don't know what an oxygen tent looks like.
I guess I just want attention. I want to know that people would be concerned and that they'd think I was strong for going through such a thing.
Having a cold is not much of a story.
On the other hand, many people I know have been ill or had some sort of surgery over the past two years. One friend died of lung cancer, refusing to quit smoking until her final day. Another friend died unexpectedly just before her next treatments for breast cancer. She did her best to live well daily until the afternoon she took her final nap. A third friend died after fighting cancer for a couple of years. During her last days her brain was being crowded by tumors. She seemed happier and less worried than I'd known her to be when well.
Among my friends and aquaintances there have been three hip replacements, various biopsies, two full hysterectomies, cancer treatments, acid peels, a breast reconstruction, a broken leg, self-starvation, Bi-Polar diagnoses, pregnancies - planned and not, births and deaths.
I have a cold.
I'm not good at being a caretaker, a nurse, but it seems that is my role, as the colds never progress into anything disturbing enough to earn attention. I should be grateful, I know, but that also is not my nature. I have to work at it - put it on like a piece of clothing. It never fits quite right, but it's something I need to wear more often. Maybe it will stretch out and be more comfortable at some point.
I have a cold. I need to get out of bed and go to work.
My manager had pneumonia last week, walking pneumonia. She didn't know she was very ill until she coughed blood. Wow. She said the P.A. told her not to jog anymore until they cleared her. Apparently her difficulty exercising was not due to mere tiredness, but rather to her congested, BLEEDING LUNGS.
I have no such excuse.
I imagine calling in sick today, but really I don't feel that bad. I'm hoping this morphs into tuberculosis or something equally morbidly impressive. People could come visit me, gazing through my oxygen tent, at the hospital. I could press my hand to the plastic, to touch a hand on the other side. Actually, I don't know what an oxygen tent looks like.
I guess I just want attention. I want to know that people would be concerned and that they'd think I was strong for going through such a thing.
Having a cold is not much of a story.
On the other hand, many people I know have been ill or had some sort of surgery over the past two years. One friend died of lung cancer, refusing to quit smoking until her final day. Another friend died unexpectedly just before her next treatments for breast cancer. She did her best to live well daily until the afternoon she took her final nap. A third friend died after fighting cancer for a couple of years. During her last days her brain was being crowded by tumors. She seemed happier and less worried than I'd known her to be when well.
Among my friends and aquaintances there have been three hip replacements, various biopsies, two full hysterectomies, cancer treatments, acid peels, a breast reconstruction, a broken leg, self-starvation, Bi-Polar diagnoses, pregnancies - planned and not, births and deaths.
I have a cold.
I'm not good at being a caretaker, a nurse, but it seems that is my role, as the colds never progress into anything disturbing enough to earn attention. I should be grateful, I know, but that also is not my nature. I have to work at it - put it on like a piece of clothing. It never fits quite right, but it's something I need to wear more often. Maybe it will stretch out and be more comfortable at some point.
I have a cold. I need to get out of bed and go to work.
15 September 2006
A plea to Georgiann
Each morning for the past few months, because my workday starts at 10 a.m., I have enjoyed the luxury of lying in bed and watching the "Today" show on NBC. I watched the entire hullabaloo about Katie and Meredith playing musical media chairs. I listened to the outdoor morning concerts. I heard Jessica lose her voice on national television. I got my news and entertainment trivia on a regular a.m. basis.
Around 9 o'clock I start my get-to-work-on-time routine, including the usual hygiene and inconsistent fashion efforts. I work in a basement behind a dual monitor, headset ready. As long as I don't have purple hair, dress provocatively or stink no one cares what I wear, really. But I digress.
At 9:30 a.m. our local Jesus-Saves Superstar, Dr. Dobson of Focus on the Family, has purchased several minutes on KOAA 5 & 30 (NBC) to tell us all how to live our lives. Because I'm in the middle of applying deodorant, brushing my teeth or wishing I were waif-like, I hear his wisdom wafting from the other room. The other day he started in on how government should support traditional family values and that just GOT me. What happened to non-profit religious organizations having to remain NEUTRAL politically in order to maintain their tax exempt status?
I think about boycotting channels 5 & 30 every time I hear Dobson's whiny voice and moronic rhetoric. My partner, however, has a crush on Georgiann Lymberopoulos, and refuses to watch any other local news. My question is. why oh WHY do our local media coddle the Christian criminals?
Why did the Gazette distribute Bibles last year? Because they sold out.
Why is Channel 5 & 30 hosting Dobson's drivel? Because they sold out.
What's my problem with Christian, non-profit, ministry organizations?
1. Focus' and New Life's properties take up much more land than many local and national businesses do, yet these Christian moguls give nothing back locally.
2. They don't pay property taxes to support our local infrastructure, claiming non-profit exemption.
3. They support amendments and agendas, advocating that members sign petitions outside their churches regardless of the fact that having tax-exempt status conflicts with engaging in political issues.
4. They distribute pamphlets and online information endorsing particular policies and candidates.
5. They pay to have Bibles distributed in the paper indiscriminately to Christians and Non-Christians, lowering a religious text to the level of advertising inserts.
6. They aren't contributing to our community as much as trying to assimilate others into their own hive.
Perhaps if these quite profitable theocracy-pushing organizations paid their dues to be here we could have streets without craters and bridges that aren't falling down. Notice you did not receive a Koran or a paperback Torah in your daily rag. Other religions are not building compounds and buying our government.
All of this ranting is really just a plea for NBC to dump Dobson.. Or, if his little daily sermon is that profitable - Georgiann - PLEASE move to a different network. We'll follow you. Please Georgiann - for your fans.
Around 9 o'clock I start my get-to-work-on-time routine, including the usual hygiene and inconsistent fashion efforts. I work in a basement behind a dual monitor, headset ready. As long as I don't have purple hair, dress provocatively or stink no one cares what I wear, really. But I digress.
At 9:30 a.m. our local Jesus-Saves Superstar, Dr. Dobson of Focus on the Family, has purchased several minutes on KOAA 5 & 30 (NBC) to tell us all how to live our lives. Because I'm in the middle of applying deodorant, brushing my teeth or wishing I were waif-like, I hear his wisdom wafting from the other room. The other day he started in on how government should support traditional family values and that just GOT me. What happened to non-profit religious organizations having to remain NEUTRAL politically in order to maintain their tax exempt status?
I think about boycotting channels 5 & 30 every time I hear Dobson's whiny voice and moronic rhetoric. My partner, however, has a crush on Georgiann Lymberopoulos, and refuses to watch any other local news. My question is. why oh WHY do our local media coddle the Christian criminals?
Why did the Gazette distribute Bibles last year? Because they sold out.
Why is Channel 5 & 30 hosting Dobson's drivel? Because they sold out.
What's my problem with Christian, non-profit, ministry organizations?
1. Focus' and New Life's properties take up much more land than many local and national businesses do, yet these Christian moguls give nothing back locally.
2. They don't pay property taxes to support our local infrastructure, claiming non-profit exemption.
3. They support amendments and agendas, advocating that members sign petitions outside their churches regardless of the fact that having tax-exempt status conflicts with engaging in political issues.
4. They distribute pamphlets and online information endorsing particular policies and candidates.
5. They pay to have Bibles distributed in the paper indiscriminately to Christians and Non-Christians, lowering a religious text to the level of advertising inserts.
6. They aren't contributing to our community as much as trying to assimilate others into their own hive.
Perhaps if these quite profitable theocracy-pushing organizations paid their dues to be here we could have streets without craters and bridges that aren't falling down. Notice you did not receive a Koran or a paperback Torah in your daily rag. Other religions are not building compounds and buying our government.
All of this ranting is really just a plea for NBC to dump Dobson.. Or, if his little daily sermon is that profitable - Georgiann - PLEASE move to a different network. We'll follow you. Please Georgiann - for your fans.
11 September 2006
September 11th
I am sitting at my cubical desk this morning. Jenny on her way to work calls Alicia to tell her about the first plane, the first tower. Alicia spreads the news. We continue answering phones though calls soon slow and cease. My memory of September 11th comes in still-life photos.
Coworkers gather around a television watching as the first flaming tower falls. We gasp and "oh NO!" in scattered unison. I walk away, look away for a moment. Crying.
I don't know that I am actually sad about the disaster. I miss Jim, who I've pushed away this Summer. I miss my group of friends, since really they are his friends more than mine. I am alone again. The regular happy hour indulgences are taking their toll on my serotonin levels. I've never been a good drinker. Apparently I am wrong and probably should not go off my anti-depressants just because I am feeling better.
Of course, it is a horrific event. Suddenly, though, I am distraught over the deaths of people I do not know. I am afraid. I stand shaking in a restroom stall. I learn the name of a colleague, as she is kind enough to offer comfort. I feel like a child, somewhat embarrassed at my dramatic reaction.
For months tears seep at inopportune moments. I cry in staff meetings, in my car, at the grocery store. Something inside me is broken, off-balance. September 11th is the brick that shatters glass and lets in icy wind. In autumn my decline begins. By winter I am living in black and gray, moving through thick fog, feet weighed down by heavy chains. My anxiety grows too under a weighty, woolen blanket of depression that I cannot shrug off.
Through these months I scan the skies for danger and unauthorized aircraft, as if I will know. As if I will recognize intruders and be able to tell someone, do something....
One morning during a staff meeting a coworker arrives late, in full-dress brass and blue. He announces that he'll be leaving soon. Again, my tears surprise me, embarrassing others I suppose. Are they embarrassed for me during my insanity? Or are they just annoyed at my dramatic performances?
I try so hard. I try so hard to do my job and be present - but I also am compelled to look at CNN, research potential chemical warfare threats, email friends about fears, distract myself with useless knowledge about things beyond my control. I cannot contain it all in my skull and learn tech skills simultaneously. My heart is heavy, a sponge for sorrow and fear.
Today, five years later, I am sad, reminded of the despair that descended from elsewhere as much as it welled within. Emotions were triggered by imagined global chaos, fear of alternative warfare and hemorrhagic illness. Again, I am sad, but is it for lives lost, or for my own years wasted? Am I sensitive or selfish?
Coworkers gather around a television watching as the first flaming tower falls. We gasp and "oh NO!" in scattered unison. I walk away, look away for a moment. Crying.
I don't know that I am actually sad about the disaster. I miss Jim, who I've pushed away this Summer. I miss my group of friends, since really they are his friends more than mine. I am alone again. The regular happy hour indulgences are taking their toll on my serotonin levels. I've never been a good drinker. Apparently I am wrong and probably should not go off my anti-depressants just because I am feeling better.
Of course, it is a horrific event. Suddenly, though, I am distraught over the deaths of people I do not know. I am afraid. I stand shaking in a restroom stall. I learn the name of a colleague, as she is kind enough to offer comfort. I feel like a child, somewhat embarrassed at my dramatic reaction.
For months tears seep at inopportune moments. I cry in staff meetings, in my car, at the grocery store. Something inside me is broken, off-balance. September 11th is the brick that shatters glass and lets in icy wind. In autumn my decline begins. By winter I am living in black and gray, moving through thick fog, feet weighed down by heavy chains. My anxiety grows too under a weighty, woolen blanket of depression that I cannot shrug off.
Through these months I scan the skies for danger and unauthorized aircraft, as if I will know. As if I will recognize intruders and be able to tell someone, do something....
One morning during a staff meeting a coworker arrives late, in full-dress brass and blue. He announces that he'll be leaving soon. Again, my tears surprise me, embarrassing others I suppose. Are they embarrassed for me during my insanity? Or are they just annoyed at my dramatic performances?
I try so hard. I try so hard to do my job and be present - but I also am compelled to look at CNN, research potential chemical warfare threats, email friends about fears, distract myself with useless knowledge about things beyond my control. I cannot contain it all in my skull and learn tech skills simultaneously. My heart is heavy, a sponge for sorrow and fear.
Today, five years later, I am sad, reminded of the despair that descended from elsewhere as much as it welled within. Emotions were triggered by imagined global chaos, fear of alternative warfare and hemorrhagic illness. Again, I am sad, but is it for lives lost, or for my own years wasted? Am I sensitive or selfish?
07 September 2006
Yesterday was my 39th birthday.
I worked a busy 10 hour shift, then returned home where Brutus, the mighty dachshund, greeted me ecstatically, wiggling and licking. Sebastian, the brown hound, barked and barked to tell me about his day, and Mick, the gentle giant, followed us around, wagging his huge, graceful tail.
Finally, I made my way to the bedroom to kiss my wife hello. She surprised me with a gaggle of gifts including my favorite scented oil (Woody Sandalwood) and vanilla lotion from The Body Shop, a couple of Sudoku scratch tickets, my favorite dark chocolate and a lovely card, all in a beautiful, beaded, lavender silk clutch. My wife offers me her gentle, loving heart each day.
This past weekend my parents drove hundreds of miles to spend time with Heidi and me for my pre-birthday weekend, and to see their few-week-old first granddaughter. They treated us to dinner and breakfast during their time here. My father got up early on Sunday to join us for watching giant balloons inflate in the park, though weather prevented their launch. And after all I've been and done their gaze envelops me in love.
Sometimes I feel like the Grinch, Oscar the Grouch, Squidword, Eeyore, one or another of the cynical, complaining, cartoon-characters. People tilt their heads and laugh, as if I'm attempting to amuse. Others walk away, finally tired of my catastrophising tendencies. Still, I have family and chosen family who never leave me lonely.
Thank you all for the life you remind me I should truly live.
I worked a busy 10 hour shift, then returned home where Brutus, the mighty dachshund, greeted me ecstatically, wiggling and licking. Sebastian, the brown hound, barked and barked to tell me about his day, and Mick, the gentle giant, followed us around, wagging his huge, graceful tail.
Finally, I made my way to the bedroom to kiss my wife hello. She surprised me with a gaggle of gifts including my favorite scented oil (Woody Sandalwood) and vanilla lotion from The Body Shop, a couple of Sudoku scratch tickets, my favorite dark chocolate and a lovely card, all in a beautiful, beaded, lavender silk clutch. My wife offers me her gentle, loving heart each day.
This past weekend my parents drove hundreds of miles to spend time with Heidi and me for my pre-birthday weekend, and to see their few-week-old first granddaughter. They treated us to dinner and breakfast during their time here. My father got up early on Sunday to join us for watching giant balloons inflate in the park, though weather prevented their launch. And after all I've been and done their gaze envelops me in love.
Sometimes I feel like the Grinch, Oscar the Grouch, Squidword, Eeyore, one or another of the cynical, complaining, cartoon-characters. People tilt their heads and laugh, as if I'm attempting to amuse. Others walk away, finally tired of my catastrophising tendencies. Still, I have family and chosen family who never leave me lonely.
Thank you all for the life you remind me I should truly live.
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