Identify what is most important )0( Eliminate everything else
The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that is wrong with the world. Dr. Paul Farmer
The suffering of others is not alleviated when no one knows about it.
There is no one right way to live. Daniel Quinn Ishmael
The only thing that you need to start an asylum is an empty room and the right sort of people.
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. Kurt Vonnegut

Thursday, October 25, 2012


Dear Diary,

Last Sunday there was a multiple shooting and murder in the big city near to me.  It was at a salon there.  It was a wife/ex-wife and several other people in the building.  The husband/ex then killed himself.

And, sure that sort of thing happens all the time, right?  And, I am not wanting to make this about me, but it is about every abused woman, many of whom are in such danger that a temporary restraining order is suggested.  It was for me, I dutifully let the legal advocate at the shelter fill out the paperwork, knowing the entire time that I would not follow through and get the damn thing.  Because.  Because I was so afraid that it would be the one thing to push my ex into tracking me down and following through on his promises.  So, despite all of the really good advice, I bailed and did not do it.  I was too fucking scared.

When I went back to work, or wanted to return to work, they wanted the restraining order in place and I again refused and they refused to let me come back.  A week later I received a call from the director that I could come back on any terms I preferred, but that there would be a security plan in place to help me feel safe.  Self-absorbed, selfish knucklehead that I am, I was aware that if something happened in my workplace that it would be dangerous for other people and patrons, as well as for myself, but I just felt that I would, or could, be safe there and eventually everyone relaxed and we just got on with the work.

To the best of my knowledge no one has come near my apartment, or to the place I work.  It is my preference to believe that he and his family are merely bullies and they are not willing to take the consequences of messing with me in person.  Their preference is to steal my financial future, but in that arena the joke is on them.  I managed to receive a few thousand from the sale of the house, a third of his social securing benefits and I am going to live very well, my frugal life intact and as a bonus I get to be happy and safe and unmolested beyond that money issue.

Frankly, and I have shared this before, it has been worth every cent I lost, to be free of that hot mess.  (See Note)

I heard about Sunday when my daughter messaged me (wow, I am so hip), asking if I knew someone with a particular name.  I messaged back and said that I did not and asked why she wanted to know.  And, she told me.

I cancelled Sunday's plans, did not get out to do laundry on Monday (still not done), and cancelled two things on Tuesday.  I waited until 5 to wash my hair so that I would not have to attend the domestic violence support group.  I went anyway.  It is a five minute drive and I nearly turned around and came home.  I went anyway and it was better to be able to talk about how I felt.  It opened up an amazing conversation for all of us and I feel better.  I still felt weird going to work the next day.

Fine.  This is not about me, but the terrible thing took me right back to when I almost died and I am feeling better now, but I am also seriously pissed that I am so lame that I am having any reaction at all, aside from this nearly overwhelming sadness that that woman and her friends are dead and that her children have to grow up without her in their lives.  It is not fair that she escaped, sought help, contacted the police, got a restraining order.  Sure, she relapsed into the abusive relationship.  She was not perfect and, for god's sake, you do not have to be perfect or even somewhere in the geography.

You get to be a magnificently flawed person and still not be threatened or have your tires slashed or have the crap beaten out of you or be killed and have your children orphaned. 

Note:  I just heard this phrase last weekend and loved it, not really knowing what it meant, but having overheard if from a nearby table (breakfast with the boys), I sort of had a notion and used it correctly...mostly...and I intend to use it again, maybe only in reference to the past thing.  Have to admit, though that off da chain, do not get that, even though I am totally cool and groovy.
Urban Dictionary
3. A hot mess      a hot mess is when something just aint' right or off da chain

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

two new volunteer gigs

I went to help someone with a résumé at the shelter last night. 

Stayed for the domestic violence support group.

Two women talked about looking for work.

I offered to come for a few hours each week to help.

Talked to the director today and she was all like totally cool and groovy about the résumé stuff, and then reminded me that she had asked me to start and moderate a book club at the shelter.

I start the résumé stuff next week.

I start the book club as soon as I can accumulate six copies of the same title.

I now have just a single day when I am not working somewhere.

I am as busy as I was before I retired.

My life rocks.

Except for therapy.

That sucks.

Monday, October 15, 2012

what would I give

to have someone in my life who gave a rat's ass about me?

I was just working on the whole feeling feelings thing and I suddenly experienced such longing, and not so much for the loss of things, but for the loss of opportunity to have love and a loving person in my life.

To be honest, I accepted long ago that I was destined to be pretty much alone in my life.  I might be lucky to have nice people around me, but not so likely to find intimacy or love.  The romantic kind.

In the midst of all this longing is knowing how foolish it is for someone my age to be thinking so immaturely.  I have a great life now.  I have an amazing family and some of the best friends on the planet.  I have truly meaningful work.  I have a safe place to live.  I have some of my art stuff and the opportunity to begin that part of my life again. If I ever get my stuff together.

Then, today happens and I go off and read on the DV site from earlier and I read about my life, there it is, right on the page, right on their site, the way it was and I become all emotional again.  I accept that it has been only months since all of that ended, and, still, I want it to stop holding so much energy for me.  Loss.  Stop.  Now.

Instead of feeling gratitude for what I now have I am feeling this stupid loss.  When will I get past this.  I am so fucking immature and selfish. 

from each according to his ability,

to each according to his need.

Dear Diary,

From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.

From Marx's Critique of the Gotha Program. Although I am not Marxist, it certainly a principle for social organization.  Certainly food for thought.  Certainly worth considering, especially when working with one's own issues, or when working with others and theirs.

The only reason this popped into my head is because I just found out that October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month.  Really?  Yes.  interesting.  The only reason I know about it is because it was in a newsletter I receive from a Veteran's organization.  I work with veterans and I know a bit about PTSD because my brother came home from Vietnam with it, although it was not called that and no one knew about the whole thing, or at least if someone knew they were not sharing it with the rest of us.  He came home from Vietnam, but he actually died over there; only his walking, talking body came back.  He was not him, and none of us had any way to help him because there just was not.

Anyway, I know a bit about it, but I never connected it to my life until my therapist did.  And, now, today comes this newsletter that connects everything with everything.  Me, my work with veterans, my work in general, my brother (of whom I have not thought for some time).  My life before now.  Man.

Not only have I made a commitment to work on the whole recognizing and expressing healthy anger, but I have this opportunity to help tie a whole bunch of stuff together.  Lordy.


National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

Sunday, October 14, 2012


Dear Diary,


Apparently I have a lot of it. 

Frankly, I think I come by it honestly. 

Alcoholic parents equals bad brain chemistry, for which I hold absolutely no responsibility.

But, the rest of it is due to being one the most stupid people in the history of peoplehood, by staying in an abusive marriage for 45 years.  Sure, it was not all blood and strewn guts, but it was mostly not good, and I stayed and stayed and then stuck around for more.  My therapist called it a relationship, perhaps trying to minimize the married part, but it never was any kind of being in relation, unless you count the license and ceremony.

So, anyway, I bailed on therapy when it became too difficult to avoid doing any actual and real work.  This was back in, oh god, maybe July.  When I was living in the shelter, it was not a shelter where they made programs and help available, it was a Program that just happened to have emergency housing available.

Enter the shelter environment and I was assigned a therapist and the responsibility for attending at least three other things, groups, activities, whatever I chose from all of the stuff scheduled each week, most days actually.  It was difficult to take a few steps without tripping and going-ass-over-teakettle over some kind of help.

I stayed in therapy even after I left the shelter to repair and prepare the house for sale.  That is a whole other life-altering, separate experience.

But, when we started to get close to the abuse issues, you know, the nuts and bolts and just plain nuttiness of living that way, I could not handle it.  I was still being threatened and harassed by someone who is not me.  Every day was a struggle.  Fixing the house. Being assaulted via his attorney.  Trying to stay safe in that house, or at least capturing the sense of relative safety and get a decent night's sleep.  Threats.  More threats.   Not having any money.  Not being able to find a place for myself and CoolCat for when the house sold.  Waiting for the next assault/threat/attack.

I cannot share the worst of what I experienced because there might come a time when someone from that old life could access this safe place and use it against me, but there were several times of significance when I truly believed that I would not be able to go on even one more day.  Sometimes survival was from hour to hour.  And, yeah, someone who is not me would love to know that, that I was that seriously affected by every stupid, pointless, cruel, threatening, disgusting thing he tried to do to me after I fled for my life all those months ago.

So, when we began to get too close to those core issues, I stopped working with my therapist.  I just stopped.

Then, in the past month or so, I began to have those cannot-do-any-of-this-anymore feelings, which is stupid because I have been doing this.  All of it.  I kept it all together when preparing the house.  I kept it all together after the house sold and CoolCat and I lived in a motel for a while because I did not have any other place to stay that would allow cats, and could not stay with my daughter or any friends because it seems that I have a talent for choosing friends with life-threatening allergic reactions to fur-bearing creatures.

During those last weeks in the house, I continued to look for a place to live, without success.  In the last week and a half, I had two appointments to euthanize CoolCat because I had no place to take him and he is un-adoptable due to chronic and expensive health issues and because his temperament, well, it sucks.  He is fairly unfriendly because one of his health issues is back problems as a result of not having a tail.  It sometimes causes spine problems which cause pain which cannot be properly treated with pain medication, due to being a cat, which is risky, which makes him cranky...the pain.  The reason there were two euthanasia appointments is because I could not do it the first time and I could not do it the second time either.  Until I thought of the motel thing, my plan was for us to live in the car in the back driveway of a friend.

But, there was a happy ending.  The short version is that I found a place to live, where CoolCat was welcome.  This place is barely within the limits of my resources, but I like it and we are safe here.  We have decent shelter, enough money for food, utilities, litter and the occasional carton of ice cream from Walgreen's when they are on sale or I am feeling desperate for some junk/easy/indulgent mood altering.

Some who is not me extorted a good portion of the proceeds of the house from my share because I was so invested in getting free with as few complications as possible.  Now, if I had known that one of his activities was to steal and hide a huge portion of our joint assets and investments, I might have been more assertive about him continuing to fuck me over and over and over.

No, that is not true.  I was not capable of being assertive about anything.  Nothing.  I knew it then and I know it now.  I would not have done anything differently.  And, whilst it means that something who is not me has most of our assets, I have something he will never have.

I have come through all of this with my ethics and morals and standards for decent behavior intact.  I never responded in kind to any of his shenanigans, which is how I choose to think of his crap.  In fact, I never responded to him at all.  He and his sister would make all of these threats through his attorney, who would send it to my attorney, who would tell me, and that would be the end of it.  Our response (mine, really) was no response.  No 'yes', no 'no', no nothing.

I think that never losing myself, never becoming caught up in the terrible stuff that can be part of a divorce was perhaps the one thing over which I had control, in an adult life of never having control over anything, not even my body.  

Interestingly, now that the worst is over and I am comfortable with so much, I feel that doing what I did and how I did it is worth everything.  You know, like everything.

And, still, with everything I have experienced, I am feeling the occasional impatience at not being recovered and healed by this time, even though it has been only a few months.  I guess I am simply weary of it all.  I know that it takes time, that it took decades to bring me to this point in my life, that healing takes time, that I will be dealing with the PTSD for a very long time.  Very long.  I take medication for the depression.  I have medication to help combat the anxiety and panic attacks, but I made the mistake of reading the prescription insert and it causes drowsiness, and I just cannot have that.  Lordy.

I need either a different medication(s) or a higher dosage of the one I already have.  I am stalling.  However, I have gone back into therapy.  Two sessions worth in the last week or so.  And, in those sessions, my therapist is pushing to work on the issue over which I quit.

It is anger.  Or, actually, my inability to feel anger, much less express it.  It is a foreign language in an equally foreign location, to which I have no access, having swallowed it for most of my life.  Just ate all of it up with a spoon.

It served me well.  It helped me survive.  I am not complaining.  Except, of course, that is exactly what I am doing, because working on this is horrible.  It scares me beyond articulation.  I made a vow to do this work, and I will.  It still scares me, but I will do the work, because the panic attacks are returning and that scares me even more.

The practical aspect is that I am supposed to write down what I am feeling as I feel the panic building. 
What happened just before.
What is happening now.
How I was feeling before it started.
The specifics of how I am feeling now.
 I thought that I would also note what I had been eating, drinking, sleeping, whatever.

I have not had one in this week or so.  Had one tonight.  Something difficult happened, no worse than any recent difficult things, but this one knocked me on my ass, and I have no idea why I reacted to this one thing when I have not done so to any of the other things that happened last week, which was a terrible week.

Writing all of this is helping, although it is not bringing me any closer to understanding any of this.  I am trusting that this is the process. 

I am not running away again.  I am sticking with this. 


Dear Diary,

This is what normal feels like, at least the new normal I am crafting.  I may have written about the three times I have felt happiness since being here.  Three actual moments of a deep and comfortable feeling of contentment, but mostly safety I guess.  No matter, it has been decades since I remember feeling like this.  Sure, I have felt happy, pleasure and joy during that time, but not happiness, and I do not know how to explain this.  Perhaps it is the quality of safety that makes a difference.  Just do not know.

Whatever it is, I am grateful, happy even.

Today's happiness is my fourth.  The grandbabies just left.  They have been here since Friday and it was just plain great.  As are all grandchildren, they are bright, brilliant even, funny, delightful, brilliant, creative, adorable, brilliant, cute.

I have more fun and love and just everything with them than I deserve.  Truly.  I knew that having grandchildren would be wonderful, but I had no idea of how wonderful.  I adore my daughter and her husband (my own sweet boy, frankly, and who loves me right back), but these children, gosh, I really did not have any concept or expectation that there was so much love inside me to be expressed.  Since their births, maybe even before that, I feel about them the same way that I do about my daughter.  She is a great mom, we all get along famously and try to spend as much time together as possible. 

When I was looking for a home, I spent most of my time searching for a place near to her.  It did not work out and I think that living in this new city is probably one of the most significant disagreements we have ever had.  Of course, disagreeing for us means her saying that I really need to live closer to her and the guys and me saying that I cannot afford anything near to her and that, given that circumstance, my preference is to live here, less expensively and close to my work. 

So, we had fun this weekend.  The only reason they went home this morning is because their mom missed them so much.  She called this morning and asked to fetch them if we did not have any plans for the day, and said that she nearly called last night. 

And, now they are on their way home.  I cannot bear to clean up their toys, although they did some of that before they left.  I just want to see stuff strewn around for a while longer.  When I was married, they could not ever come to the house.  There could never be any disturbance in the 'force' and other people in the house, those he liked were fine, but not so for his own child and her children.

But, whatever.  All of that is in the past and the boys and their parents can visit Grammy any time they fucking well please.  I do not use that kind of language around others, but it perfectly expresses my new sentiments.

Totally unconnected, but I turned on the television after they left and there is a Bette Davis movie on public television.  I have no idea what it is about, I think she is ill and might lose her sight, but it has Ronald Reagan, Humphrey Bogart, and Bette's eyes and her, heretofore unaware consciousness, amazing breasts.  Holey-moley, she really was the whole package, brains, talent, beauty and a sweet person to boot. 

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


So anyway, I am sitting in a comfortable chair at the DMV. I thought that I had an easy issue, but no one seems to know where to direct me. I have had only stellar experiences here so this should be interesting. This also seems to be the firs day for several of the employees. Maybe, staff-wise they are trying to have everyone fully trained before the holiday season. The wait is fine. I get to sit and people-watch, but other patrons are fit to be tied up and moved to padded rooms. I am feeling very glad that I chose to do this now instead of waiting until the last moment.

Monday, October 8, 2012

lost week, most likely

I am back on-line. Internet here. Man. This will significantly reduce the amount of time I spend at the Library, taking care of loose ends for clients.  

I thought that I would get this back and immediately become involved with all sorts of stuff, but the need to do that is apparently gone.  Interesting.  I wonder if it will return in some way.  All that is better because of this new connection is that I can use an actual keyboard.

Just have to see.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

lost weekend

Another weekend of not much done,which is fine because there are no actual agendas or pressing schedules,well other than making sure that CoolCat and I are properly fed and watered. We are. Of course,this upper respiratory thing can disappear any time now. My great plan for CoolCat's scratching post is a fail . Poor guy. So,clean or nap. Huh.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

interesting lunch

I worked at a local government location and one of the clients was drunk. There might be other issues, but the alcohol certainly did not help. I am always conflicted when this happens. I certainly want to help, and I most certainly want to keep the person off of the road, but I can never be certain what the client is able to take from our work together, although, if I am doing my best for that person, maybe that is enough. Calling the police is often not reasonable because the intoxicated person is gone before the officers arrive. At this agency today, one of their employees was conducting a seminar and had a drunk attendee, as well. This is happening often enough that I am thinking that when someone is actively behaving as though intoxicated and smells strongly of booze that I should just ask him/her to reschedule. Geez, I hate even thinking about having to do this. Man. Maybe it is time to submit another article to the newspaper. Lunch, following that interesting morning was even more so. I met two friends at the favorite restaurant of one of them. One of the many interests we hold in common is poetry. We all write it, publish, and they perform. One facilities poetry, musical and performance art events, and I guess it is my turn to host one, something that he likes to do for particular types of, styles of performers. I am slightly concerned about having a house full of complete strangers, though. Huh.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

life altering ideas

Dear Diary,

I am a kind of pain in the ass about this stuff, even to myself.

First of all, it is the judgmental part of me that keeps poking her nosy, opinionated, assholish self into all sorts of places.  Most of the time I can hold my peace, bite my tongue, get the hell over myself.  Sometimes I cannot.

Oh, like when I hear someone being judgmental about someone else, particularly when that person being judged is simply different in whatever, life practices, beliefs, how she/he does things or does not do things, even things like how someone dresses or shops or the things she/he has that the other person does not believe she/he should have (maybe no one should have) if she/he were as dedicated to whatever the judger thinks should have some kind of dedication.  Like being green, or living simply, or technology, or how she/he raises their children/chickens/goats/vegetables. 

I have to be honest and say that I cannot think of an example right now, but I am certain that my inner judge is going to rear her ugly opinions any moment now.

So, that is my first life altering idea.  I will work, like seriously and with fullness of intention and heart, work on not being so judgmental.  About anything. 

I pretty much can do that at work, even though some of the front desk people are driven to distraction by some of the weird stuff my clients do.  I can laugh it off because I have been doing this for a long time, and they have not.  All they see is how disruptive these people can be, and I am in complete agreement about that.  People, no matter their disability or whatever it is that compromises their ability to behave well in public, still have to behave well in public. 

I might have mentioned this already, but I had a client last week who was very difficult.  She lied to several people and caused trouble, plain and simple.  When she and I were finishing, she commented that she would be making a complaint report the following day about one of them.  I told her that if she behaved only half as scattered and rude with them as she did in my office (well, sort of an office, more of a bat cave), that she owed them a huge apology. 

She gave two of them little apologies, but it was probably more than anyone had asked of her in a long time.  She and I have lots of work in our future, and I have to say that I was, still am, proud that she did at least try.  Frankly, that is all we should be expecting from other people, that they just try their best.  Maybe that is what we should be expecting from ourselves, as well.

So, no more, or at least a dramatic reduction in the judging that I do, even the judging thoughts in my head, which is where they mostly are, but they should not be there either.

I want to give this a few weeks, see how I do and if I can sustain being a nicer person, before I move on to one of the several dozen life altering ideas I want to incorporate into my life.  One of them has to do with chocolate, but I am planning on deliberately failing that one.  Sort of sweet, dark, melty, bitter, soul-supporting lovliness.  Not gonna do it.  Really, who can blame me.  Really.


I was passing by and my grandmother's high chair caught my eye.


Dear Diary,

I like the whole better thing.  I know that it is unsustainable for every day, but it is high on my oh-please-just-let-me-grow-the-hell-up list.

So, the birthday party was fine.  M loved her gifts and cake (cheesecake, dark chocolate cakey bottom layer, raspberry something on top, covered with a very nice two-layer ganache and good buttercream all around) and her sister was there and, gosh, after yesterday's day stuff, it was just nice.  Dinner was great, too.  Did not have to cook or clean up.  Nice.

Being social on just about any level is still difficult and I am wondering why. My brain says, quite confidently, that the worst is over and that I should (not can or might or it could be a good idea, but should) be moving forward more quickly.  And, yes, I know that the residue of decades of all of that crap is not going to just pick up its filthy, disgusting sacks and go somewhere else.  It just seems that I should be having more forward movement in so many parts of my life and it simply is not happening.

So, I go back into therapy this week.  Not like backward-back, just a return.  I left because, well, because talking about anything was more than I could handle with all of the other stuff.  So, I quit.  I am a quitter, or maybe I was a quitter or maybe just about therapy.  During the bad times, when it was bad, I used to tell myself, sometimes out loud, just to make sure that I was listening, that I was not a quitter.  I stuck there through the good times and it seemed as though it was only right or fair or decent to stay through the bad times, the dangerous ones. 

I used to say, "J, you are not a quitter.  You can stay here and figure out a way to fix this.  If you just did the right things at the right times, none of this would be happening".  It was easy to believe that, that if I could only figure out what to do and how to act, that nothing bad would happen.  It, that whole construct, was what someone who is not me would tell me.  Afterwards.  If I would just do what I was supposed to do, then everything would be fine and I would not get into trouble all the time.

Except, no one could tell me what that was.  You know, the right things.  I could not figure it out myself, and someone who is not me would tell me that if I were not so stupid that I could figure it out and that I needed to try harder.  I did try harder.  I tried harder all the time.  I really did.

Now, with the perspective of being out of there for the past several months, a bit more than seven months now-can I even believe that, I can see that I never had a chance, that no matter what I did it would never be right because I never knew what the rules were and whatever I did would be in violation of rules that were fluid, changing to make sure that I always violated whatever the hell they were.

Or, it occurs to me right this moment, maybe there never were any rules, just opportunities, excuses, to do whatever he wanted. 

Anyway, I am safe now and healing as best I can and making great decisions and enjoying this new life of mine.  None of this happened in an instant and I guess the residue does not disappear in an instant, either.

That actually helps me to feel better, somehow.  Or, perhaps not 'somehow' but because I earned it, this right to feel better and not worry so much.  I keep saying everything in its time, and I mean it when I tell myself that; it is just, oh, I do not know, I am impatient.  As though I waited all of this time, knowing that I would die there and never have any kind of peace or safety, and here it is and, fuck, I do not know where any of this is going. 

Clearly, therapy is a serious need right now.  I just really do not want to start all of that damn crying again.  Tissues are expensive, hankies are gross and I already get enough weird looks without walking around with a roll of toilet paper hung on a ribbon around my neck.  So, not going to do that again. :)

I am having lunch tomorrow with a friend, maybe two if the other guy does not have plans.  I do not have many friends in this new town and the few people I know have all-day jobs and do things at night, which I do not have or do.  Being out after dark does not make me weirder or totally freak out or anything, but it feels uncomfortable, so I do not do it.  Lunch should be fine.  At least until Daylight Savings ends.  Then, I might be able to do only breakfast. 

What else.

I guess that is that, then.  Fiber club tonight.  I have begun one of those knit hats with the ear flaps for one of my grandsons.  I have yarn to make one for the other sweet baby, and am hoping that I can follow that pattern and finish them before their heads are too big to fit the hats.  I am looking for time to knit at home, but that might be compromised when I finally get the Internet next Monday.  Yippee!!  Typing with a keyboard.  Being able to format paragraphs, and insert pictures and share stuff.  Totally cool.

I think I will bake bread tonight as an apology present for one of tomorrow's potential lunch people.  Nah.  I will get home...after dark...hungry and tired from a long day and I will make popcorn, have a soda and watch television whilst I play on my phone.

Maybe I am not a quitter, but I am a slacker.  Of sorts.  I like it, this being a slacker.  It is nice to not have to do anything.  I like it a lot, and so does CoolCat.  Maybe we will have hot dogs.  He likes those.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

long day

And, it is not even half over. No Internet equals no paragraphs, but I carry on...oh, what a valiant, little chap I am! :) Lordy . Anyway, I was fine, really, when this morning's installation went ass over teakettle. Then the other stuff came calling. Car repair woes plus a licensing issue (maybe random weirdness, maybe facilitated by someone who is not me) . Then the notification that my supplementary insurance plan went belly up. Sweet lordy, I can handle, like totally and completely, like a genius, take charge and do all of this. Like totally. But, it must have been just enough to bring on an aftershock. Fuck. So, anyway, I did some breathing and put things into perspective meditative crap, and I am feeling more myself. But, I am supposed to be at a birthday party, several counties away in an hour and a half, and I am sitting here, poking this out on this teeniest of keyboards, and the television is on, sound off, and Rick Bayless is on, and I never noticed how excited, riled angry he looks when you cannot hear what he is saying and how enthused he is about what he does. Seriously, he looks like the crazy person I might be inside. Interesting. Even I get it. You know. :)

i can

I can handle the complicated installation next week, without my usual incessant verbal spewing . How's that for positive thinking! ********** I can manage to find another supplemental insurance plan that will serve my health and budget. ********** I can figure out how to keep the whole car thing going until I establish routines and behaviors that allow me to comfortably and safely use the bus. ********** I have the patience to rework my budget. ********** I can do whatever needs doing without losing my mind, my fairly tenuous (and most likely undermedicated) sanity without completely freaking out or eating every, single, last sweet and/or salty thing in the tri-state area. ********** I am the weird, ugly, old, fat babe who can. I got the scars to prove it.


It seems that the cable company is unable to keep their information in a way that makes it available to their service representatives who are doing their best to help potential customers. So, no Internet service for me. The installers arrived, but were unable to do anything because the equipment already installed here is obsolete and, despite my previous inquiry regarding possible access to the basement (which requires the presence of the landlord, and assurances that he was not needed here, I had to cancel the appointment send the men on their way and spend an hour on the phone straightening and arranging everything with everyone. Not really complaining, but this is costinting money and time that I cannot afford, and a week of inconvenience. All things in their time, yes?