Stalled at 12

4....9..9....Ommmmm or why Botox is better than Chemotherapy.

2012-02-15T11:00:00.005-05:00

I am my immigrant father's daughter, my origins & ambitions mostly prefer the concrete over the lingeringly conceptual.

Amelia(Amy/Chicklet from my previous AOL blogs. She feels those names sound juvenile now..but I've caught her still using Amy...I digress...) is attending college in NY. The last time I had to be in the state I agreed to join her for a yoga class. I'm not a particularly frugal person, but the place seemed rather expensive. Amelia's dad happily pays for the classes because she is 20 & they do not involve sex. He will pay for anything she does at 20 that does not involve sex.

The yoga studio would take me~as a one-time guest~for roughly the price of 2 Chopin Cosmos, with the rental mat being another Chopin shot. I tried not to weigh that out too long. But still.

I've meditated (for free) for many years but this was more soft pornish(I'm telling Daddy) aerobics with earnest but feathery people who smelled like lemongrass/curry.

And the air of something knowingly grad school philosophy student superior that is hard to distill into a sentence.

There was an aggressively benevolent poster on the wall advertising a rich people workshop. Not that it said that. I indulge in some high-end products & services myself, but they are usually rightly coded as luxury or pampering or spa. This was... spiritual awakening.. all is one & ...healing...@ $499 + tax for one & a half days. Do the math. A rich people workshop.

I am not uneasy at the prospect of change, but I am uncomfortable with people in shabby-chic designer clothes with $300 hair cuts who are whacking at the capitalists & saying chemotherapy is a sham(see pamphlets in lobby). Girlfriends seem to be ok with Botox though.

When we took a break several French manicured women were close to reverence speaking of a tea tree oil treatment for sale in the shop..which turned out to be the shoppe. I kid you not when I write that one of the shoppe's yoga tops had ~Austerity~ emblazoned on its front. I tried soaking in the tea tree oil profundity for a bit but then I switched to thinking that Sports Authority probably has those yoga pants for a lot less than $157 the shoppe was selling them for. And I am pretty sure "shoppe" is an ego word. I tuned back in when the yogettes were talking about possible cures for strep. Oh, oh, I know that one!

Me: Antibiotics.

But no, sadly, my answer was judged too mundane. Actually, I'm assuming, because I was genially ignored. They didn't want input, they wanted agreement.

Then a birdlike woman was waxing poetic about her depression mix? The yogi will put together a personalized kit to heal your most pressing physical & psychological "concerns." A combo of emollients & quenchers(these are known in my little backwater town as lotions & drinks), breathing techniques, exercise regimens, & mantras....@ $499 + tax. Apparently a popular number in yoga.

Great. Can I please have a cure schizophrenia & get my house back kit? I'll wait over by the rich people poster while you mix it up.

Me: So where do all these liberal, ethereal hippies with Obama t-shirts(ok, there were only 3 t-shirts, & I do actually believe the guy cannot win no matter what he does, even if I am not much a fan of his policies) get the money to pay for these classes?

Amelia:Shhhhh.

Me: Maybe from their conservative, concrete, antibiotic-taking dads & husbands?

Amelia: Shhhhh(but she grinned in slight collusion because she loves her concrete, moderately conservative, antibiotic-taking dad).

Break is over & the yogi wants to know what we feel emanating from deep within our bodies & souls. I did not say irony & cynicism, but I was sorely tempted. I said -Love, because when I am with Amelia that is always true.

Don't mind me, I'll just sit here next to the mouse gynecologist.

2012-01-30T17:05:00.008-05:00

My sardonic friend David(he is a writer, which explains a lot, but not enough)often goes to wakes for people he has never met, & to group therapy for conditions he does not have. His lovely wife tends to stay at home, generally mortified.

David believes most wake mourners have a penchant for histrionics, center staging it.

Hmmm. Maybe because they actually knew the deceased?

I recently attended a celebration of life(for some random dead guy)with David. I'd never met the honoree, & David had only spoken with him once, at a publishing must-go. I agreed to this because David's wife, Chloe, wanted(begged)me to normalize his encounters.

Me? Pickings must have been slim indeed. My disgrace factor has been a little jiggered of late, what with the schizophrenia & all, but I tried to rein him in(no I didn't).

This (commercial for a publishing house)celebration had a lot of artisanal(heavy on the last 4 letters)food. Oh, and the fancy, fragrant wine, on a backlit rainbow display, tasted like they'd poured Yankee candles into balloon goblets. Pictorial references galore, tepid selling novels, chic scattered.... but no Know Me words spoken. All memories were deftly turned into publishbot relations humoid-smileys. Please give me just one surge of real tenderness. But no. All very distant & staged.

With one notable standout~this guy cried when discussing the honoree's children in his speech. A teeny but chubby man with jello-shot man boobs & blue Husky eyes, later talking about intestinal flora & the genitalia of mice. He is/ was working on a research project(I hope). I sat next to him, sipping my Yankee candle, deconstructing smileys.

I can't move into your guest house because it is too Kato Kaelin for me. I'd rather pay my own bills than dye my hair that many colors.

2012-01-17T18:12:00.001-05:00

Whenever the ex-bf thinks I am encroaching on his male prerogative he takes on an expression suggestive of extreme intestinal discomfort. He wants to save the princess because it's an embed on his DNA. This(somewhat long-in-the-tooth) princess (snort) has her own DNA issues. I resent & resist any & all invasions of my autonomy. An unearned, unsolicited, sense of security can be very costly in a much deeper way.

And the story should end there, before it becomes a girl-in-danger B movie. But.

At some point..what with all the electricity arcing between us...it becomes difficult to keep buttons buttoned, but I do, because after all, I have a point~ a solid stance to maintain, amid all the attendant details of life (& insanity). Many advances have been inconsistent & rudimentary, but ultimately it has all pointed slightly skyward. I've done a fairly good job of capturing dignity despite some degrading & despairing circumstances.

So I am willful & aloof(with a subtle whiff of loving) while he is powerful & ornery(with a stronger hint of loving). A couple finding their way to indignation is just so trite & plebeian. All the facts are neutral until we add our complicated(often contrary) meanings. But does that occur to us while we are going through it? Oh, hell no.

So what was my point again? Hmmm...

Ah, yes. That he is alternately,

out of the question

And

deliciously unavoidable.

Damn it.

The ex, smiling like a crocodile, can sense this & appears to be taking great personal satisfaction from my predicament. But then his bright eyes look(mildly)contrite, & he says:

I want to be the calm, sane place for you.

And often he is.

Then much more quietly he says: I guess I also want to be essential.

And always, he is.

The less that is happening overtly the more there is to keep track of

2011-12-30T18:36:00.001-05:00

I miss Russ~ http://innerouterdemons2.blogspot.com/

I hope he is properly mortified that Amelia's Catholic college prayer group is praying for him. When things got really bad & others were pinning me like a dried caterpillar to a specimen board(well, I was acting very, very weird), he remained a kind & loving friend. And yeah, it may have something to do with the fact that he writes Hallmark cards for a living, but his emails(& well-timed cards) have helped me sort through the advisability of my actions, gently~always gently.

Christmas makes me feel like a salmon swimming upstream, but I very much doubt that I alone carry that emotion.... then a couple of little kids at the food pantry give me knee-hugs after they get to pick out their holiday toys; I paddle back from my mental- defense Elba & have a good time. Who knew?

When my dad came to the US from Italy he mistook the phrase bleached blonde for beached blonde. Often, he used it often. My mother, always a beautifully natural brunette, assumed a perfectly guileless smile...and never corrected him.

I do long for my parents' touch this time of year, but the memories(& the knee-hugs)always make me smile. And there is something to be said for simply, quietly, proceeding.

Utilizing material progress for the good of society while having a really great time.

2011-12-15T18:43:00.006-05:00

The AIDS charity I co-hosted came off beautifully. I gotta say, I looked great too. When 4 gay men dress you for an event, unless you are Aileen Wuornos, you are going to look Fab.

Someone mentioned that there were a few times I acted like a potentate. Bambi Eyes.

Anyway, did I mention I looked great? Seriously, a couple of times my eyebrows were pitched in tents of worry, & I might have nipped a heel or 2(or 4), but we raised a ton of money, helped a very talented, immuno-compromised boy launch a dancing career, & brought a mom out to NJ who'd not seen her(again, unfortunately, very ill)son in 2 years.

And you really have to have a certain mind set to enjoy a bunch of adorable men in tights singing My T Cells Are Falling. I have that mind set & fortunately(I think) so did most of the others in attendance.

Great night. Great cause. (Great dress ;o)

Courtesy of Jack, my favorite homicide detective....

2011-12-09T16:18:00.005-05:00

Why you even asking me this? I haven't seen him in going on 10-15 years. I don't know why you asking me this. Cause last thursday he was. See I don't know, I don't even know why I just said that because I didn't see him last thursday. Like I said I haven't seen him going on 20 years.

(what not to say to your local homicide detective)

Fall seven times, stand up eight ~Japanese Proverb

2011-11-23T14:38:00.000-05:00

George, a client at the food pantry, will only take grapefruit juice because he isn't on a medication that it interferes with. He doesn't particularly like grapefruit, but he is worried that if he takes the other juice an elderly person on multiple meds will get stuck with the "wrong" juice. He told me he is just thankful for juice.

I'm thankful for:

*People who think like George.

*An ancient(his word)retired psychiatrist who gently pulls me out of the quicksand on occasion.

*Amelia

*Joel

*Hybrid wolves.

*No longer feeling the physical & mental atmosphere too acutely.

*Ex-boyfriends ;o.

*Work(all work. i'm hella less picky now).

*Humor, resilience, & perseverance.

*My stock portfolio(if you plan on leaving a diatribe about the evils of wealth, bite me & see humor above).

*Dusty old family photos on high shelves.

*The calm space between thoughts.

What are you most thankful for?

A Leaderless Circle. Really? Can I have a Cosmo instead of Fresh-Squeezed Wheat Grass Juice, Please?

2011-11-08T18:32:00.004-05:00

I'm a fiscally conservative libertarian. The charity event I am currently shepherding has me partnered with a closer to ultra than to moderate new age liberal(there should be commas in there somewhere, feel free to edit it because I never do). No shrieking radical, she, but quite far from me on the spectrum. My partner's husband~she calls him "That Useless Republican," she's kidding(I think)~& I get along great. This does not surprise her, but she continues to be amazed that she & I get on so well. I suspect we do because I know how to raise money for her events...& she is naturally humble & tolerant. She gracefully smooths over my penchant for making inappropriate remarks.

We met a few years ago on an AIDS charity ball committee. We got along, at first, not at all. I found all her "I dislike power in all its iterations" tedious considering she was exploiting all the resources of the corporate system, through her sole breadwinner husband, while constantly(ok, not constantly) kicking that same system's ass verbally(but in a voice like butter).

A few things missed the mark between us but the one I remember most vividly : She was very hurt when I said her concept of a leaderless circle(oh, snort) was well-intended, except, nothing would ever get done~ what with the breaks for chanting Tibetan mantras, the rekindling of optimism breathing exercises & the YaYa Sisterhood stories(I'm slightly paraphrasing). Suffice to say, she was more tolerant of me than I was of her.

But then, over the course of the event, I started to like her & she let me be the leader. SCORE. Take that, leaderless circle. Sure, judge me if you will, but the stuff got done, we made a pile of money for a very good cause, & no group hugs had to be endured. It was all win-win.

Then a year later, at my invitation(partly because I thought it would kick her ass & partly because I knew her husband would donate a nice amount of money~I was wrong about the former, but right about the latter), she & I went on a 72 hour homeless stint for charity. We each could bring $2 worth of anything we thought we'd need. She wisely brought cheap food. I brought Summer's Eve sheer floral cleansing clothes(1.99). She shared her food equally with me; I think I gave her 3 cleaning wipes(I had 16), one each day. I had hidden Snickers fun-size in my (inside) coat pocket. I'm a saint.

By the last few hours of our 3rd day "homeless" she was euphoric, wanting to do another day & full of ideas about how she could help certain individuals we met along the way(& later she followed through on that). I spent those hours fantasizing about the fully-functional lavatory in my toasty-warm home & a Starbucks latte. 'Cause I'm selfless like that.

I'm the better fund-raiser, but she is the better person.

I'm not a homeless girl, I just play one outside of the convenience store

2011-10-27T19:22:00.005-04:00

A homeless friend of mine only shows up with a shopping cart when he is selling something...which usually means people have not been very generous otherwise. So I stopped by to buy something...he was sitting on a wall outside of a convenience store & I leaned up against his cart for a chat, then an eventual buy. We talked a little about family(we are both pretty much estranged from ours), love, & root beer.

A man came out of the store & handed my friend a dollar. He walked over to the shopping cart I was leaning against & gave me a dollar too.

Uhm, my friend gave me the TAKE IT stare & I did. So of course once the giver got into his car & drove off, my homeless friend plucked it right out of my hand. He suggested we team up ;0.

I can tell you ate bacon yesterday. It's a gift.

2011-10-14T21:32:00.005-04:00

One of the many things I've noticed since my brain atrophy/schizophrenia:heightened senses.

This "gift"~ though mostly schizophrenia is not a gift, more like the bar scene in Star Wars~is particular to certain things but is hopscotch & random throughout the day. When it is on I hear you bull horn, see you in microscopic detail, & smell you like a French perfume tester would. My mind also does an instant harsh translate of what you say. It is almost never compassionate internal rephrasing, rather bite & cut instead. So when I went to do some prep work for a charity function a few nights ago, here's what I heard other volunteers say(none of it directly to me) & how my mind flash-translated it:

The power dynamic in our marriage has shifted.
Translation: My husband got tired of me telling him what to do all the damn time.

I ate a little more than half a candy bar for lunch.
Translation: I ate a whole candy bar for lunch & hid the wrapper.

I never back down from a challenge, beautiful.
Translation: I am going to stalk you if you don't go out with me.

It works if you work it.
Translation: I go to too many AA meetings.

Someone told me they still have $20 hookers in Asbury Park.
Translation: Recently, I slept with a $20 hooker in Asbury Park.

Don't you hate it when dogs beg?
Translation: I am heartless.

I can only use French milled soap.
Translation: I am a pain in the ass.

(speaking into a cell) I'm ashamed. This wouldn't have happened if you'd done what I told you to.
Translation: I'm a morally superior pain in the ass.

I'd love to delegate more, & yell less, but no one ever does their job right & I have too much turnover.
Translation: I'm a control freak who bitches at & micromanages everyone until they either have a nervous breakdown or quit.

My Ex-Boyfriend said I had Commitment Issues but he was the one who Always Bought Toilet Paper One Roll at a Time.

2011-10-03T17:55:00.001-04:00

My first therapist was very average.. he looked like Stieg Larsson. Which was right in a comfy sort of way. My new therapist is more knowledgeable & hands on, but too hot looking for good heart-to-hearts. He needs a low-level industrial accident to make him more every-man accessible. So when the new therapist mentioned that I was "a little inflexible" about certain things, I got defensive. I shamelessly pinned it on the schizophrenia, because I don't trust the guy yet. I feel like the before picture in his shampoo commercial.

The(almost)great thing was that Mr. Hot was ready to concede the point to me because "at times you are in an alternate reality..."

But no, that would have been too easy.

I agreed to let an ex-bf accompany me to the first 5 weekly appointments. This was appointment 5. I really prefer to be self-reliant & as a medical management consultant, I don't need an advocate(ok, maybe I do. that's really hard to admit though & i hate to be a burden)...but the ex was very insistent. I don't have immediate family to help me manage my illness & he believes my care has suffered because of that. Maybe(definitely) it has. I digress.

So like I said, Mr. Hot Therapist was going to let me blame my inflexibility on my schizophrenia...good times..but then the ex jumps in: No. No. It has nothing to do with schizophrenia. She hasn't had the brain atrophy for that long, but she's been a stubborn, obnoxiously independent woman since the first day I met her. She's playing you.

Well. Yeah...there's that.

Mr. Hot Therapist didn't even try not to laugh. He said that maybe I'd feel more comfortable if my ex came a few more times(in the rereading that sounds dirty ;o), or maybe not(then I laughed). Then we talked about a lot of things that don't really belong here. And I left feeling protected(in a weird sort of back-handed way), & more like me than I have felt in a long time.

Because just maybe the girl who has advocated for plenty of other people needs an advocate.

And that's ok. It really is.

Some Little Conversations you never forget. (Thankfully)

2011-09-24T04:03:00.004-04:00

I miss my dad. A bright smile from him(it helped that his eyes were a blue/silver twinkle when he smiled)would unmoor almost any negative anchor.

During a period when dad started to walk a little more slowly, I was fretting about going away overnight...but I went(He practically pushed me out the door. I think he high-fived the dog once I was gone. I was a little .er. overprotective once he wasn't Superman anymore.).

Before mealtime I called & explained in excruciating detail how to heat up the individual components of the dinner I'd left him.

Dad: Mary, I love you but you realize I lived 44 years before you were born, right?

Potluck Dinner with The Order Of The Mocking Teutons

2011-09-21T18:51:00.009-04:00

I was invited to a cozy family dinner at a friend's home. After the main meal:

Me: Would you like to try one of my cookies?

Manfred: (eyeing them suspiciously) Are they vegan? (Which was said in the tone of : Are they balls of dirt you flattened with a spoon?)

Me: Oat bran vegan. (said brightly)

Manfred: (eye roll) Oh, oat bran vegan cookies. I am astonished so many are left. (I keep Manfred around because I love Gretl & Elise, the 2 German shepherds who own him)

Me: (trying to look hurt)

Manfred: I am sorry. It is only that I happen to be oat bran vegan intolerant, otherwise I would savor them beyond all reason. But please, bring some over to my sister-in-law(he hates her); I am certain she did not see them.

All Salvation is Imperfect

2011-09-02T18:42:00.001-04:00

Living right at the verge of the ocean is mostly glorious. Waiting for Irene, not so much. But even though the ocean was haunted it was impossibly beautiful~ half connection, half oblivion.

Saturday morning: I have a place to go, but I love a good adventure, but I should go, but it's been downgraded ~I'm staying. I hoped for the best, but prepared for a mother-in-law. Bought flashlights, peanut butter, Power bars, Snickers & juice to some elderly more inland residents. Please don't let them be diabetics with peanut allergies. Favorite question asked: You wouldn't know where to get me some beer, huh?

Yes, I would(& I did).

I usually don't try to force the burden of my concern on anyone who'd just rather I go away, but I wrangled with a homeless man who wouldn't let me drive him to a local school that was set up as a temp shelter for the hurricane. As a schizophrenic, I am not undeterred by the prospect of confinement myself, but for him certain circumstances heightened my sense of responsibility:

I know him long enough to see him at a level beyond rescue.

He has a low intellect.

He was slightly inebriated.

He was going to a nearby portable bathroom if "the rain got too bad" (how could that not open your heart?).

I was purposeful & diplomatic with my persuasion points until I realized it was getting me nowhere. Then I started crying, which worked like a charm; he agreed to go to the shelter. Sometimes I embrace my frailties. I mentioned frailty as the motivator to a volunteer who said: No, it was a small heroic act.
Truthfully, that part of it wasn't. The real heroic act was in his taking that long walk into crushing local cultural expectations & the 10,000 rules & regulations(that we casually call a shelter) he fears like the plague.

I am not a liberal(Russ is my liberal~ http://innerouterdemons2.blogspot.com/ )
I am not a do-gooder. I don't think some voodoo combination of corporations, government & the Bush family cause all my problems. I squint in sarcastic concern at people who say: Have a great day! My favorite sheets were $325 on sale, so that lets out futon-vegan too. And dewey-eyed innocence in relation to innate human goodness isn't my thing either. Any idea that I am some selfless person helping the homebound, hungry, or homeless negates the fact that they are often the ones moving(progressing?) me toward...something. Sometimes it is something I want or need(or they want or need), sometimes not.

Puppy Purgatory

2011-08-25T16:56:00.007-04:00

While walking toward the SPCA thrift shop I watched the tears & drama unfold as a boy was being led through the parking lot. HE WANTED THAT PUPPY. I'm sure he still had the afterimage on his little retina. YELL.CRY.simper. Then the glow of yearning. Reasonable. I've been in touch with those very emotions myself.

Mom stopped walking(& pulling)& said: I'm sorry, but we were just looking for now.

WTH? Who writes for you, lady, Dickens? Your child looks 8-10 years old. Just looking for now? FOR A PUPPY? I'm 46 & I couldn't withstand that. I wonder just how many times you let his dad tell you: I'm sorry, but we were just looking for now. ~while he was hauling you away from the engagement ring counter.

So the young boy I want to steal(& buy a puppy)sniffles, whines, shuffles. I turn away embarrassed(for the gawking) & sad for him. Then mom says: You ruined our day.

(I sometimes wonder whose hurt should I disregard? Whose can I?)

I turn back to give her the bitchslap look. I catch the boy, head jutting out in a spirited way, as he says: GOOD!

Well, this is clearly my type of smug little boy. So, yeah, I burst into hysterical laughter. Now mother & son are both looking at me. I give him a fist pump & he gives me a little chipped smile.

I think mom took a tempering breath, then in a measured, starting-out-soft(but not remaining so)tone, she says: You are a little bit of a bad influence ON CHILDREN.

I certainly hope so.

You Might Want to Leave the Kitten Heels at Home

2011-08-12T21:13:00.005-04:00

A zoologist friend mailed me some literature from a preserve I'm interested in.

A healthy 4000 pound elephant can run 33 miles per hour for 12 minutes.

One of the suggestions in the preserve's visitor packet:

IN THE UNLIKELY EVENT OF AN ELEPHANT CHARGE, DO NOT FALL DOWN WHILE TRYING TO GET AWAY.

Indeed.

Live a Full Life Amid Giant Obstacles..

2011-08-05T22:23:00.004-04:00

...no scripted thank yous needed.

I've been having an email exchange with someone who used to read the blog I wrote on AOL about my dad. She was a great source of strength for me at that time. Though she doesn't comment directly on this blog, she does read every entry & email me. She is a spiritual person & was offended by my last entry.

Over time I've come to believe author justification quickly turns to abject blog prostitution~But~I really like & respect her so let me try to explain where I am coming from in case some others feel exactly as she does.

A Catholic friend introduced me to a Christian organization that matches sponsors with the poorest of the poor children in other countries. The Christian aspect did not initially cause an issue, I donate to Buddhist & Jewish charities as well, though I am an Atheist. So off goes my monthly donation to provide Georgy with food, schooling, supplies...

Little Georgy sends me my first letter, it opens:

I greet you in the name of Jesus.

A few more months of sponsorship & then I send extra because Georgy's roof is leaking. Quite a cheap fix since the entire family lives in 2 small rooms *smirk*.
Georgy sends me a thank you in the name of Jesus for his new roof. His whole family is praying for me now.

He is 10. I get an instant ophthalmic migraine.

I want the 10 year old child to play & go to school & enjoy his life..and EAT. Not write letters in the name of Jesus to thank me over & over & over(the roof one went on & on). I didn't even think they would tell a 10 year old I sent money for the roof, let alone spoon-fed him a letter because~ Praise the Lord, he now has that wonder of wonders, a roof that does not leak.

I do not care if Georgy prays to Jesus, Buddha, or Bacchus. Did I mention he is 10? Can you remember 10? I can.

Georgy, be reckless & joyful, all interest & energy. Run Play Learn Eat Smile. That is heartbreakingly beautiful. That is the best thank you ever.

May I Offer You a Carr's Water Cracker with Your Prayer for the Hopeless?

2011-07-28T13:29:00.004-04:00

As a young adult, a nun(Dad worked for a Catholic church/school)tried to guide me toward becoming a missionary. Dad promptly defined missionary for me: A person who wants foreigners to wear more clothes & have less sex.
Oh. Nevermind then.

There is bad as well as good to come when IRL friends have access to your blog. A(very religious)doctor(& you know I think you are mostly a wonderful person)I've done consulting work for thinks we need to do something More to help my friend in the previous entry.
Well, define More~& leave out advice & criticism, since I am sure he dodges that every damn day.

Years back an(oppressively-concerned) elderly woman gave me Brie cheese logs & hundreds of spiritual pamphlets to pass out. Now those are certainly two things the homeless are clamoring for.

Regardless of what I think my friend may need(medication, a German Shepherd), he seemed to enjoy the lunch(possibly he would have enjoyed it more with a tall glass of vodka, but I digress)& didn't appear to be hankering for a talk about how much the Baby Jesus loves him.

I think there is a fine line between being a concerned citizen & being an overzealous troublemaker with the IQ of a Pringle on a do-good mission. I try to keep well left of that line. When someone is almost inarticulate with emotional pain I will admit I am the last person who should/could venture a guess as to how to bring about healing, but at least I try my level best not to blot anyone else's sky with my version of their purpose.

Dehumanizing Dynamics

2011-07-19T21:35:00.003-04:00

There is a homeless man in my town(obviously more than one, but this is the one I've been feeding & chatting with for years)who is nearly always drunk, asking for change outside various convenience stores. I sometimes give him money(save the temperance speech, the word does not just apply to liquor, so put down that 9th microwaved pizza roll)but always give him food.

He is never rude or demanding. He is often undertow sad. The most he will do is say please & offer his hand slowly. As I am coming out of the store with a sandwich & cookies for him a woman slaps his hand away & he says: Ok, ok then.

But it isn't.

Dear Mrs. Hippopotamus in a Lexus:

You have food. From the looks of it, Plenty of Food. (Please buy a decent support bra) I'll bet you have a drink once in a while too. I'll go so far as to say your husband probably drinks more than you do(because if I were married to you I know I would).

A very small(ok, not that small)part of me wants to fire bomb your house. And I am pissed at myself since I sometimes whine about how invisible we "make" the homeless. Congratulations. You & your two-cats-fighting-in-a-sack ass have just changed my mind. Invisible is much preferable to hand-slapping.

Each & every one of us has been slapped too many times by the world, so we all know how much it sucks. Stop it.

Sincerely,

Mary

Do These Shoes Clash With My Mental Disorder?

2011-07-01T19:56:00.006-04:00

I've just finished reading an oversupply of concerned, kind emails about my last blog entry. Many readers seem to have gleaned nuggets of depression-not so. Others thought a blogger abused me in some way. No, it was an IRL paid-for professional relationship. I trusted way too much(funny that, since trust has never been my forte)& unfortunately, I trusted the wrong person. The very last email (because I almost never have my cell on)was from Amelia(Amy), the daughter of an ex-bf. She was afraid I did not feel loved, so the email was filled with love ;).

I dislike those times in which I concern myself with the uncertainties of response from the people seated at the front row of my life. I'd prefer to trust all of us a little more. After all, I don't puzzle over form & meaning with those I love-so why fear that they do with me?

Because I am a schizophrenic~& in some ways that little box I'm in has derailed my ambitions, my life, but never has it derailed my love. (esp. for Amelia & her family)

I'm not a mumbling, shopping cart pushing schizophrenic, but more of an ironic, Mercedes-driving, medical consultant type. One isn't any more worthy of love than the other, or any less~but oh, can we be ass pains to those who stick around loving us. And for those who don't, can't~I get it. I really do. No guilt.

I've never had to sleep rough as a schizophrenic, avail myself of a soup kitchen(though I've volunteered at a few), or beg for healthcare(my insurance is $900 a month, & a bargain when you consider my complex problems & expensive medication). I've worked good high paying jobs throughout my life, run 2 businesses on my own with success, & invested extensively & well. I've also roamed my town at night crying(in $200 shoes, clutching a Prada bag once~sort of funny after the fact~decidedly not so during) because I believed (many times)I was single-handedly causing all of the western hemisphere's problems. I've been taken advantage of financially & emotionally while delusional, but I've also been embraced, guided, & nurtured to the extreme(huge shout-out to Michael & Dede here).

I often have a crowded mind, not a beautiful one, & I suck at high-level math(so much for equating me with the famous movie).

I've spent years having medical professionals(some very good) analyze my ongoing brain atrophy. First it was nothing to worry about; I had a very high IQ & some small come & go weird symptoms & odd behaviors. Then more atrophy & a dx of possible early on-set dementia, then no, it might be MS(lots of tests). No that's wrong, perhaps a different neuro-degenerative disease(lots more tests)~until the atrophy morphed into late-onset schizophrenia.

I'm not depressed, but I am psychotic(at times). Nice to meet you. Ok, not always. In person I am often quite anti-social, but I can fake "normal pleasant woman" when I apply the effort.

Many times just being alive is so glorious, other times not so much. Just like it is for everyone else.

I love you too, Amelia. And my cell is on now.

Slow & Safe descent for sale...irregular ones 1/2 off

2011-06-29T08:30:00.005-04:00

Jaundiced pragmatism is underrated. Last week I realized something unfortunate. The only people who've ever admonished me to "trust" more were people who proved untrustworthy. Not a romance here, but the sort of trust where one person is fragile in an achingly honest & bare way, while the other is going through the motions for a paycheck &/or a learning experience(& maybe an ego boost?).

If they played a little fast & loose with your life & your current very tenuous grasp on hope, they are sorry, but hey: Good Luck. And gosh, it wasn't really intentional. (Turns out you're really going to need that luck now)

Maybe Martha Stewart's first(& 2nd, 3rd) cupcake was lop-sided. Perhaps they are learning to be trustworthy, competent, & thorough but they haven't yet quite reached the mark. Then it is a slow train to nowhere for you, jaggedly cut. You can consider yourself part of some clinical trial. For a while the placebo effect seemed to help you~until it didn't, hard. Be generous & grade on a bell curve(or bell jar~no, try not to think about Plath..).

I was no victim. I always had a choice, but I cushioned or quickly dismissed tensions. I wanted this to work, to click, to make the save, because I'd been a quart low on save for some time. Thinking sometimes I had to do penance for being alive(after all, I did go to Catholic grammar school).

Limitations & challenges abound. Life raises more questions than it answers. There will always be thorny, unsolved problems plus human tragedies that cannot be altered. My parents raised me to try a little harder, give a little more~but they did not raise me with trust in a more inclusive sense. We trusted each other, we 3. Maybe they knew that some "good" shadows cast a very wide, hole-filled, net. Pack your own parachute.

The borders separating reason & madness, the good & evil of our moral existence, are very haphazardly placed, here for the doctor, there for the moralist, and subject to change. ~~Robespierre

Field notes from a 25 yr. food pantry volunteer

2011-06-16T20:23:00.010-04:00

Give with your hand & your heart will follow.

To the 40something guy who is raising his grandchildren on one very small(but full-time)paycheck. You are the nicest, kindest, least pissed off person I have ever met. I think I want to rip your clothes off.

Please don't donate Rice Chex from 2005.

It is easy to be captious when you are hungry & it is difficult to accept dependence with grace.

Country western song self-pity flows just as often from some volunteers as it does from some clients.

I'm tempermentally unsuited for anything but indulgence with small children & the elderly. I play favorites. I'm sorry. (I'm not really sorry)

Do.not.donate.canned.creamed.spinach.ever.thank.you.

Tell each child online how intelligent, beautiful, & talented he/she is(follow up with a snack & a Capri Sun if possible).

If you donate some complicated, 27 step Williams-Sonoma extravaganza baking project (that your Newport Chic daughter-in-law probably gave you for Christmas)please send a pastry chef too.

Manifest sympathy toward the least admirable(& sometimes the least admirable is a volunteer). Most irritating things are excusable if you climb down off your horse.

Yup, some people have food & come anyway. I'm not making it my job to Sherlock Holmes it. Try to do some good, then forget it.

If oppressed by a sense of your own helplessness, watch an adorable little girl do a cartwheel in the parking lot. To that same little girl: If you tell me one more time that my perfume(Chanel No. 5)reminds you of your grandmother, I know just where the 2005 Rice Chex & canned spinach are going.

Friday Night Insomnia Decongestion

2011-06-04T10:29:00.006-04:00

Cats are the best yoga instructors ever.

Every time I am stuck listening to a self-congratulatory Prius owner, I get the urge to French kiss my Mercedes.

Sooner or later abnegation follows glorification.

No funds are scrubbed clean.

I've always understood Fela Kuti, but I will never understand Glee.

I see/hear my Keurig Coffeemaker as a fully humanized figure with a German accent. The last thing he said(cue German accent)was: It is fine to let the waves break over you, but ask for help if you feel they are close to washing you away(ok, I will. they are not).

As a 46 year old woman I know many of the problems inherent, but I love the days I have more enthusiasm & grace to do good than the sense to reconsider half of it.

Cell Phone Local Color

2011-05-16T12:32:00.001-04:00

The medical consultant(me)was sitting in the doctor's waiting room spying on the staff before she officially met them(that is usually a small part of my job, but I am also quick to jump to staff defense when they are criticized by the doctors). I had positioned myself directly under the NO CELL PHONES sign, all the better to eavesdrop on patients using their cell phones.

I am aware that this sort of cell phone eavesdropping is somewhat akin to rubbernecking at an accident sight. Hey, a middle-aged medical consultant gleans what excitement she can since some aspects of the job(read:the bulk)are similar to being dosed with IV lidocaine. All we need are carbon-based compounds & water for primitive life, but for cell phone use we also apparently need at least a small supply of stupidity:

Annoyed stress-smile lady with tea kettle squeak plus palpable bitterness voice(answering cell): Yes, I got your messages(sigh). I've been very busy. CAN'T YOU mail her ashes to me? (listening) So, put them in a regular box.(listening) Yeah-(long pause) Ok, add the shipping, I guess.

(So I will assume paying for an urn is out of the question, right?)

Pastel-colored cable knit sweater tied around line-backer shoulders woman: Because people aren't from New Foundland. It's a dog!

(A dog that is an hour ahead of you)

Ichabod Crane with really appalling hygiene sitting by ethereally beautiful little girl(pressing postage stamp size cell to large sweaty face): Awkward silences aren't so bad if you keep talking.

(Awkward silence) (Does anyone have a tub of menthol ointment? Please apply under my nose..and the little girl's)

Bouncy girl in Juicy Couture sweats on a cotton candy pink sparkly cell: There is no way he will know you cheated. Doug never found out I did until after like a year later and by then it didn't count. No worries. You are a good person. Are you meeting me at Mix for hh? (let me guess, happy hour?) I love you, girl.

(Brady Bunch bouyancy with a side of Clintonian optimism. Where is my pithing needle?)

But the project is going very well, and so is my personal life (holding breath & feeling very grateful).

For Amelia(answers to your questions)

2011-04-12T18:57:00.001-04:00

Who says I: Never have my cell on(usually true), never return her phone calls in a timely fashion(partly true), & I need to learn to text efficiently(not true at all). 1) Marilyn Manson & Kip Kinkel 2) No, but Briege does wear her derision on her paw. 3)Never turn state's evidence on your brother...or tell your parents what he did on Thurday. It is really sort of the same thing. 4) Yes, but I am demanding, imperious & spoiled at times as well. 5) I love you too....more. ---- Ok, so now I guess the blog isn't abandoned anymore.

If you can take God out of the equation for a moment..

2010-01-25T10:30:00.000-05:00

Setting aside the idea of a Creator God or other spirit in the sky, shouldn't each person be allowed to decide how much time he or she wants to spend on this Earth? Is 55 lousy years better than 44 lousy years? Does living to 60 but having the last 10 suck due to illness and dependence beat out someone living more happily & able, but for less total years?

I don't think a person should have to be a lost medical cause before he or she is allowed to decide: I want out. In some cases that "negative" decision may bring about very positive effects-- not just for the person making the decision, but for society as a whole.