Returning

Nobody wants to leave paradise. Adam and Eve were not known for any sort of celebratory march out of the gates. Milton didn’t write Paradise: Meh, I’ll get there again eventually. Generally, the point is to get INTO Paradise, not out of it… so you can imagine the sad sense of dread that filled my stomach as I heard the wheels of the plane thud onto the tarmac at LAX.

Hawai’i was, as always, gorgeous beyond words. The Big Island continuously amazed me with the many ways in which it is different from Oahu, or, really, any place I’d ever been before. I blossomed in its rain forests, shivered in the magnificence of its volcanoes, and gloried in its endless blue seas. I slept deeply, lulled by assorted calls of wildlife. I woke each morning pre-dawn and watched light creep across the skies through the branches of the giant monkeypod tree that umbrellas over the resort like a protective spirit. And I swam with dolphins and turtles and a 100 other colorful denizens of the deep… over and over again.

Needless to say, I’m still adjusting to being back. The desk is restrictive and not near any windows and my heart just isn’t back at the office. Tag and I had a few conversations during which we seriously considered what we would need to do, and how we would have to work, in order to permanently relocate. It would be some years down the road, but it would be extraordinarily worth it.

If ever you get the chance to travel to Hawaii, please don’t deny yourself the experience.

However, until that boat comes in… please feel free to enjoy some of the scenery.

Aloha

(as defined by answers.com)
aloha from Hawaiian

Hawaii's best-known export is not sugar, pineapples, or Kona coffee, but a word: aloha. It is much more than a greeting; on the islands, it is a way of life. Hawaii's businesses include Aloha Fresh Flowers, Aloha Surfboards, Aloha Bicycle Tours, Aloha Quilts, Aloha Spirit Coffee, Aloha Candy and Card Company, and Aloha Beautiful Hawaii Weddings. There is an Aloha United Way, a football game called the Aloha Bowl, and a shirt and a day of the week dedicated to aloha. Summing up, one islander says aloha means "Hello, goodbye, love, compassion, welcome, good wishes. It means belonging to others with a common humanity. It's defined better as a feeling in the heart than by words."

How can you get the feeling? The "Live Aloha" website offers these practical suggestions:

• Leave places better than you find them.
• Hold the door. Hold the elevator.
• Plant something.
• Drive with courtesy. Let others in.
• Get out and enjoy nature.
  

I intend to get my aloha on by flying to Kona with Tag, resting our souls in a treehouse bedroom, and in general, allowing myself 6 blissful days of not worrying about paperwork, politics or other random bullshit that has invaded my life as of late.

Take care of yourselves and I'll chat at you in a week.

On Rats and Women

They say that loose lips sink ships, and that rats will leave a sinking vessel. Therefore, I am wondering if a loose-lipped rodent isn't really causing its own problems? Sort of a self-fulfilling prophesy of doom.

To which I'm sure you promptly replied, "huh?"

That's where my mind is today. Confused and dark. Reaching for sense of it all and coming up with some sort of scrambled goo, black and icky.
***************************************************************************
I recently received some information. In the sick world of telephone games, it is once removed from the origin. However, it is from an eyewitness and a credible source.

Someone I once trusted has (as of late) had some serious personality changes. (I've seen a few of them myself.) I fear that she too is traveling to a dark and scary place. However, instead of seeking help, she plays the victim and lashes out nastily at others.

Where once I had a case of 'hero worship', I now find myself facing the human. I don't want to let the fact that I idolized her be the source of my disappointment. Nor do I really want to look at the fact that she may not be a very nice person after all.

I want to come at the situation from a place of love. I don't want to be reactionary. However, I cannot help but feel foolish that I ever felt safe with her. I cannot escape the feelings of abuse and betrayal that I am now experiencing. I cannot (and will not) deny that I am both hurt and angry. This is my stuff... I get that. But "getting it" doesn't make processing it any more pleasant.

Some people say that I should wait. Stick it out. Hang in there. They long to believe that this is just a temporary phase, and soon, the situation will magically remedy itself.

However, history has a habit of repeating itself, and I've seen the pattern of behavior before. Both in her past and in mine. I want to believe that this will pass without incident. But my life experiences seem only to point otherwise.

Do I stand by and believe? Do I wait it out? And when the hit comes, and I am curled in a ball by the wall, crying with the ugly truth of it all... can I blame anyone but myself for still being within arms' reach?

When does it stop being "hope", and just become "denial"?

I tell my students to nurture others, but not at the cost of nurturing yourself. For what good can you provide if you are too weak, too sick, too wounded to do so? Yet here I stand, unhappy, trying to believe in better. Contemplating staying around to provide nurturing for her (and others), at the cost of my own health and happiness. I despise playing the martyr. I want to "walk my talk", but in this case, that seems to mean walking away. That prospect is equally unpleasant.

Rats leave a sinking ship... sometimes I wonder if I have that same survival instinct.

Sunday Scribblings: Hi, My Name Is...

I stare in to the mirror and draw a blank. Before me, a woman drowing. I run so fast, I don't know where I am when standing still. Wear so many hats, I've lost touch of who is here hatless. Reality can't hit a moving target and denial makes a fantastic running partner.

Hi, my name is... Perpetual Motion.

The first day I sat in the office of my very first (and still my favorite) therapist, she said, "Tell me about yourself." Without thought or hestiation, I launched into a diatribe of attributes (physical and personality), giving the root foundation for each. "Mother's eyes, Father's nose.... Father's angry mumble and Mother's prediliction for clutter."

Years later, that shrink confided "I had never met anyone with so little sense of self." But they do affect us, don't they? The Nature and the Nurture. They all have their say. From gods to parents, from peers to societal norms- every level has a few more rules and guidelines. Everyone says "Don't." Everyone says "Shouldn't." Everyone defines "Appropriate" for you, until you come to this place: Jane Doe, living in AnyCity, USA... and those few simple definitions give you a whole rule book of "supposed to."

Hi, My Name is..... Boxed In

We each have fantasies and hopes. Dreams that we struggle to keep feeding, trapped in the shoebox, hidden in the closet. We sneak it bread crumbs and the brocolli we hid in our napkin. And for what? The having of a hope makes the keen edge of not realizing it even more painful to endure. Then again, what is the other option?

Hi, My Name is.... Despair?

Like a 13 year old, I sit glowering "if only you knew..."
- what I really want to do
- what I really CAN do- if only you'd let me. If only I'd let myself

Hoodies with skirts and knee-high fuzzy boots and BigDog comments "One of the many perks of having Teece in the office that you never know what you'll get with.... (*pause* searching for the word)

A co worker suggest, "her avant-guard style??"

BigDog continues, "... her adventurous take on fashion."

I smile. I shrug. I giggle. I search and hold tight to the compliment, trying to purge from my mind Mitzi, who defined my junior year with the wicked words, "You don't have money and you dress weird. Now go away, we don't need your opinon."

My other boss, she recently looked at my hair, now shades of lavender and said, "I like this one. It's.... (*pause* searching for the word) subtle." Something I have never been by nature. Again I smile. I thank her. I try not read the sneer on her lips.

Hi, My Name is... Unappreciated? Misunderstood? Weird.

Today, I have classes to teach. How can I tell those women to love their bodies, to embrace themselves just as they are if I can't leave these demons on the page? They say "We teach best what we most need to learn," but I haven't figured out how.

Bewildered
Frustrated
Angry, deep within.

I am a volcano ready to erupt
I am a villager, living the in fearful shadow of the volcano
I am the village dog, chained and unaware

Hi, My Name is... (*pause* searching for the word)

Avast! It snuck up on me...

... but thanks to that snazzy radio dj, I remembered that it was

I be wearin' my jolly roger shirt and wishin' y'all a fierce and fabulous day.

(hrmmmm... i bet pirates don't say "fabulous," do they? *oops*)

Intentional Drowning

"Your body is drowning."

"What?" I asked, somewhat startled.

The soft Asian face tilted up towards me, her look pensive as she sought for the words to explain. "Your body...it is... drowning. Too much fluid. Is holding.... um, retaining."

Oh, yes... that. I'm retaining water. I'm bloated. Twas a combo of PMS, stress, and bizarre temperatures. And apparently, unknown to me, a great deal of extra mucus in my lungs and sinuses. Through the miracles of acupuncture and herbal teas, I've been draining profusely ever since. Breathing is easier, but my nose is still recovering from the repeated blowings and tissue wipes.

But it is her words that still stay with me. Drowning. I am drowning. Never has a diagnosis felt so right on the money.

Working two jobs can be overwhelming. And the teaching, although it is wonderful to experience, is growing in hours and demanding on the voice and body. I often feel that my most fierce doggie-paddle just barely keeps my head above the surface.

More than that, as of late, dreams and signs are filled with underwater images and icons. My long time love for mermaids has grown into a nearly obsessive fascination. I hear the sirens call me towards the rocks anytime I see their images (and I'm currently reading a fascinating book on the subject as well.) Octopi (octopuses?) are everywhere. Painted graffiti on the street, Discovery shows that happen to be on when I turn on the TV, books and fliers that chance to come across my desk. Even my dearest love (& subject of my first 6th grade research paper) Nessie has returned to my consciousness, lurking in the corners of my mind and popping up in unrelated conversations.

Until lately, I'd complained about feeling frozen or numb. My coven sister speculates that this new drowning sensation is merely the effects of the ice thaw.

Could that be it? Could it be that I'm coming through the winter of this endlessly long transition? Something in me broke in 2005, and I've not felt whole since. The experience has been 2 years of highs and lows and general angst without resolution, and I'd love to think that phase is finally wrapping-up. But drowning is an odd sensation. Not one of relief, but neither is it one of suffocation or panic. We breathed and lived in liquid within the womb. Is it possible to find that skill again, amidst a sea of uncertainty?

Water is essential

Water is affected by thought & intention

Water is in all life, all things

Water is the connection

I am mostly water

My world is mostly water

Can I sink into that, and find the way to live?

Pissy from the Heat

Dearest Department of Water & Power,

I understand that I live in LA, a town fraught with self-indulgent people who do not listen to suggestions like "turn your AC up to 78 when you aren't at home" or "turn off lights you aren't using". So when our power shut down at 6pm on Friday, on the hottest weekend of the year, I tried to be understanding. We opened our windows (nearly useless without fans in them) and hoped for an errant breeze. We found our flashlights and sat in the darkened courtyard of our apartment building, sipping water and trying to think cool thoughts. It was challenging, but doable. Two hours later, when the power returned, we were most appreciative.

The fact this all repeated on Saturday was a little more annoying. Rumors of a blown transformer were whispered down the block, from one grassy courtyard to another. Still, two hours later in the steamy September evening, power returned, and fans could be restarted. Ice could be made in the freezer again. I longed to believe that you folks had some inkling of what you were doing, and I hoped that you, concerned about the overheated citizens of Los Feliz, were working towards preventing a repeat performance.

However, when we returned to our house on SUNDAY evening, to find the neighborhood once again dark and muggy, my patience began to wear thin. Even though the sun was gone, the temperature in the area was in the high 90s, with uncharacteristic humidity making it even more unbearable. I likely would have rained curses on your heads if my kind neighbor had not distracted me by pulling her laptop into the courtyard, and sharing downloaded episodes of "Californication" while we all drank luke-warm beer. My fury subsided as I watched David Duchovney do a lot of naughty things to half-dressed women.

At least it HAD, until I returned home last night (after teaching 2 hours of dance class) to a totally black and silent Los Feliz. Once again, some brilliant yahoo somewhere had blown something or improperly repaired a do-hickey. Theories ran wild amongst the overly-hot Angelenos as to the cause of the repeated outages, but the point for guessing why was passed for me. I just wanted it to end. Is that too much to ask, LA DWP?? That on the hottest weekend of the year, I have at least ONE day out of four during which I do not have to run a bath of cool water in which to sit!??

To add insult to injury, this last outage lasted from 8:30 last night until 7:30THIS MORNING!! We slept naked on sheet in the middle of the living room with the front door standing open, as it was the only way not to wake in our own personal puddles. The cats had bearly the energy to walk from one spot on the floor to another, before they collapsed in a furry heap. The ice bottle we put in the bunny's cage to help him regulate his temperature melted, and there's not more ice to replace it. And I won't even discuss the inside of my freezer, now a large lemony lake that used to be 4 "real juice" bars, because my blood pressure continues to rise each time I think about the massive cleaning/purging that now needs to be done in the refrigerator.

IN short, I really want to send you the thanks you deserve, because without your incompetence, I would never have been able to spend my Labor Day holiday IN HELL.

Many are the ways in which you suck!

With much loathing,
YummyT

If pictures are worth 1,000 words

...then this link to my flikr should help make up for the fact that I haven't had time to chat.

Aug 10 & 11, in a much needed escape, I drove myself up the coast of California. I want to be alone with my thoughts, away the stress, and back in touch with simple beauty.

a quote from my journal along the way:


At the edge of the Earth, thar may be dragons....
but thar's no cell phone reception!


and I like it that way.

Hope you enjoy the photos. I promise to write more once my big Mouse Project has passed.

Saving Grace

There are days when the office is just hideous, and the workload overwhelming, and you KNOW that you should put every single moment into the project you are working on, but your mind screams for a break...

and that's when the Universe is benevolent and shows you that flick has a brilliant "group" called Dogs in Pools

When I was younger, I had a dog. A beautiful old mutt of a dog, and she LOVED the pool.

These photos, and those memories, brought me the smile I needed today.

Long Live Love!!

wow.... i can tell that i'm swamped with work, becuase i nearly let this date get past me. It wasn't until i was writing August 8th on a report at 6:32pm that i realized....

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MOM & DAD!

38 years (i think) of love

& all the laughter and challenges that come with it

Vanishing "ly"

As I was driving to work this morning, I was subjected to a moment that is(unfortunately) growing more frequent in number. A moment, an occurrence, a... thing that gnaws on my consciousness, works my last nerve and downright irritates me.

It was a missing "ly".

Two DJ's were having a conversation with someone (sorry, I can't remember who), during which that person commented, "I do that bad."

"LY!" I piped up. "You do that BADLY."

Poor Tag is subjected to my grammar corrections on a regular basis. However, unless I'm asked to proof-read a document or listen to a public speaker practice, I try not to burst out like a schoolmarm for the general populace. (To my defence, I come by it naturally. My mother was a grammar/literature teacher for the first 30+ years of my life, and I was drilled on the ability to articulate both clearly and properly.)

I willingly admit that my sentence structure is not always the best, and my spelling can be downright deplorable. Add to that the fact that I'm slightly dyslexic, and type too quickly for my own good... and I'm sure that you can find more than a handful of errors in the archives of this blog.

However comma I still retain the ability to tell an adjective from an adverb.

For example: the tea can be bad (ill-flavored); the dog can be bad (poorly behaved); the paper can be bad (not enjoyable for reading), but that's probably because it was written (<-VERB) badly.


*sigh* Sorry to rant so, but it hurts my head when I hear it spoken incorrectly.


Helpful links:

Adverbs: definition, adverbs in history and other useful links (including a quiz)


the brilliant lyrics to Tom Lehere's "L-Y"


or best yet, sing along with Lolly, Lolly, Lolly

If it's an adverb we have it at Lolly's!

Bring along your old adjectives too, like slow, soft and sure.

We'll fit them out with our "l-y" attachment

And make perfectly good adverbs out of them!

Deathly Masqerade Teaching Hallows Bash Whirlwind of Activity

or in other words: Why YummyTeece has been MIA in the blogosphere

I'm so tired. Seriously, a body cannot keep up this pace for long, and I'm about at the end of my physical rope. So let me try to catch you up, before I fall into another fog.

LOJ 2007
The annual Labyrinth of Jareth was Friday & Saturday July 13 & 14th. Although I would have loved to go both nights, I simply couldn't prep separate outfits for each night for both Tag and myself. As it is, we only pulled things off as we did because Tag's brilliant assistant offered to make his furry pants (tail included).


I think we did pretty well.


More fairy-folk photo fun can be found here.







Work Party Fun Time
This summer, like last, I headed the committee to throw our annual Employee Bash. Think... you and 5 of your closest friends throw a free-for-all for about 700 people. Only you aren't working with your closest friends. You're hosting the event with the help of a few co-workers who are as bogged down as you are. After weeks of planning, and couple of days just running around like a mad chicken, the event came off without a hitch. The food was well received; we didn't run out of alcohol; the salsa lessons and picture spots were a hit. And after it was all cleaned up, and I had a few drinks with co-workers to chat and make new friends, I collapsed into a heap where I would have stayed for 2 days, if only I didn't have to be up 7 hours later to participate in....

Teaching
I arrive on Saturdays at 9:30, to set up and prep for the 10am class, and once that begins, I'm moving non-stop until 2pm. 4 hours straight of challenging muscle articulations as well as a constant narrative stream, trying to explain the correct posture and what muscles we are currently working. Tag takes the car and goes surfing (just 10 min down the street from the studio). He comes back refreshed and invigorated. I finish feeling renewed, but also like I was just hit by a Mack truck. Needless to say, I let him drive the hour back in traffic to our homestead...

Life at Home
...which by this point in the week, is usually DESPERATE for a cleaning. I begin to sweep and change litter boxes, while Tag may clean the bunny cage, or do dishes. He's also aces with the laundry. This week however, he used the time to forage for a much needed and long overdue AIR CONDITIONER!! Whoo hoo! He spent the rest of the afternoon installing it, while I continued to work on the pigsty we call home. However, once the cool air kicked in, and my legs finally gave out, I fwumped onto our couch and watched an endless supply of CSI.

In fact, it was only once dusk began to fall, and I was sprawled happily did I realize that ...

Deathly Hallows ABSENCE
*GASP* ... my copy of the new HP (with it's "release date delivery" guarantee) was NO WHERE to be found. Already my hard-core Harry Potter compatriots were emailing me with "Let me know when you finish the book. I want to discuss." I began to track furiously, searching Amazon and UPS's website for any details that might help me locate the missing tome. However, twas to no avail. And that's probably best, because it's not like I have anytime to read a 700 page book. *sigh*

Aquarium Member Surf Party
Tag and I are members of the Aquarium of the Pacific, and as such, were invited to their 21+ Adult Surf Party. Alcoholic drinks, a live band with surfy tunes and a gentle child-free stroll around the gorgeous aquarium grounds. Time to pet the bat rays in the touch pond without being interrupted by screaming, crying, or an ice cream being smushed into your side by sticky little fingers who have no attached attention span. Now as tired as I was, I had no urge to go all the way down to Long Beach, but the evening turned out to be well worth it. Peaceful and lovely.

Teece contemplates her margarita by moonlight.

Wrapping Up

With all that behind us now, life can almost return to a normal pace; fraught with work issues and overwhelming schedules. I've still not read Harry Potter. I was over at Amandarin's last night, caring for her cats, and she had left her copy out for me to start. I sat on her couch and opened it... and began dropping off to sleep as I read page 1. I couldn't retain a sentence moments after I'd finished reading it, so I set the book aside and tried not to drool in my semi-comatose state. I hope to begin again this evening and make it at least through the first chapter. However, before that happens I have to pick up dry cleaning and take it to the theatre (oh yes, I'm on 8 weeks of laundry duty for my theatre group. Because I guess had some extra time in my schedule!!! eeek!)

In short:
"please excuse Yummyteece from school/work/blogging/life today as she was tired and not feeling well. Thank you."

Sunday Scribblings: Hair

Ah hair, ever changing, ever growing. Hair allows us to metamorphose, like other creatures in the wild. My hair is the artist's brush with which I paint. Having a mood? Need to reinvent? Hair has a trendous gift of freedom, changing easily at a whim.

I remember helping my grandmother dye her incredibly long thick hair a deep rich brown. It was like a long flowing river of dark chocolate, mysterious and wonderously soft to the touch. I envied her hair, although I would NEVER have the patience to grow mine so long. I cannot committ to one hair style and color for such an extended period of time.

I began dying my hair in high school. People ask me what about my "natural color" and I tell them that I haven't seen it in so long, I can't tell you what it might look like. I point to the roots, coming out deep on my scalp and answer, "it would be something like that, I suppose."

I've been orange, brown, deep brown, red, hot red, auburn, "midnight cherry" and black. Most recently, I bleached it out and became a radient "cotten candy pink". This weekend, I will turn it electric green for the masked ball that I attend each year (don't worry Mom, it washes out.) Someday, I acutally long to shave it all off, and just start over fresh.

Hair is a canvas for expression. It is the easist way to change the girl in the mirror when I need a fresh perspective. Hair can be loud or soft, bright or muted. It can scream for attention, or whisper like gentle velvet in the dark of the night. Hair is sensual and sexy, messy and fun. Style it, spike it, do what you wish (as long as you properly condition and care for it's health). Hair can help you become a master of disguise and a mistress of intrigue. It holds in heat, shields out the sun, gives us a fringe to hide behind on the days we don't feel like meeting someone's eyes. It's touch can be smooth like silk, or bouncy with crisp curls. It seems a source of endless possibilities and sensory experiences.

Glimmer at the end of the day

After another long slog through corporate red-tape and hypocrisy, an email made me remember how good it feels to be apart of 'making a difference'.

Watch the video. Share the Hope. Be a part of the change you want to see in the world.

All in a Day's Blog

It’s not always easy to come up with material for CNR. Life happens all around me, but it’s not all extraordinary or noteworthy. Still, it is my life, and sometimes I like to document its eccentricities.

• Today I passed a VW Bug convertible, painted in the most gloriously loud color that can best be described as Barbie Pink. Now, when I was a kid, Barbie’s car of choice was a Corvette. But this is a Barbie of the now. A fun-loving, energetic Barbie, striking out on her own, with a car that says “I’m hip, I’m quirky… and I’m single.” How do I know the last one? The license plate: DUMT KEN *giggle*

• In the world of counting ones blessings-- I stopped for lunch today at a Burger King nearby. I’ve been trying to stay away from the fast food, but I was in a hurry after my chiro appt, and I thought I’d try a salad or some such. I went inside, instead of drive through, because I’m tired of eating in my car… and more importantly, because I suddenly had to piss like a racehorse. However, the Universe knew that my need was not the greatest. I went into the restroom, only to hear the moaning and groaning of an unidentified woman. Figuring that she might need some privacy, I stepped out, ordered some food (all while doing that “I have to potty” dance), filled my beverage and sat at a booth near the bathroom. A few moments later, I peeked in again (if she wasn’t out, I was going to make a dash for the men’s room). She was emerging from the stall looking as if she was on death’s door. She walked to the sink and began soaking some tissues to press to her face and neck. I slipped in, took a quick pee, and emerged again. She was still at the sink. She was still fevered and sweaty and in her own world. I waited to wash my hands. She suddenly left the water running and bolted back into the stall. I washed and left as fast as humanly possible, all the while thinking “Thank you Universe, that in all my days I’ve never been face down in a semi-clean toilet at a Burger King in a questionable part of North Hollywood. No seriously…..Thank you!”

• And lastly, in the realm of unexplained & unnecessary drama… What is the spiritual point and purpose of ingrown hairs? Seriously, they are painful, unsightly, and annoyingly reoccurring. I’ve spent the money for a series for laser treatments for my lower legs, and the next time I find myself with a truckload of excess cash, I’m going to get myself a session for the bikini area. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to blaze off the “full fifi”. I mean, like it smooth and such, but being the 90 yr old with a constant Brazilian seems like the quickest way to a bad reputation as “Sunnyvale Rest Home’s Hoochie Mama of the Year.”

Women in Art

Three minutes of artistry that is so exquisite, it must be shared.

A Photo Anthology of Style and Pizazz

This week has been beyond busy, but sometimes we just need to do something silly, something self-indulgent, in order to keep ourselves invested and... well... awake at the desk.

So I just spent the past 20 minutes creating a retrospective look at the last 18 months of my hair's various colors and styles.

Confession

There are tons of photos from our time in Palm Springs, and I hope to post them soon. However, i just haven't really been able to sit down and write a good happy vacation post. My mind is rumbling with doubts and issues and frustrations, and I've avoided the written word becuase I'm in no mood to face the grouchies.

I should know better.

A grouchy mind left unexpressed leaks out in dreams and mood swings and after crying the car last night, I had a sleep full of angsty imaginings and disturbing visions. So I'm tossing aside some image of the eternally perky pink-haired girl and just hashing some shit out.

I'm not very happy with me right now.

When I was young, I dreamed of being something more. I loved theatre, and like many young girls, wanted to be that beautiful startlet splashed across movie screens. I loved the fierce and feisty heroines who battled the odds and fought the status quo. Dark and edgy, or just sarcastic and bitter, I laughed at their witty barbs and idolized their passionate fights. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would often say "Important."

I spent a few years trying to fit in and be "pretty", and when I realized that I didn't work well in that mold, I tried to create my own. I listened to dark, angry music and found release in the fury of dance floors. I felt alive when I was moving and lost when I had to "play along" with every day life. I chatted frequently with imaginary friends and invisible movie cameras that I felt documented my every move. I was always performing for an audience, and tried to make interesting choices.

I fought depression, and frequently lost. I sought out teachers and guides, and fell prey to manipulative and abusive imposters. I had tumultous and destructive love affairs, and although they hurt, I reminded myself that there was no gain without pain, and plunged somewhat melodramtically into the despair of the moment.

I'm sure I was quite tedious at times, but at least I felt original.

As time passed, I realized that life was not always a two-hour, well written saga that ended well as the credits ran. It's cliche, but "there's no one to save you except yourself," and once I embraced that (through years of therapy) I began to make better choices.... or at least I tried to.

I've done a lot of "inner work", and I believe that I am a much better person for it. However, as of late, I've begun to fear that "better" is not necessarily intersting. As of late, I find myself looking in the mirror, completely unimpressed with the person I've become. I wanted to be the femme-fatale, fierce and fiery. Instead, I see a chubby middle-aged woman, with an adequate job and an unremarkable life.

I find myself utterly ordinary... and that's really bothering me.

It's the Little Things...

... that make me laugh; that get me through the day/week.

Tomorrow, I head out to Palm Springs with Tag. He's got a conference to attend at a spa/casino resort. I'll be resting by the pool if anyone needs me. *wink*

However, like many Americans with an over-zealoused office, I must PAY for my vacation in the fact that I must put 5 days of work into a 3 day week. As such, I've been maniacally crazed and overly stressed since the alarm clock went off Monday morning.

Today, that level of nutbar reached a peak when, in a fit of multi-tasking induced flighty-ness, I totally missed a "Breakfast with the Boss" meeting with my Senior Vice President. Yes, I stood up my boss's boss! The one who is a stickler for attendance and takes absences somewhat personally. *headdesk*

I might fall apart completely if it weren't for the little things.... like Annie's Bunny Pasta with Yummy Cheese.

Wait..... it gets even better.

Look at the side of the box.

*giggle*

Better.... Stronger... Faster

Two things about me as a child:
1) I loved me some "Bionic Woman"
2) I was a blind as a bat

I still am quite visually-challenged. For me, it is just a way of life. A thing that has always been. I don't remember a time when I didn't wear glasses. I can look back at pre-school pictures and see that I don't have them. But I don't actually have the memory of not wearing my heavy coke-bottle lenses in cheesy plastic frames.

My optometrist put me in contacts at age 8. Sure, that doesn't sound so remarkable NOW, but remember, this was the late 70's, and back then, such drastic measures were unheard of. (Not to mention, they put me in hard lenses. Not today's "rigid gas permeable" which are so much kinder to the eye). The idea was that the firm lenses would provide some resistance for the cornea, and perhaps retard the speed at which my growing young eyes were deteriorating. However, putting hard lenses into an eye is not the most comfortable feeling, and I was a child. Needless to say, I was not terribly regular about care and cleaning for my lenses and thus I inflicted upon myself any number of corneal abrasions, infections, corneal neovascularization and (my favorite) corneal ulcers (like herpes cold sores in your eyes... so pretty and so much fun!)

In my teen years, vanity won out and I began to utilize and care for my contacts much more. They became a part of every day routine: Wake, stagger to bathroom, reach for case, rub lens with cleaner, rinse off thoroughly (they aren't kidding about that), then put tiny pieces of plastic in eye. Proceed with day.

As I learned the appropriate sterilization and storage techniques, the amount of bodily damage decreased. However, the lens body count continued to mount. One contact actually "popped" and split while in my eye. A few have slipped off the iris & wedged themselves behind the upper eyelid. One contact was knocked out by the draft caused by a Frisbee speeding by my face. My childhood best friend washed another down the drain. One plummeted onto disgusting carpet at Chuck E. Cheese. One oversexed lens leaped out of my eye and into the lap of the boy on whom I was sitting during a 'tween flirting session. Imagine his joy when in my panic, I began pawing his crotch fervently. I'm still not sure he believed me when I said, "No, I'm just looking for my contact"

Because of the state and situation of my eyes and continuously degenerating vision, soft contacts or extended wear are not an option. So I resigned myself for a very long time to the fact that this was the way my optical life operated.

And then the buzz around LASIK began. Science and technology promised to fix and replace that which was no longer useful. With just a few moments of precise laser incisions, and a wham-bam-thank-you-mam recovery time, one might see clearly again.

At first, I resisted... unsure of long term effects and a bit cynical of all this 'new fangled science'. But the more I thought about it over the last year, the more intrigued I became. Of course, it doesn't help that in the last 16 months, my eyes have deteriorated severely again, and the contacts I bought in late '05 (as well as the 'back up' glasses I purchased this time last year) no longer correct me to 20/20. Additionally, my night vision has grown dangerously bad. Halos and glare keep me from focusing on the road, and reading street signs is just plain impossible.

So with my hope and hat in hand, I made an appointment with the local laser eye center. 60 minutes later, after multiple exams and painfully bright pictures of my retina, I was told.... No Go. That's right kids, my prescription is too extreme and my cornea is simply too thin to withstand the surgery. *sigh*

There is one option that might be available. Intraocular lenses (IOL)are tiny bits of plastic placed directly into the eye. As the doctor helpfully explained, a flap in the cornea is cut open and peeled back. The IOL is then attached BY CLAWS to the mid peripheral iris. Doesn't that sound like fun?

The surgery is more intensive than LASIK, requiring a full surgical suite and on-call anesthesiologist. The lenses must be custom made, requiring a number of weeks prep time. The surgery itself takes longer than a LASIK procedure. Recovery time is longer as well, taking as much as 3 - 5 days for full vision to return. Because of this, they only do one eye at a time. So add in an additional 2 weeks between your surgeries, during which time one eye is healing and the other is as crappy as you started with. yay.

Did I mention the implant attaches "by CLAWS"!?!

Did I mention that your very own Steve Austin eye will cost you 2 - 3x more than LASIK?

*sigh*

I didn't realize how much I wanted LASIK until I was told it wasn't an option. I didn't realize how tired I am of not being able to see, until it once again became the only way to be. And I didn't realize how really scared I am of eventually ending up without any vision at all.... until now.

Tag recently bought me a beautiful little digital camera, and I find myself carrying it with me at all times right now. It's like I want to capture every image that moves me and burn it on to my memory's retina.... so that further down the road, I can, if needed, flip through the photo album in my mind.

Bionics remain, in my world at least, just a piece of science fiction, suitable for vintage TV.