Post-Op Intuition

Well, after a day or two lapse, I'm back and better than ever. I spent Thursday in the operating room, having a 6 hour surgery (#5 for the summer, #6 for all-time) and I had a great time. I've been in surgery so much this summer that everyone in the operating room knows me and it's likehanging out with really special friends. I'm known as the girl with the tattoo down there that says "om." It tickles me to death that that is how I'm remembered. Guess it's kind of distinctive.

I've also built up something of a resistance to anesthesia. See, they give you a little cocktail of sleepy-time drugs before they gas you. But, i suppose I've had so much in such a short period that I no longer get sleepy. So thursday morning i was chatting up the O.R. staff and laughing and generally having a wonderful time catching up with the crew when the anesthesiologis, Dr. McNeil, walked in and looked bemused that, well, i was cutting up so much when I'd already been given the inital cocktail. He gave me another and that was the end of all my chatty kathey activity. Woke up 7 hours later in Recovery and knew half the folks in there too.

The only thing I wish I'd been awake for is the robot they used for my sutures. I checked it out before i went to sleep and is was huge and looked really, really cool. Eighteen white arms, each sterilized and ready to do something. But I miss all the cool stuff when I'm knocked out.

Luckily i got to come home within 24 hours of surgery. I even hung out in the ECU instead of my usual inpatient suite. And they didn't make me go without water for days-on-end. Of course I'm still not allowed all my favorite foods, pb&j or steak, but i'll be back to enjoying the culinary wonders of a low-residue diet by sunday. i forsee myself eating roast chicken and a baked potato.

Unfortunately I'm not clued in or excited about anything pop cultureish to share with everyone today. Well, other than the fact that the BET Awards 2007 really, really sucked. I don't usually watch the awards shows, but other than the moment where diana ross stood up and announced her age with all her kids behind her, there wasn't anything worth writing home about. And I'll ahve to say, i was sorely disappointed by the dress code most of the performers adhered too. I finally turned the show off for good when Ciara started singing and her track was doing all the music and she was breathlessly filling in one word per stanza. It sucked.

I've shouted out Feist before and I'll do it again. This woman has a great voice and real musicality. My ipod went dead for some reason, so I played Intuition in my head for part of last night and it was awfully satisfying.

Secret Heart

Well, that title sounds as though I'm going to share my secrets on here, doesn't it? It ain't so, I'll tell you something about secrets: Three people can hold a secret if two of them are dead.

So I don't have to go killin' my friends, I keep my real secrets to myself. Anything someone else knows is not a secret, it's nearly common knowledge.

Well, enough of my young woman wisdom. Moving on.

Today i'm passionate about a few different websites. First off, let's start with a little music.

www.allofmp3.com - if you haven't been there, get there. this site is out of russia and i can say it has tripled my music collection in the past three years. if you ever have a pang of guilt for robbing an artist of their .007% royalty when you get a free download then float your 2 cents through allofmp3.com. you get high-quality (cd quality) singles and albums from all the popular and many obscure artists and you actually pay for it. Granted, you pay in rubles which are like 200 to 1 U.S. dollar, but it'ss the thought that counts and I'm sure you boost your artists' posted sales in Russia, which is cool in itself.

If, like me, you find something on that russian site that is unfamiliar and possibly french and female and looks interesting, check out Filles Sourires on blogger. it's in English for the non-francophiles and gives great reviews of music and you can even sample certain songs. Tres jolie!

Finally, check out PSFK. i have no idea who runs this site, but i check it every single day because they always have the dopest info on there. The tag is something like "ideas...inspiration" and they are not selling wolf tickets on that. The Site is super busy with info and ideas from around the globe, design houses, economic forums...they cover all the bases, including entertainment. Love it!!!!

Alright, finishing up, i gotta send a shoutout to Feist for "When i was a young girl." Dopest version of that song I've heard since Nina Simone and yes, that is saying something indeed. rock it feist, rock it hard!!!!

BATDANCE!!!

first and foremost, i would like to thank the lawd
jesus christ for bringing me through the darkness and
away from the

4-INCH BAT THAT WAS HANGING IN MY BEDROOM, THREATENING
TO EAT MY FACE OFF AND GIVE ME RABIES AND I CAN'T TAKE
RABIES SHOTS BECAUSE I CAN'T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE HAPPEN
TO MY FREAKING STOMACH!!!!!

alright. so you guys have a sense of what i've been
through for the past 9-12 hours. there was a bat in my
room. i can still see the sweaty little bat imprint of
its body on my closet door. batty batty two by four!!!
finally this morning i whined enough to get my dad to
come and scoop it away. he put it on the deck. he
thinks it was a baby because it didn't scream out
loud, but kept opening its mouth and when he put it
outside it just lay on the deck, wings untucked but
not going anywhere.

last night, however, papa was in no mood to come rid
my room of the flying rodent and he suggested me and
caitlin do it. i'm yellow to the bone, so that idea
wasn't the hottest i'd ever heard, but i considered it
until cait told me how the last time a bat was removed
it screamed a high-pitched yell that echoed through
the house.

then i thought, well why can't we have the cats come
in and dispose of this problem for me. i was desperate
and willing to work past my animal dander allergy, i
couldn't find my benadryl but the hives go away after
about 6 horus anyway if i refuse to touch them. then
cait and i argued about which cat was best for the
job: there's orian, he's fat but she was voting for
him because he'll just kill the thing straight out,
not play with it. but he's fat and kinda slow. his
sister aurora is a lean, mean, killing machine. i
enjoyed the last time i saw her playing with her food,
a mole, she flipped that sucker 10 ft. into the air.
it was already dead. as i said, aurora is a killer.
she was also nowhere to be found.

now this whole time i was on the phone with rue and
james. i called james first, whispeerin gabout the bat
in my room (so as not to get the bat riled up) and he
whispered right back that it was going to bite me at
the first opportunity and suck out all my blood. isn't
love grand??? after about 45 minutes of his
brainwashing, i got off the phone terrified and called
rue, who i thought could appreciate the dire-ness of
my situation. she ran her boytoy off the phone as
FLYING RODENTS certainly trump everything else and she
was properly sympathetic, though she and caitling
tag-teamed my psyche on the whole "it's a rodent, not
a mammal, so no, you're not distantly related and it
probably has rabies thing.' after i was properly
undone, rue begged off the phone to return to the
boytoy communication activities.

so, after that, i laid in bed with my little sister
giggling loudly and we alternated who would creep into
my room to look at the bat. one time caitlin covered
her head with my towel and grabbed a stick and
tip-toed into the room. her eyes were so
wide...really, it was too funny for words. then, once
she got into the room and had closed the closet door,
this fool starts banging on the part where the rat is
and i'm shrieking (in a whisper) quit that, come back
here!!! and watchng for movement from my houseguest.
she starts cackling maniacally an di'm thinking
"great, the scaredy cat little sister is really just
crazy as all outdoors."

so that's my bat saga. it finally was resolve around
9:15 a.m. i am so sleepy. but i had to share.

American Gods

I'm reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman. I admire the shit out of the way this man writes. It's ridiculously savvy and fast and thoughtful and clear and illustrative. I have a literary crush. Him and Nora Roberts because Nora can write a fantasy into being. If I had American Gods next to me (I don't as I'm in my dad's office pirating wireless) I would quote some of the best bits. I've decided to read the entire Neil Gaiman library.

And my dad has a hookup for first edition's of books...who is going to stock up like a fat rat? I may simply replace other later editions of some of my favorite books. I'll be charitable, though, and share them with my friends. I like comics, so I'm pressing that agenda first. I'd also like a first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray. I'll just go ahead and say I've never read it, but it permeates popular culture, so I have the gist. Or perhaps I have read it. I read a lot of books in elementary and middle school and high school that I don't recall until I'm re-reading them and wondering why I have this sneaking feeling of deja vu.

I've been watching the funniest vids on Youtube. I'm a Harry Potter fan and I'm terribly excited about the new movie and book coming up. Thus far I've managed to resist the urge to pre-order, but i think my strength is waning and I'm just going to have to give in. Incidentally, I have books 1-4 as 1st American Editions and, I'm just going to put this out there because I'm half-sure the statute of limitations is over, I also have Book 5 as a file, ostensibly ripped from the publisher because I had it months before the book was released. I read it while recovering from surgery and beyond the friend (RAY!) who held me up during a breakdown in the bread aisle, it was the best gift ever.

So, here is a Harry Potter spoof that is hilarious and deserves to be watched again and again and again:



And as an added bonus from your local HP freak (I have a wand and I'm not afraid to use it)

Scandalous

Well. I just got my wig blown back in the final chapters of Dream Boogie: The Triumph of Sam Cooke.

Apparently, after Sam's murder (he was getting conned by this Eurasian prostitute who had a bad habit of stealing her john's money and giving it to her well-known musician pimp), his widow Barbara married his protege, Bobby Womack.

yeah, that Bobby Womack. Within months of Sam's death they were at the courthouse to get married, and when I say months I mean 60 days or less. They were turned away from the courthouse because Bobby was not yet 21.

In the 60 days between Sam's death and their marriage, Barbara dressed Bobby in Sam's clothing, had him escort her around town and to many public functions dressed in Sam's clothes. Bobby didn't have many clothes of his own, but that was just nasty.

Barbara aslo destroyed Sam's business holdings - she gridlocked his half of the publishing company he owned with his mentor and sold it for $75,000 cash, a tiny sliver of what it was worth. Then she got hit with the income taxes. She needed someone with income, Bobby Womack was making royalties on a smash song the Rolling Stones had recorded that he composed.

To add another level of nuttiness to the whole story, Sam Cooke's daughter with Barbara, Linda Cooke, who became Bobby Womack's step-daughter at the age of 11. Linda grew up and married Bobby's brother, Curtis, and they formed the songwriting team of Womack & Womack. As one person said, "Bobby became step-father-in-law to his own brother."

I have just wiped my own personal slate clean. As scandalous as I can be, well, I have not reached those heights and I have no intention to

Seconds of Pleasure

Isn't that just like life, full of seconds of pleasure and moments of pain. I grieved for about an hour and some change over the loss of a really pleasant relationship. My grieving was cut short by the following poem:

INTRODUCTION TO POETRY. by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a colour slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
And feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

*let it be noted: Billy Collins is the former U.S. Poet Laureate*
Anyway, the poem talks about a thing that is inexplicable and personal, the meaning of a poem, which more often than not is a feeling, an image, a tug at the heart and/or head. And often, that's what relationships come down to: A feeling, an image, a tug at the heart and/or head.

Lately I've had a lot of beginnings and endings. I've started quite a few ventures and seen a few others come to close. I've learned that some people don't quite fit in my life as well as I'd hoped they would and I've made space for others. It's a great process just because it is, indelibly, just that: A process. For once my head is not turned in 50 different directions, leaving me exhausted and indiscriminate. I am awake, I am aware, I have enough time to see the changes coming and to start bracing myself even if I don't feel like 'getting it over with already.'

For once I'm not out looking for trouble, and for once, i have no qualms about enjoying trouble when it comes knocking.

This time in life is a state of grace. Thank god I found Billy Collins' poem today and realized what a great gift I've been given by being offered an 'out'. I can see, clear as day, that the ending of a relationship does not end friendship, camaraderie, affection or love. It just acknowledges that the nuts and bolts no longer fit together and that people require change when they are uncomfortable.

Lucky, lucky, lucky me.

I Heart My Ostomy

I have an ileostomy. It's my secret weapon against the onslaught of crazy colo-rectal tissue and health-related misery. I really love my ileostomy. A lot. It's taken the pain out of my life. It's temporary, I'll only keep this little jewel of a medical miracle for 6 months or however long my bowels take to heal, but this is the easiest my life has been since my mid-teens, at least 10 or 15 years.

Oddly enough, I fought having the procedure for the ileostomy. I was a little traumatized by the number of surgeries I'd had, the length of time I'd been in the hospital, the seemingly unending drudgery of being a really sick person. I didn't want to return to the hospital, I was confused by being at home and I very much needed some stability in my life. Thank god for my mother, she was my stability.

It took about 72 hours for me to appreciate the ileostomy. Those first 72 hours I was really, really high on morphine. I didn't want to be bothered with anything, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired and all the nurses in the hospital were disappointed to see me back on the floor. There was too much emotion around my return to the hospital. Once I realized that I wasn't going to have crazy pooping problems any more, though, I let go of the morphine and decided to spend some real quality time with the ileostomy. This wacky nurse came by and showed me all about changing my bag and she had about 1000 pet names for the stoma (the bit of the intestine that is pulled through the abdominal skin). She made the ileostomy interesting and cool and even I (still high, but coming down a bit) could tell it would change my life forever.

I find it endlessly amusing that I don't sit on toilets any more. There goes that Hepatitis concern right out the window! I've made some mistakes with my ileostomy and I've only had it for 6 weeks now, still can't sleep on my stomach, and I eat a restricted diet - but my life has changed immeasurably. I have peace of mind. I don't worry about my next bowel movement, if I will bleed or how much it will hurt. I don't have gas. I don't eat to ease my mind, I eat when I'm hungry and when i eat I actually chew my food, which I can't say I did well before. I've been a part of something tremendous, the changing of my entire life.

I'm looking forward to exercising 5 times a week, not just when my whole being doesn't hurt. I look forward to wearing clothes and enjoying the fit and fashion again, not draping myself in surgical scrubs because they touch my abdomen the least. I'm already seizing every day and new adventures because I feel so fortunate to have another chance at life.

If Mt Manager Insults Me Again, i will be Assaulting Him

Spent the weekend at the house where I pay bills. Also spent the weekend fighting with my sigoth. Oh wait, we weren't fighting, we were having a series of discussions. The latest one ended 6 a.m. yesterday. One long ass discussion, if you ask me. But, hey, the air is at least clearer than it was before.

Now, I'm back in Rehab at The Sanctuary/heavenly acres. I've been hearing from everyone that there are coyotes in the woods around the back acreage, but I've heard no spine-tingling howls and I was looking forward to them, too.

It's deadly late as far as I'm concerned. I have 4 hours of sleep under my belt and I'm super sleepy, but I can't allow myself to relax and go to sleep because someone opened the window in my bedroom and now...there are bugs everywhere. Flying ants, miniature grasshoppers, many other assorted exoskeleton possesssing creatures that fly into your orifices (7 on the face alone!) and require medical intervention. I am anti-Emergency Room at this point in my life.

That phrase, "at this point in my life," reminds me of a song by Tracy Chapman that carries the same title. Some of the lyrics below:

At this point in my life
I've done so many things wrong I don't know if I can do right
If you put your trust in me I hope I won't let you down
If you give me a chance I'll try

You see it's been a hard road the road I'm traveling on
And if I take your hand I might lead you down the path to ruin
I've had a hard life I'm just saying it so you'll understand
That right now, right now, I'm doing the best I can
At this point in my life

Who hasn't felt this way? There end up being so many things in life to apologize for that I gave up a long time ago and decided apologies were useless unless I genuinely hurt someone out of ignorance. But in the end, if we can spend each of our moments doing the best we can, then we can build something worth recalling.

A book "Having it All" by Helen Gurley Brown talks about all the people who will take bits and pieces of a happy, successful person. Of course, leeches will suck your blood even if you're on your last leg and it has gangrene, but helen likes talkinga bout the successful and we'll stick with that subject. She has this phrase I dig, emotional blackmail. How common is that? quite. Passive aggressive emotional blackmail seems to be the way of the world. How come people don't speak honestly to one another and prefer instead to hide the underlying insecurity behind their back(s) and club you over the head with crazy conjecturing?

On a more upbeat note, I'm reading another book on Renaissance Souls. Actually, that's the title. So, it's a career type book, but I love it because it's written for the multitalented or folks who don't think or write in a straight line. I'm one of those. Everything in my life is tangentially related, though I'm the only one who sees the webs that hold pieces of information together. it's very nice to recognize my patterns within a greater picture of multitalented people. I've been quite fortunate, I master things easily and I don't often doubt my passions, but I've definately faced the disapproval of family, friend and employers for getting bored once I've mastered a skill and for wanting to move on to a new, exciting skill, job, love affair etc.

Just killed another bug. It's been a half hour. I think I should try hunting down the remaining members of the Exoskeleton Resistance and get some shut eye. Staying awake is for the birds.

Hmmm. Wish i had a bird to handle all these bugs.