[s]he who aspires to paradise

by dailies

Yesterday I was feeling insecure. The details matter little, but I laid awake a bit last night and felt that old, old – OLDE – Impending Sense of Doom. I used to live with it all the time. I would smash it flat with all kinds of Ego exercises. I had enough of these exercises to write thousands of words describing them (but I won’t, right now). These activities worked until they didn’t. And then I suffered a lot.

Today I do occasionally hurt, and sometimes I don’t know why. Usually I can get to the bottom of it, but other times – like yesterday – I don’t understand why I suffer. I have learned to be patient. I won’t always feel this way, I can remind myself. Sometimes I can set the self-critical thoughts aside. Other times they run rampant and punish me a bit.

Today I received an email from someone who wrote some very nice things, telling me that reading my words made quite a difference in her life. This was wonderful to hear, and I look forward to writing her back and getting to know her better. And tonight after a meeting a woman told me she thought I was “awesome”… and that after listening to me over the last few months she thought I was “the kindest person [she’d] met”. She told me when she hears me speak, that she – and at this juncture she let loose a deep sigh of contentment. “Because I’m not kind,” she said.

I have to be very, very kind to myself. I have to exercise this as rigorously as someone who has to take medicine daily – or die. Not surprisingly, kindness towards others flows from kindness to myself.

I will have to practice this until the day I die. It is a practice, not a feeling, nor a permanent attribute. I will never be perfect at the practice of kindness. But I hope to practice it every day.

Tonight while out with a friend, I saw someone from my Recovery community, a lovely young man I care for a great deal. He was buying a tall can and I know a bit about what that means for him. Another relapse of increasing depths. More self-harm. I worry about the extent of self-harm this particular person may commit. I love this man and I care about him. And yet I’m powerless to do anything except tell him, I miss you.

I hope to see him again.

Please make sure to tell people if you love them, or appreciate them, or admire them. Bold words, spoken in truth and love, are never wasted.

Mr. Shit-n-Spray

“Adults do liquor, even toke. *EVERYBODY* does it!”

by dailies

“Everybody who’s anybody!”*

Friday linkage!

Nigella Love-in-a-Mist by local Mickey Thurman. Love-in-a-mist was one of the first flowers Nels grew, years and years ago.

The Kindness of Strangers by Kate. Nothing earth-shattering. Except – actually, it kind of is. What a lovely piece.

Feminazi Propaganda: “Women’s Work” via Political Remix Video. Trigger warning for intense violence (often eroticized) rendered graphically against women. REGULARLY SEEN ON TELEVISION I might add (although this concerns the show “Supernatural”) – and here’s a longer analysis should you want one. Yeah. So, this kind of stuff is why I’ve had to stop watching shows I otherwise would have enjoyed or at least found consumable (“Law & Order”, thanks for keeping me from my daily D’Onofrio! You fucks.).

In wonderful news: Michelle Alison offers a great course. I want to take this pretty badly. I don’t have the scratch, because of recent purchases. I do promote Alison because she and her mentor Satter seem to know their shit, in a land of lots of weight and diet “experts” who sure don’t.

Reviewing highlights of an actresses celebrated career – and you know, this is uncannily like my experiences with alcohol and drug, back in school:
 

 
That actress playing the “young high school counselor” – where do I know her from? It’s something kind of tampon-ad ish.

“The World Is Full Of Bullies… So Conform! And Quick!” by Laura at Authentic Parenting:

“Children who have not been forced into acting or looking like something they’re not, who have had the freedom to explore their bodies and their minds, within the safety and unconditionality of their homes are not insecure. They may make different choices than the average kid, they may look differently, but they do it because they are true to themselves, not to fit in or fit out, so they are generally able to take the consequences. Yes, they may get negative reactions. But if they are not even safe to express themselves and find themselves at home, where do you suggest they will? In therapy when they are in their thirties?”

On-point.

Consumerism: I need to buy this… and tix to see this. Ralph wants me to buy him this (but seriously? I bought him some big fancy pedal this time last year. I think I’ll take a year off). Apparently Ralph is going to give me our tax return as my own “fun money”, I’ll try not to spend it all on makeup and my usual diversions.

Make: How-To: Plush Alien Facehugger Pillow Set via Instructables for a little girl. Perfect. PERFECT.

Make: hand stitched card at New House Project. I’ve enjoyed using a sewing machine to punch holes or stitch paper for quite some time. It dulls the needle, sure – but what fun!

OK: it’s time to separate us all into two discrete columns. Those who find this picture, as I do, completely disgusting. And those who through some sickness that is probably not their fault, find it mouth-watering. GO!

Tweet of the week. Hey, I can blow my own horn like no-one’s business.

And finally – enjoy our beaches!

Mr. Shit-n-Spray

*Note: please do not take my post tagline as any kind of prescriptive advice on how one should celebrate their weekend. But in the meantime: whoo-hooo it’s Friday!!!

“most grown men will tell you there is no worse pain”, well I’m a Lady & I know birth but I take your point

by dailies

A trip down memory lane as I find myself in the ER tonight for a kidney stone attack (two today, actually – yikes!). Is there any phraseology I can use to describe the episodes that will make them sound more badass and/or EXTREME!? Anyway, it sure felt like that.

I had kidney stones at the tender age of sixteen in a brief but incredibly unpleasant chapter of my life. The first bout was the most terrifying as the pain was so excrutiating and sudden and I didn’t know what was wrong. I was taking a morning shower to get ready for school and within a few short minutes had staggered out into a towel and began throwing up and shouting for my dad’s help (my mom was off on a work trip). To my total surprise when he saw how much pain I was in he got very upset and ran upstairs to another bathroom to vomit as well (true story, and my dad was stoic as Fuck, so, whatever). Anyway, we got done with our family barf-o-rama and hit the emergency room where the admitting desk lady acted totally put out by my writhing and retching and asked icily who my insurance carrier was (I didn’t know; my father had dropped me off hastily and parked the car).

During tonight’s visit the staff were a lot more compassionate and there were a lot more personnel involved; by the end I’d been talked to and prodded and stuck and vital-sign’d by about six or seven people. Phoenix came with me and was about the most tender and funny and compassionate and wise companion, ever. We heard the sound of a crying infant next door and she said, “It makes my heart happy to hear a baby.” Later, after an RN got my IV started then left Phoenix leaned in towards me and whispered evenly, “He was flirting with you!” (Later she told Ralph her suppositions; he wistfully asked, “Did Mama flirt back?” and Phoenix said No [true]).

But perhaps my favorite moment was when this same RN and a PA spied what she was doing in her sketchbook and stopped their actions to watch her draw. “Is she drawing that freehand?” the RN asked the PA disbelievingly. The two moved closer to my daughter, one of them absentmindedly wrapping up tubing, and flatly asked to see more of the pages she’d been working on (the Gila Monster Dragon and the Mutant Spider were my personal favorites). “I am just really impressed,” the PA said, more than once. It almost got awkward for me because praise makes me a bit uncomfortable. Fortunately, I remembered quickly that their praise had shit-all to do with me, and Phoenix took it with total aplomb (of course). She looked up with her level tiger-eyes and said, “Thank you,” and returned to her work.

During the course of almost three hours I received an IV (ouch!), tons of saline, an anti-inflammatory, Flomax, and (money-shot!) Percocet. It was the Percocet (or something like) I was after; I felt blatant terror at the thought of making it through the weekend on the however many thousands mg acetomenaphin I have at my disposal.

Hopefully with tons of fluids and a heatpad and painkillers for a few days as-needed and these episodes won’t repeat. The pain was horrible enough but the hours of incapacitation were a grim reminder of just how much we often take for granted.

Oh, and I got home and Nels and Ralph were very tender, and the cats didn’t seem to give a shit at all.