Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
doubt
A got another shot at the cover - he wants to do a marathon shoot/day on Thursday
I'm in a panic and am overwhelmed with doubt that I will be able to pull this off.
Sure, it's only one shot, but both of our names are on the line.
Sure, it's only one shot - but ask a photographer/cinematographer to light a scene with a mirror and I can guarantee you they will cringe/wince.
So as I type this, my desktop and surrounding areas are covered with sheets of paper - images and scribbles, lighting kits and rental agreements
I look to some old photography books for inspiration and see how "advanced" they are - multiple powerpacks (I have trouble operating one), scrim and grids, and I realize how woefully inexperienced my experience actually is, which gives me great cause for concern
The eternal "approaching 40 and what have you done with your life question"
I think that swimming in shark infested waters, tap dancing with some funky aqua fins might just not do the trick this time
every day has become a huge panic attack
and I don't even want to think about mom's doctor's appointment on friday when he discusses the test results of the last PET scan
God forbid it spread
We had such a wonderful afternoon - we ran around the city doing errands and helping me get some shit done.
I don't know what I'd do without her
and today I realized yet again how precious she is to me and how devastated I would be if I lost her to cancer too soon
but it's always too soon, isn't it?
And so I sit here, trying to type away my paranoia, my inadequacies, my insecurities, my worries, but it's not working as well as I hoped it would.
I don't even dare to re-read this post
lest I doubt myself even more than I already am at this point in time.
I'm in a panic and am overwhelmed with doubt that I will be able to pull this off.
Sure, it's only one shot, but both of our names are on the line.
Sure, it's only one shot - but ask a photographer/cinematographer to light a scene with a mirror and I can guarantee you they will cringe/wince.
So as I type this, my desktop and surrounding areas are covered with sheets of paper - images and scribbles, lighting kits and rental agreements
I look to some old photography books for inspiration and see how "advanced" they are - multiple powerpacks (I have trouble operating one), scrim and grids, and I realize how woefully inexperienced my experience actually is, which gives me great cause for concern
The eternal "approaching 40 and what have you done with your life question"
I think that swimming in shark infested waters, tap dancing with some funky aqua fins might just not do the trick this time
every day has become a huge panic attack
and I don't even want to think about mom's doctor's appointment on friday when he discusses the test results of the last PET scan
God forbid it spread
We had such a wonderful afternoon - we ran around the city doing errands and helping me get some shit done.
I don't know what I'd do without her
and today I realized yet again how precious she is to me and how devastated I would be if I lost her to cancer too soon
but it's always too soon, isn't it?
And so I sit here, trying to type away my paranoia, my inadequacies, my insecurities, my worries, but it's not working as well as I hoped it would.
I don't even dare to re-read this post
lest I doubt myself even more than I already am at this point in time.
static
Static
things have been tough - really hard
can't seem to get things on track
not even sleep can glue my thoughts together
just lots of static
“The search for static security - in the law and elsewhere - is misguided. The fact is security can only be achieved through constant change, adapting old ideas that have outlived their usefulness to current facts.”
after reading this passage, I think back to my wild days - the days of "the secret life of madame X" .
Despite the shit that it kicked up, it was perhaps one of the most productive times of my life - creatively, artistically, and spiritually.
and sometimes I wonder if I won't go back down that road again.
and sometimes it's healthy to think about these things.
and sometimes it's healthy to re-evaluate life and what it is to you as you are living it....
Thursday, January 24, 2008
and so, it begins...
and so it begins
and ending to the old
a beginning to the new
or so it seems
we shall see
if hypnosis
has worked
for me...
and ending to the old
a beginning to the new
or so it seems
we shall see
if hypnosis
has worked
for me...
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Goodbye
I wept all the way home tonight, after spending half of the day with my mom in the office.
It all came out - my worry that the cancer will take her too soon - too soon before she will see me (ever..??) married, before she will ever see Venice again, before we will ever be able to go to New York and paint the town so many wonderful shades of candy apple red.
I wept because I have no money and have to declare bankruptcy and I'm ashamed as to how much money I've thrown out the window during manic/depressed binges of desperation and delusion
I wept because my application to the Masters program in photography might have all been, quite literally a desperate stab in the dark, and that if I do get in, by the simple act of going back to school, it would take another 10 years to resolving my student loan issues (by then, it will be up to $50 000 easy)
I wept because I'm close to 40 and all the dreams I had of being someone, going somewhere, having anything close to a life I dreamed about and worked so hard to get is still only a whisper in a lucid dream that never quite ends but just fades
I wept because living has become so very heavy, so long and drawn out, like a cancer that slowly eats away at my insides. I feed it with food and medication, but the hole just keeps on getting bigger, deeper.
I wept because despite her, doing the mom thing - being there, holding me while I sobbed, I felt so very alone and lost
just ask god to help you
she said
he will give you the strength you need. When I was diagnosed with this cancer, I was overwhelmed. I didn't want to die. So I cried and cried and asked God to help me through this difficult time, and within a few days, it was like something lifted me up, and I found my footing and stability again. it really works. Try it - you have nothing to lose.
I smiled, gave her a huge hug, told her that I loved her so very much, thanked her for being so wonderful to me and waved goodbye, went upstairs and have been bobbing up and down on a sea of a melancholy oblivion, a lonely nostalgia and cold.
The cold is not only physical, but mental too.
How odd.
It has just begun to snow outside - heavily
God's frozen tears falling from the sky
I'm tired. So very very tired. I often say that this feeling is the one that preceded my first and almost deadly mental breakdown.
I weep because those memories are now real - again
So it's time to say goodbye to things
to dreams unfulfilled
to money that will never come and forever gone
to answers whose questions will remain forever elusive
to the vague notion that I would be able to have a grasp of tomorrow and the day after, and the day after that...
it's a goodbye to 39 years of the woman I once knew, who I came to despise, idolize, fear and love
My skin has been turned inside out, veins hang like antique chandeliers - sleeping visitors of an empty house
my eyes have been drained of their blue and ability to focus
my heart slows, beats skip
but does not stop completely -
just a hibernation, suspension
goodbye
for now
but not forever
It all came out - my worry that the cancer will take her too soon - too soon before she will see me (ever..??) married, before she will ever see Venice again, before we will ever be able to go to New York and paint the town so many wonderful shades of candy apple red.
I wept because I have no money and have to declare bankruptcy and I'm ashamed as to how much money I've thrown out the window during manic/depressed binges of desperation and delusion
I wept because my application to the Masters program in photography might have all been, quite literally a desperate stab in the dark, and that if I do get in, by the simple act of going back to school, it would take another 10 years to resolving my student loan issues (by then, it will be up to $50 000 easy)
I wept because I'm close to 40 and all the dreams I had of being someone, going somewhere, having anything close to a life I dreamed about and worked so hard to get is still only a whisper in a lucid dream that never quite ends but just fades
I wept because living has become so very heavy, so long and drawn out, like a cancer that slowly eats away at my insides. I feed it with food and medication, but the hole just keeps on getting bigger, deeper.
I wept because despite her, doing the mom thing - being there, holding me while I sobbed, I felt so very alone and lost
just ask god to help you
she said
he will give you the strength you need. When I was diagnosed with this cancer, I was overwhelmed. I didn't want to die. So I cried and cried and asked God to help me through this difficult time, and within a few days, it was like something lifted me up, and I found my footing and stability again. it really works. Try it - you have nothing to lose.
I smiled, gave her a huge hug, told her that I loved her so very much, thanked her for being so wonderful to me and waved goodbye, went upstairs and have been bobbing up and down on a sea of a melancholy oblivion, a lonely nostalgia and cold.
The cold is not only physical, but mental too.
How odd.
It has just begun to snow outside - heavily
God's frozen tears falling from the sky
I'm tired. So very very tired. I often say that this feeling is the one that preceded my first and almost deadly mental breakdown.
I weep because those memories are now real - again
So it's time to say goodbye to things
to dreams unfulfilled
to money that will never come and forever gone
to answers whose questions will remain forever elusive
to the vague notion that I would be able to have a grasp of tomorrow and the day after, and the day after that...
it's a goodbye to 39 years of the woman I once knew, who I came to despise, idolize, fear and love
My skin has been turned inside out, veins hang like antique chandeliers - sleeping visitors of an empty house
my eyes have been drained of their blue and ability to focus
my heart slows, beats skip
but does not stop completely -
just a hibernation, suspension
goodbye
for now
but not forever
Thursday, January 17, 2008
current weather outlook: overwhelmed
current weather outlook: overwhelmed
(and unedited)
I think I'm in over my head, again.
Seems like my m.o when life around me begins to fall apart - jump headfirst into a huge project and then realize, as the water beings to creep into my nostrils, that I might not have the stamina or knowledge to find my way back to shore to complete the journey.
I'm applying for a MFA in Photography. I've done two bachelors (ha! what's become of that?!) and found that the academic life had the structure and was the glue to keep together the many sides and fragments of me.
The deadline for next year is Monday.
It's Thursday night - I have a letter of intent to write and 90% of my application rests on this one piece of paper - 500 words could decide my academic fate.
Those are pretty weighty words
so I sit here at the computer, the cats have been fed, but I'm past the point of hunger being an issue, typing away, prattling on, jibber jabber, a run on sentence with no punctuational relief in sight.
focus
focus
must focus
How do I go about writing an interesting essay about self-portraiture when this type of photography has become the latest "craze"? Everybody is doing it!
Everybody is smoking!
Everybody is having sex!
Everybody is getting married!
Everybody is having a baby!
Everybody is taking self-portraits!!
what makes me different?
what makes what I have to say any more interesting than the rest of the self-portrait artists out there? Can I say anything that has not been said 1000 times before? Do my photos really speak to people in a universal language? And if they do, what the hell are they saying?
current weather outlook: discouraged
I'm too tired and mentally drained to think of anything that would make sense without repeating myself over and over again. Rambling and blogging is fun, but I've lost the literary structure of storytelling I once had. Keeping this blog was supposed to be a treadmill for my brain, but perhaps the monotony of the ellipses are slowly driving me mad instead of creating a path to clarity.
(and unedited)
I think I'm in over my head, again.
Seems like my m.o when life around me begins to fall apart - jump headfirst into a huge project and then realize, as the water beings to creep into my nostrils, that I might not have the stamina or knowledge to find my way back to shore to complete the journey.
I'm applying for a MFA in Photography. I've done two bachelors (ha! what's become of that?!) and found that the academic life had the structure and was the glue to keep together the many sides and fragments of me.
The deadline for next year is Monday.
It's Thursday night - I have a letter of intent to write and 90% of my application rests on this one piece of paper - 500 words could decide my academic fate.
Those are pretty weighty words
so I sit here at the computer, the cats have been fed, but I'm past the point of hunger being an issue, typing away, prattling on, jibber jabber, a run on sentence with no punctuational relief in sight.
focus
focus
must focus
How do I go about writing an interesting essay about self-portraiture when this type of photography has become the latest "craze"? Everybody is doing it!
Everybody is smoking!
Everybody is having sex!
Everybody is getting married!
Everybody is having a baby!
Everybody is taking self-portraits!!
what makes me different?
what makes what I have to say any more interesting than the rest of the self-portrait artists out there? Can I say anything that has not been said 1000 times before? Do my photos really speak to people in a universal language? And if they do, what the hell are they saying?
current weather outlook: discouraged
I'm too tired and mentally drained to think of anything that would make sense without repeating myself over and over again. Rambling and blogging is fun, but I've lost the literary structure of storytelling I once had. Keeping this blog was supposed to be a treadmill for my brain, but perhaps the monotony of the ellipses are slowly driving me mad instead of creating a path to clarity.
Dinner with some friends
(an unedited ramble)
We had a lovely time last night - took my mom out for dinner and invited some of her friends as a surprise. It was so nice to see her chatting and laughing with them - 3 women who had known eachother since childhood, all turning 6osomething within weeks of one another. Even though E and I didn't participate much in the conversation, it was all about mom's birthday, and I think it was a special one for her - and that is what we really wanted.
we sent her tulips but they arrived a day late.
on the card I wrote: "tulips today keep the cancer away"
It's a thing we read about - some cancer patient visualized white tulips popping up in his bloodstream, which actually increased his white blood cell count which kept the cancer at bay. I wrote all kinds of affirmations on her bathroom and bedroom mirrors, drew tulips (however scribbly they were) while she was at the hospital so when she came back, she'd have these reminders.
She still has them up to this day.
I have one in my bathroom - "you're fantastic" with a little star next to it.
The first thing I see when I wake up in the morning - but sometimes I forget to notice it's there, instead noticing the huge black bags under my eyes and pasty white skin.
But sometimes it pays to stop and look at the tulips and writing on the mirrors.
***
Had a strange dream this morning - was in some sort of "funhouse"/farm/barn (?) and had to go through this "ride" by myself. But I was too anxious and wanted to get it over with, so I closed my eyes and felt my way along the wall - grabbing onto these long dangling chains - the industrial kind that lift up cars and things. I peeked - and around me was a slaughter house - not currently in operation, but gross enough. In the center were gigantic cow carcasses hanging gutted upsidedown, and in the distance, the sounds of chickens clucking like a thousands doorbells going off at once. People on the side cheered me on - "move faster", "you're almost done", but as I felt my way from chain link to chain link, I felt warm slimy animal flesh being pelted at me - landing on my shoulders, a heavy moist thump, chicken skin falling into my hair, other slimy pieces being pelted at my face and arms. I was too freaked out to scream, but was freaked out enough to not open my eyes any more and keep moving towards the clearing in the room.
I made it and the group I was with cheered jubilantly.
My white shorts and shirt were now stained piss yellow and cool-aid pink. My fingers poked and scraped off the slime from my bare arms.
If you only would have waited, you could have put on the gear!
The guide comes over to me - a hazmat suit in hand: the headgear with plastic visor, the heavy rubber suit, the plastic fishing boots. I felt stupid for not having asked questions before diving into the meaty mess, but was releived that I came out relatevely unscathed - both physically and emotionally.
What I couldn't see could not hurt me - I was aware but not involved.
Made it out alive.
The mess didn't bother me - was just part of the experience.
what this means in relation to my life right now, I have yet to figure out.
To tell you the truth, I'm kind of afraid to go to sleep tonight without that hazmat suit.
We had a lovely time last night - took my mom out for dinner and invited some of her friends as a surprise. It was so nice to see her chatting and laughing with them - 3 women who had known eachother since childhood, all turning 6osomething within weeks of one another. Even though E and I didn't participate much in the conversation, it was all about mom's birthday, and I think it was a special one for her - and that is what we really wanted.
we sent her tulips but they arrived a day late.
on the card I wrote: "tulips today keep the cancer away"
It's a thing we read about - some cancer patient visualized white tulips popping up in his bloodstream, which actually increased his white blood cell count which kept the cancer at bay. I wrote all kinds of affirmations on her bathroom and bedroom mirrors, drew tulips (however scribbly they were) while she was at the hospital so when she came back, she'd have these reminders.
She still has them up to this day.
I have one in my bathroom - "you're fantastic" with a little star next to it.
The first thing I see when I wake up in the morning - but sometimes I forget to notice it's there, instead noticing the huge black bags under my eyes and pasty white skin.
But sometimes it pays to stop and look at the tulips and writing on the mirrors.
***
Had a strange dream this morning - was in some sort of "funhouse"/farm/barn (?) and had to go through this "ride" by myself. But I was too anxious and wanted to get it over with, so I closed my eyes and felt my way along the wall - grabbing onto these long dangling chains - the industrial kind that lift up cars and things. I peeked - and around me was a slaughter house - not currently in operation, but gross enough. In the center were gigantic cow carcasses hanging gutted upsidedown, and in the distance, the sounds of chickens clucking like a thousands doorbells going off at once. People on the side cheered me on - "move faster", "you're almost done", but as I felt my way from chain link to chain link, I felt warm slimy animal flesh being pelted at me - landing on my shoulders, a heavy moist thump, chicken skin falling into my hair, other slimy pieces being pelted at my face and arms. I was too freaked out to scream, but was freaked out enough to not open my eyes any more and keep moving towards the clearing in the room.
I made it and the group I was with cheered jubilantly.
My white shorts and shirt were now stained piss yellow and cool-aid pink. My fingers poked and scraped off the slime from my bare arms.
If you only would have waited, you could have put on the gear!
The guide comes over to me - a hazmat suit in hand: the headgear with plastic visor, the heavy rubber suit, the plastic fishing boots. I felt stupid for not having asked questions before diving into the meaty mess, but was releived that I came out relatevely unscathed - both physically and emotionally.
What I couldn't see could not hurt me - I was aware but not involved.
Made it out alive.
The mess didn't bother me - was just part of the experience.
what this means in relation to my life right now, I have yet to figure out.
To tell you the truth, I'm kind of afraid to go to sleep tonight without that hazmat suit.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
the woman
stereopathic * - thank you for showing me the woman who has been haunting not only my dreams but every waking moment as well.
In a weird and ironic way, it's nice to know that I'm not alone in these disturbing visions...
In a weird and ironic way, it's nice to know that I'm not alone in these disturbing visions...
Monday, January 14, 2008
pain pain
go away
come again
some other
day
can a child's rhyme make things sound so simple?
are they ever really ever that simple?
what happens when the pain runs so deep,
so deep that it becomes a part of who you are a
daily bread of fear and paralysis
starving your life of passion and momentum to
a point where standing still allows the rot
settling at the bottoms of the feet
become an anchor of existence
is pain really that simple?
go away
come again
some other
day
can a child's rhyme make things sound so simple?
are they ever really ever that simple?
what happens when the pain runs so deep,
so deep that it becomes a part of who you are a
daily bread of fear and paralysis
starving your life of passion and momentum to
a point where standing still allows the rot
settling at the bottoms of the feet
become an anchor of existence
is pain really that simple?
Saturday, January 12, 2008
a spot could be just a spot
she didn't want to worry me
she said
she said they found a spot on her lung
she said
she said it could be just a spot
she said
she says
I pray
we wait
she said
she said they found a spot on her lung
she said
she said it could be just a spot
she said
she says
I pray
we wait
Friday, January 11, 2008
pockets of silence
I was never a huge Rothko fan, until I saw Simon Schama's the power of art
What he said intrigued me, I had to take a deeper look at those images, and explore the artist's psyche. Then it all began to make sense...
"One morning in the spring of 1970, I went into the Tate Gallery and took a wrong, right turn and there they were, lying in wait. No it wasn't love at first site. Rothko had insisted that the lighting be kept almost pretentiously low. It was like going into the cinema, expectation in the dimness.
Something in there was throbbing steadily, pulsing like the inside of a body part, all crimson and purple. I felt I was being pulled through those black lines to some mysterious place in the universe. Rothko said his paintings begin an unknown adventure into an unknown space. I wasn't sure where that was and whether I wanted to go. I only know I had no choice and that the destination might not exactly be a picnic, but I got it all wrong that morning in 1970.
I thought a visit to the Seagram Paintings would be like a trip to the cemetery of abstraction - all dutiful reverence, a dead end. Everything Rothko did to these paintings - the column-like forms suggested rather than drawn and the loose stainings - were all meant to make the surface ambiguous, porous, perhaps softly penetrable. A space that might be where we came from or where we will end up. They're not meant to keep us out, but to embrace us; from an artist whose highest compliment was to call you a human being."
Simon Schama
I was moved to tears.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
there is one quote by Rothko which I keep playing over and over on my little tape recorder, this one sits in my chest, and like a slow burn, strips away the pretension I have about being an artist, what I want from my art, and where I want to go. It speaks to my soul, and on so many levels, I weep because I know it's true - I am desperatley seeking those pockets of silence.
"When I was a younger man, art was a lonely thing. No galleries, no collectors, no critics, no money. Yet, it was a golden age, for we all had nothing to lose and a vision to gain. Today it is not quite the same. It is a time of tonnes of verbiage, activity, consumption. Which condition is better for the world at large I shall not venture to discuss. But I do know, that many of those who are driven to this life are desperately searching for those pockets of silence where we can root and grow. We must all hope we find them." Mark Rothko
Thank you Simon for opening my eyes to the world of Rothko. Thank you Mark for your honesty and determination in finding the truest meaning of being an artist.
,,,
What he said intrigued me, I had to take a deeper look at those images, and explore the artist's psyche. Then it all began to make sense...
"One morning in the spring of 1970, I went into the Tate Gallery and took a wrong, right turn and there they were, lying in wait. No it wasn't love at first site. Rothko had insisted that the lighting be kept almost pretentiously low. It was like going into the cinema, expectation in the dimness.
Something in there was throbbing steadily, pulsing like the inside of a body part, all crimson and purple. I felt I was being pulled through those black lines to some mysterious place in the universe. Rothko said his paintings begin an unknown adventure into an unknown space. I wasn't sure where that was and whether I wanted to go. I only know I had no choice and that the destination might not exactly be a picnic, but I got it all wrong that morning in 1970.
I thought a visit to the Seagram Paintings would be like a trip to the cemetery of abstraction - all dutiful reverence, a dead end. Everything Rothko did to these paintings - the column-like forms suggested rather than drawn and the loose stainings - were all meant to make the surface ambiguous, porous, perhaps softly penetrable. A space that might be where we came from or where we will end up. They're not meant to keep us out, but to embrace us; from an artist whose highest compliment was to call you a human being."
Simon Schama
I was moved to tears.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
there is one quote by Rothko which I keep playing over and over on my little tape recorder, this one sits in my chest, and like a slow burn, strips away the pretension I have about being an artist, what I want from my art, and where I want to go. It speaks to my soul, and on so many levels, I weep because I know it's true - I am desperatley seeking those pockets of silence.
"When I was a younger man, art was a lonely thing. No galleries, no collectors, no critics, no money. Yet, it was a golden age, for we all had nothing to lose and a vision to gain. Today it is not quite the same. It is a time of tonnes of verbiage, activity, consumption. Which condition is better for the world at large I shall not venture to discuss. But I do know, that many of those who are driven to this life are desperately searching for those pockets of silence where we can root and grow. We must all hope we find them." Mark Rothko
Thank you Simon for opening my eyes to the world of Rothko. Thank you Mark for your honesty and determination in finding the truest meaning of being an artist.
,,,
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
death = more profit
I had a huge meltdown yesterday afternoon
Pretty ugly - I wept for an hour non stop, so many horrible things bouncing inside of my head at atomic lighting speed. All E could do was watch and try to comfort me. I could see it in his eyes that he was heartbroken. Nobody likes to see the one they care about disintegrate into tears.
I'm tired of being sad and tired.
I want my life back
my doc thinks that we could try a new anti depressant. I'm open to anything at this point
lobotomy is a close second
and then there is the photography:
almost 40, "showing" my photos since 2004 and only 1 sale.
one fucken sale - that's it.
Despite all the shows and festivals I've been in, there has only one sale.
I've spent thousands on printing, framing, shipping and entrance fees for what? I've 100 times over what I have ever made.
How pathetic is that?
It blows my mind as to how other photographers manage to sell their pieces - and for the most part, look like shit, for hundreds, even thousands of dollars. Even at bargain basement prices in my toronto show - nothing has been sold.
I'm this close to putting my camera away for good - it seems that I can't make a living from it, as hard as I have tried. Even wedding photography here is cut throat - soo many photographers, and not enough weddings.
seriously
"why have I not sold anything!??! I mean - come on! My stuff is not ugly or shitty!!"
"what can I tell you? The art world is funny that way..."
He had a good point.
I guess if I die before E does, and somebody "discovers" my work, and it begins to sell, he will be having a happy old age.
but seriously
what next?
Pretty ugly - I wept for an hour non stop, so many horrible things bouncing inside of my head at atomic lighting speed. All E could do was watch and try to comfort me. I could see it in his eyes that he was heartbroken. Nobody likes to see the one they care about disintegrate into tears.
I'm tired of being sad and tired.
I want my life back
my doc thinks that we could try a new anti depressant. I'm open to anything at this point
lobotomy is a close second
and then there is the photography:
almost 40, "showing" my photos since 2004 and only 1 sale.
one fucken sale - that's it.
Despite all the shows and festivals I've been in, there has only one sale.
I've spent thousands on printing, framing, shipping and entrance fees for what? I've 100 times over what I have ever made.
How pathetic is that?
It blows my mind as to how other photographers manage to sell their pieces - and for the most part, look like shit, for hundreds, even thousands of dollars. Even at bargain basement prices in my toronto show - nothing has been sold.
I'm this close to putting my camera away for good - it seems that I can't make a living from it, as hard as I have tried. Even wedding photography here is cut throat - soo many photographers, and not enough weddings.
seriously
"why have I not sold anything!??! I mean - come on! My stuff is not ugly or shitty!!"
"what can I tell you? The art world is funny that way..."
He had a good point.
I guess if I die before E does, and somebody "discovers" my work, and it begins to sell, he will be having a happy old age.
but seriously
what next?
Monday, January 07, 2008
and we waited and waited and waited, and then laughed and laughed and laughed...
E has come down with gastroenterits and it was nasty. He was leaking heavily at both ends and lost quite a bit of blood as well. Faint and miserable, my mom and I spent the whole Sunday afternoon and evening waiting for him to be seen at the hospital.
Hours and hours.
Waiting and waiting.
from 3pm to almost midnight - and that was even before he was seen by a doctor...
which was at about 11:55pm.
Americans rant about our health care system, but to tell you the truth, I've seen horror stories - last night was no exception. There was one young woman, who was horking up a lung and then her shoes to match, she was turning green, then yellow, and she had still not even been seen by a doctor. It was only when her mother got angry and caught her daughter fainting in the bathroom did they decide to pick up the pace. I hope for her sake she got the help that she needed.
But the nurses, (which were many) as well as doctors, lounged around the computer terminals. I would occasionally catch a glimpse at one nurse checking her messages on facebook. Later, the others were trying to figure out how to get a tiled background on the desktop.
Meanwhile, this poor boy is shooting out at both ends, in serious pain and exhaustion.
My mom even told me that when she brought her co-worker in the fall, when the woman was having a minor heart attack, they waited for three hours. Not until my mom raised a fuss and said: "This woman is about to collapse!" did they pick up the pace.
So had it not been for my aggressive ball busting at the nurse's station, he would not have been seen until today. One of the nurses even admitted to "forgetting about his chart" at one point.
mother f'-rers
funny. I'm turning into my mom. How many times she ball busted when I was bleeding internally and on the verge of complete collapse.
I guess it's the Slavic blood.
so we spent the day at home - on his birthday too - of all days.
Last year, we spent the weekend in New York - at 20 degrees Celsius, people walked around with t-shirts and flip-flops.
those were the days
but I made him laugh and it was wonderful to hear him laugh again. We watched re-runs of Frasier, and King of Queens. He really needed the time off to rest and slowly try to take in some liquids. I also got him Our Dumb World by the writers of The Onion. It was priceless to hear him laugh so hard.
and we laughed and laughed - hopefully pushing out the virus
E's sister fired up the panic alarm, (which she does oh so well) taking note that this thing is highly contagious. I'm popping those vitamin C's like they are candy, crossing my fingers that I'm not next on the virus express train to the toilet.
I'm still feeling crappy tho - sluggish and weak. Can't seem to shake off this nasty nasty nasty cold that's been hanging on for 45 days now.
So as the fog silently tiptoes past my window, I'll be heading off to bed.
Tomorrow - head shrinker. I doubt he will have nothing new to say - no quick answers to my medication that seems not to be working anymore, and no easy or fast fixes in the horizon either.
time to get a second opinion
Hours and hours.
Waiting and waiting.
from 3pm to almost midnight - and that was even before he was seen by a doctor...
which was at about 11:55pm.
Americans rant about our health care system, but to tell you the truth, I've seen horror stories - last night was no exception. There was one young woman, who was horking up a lung and then her shoes to match, she was turning green, then yellow, and she had still not even been seen by a doctor. It was only when her mother got angry and caught her daughter fainting in the bathroom did they decide to pick up the pace. I hope for her sake she got the help that she needed.
But the nurses, (which were many) as well as doctors, lounged around the computer terminals. I would occasionally catch a glimpse at one nurse checking her messages on facebook. Later, the others were trying to figure out how to get a tiled background on the desktop.
Meanwhile, this poor boy is shooting out at both ends, in serious pain and exhaustion.
My mom even told me that when she brought her co-worker in the fall, when the woman was having a minor heart attack, they waited for three hours. Not until my mom raised a fuss and said: "This woman is about to collapse!" did they pick up the pace.
So had it not been for my aggressive ball busting at the nurse's station, he would not have been seen until today. One of the nurses even admitted to "forgetting about his chart" at one point.
mother f'-rers
funny. I'm turning into my mom. How many times she ball busted when I was bleeding internally and on the verge of complete collapse.
I guess it's the Slavic blood.
so we spent the day at home - on his birthday too - of all days.
Last year, we spent the weekend in New York - at 20 degrees Celsius, people walked around with t-shirts and flip-flops.
those were the days
but I made him laugh and it was wonderful to hear him laugh again. We watched re-runs of Frasier, and King of Queens. He really needed the time off to rest and slowly try to take in some liquids. I also got him Our Dumb World by the writers of The Onion. It was priceless to hear him laugh so hard.
and we laughed and laughed - hopefully pushing out the virus
E's sister fired up the panic alarm, (which she does oh so well) taking note that this thing is highly contagious. I'm popping those vitamin C's like they are candy, crossing my fingers that I'm not next on the virus express train to the toilet.
I'm still feeling crappy tho - sluggish and weak. Can't seem to shake off this nasty nasty nasty cold that's been hanging on for 45 days now.
So as the fog silently tiptoes past my window, I'll be heading off to bed.
Tomorrow - head shrinker. I doubt he will have nothing new to say - no quick answers to my medication that seems not to be working anymore, and no easy or fast fixes in the horizon either.
time to get a second opinion
Saturday, January 05, 2008
retail therapy and mother's intuition
perhaps it was the combination of retail therapy and mother's intuition that saved me from a quick self destructive meltdown tonight
A mom is still a mom and I thank God that my mom is still around.
ahhhh. Don't want to cry now don't need to get my mind in that spin - again
before I agreed to meet her, I was so ready to take those heavy duty near comatose inducing muscle relaxants and just lie on the bed and fade into a dreamless, black sleep until Monday.
I have not taken those in years because when I do, my blood turns into lead, and for days afterward, I become the living dead; but last night, after breathing exercises, tibetan monk chaning through my earphones, warm milk, two back pills, ativans, and then a rivotril* I knew that I was in bad shape.
Stronger chemical intervention was needed.
but as soon as I got into the car, I knew I was safe.
She was so amazing - gave me a shooting star diamond pendant necklace
this is because you are shooting star - and sometimes you need to be reminded of that.
I almost burst into tears - how amazing was that gift?!!
I will take a picture of it and figure out a way to post it here as a reminder to myself.
we spent the evening looking for a purse for her, found some clothes that were marked down so low, I was ashamed for the department store (but she got me a kick ass Jones New York power suit) it's jones new york - for when you have your business interview in new york ate some great thai food, ran around the mall a bit more and then dropped me off at home.
I am really lucky to have a woman like that in my life.
If you are reading this - thank you mom - I love you and appreciate you more than you will ever know
So as the big hand swings up to the 2, morning is slowly creeping into the night sky. My mind seems calm now. Perhaps this mental-write it down get it out- system of purgation is stilling the windstorm of panic and horror that blinded me earlier this afternoon. I should carry this moment with me, and close my eyes, and pray for a better, calmer tomorrow.
*about 20 years ago, these pills saved my life - just before the official manic-depression diagnosis, I was given these to bring me down from my manic episodes. So many times I could have wrapped my body in metal around a tree trunk, but one of those brought me down to earth. Slept for days afterward, but it helped until I got the help I needed.
funny
helped until I got the help i needed.
when will I feel normal again?
Fuck.
I want my life back
A mom is still a mom and I thank God that my mom is still around.
ahhhh. Don't want to cry now don't need to get my mind in that spin - again
before I agreed to meet her, I was so ready to take those heavy duty near comatose inducing muscle relaxants and just lie on the bed and fade into a dreamless, black sleep until Monday.
I have not taken those in years because when I do, my blood turns into lead, and for days afterward, I become the living dead; but last night, after breathing exercises, tibetan monk chaning through my earphones, warm milk, two back pills, ativans, and then a rivotril* I knew that I was in bad shape.
Stronger chemical intervention was needed.
but as soon as I got into the car, I knew I was safe.
She was so amazing - gave me a shooting star diamond pendant necklace
this is because you are shooting star - and sometimes you need to be reminded of that.
I almost burst into tears - how amazing was that gift?!!
I will take a picture of it and figure out a way to post it here as a reminder to myself.
we spent the evening looking for a purse for her, found some clothes that were marked down so low, I was ashamed for the department store (but she got me a kick ass Jones New York power suit) it's jones new york - for when you have your business interview in new york ate some great thai food, ran around the mall a bit more and then dropped me off at home.
I am really lucky to have a woman like that in my life.
If you are reading this - thank you mom - I love you and appreciate you more than you will ever know
So as the big hand swings up to the 2, morning is slowly creeping into the night sky. My mind seems calm now. Perhaps this mental-write it down get it out- system of purgation is stilling the windstorm of panic and horror that blinded me earlier this afternoon. I should carry this moment with me, and close my eyes, and pray for a better, calmer tomorrow.
*about 20 years ago, these pills saved my life - just before the official manic-depression diagnosis, I was given these to bring me down from my manic episodes. So many times I could have wrapped my body in metal around a tree trunk, but one of those brought me down to earth. Slept for days afterward, but it helped until I got the help I needed.
funny
helped until I got the help i needed.
when will I feel normal again?
Fuck.
I want my life back
Friday, January 04, 2008
they're here...
They're back
with a vengeance
Those demons in my head - pulling at the nerves behind my eyeballs, sawing my reality in pieces, and as much as I try to stop it, it only gets worse.
now I'm convinced that I have ovarian cancer and it's only a matter of time before a diagnosis
I have all the symptoms.
I have all the symptoms
oh yea - and the strange leg pain.
sure, it could be something else, which I hope to god it is, but two paps came back with "abnormal squamous cells" and am still waiting on my colpopscy but my head is spinning.
I've never been a hypochondriac, but each time I've sensed that something has been "off" inside my body, I've been right - the gallbladder, the ulcers, the pcos, the thyroid.
I could go on but I won't.
So I sit here counting the minutes before I see my new doctor Wednesday - hoping she will be more sympathetic than the last.
oh yea, and my unemployment insurance ran out
oh yea, and I have not slept more than 3 hours a night for the past three weeks
happy fricking new year
with a vengeance
Those demons in my head - pulling at the nerves behind my eyeballs, sawing my reality in pieces, and as much as I try to stop it, it only gets worse.
now I'm convinced that I have ovarian cancer and it's only a matter of time before a diagnosis
I have all the symptoms.
WARNING SYMPTOMS OF OVARIAN CANCER
Contact your MD if you develop one or more of these symptoms and they persist for 2-3 weeks:
Ongoing fatigue
I have all the symptoms
oh yea - and the strange leg pain.
sure, it could be something else, which I hope to god it is, but two paps came back with "abnormal squamous cells" and am still waiting on my colpopscy but my head is spinning.
I've never been a hypochondriac, but each time I've sensed that something has been "off" inside my body, I've been right - the gallbladder, the ulcers, the pcos, the thyroid.
I could go on but I won't.
So I sit here counting the minutes before I see my new doctor Wednesday - hoping she will be more sympathetic than the last.
oh yea, and my unemployment insurance ran out
oh yea, and I have not slept more than 3 hours a night for the past three weeks
happy fricking new year
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A rough patch is a lot like fog, you can't see the end of it while you're in it.
Fog is never permanent and neither are rough patches, just seems that way.
8:00 PM
Thank you anonymous. I am deeply moved by your comment.
Sanj: but what does one do when the fog turns to a suffocating smog?
12:01 AM
You can lay down and croak or you can get out a gas mask and a flamethrower and take control.
7:41 AM
and that's why you fucken rock my friend...
5:03 PM