Random Stuff from My Mind

It's been an entire month since my last post. Shame on me....bad blogger! I really hadn't realized it had been so long--every day I intended to write something. There is a REASON I am the Queen of Procrastination, ya know, not just the Princess! Jeez, you'd think someone who can talk as much as I can, about absolutely nothing, would be much better at keeping this blog up to date, wouldn't you?

Of course, I always think I need to say something meaningful, or at least entertaining, and then I get a bad case of blogger's block! I don't know why I think a blog needs to be deep--I read enough of them to know that isn't true! Some of them make Pauly Shore movies look meaningful! The approach I need to take is this: just write about whatever, and see what happens. Kind of the same thing I do when I talk...

First an update on the last month of my life, in case anyone out there cares:

My bank account, which was hugely overdrawn due to the theft of my debit card, has been mostly fixed. It turned out that my laptop had a huge trojan virus, and a bunch of my info was being taken; I'm actually lucky that they only took such a minor amount of money! I am still trying to convince the bank to refund all of the overdraft fees, but somehow, I doubt that will happen.

Healthwise, things are better. It's been 31 days since my last seizure (YIPPEE!!), and that is fabulous! The thyroid meds seem to have finally kicked in, because I am FINALLY losing weight. (I hesitate to say that, for fear of jinxing it!) And inches, too. Back in April, I took measurements, and re-took them the other day: all of them were down at least 2 inches! It's kinda freaking me out, because I'm not really doing anything differently. Still eating mostly green smoothies (except, of course, on those days when I have to have a big bowl of ice cream!), and coffee, and popcorn. Still sitting around on my ass, reading, surfing the net, and watching Netflix! A part of me wonders what is wrong, to cause this; yes, I am paranoid.

I gave up on growing my nails out, because I couldn't stop from biting them. Frankly, I'd rather wear fakes than have my real ones gnawed down so far they bleed, which is where they end up! My hair still looks terrific, of course.

As for the online dating, well, I met someone. And for now, that is all I am saying about that!



 

I've spent a lot of time watching Netflix this last month. First I binged on True Blood, and now I'm finishing up Dexter. I didn't make it through the last 2 seasons of Dexter when it was on the air, so these are new for me. Frankly, after Season 6, I think I would have quit. Maybe even Season 5. It's not really living up to it's potential; although I do enjoy getting to see Michael Clarke Duncan naked so often! And I am glad that Masuka got his own little storyline (and that we don't have to see him naked!).

Still reading Fanfiction, and I just started reading a book called "Fic: How Fanfiction is Taking Over the World"  Anne Jamison, which is turning out to be very interesting. Can't wait to review it for ya'll!

A now, my little rant for the day:

I surprised myself today when I discovered an article stating that Barry Manilow got married back in April 2015, to his longtime producer and boyfriend! How did I miss this? Being the Fanilow that I am, how did this tidbit (not the fact that he's gay-- as if that's a big shock-but the marriage) escape my notice? Honestly. I am a bit disappointed in Barry after reading several articles about this very private wedding (where Suzanne Somers was reportedly his 'best man' --and that bothers me, too!), simply because he still has not actually come out. No paperwork has been filed, and he has not made any statements. Apparently, Barry is too worried about his career, worried that his fans won't understand if he admits he's gay. To which I say "Oh, PUH-LEEZ! Give me a friggin' break!" I've been a fan since I was in elementary school, and I realized in middle school that he was probably gay (I'm not sure I even really knew what that meant at the time.), but it certainly doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that someone who sings about love so passionately doesn't have the courage to put his love first. Especially now, when his career is rock solid. I ask you, Barry, "What would Tony do if this were about Lola?"

 

Blah Blah Blah

It's been a painful week for me. Since last Monday afternoon, I've had neck pain, sore shoulders, and increasing headache pain. From the basic dull ache at the base of my skull (which always comes with that sore neck), to a series of intense stabbing pains. This afternoon I felt as if someone was repeatedly piercing my temple with a red-hot ice pick. I've spent hours days curled up under my quilt in bed, all the lights off, praying for the pain to go away. Never have I been so thankful for my sleep mask and ear plugs, because lights, and the sound of sports from my father's television, have nearly killed me. And then, Sunday night, around 10:30, I had a seizure. First one since February. Which means that after that, I had a bigger headache, my tongue hurts where I bit it, and I'm tired. As well, I am sore all over; my legs hurt the most, and just moving kills.



So. Instead of spending this week helping Charlie move into his new apartment, like I had planned, I'm sitting here in my room, watching television, eating jello. Reading. Right now I'm waiting for the season premiere of one of my favorite shows to begin on TNT. Rizzoli & Isles is a crime drama based on a book series, as most of my favorites are. I'd read all of the books by Tess Gerritsen, long before the show began.

Most of my favorite shows are based on books. Sherlock. True Blood. Dexter. Bones (although I don't care for the books).  My favorite movies, too. Cold Comfort Farm. The Color Purple.  Bridget Jones Diary. The Harry Potter films. Sense and Sensibility. And Pride and Prejudice. Oh, and To Kill A Mockingbird!

Yes, I'm babbling. So what. Go read a book if you don't like it. Or watch a television show based on one.

Blood and Poetry

I went to college. Actually, I went to several colleges, and changed my major several times before I finally finished, but that's totally not the point. The BA I finally ended up with is in English:Creative Writing:Poetry, with a minor in Theater. Yes, that's a degree that will get you a job in any field!

I always enjoyed poetry, although I'm still not sure why I chose to major in it. I'm more of a reader than a writer, in spite of the many aspirations my mother has for me. I did put together a collection (a "thesis" if you will) for my final project, and gave many readings for classes. That part I was good at; I'd never had a problem being in front of others. But over the years I've written less and less, and I miss it. In an effort to get back in the groove, so to speak, I dug up as many of my old poems as I could find. Aren't you lucky--I'm going to post some of them! (Be afraid, be very afraid!)

Before we get to today's poem, can someone explain to me why, when I am feeling low, watching a show like Dexter, or reading a Jonathan Kellerman novel, full of blood and mayhem, monsters and murder, makes me feel so much better? It can't just be me, or these things wouldn't be as popular as they are, right? I've spent the last two days watching Dexter on Netflix, while doing all the other things I need to do. And yes, I suddenly feel so much more normal. Really, compared to most of the characters on this show, I'm a paragon of mental health. Good to know.

And now for the literary portion of today's post! One of my favorites. Enjoy.

 

Wilhelmina

In a hypothetical world,

I am a bimbo goddess of poetry,

Enshrined in my coffeehouse castle,

my words the songs of a generation.

Attended by sugary seraphim upon my beachside throne,

my name resonates on the tongues of cappuccino demigods.

He, bespectacled, brilliant, falls at my feet,

quoting darkly my childlines.

As gilded graces join us in our dance,

we whirl through a city of stars into

our moonpalace home.

Fall through velvet loveclouds into beds of miracles.

Strongly carefree of wings or wheels,

tasting of copper and chocolate,

a literary, bad-­tempered love of scarlet phrases in my head.

He whispers, solemn:

“God has spoken, and he sounds like Elvis.”