These Days

These days of summer, the month of June, has been spectacularly obnoxious for me. Here's why:

Near the beginning of the month, my debit card was stolen, and a number of charges were made online. The charges themselves were not very big, but my bank has added HUGE overdraft fees, leaving me nearly $900 overdrawn at the end of the month. I don't even get nine hundred dollars in SSI/SSD each month!! We are working to fix this, but it seems as if the bank just doesn't care. I hate it, and am not happy. And I'm broke, probably forever, now.

Add to the money problems the health stuff. The last year has been bad, seizure-wise, and we cannot seem to figure out why. OHSU, where I am a patient at the Epilepsy clinic, assigned me to a new doctor last Autumn, and I've seen her once. She keeps rescheduling my appointments. So I'm asking my GP, Dr Jeff, for a referral to the Providence Neurology & Epilepsy Clinic. I am done being shuttled around. That appointment, with Dr Jeff, is tomorrow. I get my thyroid level checked, too, after being on the med for over a year. Let's hope things are looking up!

Some things are looking up, I can admit that. I've lost some weight in the last year, but not nearly what I need to lose. I am a short woman, with small bones, and weighing this much can't be good for me. Now, I watched a TED Talk this week, and based on their info, even at this weight, I'm in the healthier group. See, I do 3 of the 4 things it takes to make you the healthy person: I eat plenty of fruits & veggies, I don't smoke, and drink moderately. I don't get enough exercise, but I'm working on it. Makes me feel better about myself, even if my clothes are a bigger size!

Seriously, 75% of what I eat these days is some sort of green smoothie. My NutriBullet gets more use than any other appliance I own, except my laptop! I am feeling better, and I know I am healthier. There are days when something happens to change that; last week I had a fairly bad seizure, and managed to injure myself in some strange places. How I got what looks like a rug burn/bruise underneath my boob, I have no idea, but it hurts like a bitch! Wearing a bra has been out of the question for the last week. (Oh, and the heat here, that's only made things worse. I miss winter.) I'm finally not sore everywhere else, and feeling like a human being again. It's amazing. Somedays I think my body hates me. Somedays I hate it.

These days, I only want to stop feeling as if I crawled out from under a rock. I looked like I should live under one for a while, but now I'm looking better, thank Merlin. I swear, I looked in the mirror last Saturday, and thought I'd been dead for a couple of days! Ick. Only my hair looked decent; I colored it the week before, and it's very nifty. I'll post some pics in the next couple of days--check Instagram!

These days, I am also having some interesting things going on; I'm back on the online dating scene, because I am apparently crazy (I will write about this later), and have no idea what I'm doing. I am trying to grow my nails out again, and not biting them is torture! Trying to answer Oprah's "20 Questions Every Woman Should Answer." I have no good answers. I never do.

 

Seven Lists For the Seventh

Today is the 7th of June. Not that this date has any big significance for me, at least none that I remember right now--if I'm forgetting something important, let me know, and forgive me, because if you are my friend, you know how badly my brain holds information. And that brain drain is getting worse, since my seizures aren't as well controlled as they should be lately. Not making my life a lot of fun, ya know? Anyway, that was totally not my point.  My point has to do with a thing someone sent me on Twitter, and asked me to write a blog post about. Now, I don't remember who sent it, because I've had this image saved on my tablet for almost a year! (Bad Jonna!) Today I stumbled across it, and decided since it asks for 7 of each thing, and it's the 7th, I'd do it. So here I go, trying to answer these questions, and make as much sense as possible!

7 everyday things I couldn't live without:  

1-lip balm of some sort   2-something to write with and in  3-a comfy armchair  4--reading material

5 -caffeine  6-I'd be very unhappy without the internet (but could likely live without it as long as I had #'s 2 & 4)   7-sleep

7 of my favorite songs:

(in no particular order, just a few I've been listening to a lot lately)

1-'Ca Plane Pour Moi' by Plastic Bertrand (a song I picked up from Craig Ferguson!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v98HEQvtpgo

2-'Come Together' as recorded by Robin Williams & Bobby McFerrin

this just makes me feel totally free....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9_4itRSEvI

3-'How's the World Treating You' by Alison Kraus & James Taylor (two of my favorite artists, singing a country classic--their voices together are just too beautiful!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QoxhT8mKCx0

4-'Sacred Emotion' by Donny Osmond (I don't care what you say, the man can sing, and I LOVE this song.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLKzwb2JvLo

5-'Travelin' Soldier' by The Dixie Chicks (breaks my heart every time...and this fan made video is awesome.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXw3XhlmTcs

6-'I'm Beautiful' by Bette Midler (because I'm Beautiful, dammit!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWsc2nuUg-s

7-'Beautiful World' by Colin Hay

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xe3RqgnXaT4

 

7 pastimes I never tire of doing:

1. Reading


2. Looking at stupid things on Pinterest, Tumblr & YouTube


3. Learning


4. Laughing


5. Talking to friends & family


6. wandering around stores


7. This.

7 treats I could eat every day:

1. Popcorn


2. smoothies


3. fruit of almost any kind


4. sweet potato fries


5. chai tea latte (iced)


6. snickerdoodles


7. beef fajitas

 

7 places I want to visit:

1. New York City


2. London


3. Paris


4. Mexico


5. Japan


6. Hawaii


7. The Smithsonian Museum & Library of Congress in Washington DC (my big dream vacay!)

 

Planet of the Ants

I hate having bugs in my house. Except spiders. Spiders, I don't mind. Without spiders, we'd be over-run by other creepy crawly things, and I cannot have that. Back in Colorado, my bedroom was in the basement, and every spring & summer, I'd get crickets in my room. I'd spend hours trying to track them down with my spray can of Raid, until I'd finally have silence, and could sleep. I'm sure I ingested enough bug killer between the ages of 11 and 17 to explain nearly all of my health problems these days! If those dumb crickets had stayed quiet, they'd have been safe; I don't go after bugs I can't see or hear! After all those years of Raid, I started trying to use greener methods of insect control, and some of them even worked! The vinegar trap for fruit flies was a great success-- an inch or two of apple cider vinegar in the bottom of a jar, then cover the top with plastic wrap and poke a few holes, They are attracted to the sweet smell, but drown in the vinegar! And the beer trap worked great for catching slugs. The problem has been ants.

We had ants in our old house, and could never get rid of them, and we have them here. Just little black sugar ants, nothing dangerous, but highly annoying, and fucking EVERYWHERE! Not just the kitchen, and dining areas. I found them in my bathroom, and they've been swarming in my bedroom this week. The first time they showed up, I tried a few green solutions I found online. I sprayed a solution of white vinegar around. Didn't do anything but make my room smell like a pickle. I sprinkled coffee grounds around where they come in ( apparently ants don't like coffee?); not a thing happened, but at least that smelled better. The coffee grounds did keep the ants and other bugs off the plants in the garden when we tried it there, it just didn't work in the house. In one area I lay down a line of black and red pepper, because it was supposed to stop those ants in their tracks! Nope. I just ended up with a dusty floor. The only thing I haven't tried that all the green sites recommend is borax, and peppermint. I didn't have either of those on hand. Today I swept and cleaned, dusted and then sprayed all the nooks and crannies of my room with good old Raid Ant Spray. For a couple of hours, my room smelled like a chemical bomb, and my head hurt like a bitch. But for now anyway, all the ants are gone. I plan on buying some peppermint essential oil and using it -or maybe the peppermint castile soap--maybe both--to spray around the room and bathroom. I don't want to use borax, because we do have pets, and that stuff will get on their feet and hurt them! One site I saw said that windex is a great ant killer, so maybe I'll try that. I can clean my windows at the same time!

 

 

Never Judge A Book By Its Movie

 

I've written before about some of my favorite books that have become great movies, in a post I called Movies That Move Me.  Today I'm going to talk about the same thing, sort of. Ya see, I'm a little compulsive. If I see a movie, and discover it was based on a book, I HAVE to read that book. This has, on occasion, been an issue, finding obscure works. Thank goodness I live in the same city as Powell's! This works both ways, however--I have to see movies based on books I've read. And this is not always as fun, since film-makers often destroy my favorite works. Today I'm posting about a few movies that were as good as their books. I'll talk about some of those that weren't another time. Oh, by the way, I am leaving the works of Stephen King out of this list completely; I feel he deserves a list all his own. Here we go!

The Good  (in no particular order)

Cold Comfort Farm 

  The novel, by Stella Gibbons, was published in 1932. It parodies the romantic novels   of the time, and is truly one of the funnier things I've read. Young Flora Poste,  recently orphaned, must choose which of her family members to live with; she  goes to stay with the Starkadders at Cold Comfort Farm, after being told they  must "atone for the wrongs done to her father." She heads to Sussex, and begins  to straighten out the mess on the farm immediately, rearranging lives, and  teaching modern lessons. She even gets Great Aunt Ada (who "saw something nasty in the woodshed") to come out of her room, which she hasn't done in decades. With the aid of her friend Mary back in London, and 'The Higher Common Sense', which is her handbook, Flora solves everyone's problems.

The film, made by the BBC in 1995, stars Kate Beckinsale, Joanna Lumley, Rufus Sewell, Ian McKellen, and Stephen Fry. It is a faithful rendition of the book, and quite well-made, as well. The casting is excellent, and, as in most BBC films, the costumes are perfect. Of course, it's worth a watch just to see Rufus Sewell, as Seth Starkadder; he's quite a hunk, and shirtless through a good deal of the film!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=st5gmzmDFrw

I will grant that not everyone will understand why Cold Comfort Farm is funny, but even if you don't know the style being parodied, it is still worth reading and watching.

 

The Importance of Being Earnest

 

“All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.”

“Indeed, no woman should ever be quite accurate about her age. It looks so calculating.”

“Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for years.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

What can I say about The Importance of Being Earnest? Oscar Wilde's farce about mistaken identities, secret romances, and the complications of love, family and society is still as amusing as when it was first published in 1895. Gwendolyn and Cecily are in love with the same (imaginary) man, Ernest. Jack has been wooing Gwendolyn using the name Ernest; Algernon has also courted Jack's ward, Cecily, using the same name. When all four end up at Jack's country home one weekend, the trouble begins, as both "Ernests" must win back his beloved. Only the arrival of Lady Bracknell, Gwendolyn's fierce mother (and Algy's aunt), can bring the chaos to a suitable ending.

I read this first in ninth grade, and later performed parts of it in theatre classes. (I was an awesome Lady Bracknell!) Oscar Wilde rocks, and that is all.

There have been several film versions, but I prefer the 2002 version starring Colin Firth as Jack, Rupert Everett as Algy, Reese Witherspoon as Cecily , Frances O'Connor as Gwendolyn and Dame Judi Dench as Lady Bracknell. This was the third time Judi Dench had played Lady Bracknell --she was cast in a BBC radio version in 1994, and a National Theatre revival in 1982.

Here's a clip--Jack/Ernest, being interviewed by Lady Bracknell after he has asked to marry Gwendolyn.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eW4wR7-iOMg

 

 

 

 

Book Review: Gangsterland by Tod Goldberg

Sal Cupertine is a legendary hit man for the Chicago Mafia, known for his ability to get in and out of a crime without a trace. Until now, that is. His first-ever mistake -Sal kills three "Donnie Brascos"-undercover FBI agents, and a CI. He fears for his own life after this, and calls his cousin Ronnie for help, ending up in a situation he'd never imagined.  After a few nights in the back of a refidgerated meat truck, Sal ends up in Las Vegas, where, a few surgeries and some intensive training later, and Sal Cupertine becomes Rabbi David Cohen. Leading a growing congregation in Las Vegas, overseeing the population and the temple and the new cemetery, Rabbi Cohen, surprises even himself as he spouts quotes from the Torah,  Old Testament, or Oldies Radio.  Yet, as it turns out, the Mafia isn't quite done with him yet. Soon the new cemetery is being used as both a money and body-laundering scheme for the Chicago family. And that rogue FBI agent on his trail, seeking vengeance for the murder of his three fellow agents, isn't going to let Sal fade so easily.
Gangsterland is a wickedly dark and funny novel. I'm not normally one for gangster stories (I've never seen the Godfather, or Scarface, or any of those iconic films, although I have watched a couple of seasons of The Sopranos, and I'm a fool for Law & Order), but I made an exception here. I am a big fan of the podcast Literary Disco, which Tod Goldberg is part of, and I'd read some of his short stories, and quite enjoyed them. So I had to read this, and I am glad I did. One night, that's all it took, and I laughed myself silly half the time! This is a great book, and I am saying now: read it!! The twisted idea of turning a hit man into a Rabbi is so brilliant, and works so well. Goldberg has a knack for language, and his characters are fully fleshed out, even the minor ones. I can't wait to read his other novels.

List It Or Lose It

I like making lists, but if you've read many of these posts, you've probably noticed that. Lists keep me sane, or at close to it as I come. I make lists of things I need to do, things I want to do, things to buy, things to sell, and all sorts of other lists. I have entire journals filled of lists: what I'd like my dream home to look like, what I'd like my dream man to be like (that's actually the most difficult list), lists of items I'd have in my dream wardrobe, the songs I'd record if I made a cover album, favorite books & movies & songs, things I love, things I hate, things I cannot live without, and things I'd be happy to never see again. Sometimes at night when I can't sleep and my brain just won't shut up, I lie in the dark and give myself a topic to make a list. For example, bands from the 1970's, going from A to Z, or a list of 25 female characters I really disliked. I usually go in alphabetical order on these lists at night, simply because it helps me keep things in order, and I seldom get all the way to Z before falling asleep.This is how obsessive I get about lists: when I was taking the medication Topamax, my neurologist would give me a quiz each visit to test how it was affecting my verbal skills. He'd give me a letter, and in 60 seconds I had to come up with as many words (no proper nouns, nothing that I'd just said with a modifier --no green then greener) beginning with that letter as I could. I usually did very well on this test, not as well as I thought I should, but I stayed in the top percentile until I'd been on Topamax for several years, and then I started having real trouble finding words. But the lists--after each visit, I would spend my ride home on the bus making a list of words; I'd have always asked the doctor for the list he wrote down as I said them during the test, and then I went from there, until I'd have pages of my journal or dayplanner filled with words. It annoyed me so that I only got a minute to do the first list, and I knew I could do better. When I told my doctor about this, he asked me two questions: "does it make you feel better?" and "how many words do you come up with?" Since I was worried he'd tell me this was a sign I was crazy, I was happy to tell him that yes, it did, and for one letter I came up with nearly 250 words before the bus got to my stop.

My lists are almost always on paper; I've tried the list-making apps on my phone and tablet, and it just isn't the same. I use one occasionally for my grocery list, because it's easier, and I don't lose it. But for my other lists, those that are for my soul, I need the feel of a pen on paper, or hands on a keyboard. I think this is one of the reasons I like sites like Pinterest so much--it's essentially a bunch of lists of stuff people like! I can spend hours just reorganizing my own pins, just getting lost in nothing... Wow.

So. There's a site called listography.com and I love it. Reading other people's lists is fun, and I just signed up, so now I'll be posting my own! https://listography.com/readbetweenthewhines?m=6404158689 That's me. And I have a list posted, so go and read!

Adventures in Healthcare: or where is George Clooney when I visit the ER?

Let me just say this first: I hate having to go to the Emergency Room. In the past, when I had no insurance, and would have a seizure somewhere, the paramedics would show up, and about half of the time, even though I was fine, and steadfastly refused to be taken to the ER, they'd end up taking me anyway. Usually this was because I'd had a seizure in a public place,and their insurance insisted I be seen. Of course, for some reason, their insurance always resisted paying that hugely expensive bill: both for the ride and for sitting around in the ER. I'm epileptic; I know what to do after a seizure, and unless I've fallen and injured myself badly, the ER docs really can't do much for me, other than tell me what I already know. They never even gave me any good drugs for the headaches or muscle aches that usually follow a seizure. Getting charged $50 for a Tylenol that doesn't help my headache at all just pisses me off; if they'd just let me have my purse, I could take my own headache meds, and not have to get charged for them! But every time, it was the same thing--I laid on a cold table for hours, waiting for some doctor to tell me "You had a seizure." At which point I'd say "Well, yeah, duh. I'm epileptic. I told the paramedics that I knew what happened. I'm fine, can I go home now?" And then i'd get to leave. A month later I'd get a $400 bill for the ambulance ride, and another $1000 one for the ER (sometimes more, depending on how determined the doctor had been to see how I was.). I've had to threaten to take them to court twice to make the "Public places" pay these bills; since I had refused to go and they took me anyway, it's been determined I shouldn't have had to pay. This is not really why I dislike Emergency rooms, not the money part, anyway. Most of my experiences in them have consisted of being told to wait, and then have nothing done. I realize that there really isn't that much that can be done after a grand mal seizure--there isn't much going on on the surface to fix. Afterwards I'm mostly tired, with a headache, and by the next day, some severe body aches. All I really need or want is my bed, a couple of Imitrex (to kill the headache), and sleep. And sometimes sleep doesn't even happen. It drives my mother crazy--I get up after a seizure and come out to the kitchen for a glass of water, or something to eat, or just to talk. She (and dad) think I should be in bed, sound asleep. For some reason, my body doesn't want to do that anymore.

When I was 15-years-old, and first started having seizures, I'd have a killer headache after every single one, and would sometimes sleep 48 hours after. That when on for at least ten years, I'd say; I don't really remember when the headaches stopped being quite so bad after every one, but I do know that by the time I finished college, I was able to get up and do things within a few hours after a seizure. These days, the headaches are back, but not the sleepiness.

I ended up in the Emergency Room yesterday. I was sitting here, watching Downton Abbey online, drinking my tea, and all of a sudden I couldn't breathe. It felt as if something was stuck in my throat--like when you swallow a pill, but it doesn't quite go down all the way. Of course, then this pain moved down from my throat to right behind my sternum, and then radiated out through my ribs, diaphragm and back. I called my sister, and she came down to check on me, and decided that I needed to go to the ER. Mom drove me over to Providence Milwaukie, and they saw me right away. They took an EKG, did some blood work, and chest x-rays. The doctor then gave me a few baby aspirin, and a big ole shot of an anti-inflammatory. That seemed to do the trick, because within a few minutes, I was able to breathe better, and the pain eased up.

While I hated sitting there not knowing what was wrong, and stressing everyone out, I will say that this ER was better than the last few I've been to. I was in and out in under two hours, and everyone was so nice! It was fast, clean, and competent. If only George Clooney had been there.....

[caption id="attachment_1367" align="aligncenter" width="300"] Actually, any one of these three doctors would have made my visit perfect. Eric LaSalle, George Clooney or Noah Wyle.[/caption]

They said everything looked normal, and sent me home with a prescription for Ibuprofen, and told me to follow up with my doctor. I'm seeing him on Friday. I'm sure he's thrilled--I was there last week, too. Poor guy; he gets to listen to me whine, and tell me nothing is really wrong with me. And then I'll say something totally embarrassing again, I'm sure, and at least he'll have something to laugh about over drinks later that day. I will never live down commenting on his awesome purple pants. It wasn't the pants that I embarrassed myself about. I said, and I quote "I've never seen a...well, I'm assuming you're a straight man,  wear purple pants." At this point I realized what I'd said, and turned  bright pink. He just grinned at me, and laughed.  Last week I tried to apologize, and he smiled at me, and said "If I'd known you were coming today, I'd have worn the purple pants!" He really was rocking those pants. I feel safe saving this here, because I'm fairly sure he's never going to read my blog, but Dr Jeff is HOT. And the pants worked for him.

The Real World: Portland

The last month has been nothing but drama at my house. If I wanted this much drama in my life, I'd have stayed in the theater--Shakespeare's got a much better vocabulary than we do around here.  His insults are better, too.  Half of my family seems to be convinced that we're the cast of some over-the-top reality television show, including swearing-screaming-crying-tantrums,  death threats, drunken parties, random sex,  mood swings and come close to fist fights. Our wardrobes are nothing like the Real Housewives (we're much better dressed than Honey Boo-Boo), but I'm betting our theatrics are equal to theirs any day.  
Yes, I love my family. And right now, I am actually pretty happy living with them, even with all of this going on. Things are better in this house, mostly, and I don't feel the need to escape like I did a few months ago. I do, occasionally feel a strong urge to duct tape one or two family members to a chair in the garage, and gag them so I won't have to listen to them anymore!

Families are always messed up, I guess. Nobody is perfect, or even close. I'd be miserable if I had to be part of some sitcom family. The Brady Bunch always annoyed the hell out of me, all so damn perky & blonde! Only Jan was a normal person, and they were awful to her! The Cleavers were even weirder as far as I'm concerned. I'd probably be happy with the Addams Family: all the black clothes and weirdness would make me feel right at home.

There are other things going on in my life. I discovered that the pain in my arm is tendonitis, which will get better, apparently. I managed to make a total fool of myself in front of Dr Jeff, and will be embarrassed about it for a while. I had a birthday. It sucked. The anniversary of Michele's passing came. That sucked even more. (I've a post half ready about that...) I was reminded that so many men are jerks, no matter their age, and that really sucked. And, I read a couple of books that I haven't reviewed yet.

I am having lots of computer issues, which is why I haven't posted sooner. In the next week I will hopefully have some of those issues fixed, and will be able to write a bunch at ya'll. I know you're waiting for it!  I'll be back.

 

Book Review: The Girl On The Train by Paula Hawkins

"Rachel takes the same commuter train every morning. Every day she rattles down the track, flashes past a stretch of cozy suburban homes, and stops at the signal that allows her to daily watch the same couple breakfasting on their deck. She’s even started to feel like she knows them. “Jess and Jason,” she calls them. Their life—as she sees it—is perfect. Not unlike the life she recently lost.

And then she sees something shocking. It’s only a minute until the train moves on, but it’s enough. Now everything’s changed. Unable to keep it to herself, Rachel offers what she knows to the police, and becomes inextricably entwined in what happens next, as well as in the lives of everyone involved. Has she done more harm than good?

A compulsively readable, emotionally immersive, Hitchcockian thriller that draws comparisons to Gone Girl, The Silent Wife, or Before I Go to Sleep, this is an electrifying debut embraced by readers across markets and categories." 



That's the summation from Goodreads, and of course, after reading that, I had to read this book. Hitchcockian is right--Paula Hawkins debut novel is worth the time. It was not at all what I'd expected, and that alone kept me reading. At the halfway mark I found myself saying "This book has me all screwed up! And I cannot put it down!" I had to find out why, and who. Now, be warned: there are a couple of spoilers in this review, although I do not give the end away (I'm not that kind of person!).

Told primarily by Rachel, who isn't always a reliable narrator, we see how these people's lives are intertwined. Rachel may be crazy, you think. The others who tell their sides (Anna and Megan) may be as well. A bit of the literary criticism that was pounded into my head in college popped up as I read this, so I will share it with you, even though I normally just read a story for the story. Rachel rides the train every day, back & forth to a job she no longer has, looking out the window at the house she lived in with her ex-husband, who now lives there with his new wife & baby. She's got a drinking problem, and has become a bit obsessed with the couple who live in the house a few doors down from her old house--the couple she calls Jess & Jason. Rachel is, in the beginning of the book, on a journey to nowhere. As her story unfolds, and she gets involved in things outside the train windows, we see that she is finally moving forward. The train is a symbol of her journey.

This novel has been compared to Gone Girl, and a couple of other things I've not read, but the comparison to Hitchcock is spot on. Read it. You'll like it.

Oh, and another thing--I had not figured out who or why by the time it was revealed, and that, as you may know is always a plus in any mystery for me!

Murder Porn

I've been sucked into an endless marathon of murder porn. I tried watching documentaries about historical events, or literary figures, or food, but my brain wants crime. The rhyme & reason behind the full English breakfast is nowhere near as interesting as the sordid details of the BTK Killer case, or all of Henry Lee Lucas' false confessions.



I've always been fascinated by crime, and criminals, whether in detective stories, films, or on television, and I even considered studying criminal psychology. (There is too much math involved in any kind of psych degree for me, so I stuck with books.) I've read my fair share of true crime books, and am a big fan of Ann Rule. These days, it's documentaries, though. I stumbled across the website DocumentaryAddict.com a few months ago, and have been going back ever since. They have a wide variety of programs, ranging from episodes of crime television shows, to award-winning documentaries. Back when I had a television, I watched several of these crime programs on a semi-regular basis, along with shows like 'Law & Order: CI', 'Bones', and 'Rizzoli & Isles'. (These days, I do everything online.) However, I can't remember ever seeing an episode of any fictional show that got under my skin the way some of these real life programs have.

 

I've learned about an 11-year-old girl in England who murdered two little boys; she was convicted, but they didn't know where to send her! So she spent 12 years in a state school, getting therapy & an education, then did 12 more years in a women's prison. She was released, and has led a normal, happy life since then, apparently. I share a house with an eleven-year-old, and even at his worst, I cannot imagine him killing anyone! Then, there was the man who lived in my home town, Grand Junction, Colorado. He called 911, saying his wife and daughter were missing, and that there was blood in the master bedroom; he claimed that this was how he found things when he returned home from work. After nearly a year of investigation, the Mesa County Sheriff's Department (which includes some folks I know!) found this poor woman's body buried in the landfill. Her husband had shot her in the head while she slept, then put her in the trash compactor at the plant he managed; they never found the little girl. It was heartbreaking, and at the same time, made me very proud of my home town; dozens of people gave their time to comb the desert and foothills around Grand Junction, looking for them, and spent weeks sifting through garbage, all for people they didn't even know. There are stories of women who kill for a baby, literally. Stories of truly evil mothers-in-law, who go after their daughters-in-law with guns, knives, and in  one case, run her down with the car! (I want to take this moment to say that my former mother-in-law is not in this category. No way, no how.)  And these aren't even the BIG serial killer cases! These are just "normal" people. Well, not the girl from England. Not any of them, really.

One of the first things I watched was about some great unsolved cases in history. Among them were Jimmy Hoffa, the Black Dahlia, JonBenet Ramsey, and Adam Walsh. Watching the Adam Walsh story reminded me of what an amazing thing John Walsh has done; he has taken a tragedy, something that easily could have destroyed his family, and turned it into something good. He & his wife were instrumental in getting the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children  going, as well as getting the Child Protection and Safety Act passed. His work on America's Most Wanted led to the capture of over a thousand criminals. It's said that the show has captured more criminals than it has aired episodes! John Walsh is a hero.

 

Book Review: 'Motive' by Jonathan Kellerman

<img alt="Motive: An Alex Delaware Novel" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1419643912m/22926807.jpg" />Motive: An Alex Delaware Novel by href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/43626.Jonathan_Kellerman">Jonathan Kellerman</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/893552991">2 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I consider myself a fan of Jonathan Kellerman, and especially of the Alex Delaware series; I own every book in the series, and have read most of them more than once. (In the past, when my stash of paperbacks were not stored in the garage, I'd have a Kellerman Marathon Weekend every few months, and binge read my way through the series!) Kellerman's Detective Milo Sturgis, is one of my favorite characters in contemporary literature. I am always happy when a new book is released. But the last few books have been sadly lacking in the psychological twist that made the series unique, and "Motive" is lacking in more than that. It seems as if Kellerman is writing by rote, following an outline. Chapter 1: The Murder; Chapter 2: A Bit About the Victim; Chapter 3: Milo Eats." By the end of the book, it's difficult to care. In this case, we were given page after page of supposition, and, in comparison, very little action. The entire reason this series is so popular (at least from my point of view), is the unique psychological twist that their author gives them; if I wanted a standard crime story, I could get that anywhere. I read these because of that element: why the bad guys are who they are. 'Motive' seems to be sorely lacking in its title.

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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/1379231-jonna-doughty">View all my reviews</a>

I Shuffle, Therefore I Am

The last week I've been nearly glued to my laptop, listening to music and constantly creating new playlists, or watching random stuff on YouTube. YouTube gets me every time. I always end up watching the same few favorite things: Craig Ferguson's cold openings from The Late Late Show, a Monkees episode or two, music videos, and eventually, finding something new. That's my favorite thing about YouTube, actually; discovering the strange, or wonderful, or wonderfully strange things that I would never have known about if I'd stayed off-line!  Makes me kinda sad that there weren't things like this around when I was a teen; my life would have been so much more fun if I'd had access to a wider variety of music!



 

I put my iPod on shuffle this morning and this is the selection I was given"

 

"1985" Bowling for Soup  (One of my favorite bands, and one of their best songs.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K38xNqZvBJI

 

"Simple Gifts" Yo-Yo Ma & Alison Krauss (I love both of them, and together on this, they are magical!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYi9Vr8bHJY

 

"All Around the Kitchen" Dan Zanes & Friends (a holdover from my days as a preschool teacher)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pzm1_RK2XvE

 

"Scottish Temple Stomp"  by Craig Ferguson (One of the cold openings. I'm a little obsessed with Craig.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GvAPov24d4Q

 

"Parents Just Don't Understand"   DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince  (Will Smith will always be fresh.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jW3PFC86UNI

 

"Shenandoah" by Peter Hollens (This guy is amazing! And he's from Oregon!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NmKp5A8i3M

 

"The Diva Dance"  from the Fifth Element, two arias from Lucia d Lammmermoor, sung by Inva Mula

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Syo6tLeZfHw

 

"Dream On" Neil Patrick Harris & Matthew Morrison--their duet from Glee.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkoQLTO5gZY

 

"Bohemian Polka" Weird Al  (Exactly what is sounds like. It rocks.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nkd_280xlvQ

 

"Coal Miner's Daughter"  Loretta Lynn (I'm proud to know all the words.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pM84OekHtAQ

 

"Uptown Funk" Mark Ronson ft. Bruno Mars (Love this song. Makes me wanna dance!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPf0YbXqDm0

 

"Cuddly Toy" The Monkees (Yes, I like the Monkees. Do not get me started on misconceptions about this band.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N3127ue93-0

 

"I Want Love" by Elton John (This is one of my favorite songs.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufbexgPyeJQ

 

Usually when I hit shuffle, I get  selections from Barry Manilow, Bette Midler & Chris Isaak, simply because I have nearly their entire catalogs. Same with Bowling For Soup, James Taylor, The Monkees, and Elvis Costello. (This list could go on and on...)  I hate to limit myself to one or two styles of music, and there is so much out there to enjoy. There are only a few things I really dislike. I cannot stand the sound of Stevie Nicks' voice, same for Mariah Carey. I don't care much for electronic or serious metal. And really, I am way too much of a suburban white girl to have ever gotten into rap or hip-hop much, other than a few very mainstream things. I've always preferred music I can sing along with. Probably always will.  The genre's listed on my little iPod range from Children's Music (that's mostly Disney stuff, really), to Classical, to Classic Country (I grew up listening to Dolly, Johnny, and all those folks), to Disco (life is not complete without a little bit of the Bee Gees). There's Folk/Rock (Simon & Garfunkel, who are the reason I can sing harmony to this day.), and Hard Rock (Bon Jovi ); Jazz (Ella & Louis), and New-Wave (Adam Ant, among others); R&B, and Soul, as well as one lonely little listing under Ska. Lots of Soundtrack stuff--from Broadway shows, as well as movies, and a little bit of Opera. We have Gospel and Bluegrass, Adult Contemporary and Alternative, as well as general Pop & Rock. These are the categories assigned by the iPod, not me. I wouldn't really classify Bon Jovi as Hard Rock; I don't have any real Hard Rock.

Anyway. Music is keeping me sane right now. I'm having a difficult time focusing long enough to read more than a few pages of anything, but I can concentrate on a song.

How Stupid Do I Look?

Wait, don't answer that.



I have faith in the basic goodness of humanity, and usually see the glass as half-full. That's getting difficult, as I keep running into people who seem determined to show me how wrong I am.

Last month I posted an ad on Craigslist to sell my wedding gown (I've been trying to sell it off & on since 2010, and have had no luck). It's a lovely gown, and I could use the extra money, as well as the space. Right away I got a response, asking to buy it. I was thrilled, but a bit puzzled. The email asked all sorts of questions about me that someone making a simple purchase shouldn't need to know -- personal information, and I was hesitant to answer. So I didn't. I did receive a cashiers check the next day; it was for over $1500. I am asking $250 for my dress, so this was a bit shocking.  Included with the check were instructions to cash the check, keep my cut, and give the rest, along with the dress, to a courier, who would ship it to the buyer. Yeah, right. Again, I'll ask, how dumb do I look? (Shut up, Jolene.) Needless to say, I did not cash that check, or send my dress anywhere that month. I reposted it this week, and got another, similar scam, this one involving PayPal  & Western Union.  Seems swindling is the flavor of the month online. This glass is still half-full--of bullshit.

Help Me, Dorothy Parker.

"Oh, sad are winter nights, and slow;

And sad's a song that's dumb;

And sad it is to lie and know

Another dawn will come." ¹

In the last week, Insomnia has made me her bitch. I was on a roll, sleeping through nearly every night like the dead, and suddenly, I'm wide awake. And it's making me even crazier. Last night I found myself sitting on the deck outside my room at 4 o'clock A.M., because I was too restless to stay in bed anymore, and I had to do something different. I sat on the bench, wrapped up in my blanket, with my headphones on, listening to John Lithgow read poetry in the dark. Eventually I got tired of sitting there (actually, my butt & feet were chilly), so I went back inside, and tried to read. I couldn't focus on my new mystery, so I cracked open the Dorothy Parker book on my nightstand.

Dorothy understands the long nights. Yeah, I know, most poets do, but Dorothy just reaches me in a way that works better than anyone else. When my life is falling apart, and my broken heart is screaming, I know that I can read my favorite poet (or her short stories!), and find a companion.  I've not memorized many poems, but they are all hers.

Granted, reading didn't help me fall asleep last night, but it did make me feel better about being awake all night.

Inventory

Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.

Four be the things I’d been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.

Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye. ²

¹"The Small Hours"  p. 6, Complete Poems

²"Inventory" p 44, Complete Poems

Book Review: Die Again by Tess Gerritsen

I was a bit confused at the beginning of 'Die Again,'  finding myself on safari in Botswana, when I was expecting to be in Boston with a detective & medical examiner. Of course, it was all pulled together in later chapters, and quite well. In Boston, Detective Jane Rizzoli is on the case of a taxidermist found dead in his garage, hung from the ceiling and gutted, along with a the body of a snow leopard. Medical examiner Maura Isles connects the case to a several semmingly unrelated deaths where the victims have all been found hanging upside down. Together, the ladies follow the odd clues back to Botswana, where Jane uncovers the unsolved mystery of a deadly camping safari four years prior. When she realizes the two cases are connected, Rizzoli must track down the single survivor of the  trip to uncover who is truly behind these horrible deaths.

If you've watched the TNT television show based on this series, you're familiar with one version of  these characters. I'm a big fan of the show, and have watched from the beginning; unlike some readers, I don't have an issue with the changes made by the show; some people have complained that the characters are too different from they were written by Gerritsen. Well, that is true to some extent. In the books, Jane Rizzoli is described as a small woman, with a mass of dark curly hair, carrying an enormous chip on her shoulder; Maura Isles (who doesn't even appear until the second book) is described a cool, aloof, and goth-like, with black hair, pale skin and a "slash of red lipstick." The press and police refer to her as the Queen of the Dead. Jane is a bit unlikable in the novels, I find; her television counterpart is rather loveable. Other than the dark hair, Angie Harmon doesn't look much like the novel version of her character, but it's a perfect casting, I think. And although Sasha Alexander isn't goth in the least, she seems to be the perfect Dr. Isles, at least for me.  They are two lovely women, great actors, and the show is awesome; the books are wonderful, as well. I'll be enjoying both. The new season  begins February 18th, and Die Again, the 11th book in the series, is in stores, and online now. Enjoy!

I have no idea what this post is about.

Don't expect a topic tonight. I spent an hour today cleaning my room, and swept out whatever ideas I had, along with the amazing amount of stuff there was on my floor. I say amazing, since I'm really the only person who's ever in here, and I seldom go outside, so where the hell is all this bark dust coming from, and I no longer have a pet, so the cat hair really confuses me. The toast crumbs, scattered push pins and those little spongy things that go on the end of headphones--those I claim responsibility for. Oh, and the water bottle cap, that was mine, too.

Anyway. I've been watching a bit of telly online this week, since I don't have a cable hookup in my little room. I've always watched stuff online, but channel surfing on the web is an odd experience. Long ago I discovered the joys of YouTube: lots of old shows are posted there, in full-length, as well as clips, and if you look, you can find almost anything. Last week I watched nearly every episode of The Monkees. Again. Back in the 80's when they were running them on VH1, my sister, and nieces watched all of them, even set the VCR to record them! (I still have those tapes, somewhere...) And when the band toured, sans Mike Nesmith, to capitalize on this new success, we went to see them in concert, in Provo, Utah. It was a good show, too, although it would have been better with all four Monkees; without Mike, it was missing something.

So yes, I watched these shows again, and they made me smile, again. I once again realized that most of my brain is taken up with totally useless stuff: not only do I still know every word to the Monkees songs, recorded before I was born, but I still know the words to most of these tv shows, made & aired before I was born! Here's a clip from one of my favorite episodes, 'The Fairy Tale,' featuring Peter Tork as the hero searching in the forest, and Mickey Dolenez, in this scene, as Goldilocks.

[youtube=http://youtu.be/HlqPgi9wd6g]

I'm writing this in the dark.

Not that that has anything to do with anything, but I thought maybe somebody somewhere might care. I like my new room, it's filled with bright colors and has lots of space, but gets dark really quickly. And I need more light sources. One floor lamp, a small table lamp, and a set of fairy lights just ain't cutting it. My next purchases will be light related, I believe.

Oh, and if I can scrape together the cash, I'm going to get myself a treadmill (there are always treadmills for sale on Craigslist!); I want to lose some weight, but do not want to go outside. I'm not an outdoor girl. I want to be able to do everything right here in my little room. I am the reason the internet was invented--for people who want to socialize without leaving their chair. I've done the online dating thing, but that didn't really work so well for me, now did it? It's way too easy to lie about who you are, and how you are in an online profile, and trick somebody; I found that out the hard way. So while I may enjoy socialising on Twitter & Facebook and all of the various other places I hang out online, I don't think I'd date anyone I met there ever again. One bitten twice shy, or something like that.

Anyway. This week I've managed to fight off two killer migraines, fall out of the shower (bringing the shower curtain down with me), finally finish unpacking my moving boxes, and bite my nails. The fingernails it took me nearly a year to grow out into reasonably strong, heathly nails, are now gone, gnawed off in a few hours of stress. I am so disappointed in myself. But, I know that as they grow back, they'll be healthy, not like last years, when they were all weak & fragile from all those years of being stuck under acrylics! I did it once, I can do it again.

Tomorrow, I have errands to run, and then you'll get a book review. :)

DIY Dentistry

Yesterday I chipped a tooth. A tooth that was fake to begin with. One of the incisors in my bridge, which I have because about 12 years ago, back when I was still teaching preschool, I had a seizure on a playground, and landed face first on the blacktop, putting a hairline fracture in my nose, and breaking six of my top front teeth off right at the gumline. All of the teeth were pulled, and I lost that job. I wore a flipper (partial dentures that can be removed--the least expensive choice to replace my lost teeth) for a few years, and eventually had a bridge made at the OHSU Dental School. A bridge that was supposed to last forever, and cost a bundle! Well, I've had two of the teeth chip now-- one right in front when it was hit violently with a coffee cup-- and the second, an incisor, yesterday, when I bit into an apple.

This annoys me, since I know these cannot be repaired-- I've had this discussion with two different dentists, and unless I can afford to replace the entire bridge, I'm outta luck. But then, this afternoon, as I was mending a chip on an oversized coffee cup that I use to hold writing utensils and other junk on my table, a thought occurred to me. "I wonder if this glue would work on my tooth?" I had the little chip, and figured, can't hurt to try, so after a bit of research to make sure Gorilla Glue is not toxic, I began.  I placed a tiny dab on a q-tip, smeared it  on the broken tooth, then held the chip firmly in place for a few minutes. So far, my tooth feels whole, no wiggling or roughness. Success!! Of course, I've not yet eaten anything, or brushed, so who knows? However, my previous experience with Gorilla Glue leads me to believe this will last. I only wish I'd had some around when that front tooth broke.



 

I Got Mad Skills, Ya'll

I'm very skillful. I'm the only person I know who, when standing still,  can fall over, just have an ankle bend and SMACK!! I'm on the floor. It happened twice in the last four days. Ended up with a swollen ankle and a big bruise on my bum where I landed.
What's really strange is that I've never once fallen when doing things that are actualy dangerous. In these same four days I've climbed on three different step ladders, a couple of counters, one tall dresser, and stood on the bed to hang posters, without injuring myself once (unless you count dropping a string of fairy lights on my head). Maybe I should spend more of my life on ladders. Because I can injure myself doing normal things, ya know. Yesterday I was unplugging my space heater from the extension cord, when it gave off a bunch of sparks, and scorched my hand. The area around my right ring finger & pinkie were black, and had a tiny blister; the black stuff washed off, and the blister is gone today, but man did that hurt! (I got rid of the extension cord--it was old, and apparently dangerous!).
Yes, I'm incredibly talented.

Book Review: The Good Girl

The Good Girl by Mary Kubica



This novel, the story of an adult daughter, kidnapped and eventually returned, is told in a "before and after" way, with each chapter told from a different character's point of view. For example, a chapter may be titled 'EVE, Before', and the narrator will be Eve, the girl's mother; she will be talking about how things were before the kidnapping or before her daughter returned. The voices heard are Eve, Gabe (the police detective assigned to the case), Colin (the kidnapper) and in only two chapters, Mia (the "good girl").

The novel has some elements that seem to have stepped out of a soap opera: Colin has been hired to kidnap Mia and bring her to some other men. He picks her up in a bar, after her boyfriend doesn't show up (it's later revealed that Colin has paid him to stay late at work), and takes her home, but he can't bring himself to turn her over to the men who hired him. Instead, he and Mia disappear into the woods, and spend three months loving in an abandonded cabin. Of course, like any good soap story, they end up in love. But they aren't the only ones. Meanwhile, back home, Mia's mother, Eve, is falling for detective Gabe, and he for her, in spite of the fact that she's got a powerful judge as a husband. The judge is a classic jerk, though, uncaring about his daughter or wife, and only worried about himself. We aren't surprised that the entire thing turns out to be his fault.

While I enjoyed the back & forth of characters, and found this a fairly good novel, I found it a bit lacking in true emotion. Still, I was happy with it, and especially glad that I had no idea about the ending.

normal people scare me

Normal is boring, as well. The rest of my life may be extremely dull, but I am not boring, simply because I am not normal. These days I'm one of the more sane members of my family, but that doesn't mean much in a family where insanity doesn't just run, it gallops (to paraphrase Cary Grant in 'Arsenic & Old Lace'). Last month Max told me that he & I were the least crazy people in the family, and that was because we have the highest IQ's. I wasn't sure if I should be complimented that he thinks I'm smart, or that he thiks I'm not crazy. Either way, it made me happy. His mother wasn't as happy that her son insulted both her intelligence & sanity!

I'm on a new antidepressant, and it's helping so far. But something is going wrong, because even though I am not missing doses, I've had two seizures in the last two weeks. One just last night, a mild one, but I hit my head somewhere. I have a HUGE bump on the top right side of my noggin, and it hurts like crazy. Even laying on the pillow hurt, and I thought I was gonna cry washing my hair in the shower this morning! My next appointment with the epilepsy clinic isn't until February, but I am going to try to get in earlier, and we wil be discussing changing meds. I want this to be a year where I do not end up in the hospital.
Maybe make semi-sane my new normal.





I promised a post about the new house, but this isn't it. I'm just getting used to the bluetooth keyboard, and am not ready to post big yet. Tomorrow. Lots of pictures, I promise. Before & after, of some spaces, at least.

How do you say hoarding in French?

We moved into the new place on New Years Eve, and have been pushing ever since to get things done. I knew my parents had a lot of stuff, but I had no idea how much there actually was hidden away! Every time we've moved before, the packing has been done before I showed up or something, because I do not remember there being this much stuff. And all this time, my father has been harassing ME about my few boxes of books! Jeez. Of course, nearly everything I own (including every book that isn't an e-book) is in a box in the garage or in the storage shed. This is the first time I've ever had a room without a bookshelf. It's surreal.  I'm sure the lack of books won't last long; I'm bound to visit Powell's sooner or later...

[caption id="attachment_945" align="aligncenter" width="420"] I don't hoard books. I hoard ebooks.[/caption]

 

So. The new house. It's yellow. And pointy. Or peaky. Choose your adjective.

We have a lovely sunroom, where the dining table and mom's big jade tree now live, and beyond that is the backyard. In one corner is a barbecue pit/fireplace kinda thing; one the other side is a big wooden deck where there was once a pool. There are two sets of stairs, one on each side of the house; the set off the front room is skinny and steep, and leads to a loft area with two bedrooms. That's where Jolene & Max are. Below that is the master bedroom & bath, as well as another room Mom is using for her sewing room, and where the folks clothes hang. There aren't many closets in this house, for some odd reason, so Mom & Dad had to buy a wardrobe rack for their hanging items. On the other side of the house, off the laundry room (what Martha would call the "mud room"),is my room ,the entrance to the garage, & another set of stairs. These lead to two more small bedrooms with slanty roofs, where Hattie has staked her claim.

My room is just below hers, and has the bathroom that we share. The sliding glass door on the deck leads into my little room. I finally have a room that gets some sunshine! I hung colored sheers across the sliding door so I could have some privacy from the neighbors, and bring some color into the place. (The walls throughout the house are the same shade of cream.) I have a closet, too. My only complaints about my room so far is that there isn't any lighting in the closet (I fixed it by hanging fairy lights), and that my window is painted shut. I'm going to have to work on getting it open, because I hate not having any fresh air! I could just open the sliding door, I suppose, but that's a bit more air than I need.

I haven't done much decorating here in my space yet, other than the curtains. Usually I have a couple of bookshelves taking up most of my wall space, and here, it's all bare. So I'm taking my time, deciding where to hang the few things I'm going to hang. I did hang my Eiffel Tower poster in the bathroom--which is also yellow, by the way--and put some other tower accents in there. I plan on speaking with a French accent every time I take a shower.  Oooh la la.

 

 

 

All I want for Christmas....

Someone heard our pleas, prayers, posts, and whines! It's not even Christmas yet, and we have found a place to live! Mom & Dad have rented a house not far from where we are now, about a mile away, actually, and there is room for all of us. The close location makes them happy--they were so worried about being too far away from their church, as well as Max being far away from school. This also means we don't shouldn't have to pack quite as severely as if we were moving farther away. Of course, my Dad doesn't really believe that, and is packing us as if we are moving across the country. Which is funny, since 75% of the boxes we're for using this move are banana boxes, with holes in the tops.

The new house, at least what I've seen of it so far, seems nice. It's yellow. And kinda...well, pointy. Tomorrow I'm going over to explore and get a better look, and I'll take some pictures, so you can see what I mean.

As of today, the plan is that we'll all split the rent & utilities: the folks, Jolene, Hattie & myself. It's been agreed that I will be saving up, in hopes of being able to move into my own place. I'm hoping to do that by my birthday, in March.

The big problem now, of course, is packing. It's interfering with my actual life -you know, surfing the internet, reading, watching the telly, doing my nails, reading some more, snacking, and whining because I have to get all this crap in my room put into some boxes before my father has a conniption fit. I did pack my books, but that was the easy part. Books are simple-they're all the same basic shape, and don't need to be wrapped or cushioned. I've moved a lot in my life, and have packed boxes of books over & over & over; I can do it in my sleep. It's the other, random stuff that is going to be a pain in the tukkus. Once I get going, it'll be fine. What I really want for Christmas is someone else to do the packing, and moving for us--and that Dad would be somewhere else during the whole thing. He's getting on everyone's nerves, and the day of the move is going to be hell.



 

On a different subject, entirely: I saw Dr Jeff last week, and am now taking a new antidepressant combo, and have a referral to a therapist. He was concerned about me, and very nice about the whole thing, didn't make me feel ashamed or wrong in any way. I appreciate that. He also told me that if  I ever begin to feel as if I cannot fight the darkness again, I should call him, immediately. He promised to give the office and service orders to put me through if I call. I was pretty impressed that an GP would do that. This is one of the many things I like about him.

Here's another lovely thing to whine about:  two years ago, I informed the Department of Education that I was now considered "fully and permanently disabled," which meant that I was eligible to have my student loans forgiven. I filled out paperwork, had my doctor sign it, and sent it in. It never arrived. We went though this four or five times. My neurologist has left his position (he'd originally signed the papers), and the PA couldn't do the new paperwork. So the Department of Education decided I was in default, and sent my loans to collections. Because I needed one more thing to worry about, I took the new paperwork to Dr Jeff last week, and he's filled it all out, signed & sealed. I talked to the collections company today, and they were so sweet--frankly, I was confused. All I have to do now is either fax or email that paper, and they'll be off my back. Let's hope this works this time!

 

Okay. I'm off to bed, where I'll stay awake for the next two hours reading, I'm sure. Goody for me!

Book Review: My Mother Was Nuts

My Mother Was Nuts by Penny Marshall


Penny Marshall is a better comedian, actress and director than writer. I imagine that many of these stories were funny, and a heck of a lot more interesting when they happened, but, even hearing most of them told in her uniquely gravelly voice (I listened to the audio book), did not bring them to life. This is too bad, since she's lived quite a life.

Most folks my age remember Penny Marshall primarily as Laverne DeFazio on the sitcom "Laverne & Shirley," but these days, she's better known as a director and producer. although she's made some of the best known and well-loved (as well as biggest grossing!) films of our time, she's never been nominated for major awards for her work, even though her films have won. Let me clarify: Marshall was nominated as an actress for the Golden Globe 3 times for Laverne & Shirley, and has won awards from several other places for her films & her work in general, including receiving a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame.  But while several of her films (Big, Awakenings, Cinderella Man, A League of Their Own) were nominated and in several cases won Golden Globes or Oscars for actors, music, or various other things, Penny herself has been neglected. This isn't something that seems to bother her; as long as she's working, having fun, and getting to season tickets to sporting events, she's happy.

"I'm not someone who has had to deal with much personal drama outside of the usual: growing up with parents who hated each other, two marriages and divorces of my own. There was the cancer thing, too." This is how she opens her book. Having seen her work in Hollywood, I know she can tell a story, and there are places in her memoir where that shines through. Unfortunately, her natural low-key style keeps things from ever really taking off. I'm betting if someone presented this to her as a screenplay, she'd turn it down. As a matter of fact, while discussing making the film 'Riding In Cars With Boys,' she mentions that the action in the screenplay seems to jump from one time period to another, without any sort of transition, ""there were no in-betweens," and that it drove her crazy. I felt the same way about most of this book. I craved details, not just name-dropping. Don't just give me a list of all the famous people who were at the birthday parties she & Carrie Fisher co-hosted every year; tell me what they did! She mentions once that David Bowie & Iman crashed one of these parties, and that's it. She mentions it. Tell us about it! Great stories are in the details, and unfortunately, Penny Marshall leaves out too many of the details. She's had an amazing, interesting life, but if you want to know about it, this isn't the book to read.

 

So Much More

"There's so much more to a book than just reading."  -Maurice Sendak

My life has revolved around books, in some way, shape, or form, for as long as I can remember, and so when I came across this quote today, it struck me as especially true. Books have been my self-medication, that drug I turn to, reading until the pain is numbed or the anger faded; my anchor, helping to keep me calm in stormy seas; my inspiration, showing me that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't neccessarily a train (and if it is, teaching me how to avoid being run down!). Books continue to show me that I am not alone, and for that reason alone, I will never give up reading.

I am still fighting darkness, and this week, a book gave me some words I desperately needed. I began reading

Asylum: Hollywood Tales from My Great Depression: Brain Dis-Ease, Recovery, and Being My Mother's Son

by Joe Pantoliano, the actor best known for his role on The Sopranos (although I remember him primarily as Guido in Risky Business, this is how old I am!). I haven't made it past the introduction yet, and already, I'm reading parts of this book to family and friends, and writing a post about it. This man, who has struggled his entire life with depression, ADHD, and for years never knew what was really wrong, has put my feelings into words so eloquently, so perfectly, I can't talk about it without crying. As he discusses his brain disease, and the battles against the stigma of mental illness, he writes this, which is where I began to bawl:

"Louis B Mayer once said 'The most important thing about acting is sincerity....Once you learn to fake that, you got it made.' That's what my depression felt like- like I was faking it. Faking sincerity. Faking serenity. Faking life." (p. 224) Faking it is what I've been doing my entire life, it seems, but Joe finally put it into words.

There is much, much more to this book, and I know I'll have a whopper of a review for you all once I finish it. But right now, I just had to say that I have never been so glad I chose a book at the time I did.

By the way, I am beginning a new antidepressant tomorrow, (saw Dr Jeff today), and have a referral to a therapist, so with any luck, we'll get some of this darkness cleared away for good. Or at least find a nice storage facility for it.

Shades of Dark

It's been a rough week. Rollercoaster time. Not sure if it is the new meds, or just me, or all the crap going on around here, or a combination of all these things, but I've been sliding farther and farther into the darkness. Depression is something that I've lived with since I was very young-- the first episode that I remember was the summer after my tenth birthday. I spent as much time as I could hiding out in the spare bedroom in our house, or in the treehouse, always with a book, and finally, after a couple of weeks, I started to feel like hanging out with the other kids, and kinda snapped out of it. That was one of the shortest episodes in my memory, and one of the easiest. I just thought all this weirdness was part of "my changing body," a phrase that had been tossed around a lot that year. If that's what it was, well, then my body is still changing, because the weirdness, that darkness, has never completely gone away.

I've been on different anti-depressant meds over the year. Prozac was the first they gave me, but it made me feel as if I was wrapped up in cotton batting. I couldn't feel anything, good or bad; there were times even my senses were dulled, as if I were under water. I told the doc I'd rather feel lousy than not feel anything, because at least then I knew I was alive. She understood that. Next we tried a very low dose of Zoloft, and I stuck with that for a while. I was never sure if it actually did anything for my depression, but I know it affected my sex drive. Eliminated it. Antidepressants are the antiviagra.  Either way, after a couple of years I stopped taking it, since I seemed to be feeling better. (This was about the same time I was taking Keppra for my seizures, and it caused such obnoxious mood swings that I was ready to give up all meds.) Two and a half years ago, after Michele passed away, and all the other stuff that was happening around that time, I began having panic attacks again, something that hadn't happened in over ten years. And, I could feel the darkness creeping up. So back came the Zoloft, and that's what I've been on ever since.

Until the last month, when, in trying to figure out a solution for my TMJ, Dr Jeff added a small dosage of Valium to the mix, I'd been taking Flexeril to ease the TMJ pain at night, since the muscle relaxant stops me from grinding my teeth so much, and Valium had the same effect. Flexeril had a couple of obnoxious side effects--Sahara strength dry mouth, and, well, I'll be polite and call it "blockage." So we tried something else, and it worked, as well as having none of those side effects. It did make me a little sleepier than I am normally (because I'm not tired enough as it is), and I am afraid it may have made the darkness fall a little faster.

I found myself in tears at least twice a day, and on Monday, as I curled up on my bed, trying to take a nap, I scared myself. All these years, all this darkness, and for the first time, I thought how nice it would be to go to sleep and not wake up again. I started an inventory of the various meds in my room, and realized if I took them, I could make it happen. Honestly, this both terrified, and comforted me. If you've never been in this place, I don't know if you can understand, but knowing that there is something there that would take away all this pain, for good, it is an amazingly soothing thought. Fortunately, I am not that far in the dark. I called my sister, told her how I was feeling. She said she'd be home as soon as she could, and told me to take my big basket of meds out to mom in the front room, which I did. Within minutes, our niece, Shelley, was at the house, and then Jolene arrived. Shelley understands more than anyone else. We sat in my room for the next few hours, talking, crying, and eventually laughing. The dark faded from ebony to charcoal to fog.

The fog bank is still hanging over me. Depression doesn't just go away. I'm seeing the doctor again, and will be for the first time since college, going to therapy of some sort. Get these meds adjusted. Let some light in. There is a part of me that fights the urge to sleep all day, but I am fighting. As long as I'm fighting, I know I'll be okay. When I've stopped fighting, well, then darkness will truly fall.

Told Ya

I said in my recent post about our moving that plans would change. And they have. My sister has decided that she needs to take care of her children, and is looking for a place for the three of them, with out little ol' me. Now, I understand this, and I applaud her for chooseing her kids over all else--she is a great mother, always has been, and her children (while raging smart-asses, both of them!) adore her. Isn't this what a parent is supposed to do? Take care of their kids, sacrifice, all that stuff? I'd do the same, if I had any kids. So I am happy that my sister is a good mom, and will get her a big badge, or a bumper sticker or something as soon as I can. But....I am now stuck wondering what to do with myself.

Both of my parents have approached me with reminders that I can come and live with them, because there is always a place for me in their home. Yippee. I'll get to spend the rest of my life in another tiny room, with the too-loud sounds of Fox News and whatever sports event is on drifiting in, trying to pretend that this is the life I want. Nope.

I was so hoping for some kind of actual change, but it looks as if I'm not gonna get one. Other than the color of the walls, I'll be in pretty much the same place; More than likely, most of my belongings will remain boxed and in a garage or storage shed somewhere, unused and gathering dust. My big beautiful bookcase will remain empty and lonely, all the books in boxes. And forget about my having my own bathroom; this time around, I get to share everything with a pair of senior citizens.

Guess it's a good thing I don't have any semblance of a social life, huh? Bringing a guy back to an apartment I shared with my sister and an 11-year-old would have been difficult enough. I wouldn't even consider it in a home I share with my parents. Complete celibacy for me. Another thing that isn't changing.

I'm depressing myself again. I sure hope nobody out there reads this looking for uplifting, inspirtational posts, because these days, I ain't got those in me.

[caption id="attachment_1102" align="aligncenter" width="300"] This is how I feel.[/caption]

Dream A Little Dream of Corey

I graduated from high school in 1986, and was surrounded by the films of the Brat Pack & the Coreys, and was part of the very first MTV generation. I wanted to read Corey Feldman's memoir from the moment I heard he was writing one; it did not disappoint. Nobody expected great literature, but he has delivered a true and occasionally wrenching portrait of his life in Hollywood.

The death of Corey Haim was a heartbreaker, and after reading Corey Feldman's tale of his friend's abuse & molestation, the drug use makes much more sense. I watched both of their earlier movies (Stand By Me, The Goonies, Dream a Little Dream, Lost Boys, and my personal favorite, The 'Burbs) fondly, but never saw an episode of "The Two Corey's," the semi-reality television show they eventually made together. And I am glad. Watching The Surreal Life was bad enough--one can only take so much of fallen idols.

Feldman's relationship with Michael Jackson is discussed, of course, and is yet another heartbreaker. As with so many of the children who were Michael's friend, Corey Feldman has always maintained that Jackson never abused him in any way, and was a model of good behavior. But the media twisted his words, and destroyed one of the few friendships Corey had with an adult, causing him and Jackson to stop speaking for years before Michael's death.
Corey Feldman is a strong man to have survived the crazy abusive parents, molestation and drug abuse he has been through, things that killed so many of his friends. He's now sober, a father (and, it seems, a pretty good one!), musician, still working as an actor. Best of all, he is doing his best to change the way children are treated in Hollywood.



Oh, by the way: I always thought it was a shame that the press never reported the truth about Corey Haim's death. He did not die from an overdose. The autopsy showed he had pneumonia, and an enlarged heart. The only drugs found in his system were over the counter cold meds. He'd been clean, and sober, and was trying to get his life back on track, helping his mother who was going through chemo. Corey truly died of natural causes.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ex7CmuStrKo

 

Does anyone want to give me a house for Christmas?

I can't honestly say I ever had a grand plan for my life, but I can say that this wasn't it. To be 46-years-old, divorced, childless, in chronic pain, and soon to be homeless. That is the issue I am whining about right now (I don't have any real problems with being divorced, since I am on very friendly terms with my ex-husband. The childless thing, well, that's something I will discuss with God some day.).

My parents, John & Arlene, are selling the family home. This is where they, my sister Jolene and her two children have lived for the last eleven years. Max has never lived anywhere else--we brought him here from the hospital. I've moved around a bit while they've owned this house, but have always had a room to come back to. I was living here when I met Charlie, and when I both married and divorced him. Totally not the point, I know, but still...

They've been talking about selling for a while, but decided to actually do it seemingly overnight. . Apparently the folks assumed we were all going to move together again, into yet another big house, but one we would rent, rather than try to make house payments on. They aren't too happy that none of us are going along with that plan. Jolene & I have mostly decided that she & I and Max will find a place a together, and that will work, we hope. Mom and Dad will have to find their own place, as will Hattie Jo. Of course, this plan has changed several times, and continues to do so.

If I had the money, and could have my way, I'd get my own place. But that isn't going to happen. EVER, apparently. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, I do. But I am sick and tired of living with them. Of being treated as if I'm either not there at all, or if I am there, as if I'm still 14-years-old. My sister doesn't treat me like a teenager, but neither of us is real considerate of the other. I'd really like to live somewhere where the menu consists of more than pizza and chicken nuggets. I'm going to spend the rest of my life living with others, it seems, living in a place filled with cigarette smoke, video game noises, and fast food. Sounds like living in a college dorm.

I have dreams of my own little flat, decorated just to my specifications, dreams that will never come true. (I am depressing myself.) My Pinterest boards are filled with dream images of this fantasy place-- a beautiful bedroom (I have one of those now, really), a bathroom I don't have to share that is not decorated with cartoon fish, a kitchen not overflowing with plasticware or processed food. Books everywhere, and no Fox News EVER!!  Granted, I am not the most ambitious of people, and it's quite likely my place wouldn't be as perfect as I'd hope. But what ever is? Still, I can continue to dream, can't I?

Looking for a new place to live has caused huge stress for our entire family. If a day goes by without a fight or tears, it's a wonder. Dad is driving us all crazy, because in his semi-dementia state, he seems to believe that we should be able to just clap our hands, and like Tinkerbell coming back to life, the perfect home will appear. Perhaps, in his world, I'll be able to do my Bewitched nose twitch and furnish this new home as well. Makes me wonder what happens when the Law & Order doink plays.

We're looking for new homes, just in time for Christmas. I don't think Santa is going to bring any of us what we need this year.

Call Me Grinchy

It's not even Thanksgiving yet, and I'm already sick of the holiday season. There was a time I liked Christmas music, as well as the Christmas season. Many things have ruined that for me, primarily the over-commerciallization of what should be a happy time. The commercials began before Halloween, and I am not as fast with the mute button on the remote as I'd like to be, so I keep hearing the carols over and over. I now throughly detest 'Carol of the Bells.' If I am ever captured by terrorists, all they'd have to do is threaten to play that song over and over again, and I'd break.

Of course, being a single woman at the holidays is never any fun. Everything is aimed at families, or couples, or children. The only ads aimed at singles are those for couples, telling us that every kiss begins with k. (Duh.)

I am a woman in the middle of her life, no children, no job, poor-to-middling health, and at this point no pets. I don't have a home of my own to decorate, family meals to host or prepare, parties to attend, or even many people to send cards to.

Wow. That sounds more pathetic than I intended it to, and much more pathetic than my life actually is. Sure, things aren't all roses and lollipops these days, but frankly, I'm not all that fond of roses or lollipops! I like tulips and lemondrops!  I started this post to whine a bit about how annoyed I am about how commercial the holidays have become, and I lost my train of thought.

I'm going to go now, and watch 'A Charlie Brown Christmas.' It's still the only holiday television show that reflects the true meaning of the season. Plus, the music is awesome. And I love the way they all dance.

Not sleeping, not so beautiful.

The long-awaited sleep study took place last week, at Providence Milwaukie Hospital's Sleep Lab (and I am just now writing about it because I am the Queen of Procrastination!). It's always fun, going to a strange place at night, being told to put your pyjamas on, watch a video, and then get a bunch of wires attached to your body. I'd recommend it to everyone looking for a groovy night out. I was pretty sure I'd have trouble sleeping while wired up, since I have issues sleeping in my own bed, with my own stuff touching me. How was sleeping with wires taped to my calves and head, strapped to my chest & waist, and (worst of all) a little prong-thingy in my nose going to be possible?!

 

[caption id="attachment_1077" align="aligncenter" width="225"] Not only did the wires totally f#*k up my hair, the one on my chin itched, and the ones in my nose were frigging' ANNOYING![/caption]

Oddly enough, I was able to sleep. Which probably shouldn't surprise me, since my life is just that weird. I didn't sleep WELL, but I did sleep. The next morning, it was confirmed that I do not have sleep apnea (which I was pretty sure I didn't anyway), but that I'd never gone into REM sleep, and that my RLS had been active all night. I'm not sure yet what these things mean, since I've not spoken to the doctor about this, yet, but that no-REM-sleep-thing can't be good, can it?

On another note, I did see the doctor about my sore ankle and bad ear. A visit to Dr. Jeff, with his pointy shoes and metrosexual style, is always a pleasure, and not just because he's a snazzy dresser. He's a good doctor, pays attention to what I'm saying, and takes care of things right away. This time, he sent me to physical therapy to work on getting my ankle fixed, and gave me ear drops for the infection I didn't even know I had. I've had trouble with my left ear for the last year, ever since I got water in it, and over the last month it had hurt off and on. Now, I'm putting in ear drops four times a day, and with luck, will feel better soon.  Big fun.

Sleeping Beauty

I got up early this morning to head across town to the Oregon Clinic for a consultation in their sleep department. My sleep issues are annoying, so the doctor sent me for a sleep study, and this guy today is the one who decides if I need that study. I had a short physical exam, answered a lot of questions, and discussed my sleep hygiene. -"The bed is for sleep and intimacy only. Establish a consistent bedtime and rise time."  Things like that. I'll be doing a sleep study soon, and until then, keeping a sleep diary, as well as working on this sleep hygiene. 

Sleep has always been so difficult for me. I spend hours each night tossing and turning, wishing my brain would shut the hell up so I can sleep. Over the years I've learned how to make sure my room is the right temperature--I cannot sleep in a warm room--as well as well-ventilated. I have used white noise machines, ocean and nature music on my iPod to block out all the noises in the house. These days I sleep with earplugs, and they work much better than the white noise ever did. There are so many types of earplugs; I discovered an entire website devoted to them, which surprised me.  I am still searching for the perfect plugs; my ears are small, and the foam plugs hurt to sleep in. I am using silicon earplugs right now, and while they don't block as much noise as the foam, they are much more comfortable. Finding decent pj's is a pain, as well. I am very picky, and I am fat; this makes it nearly impossible to find something to sleep in that isn't decorated with Disney characters or sports logos. Not sure why the marketing world thinks that all women over a size 12 want to go to bed dressed like Minnie Mouse or Hello Kitty, but it gets on my nerves. All I want is a pair of simple, cotton pyjamas in basic colors--pink, blue, white, green, purple. Stripes, maybe dots or floral, but nothing else. I'm going to have to make my own, I've determined. Big fun. 

I do love my sleep mask, though. It's pink and black, with embroidered closed eyes with long lashes on the front. Wearing it, I feel like Audrey in Breakfast At Tiffany's. Somehow, I'm always able to sleep better in it, plus, I feel so glamorous! 

As I embark on yet another change in my life, and try to sort out my sleep habits, I'm hoping that this will be a good thing. And that I can finally get pyjamas I like. 

Dejection

I know that nearly everyone on the internet has written something about death and depression in the last week, and so I hesitated to write this. After all, I don't want to be like everyone else, now do I? But frankly, the issues I'm writing about here have been on my mind for much longer than a week or two, and Robin Williams' death only served to bring some of them to public attention again. I haven't posted since the end of July, and these mental health issues are why.

I don't feel much these days and it is causing me to do some big thinking. I've no problem with anger; getting angry is easy. But everything else is nearly impossible. I know what started this, but how to fix it is a whole other kettle of fish. I don't trust emotions much any more, especially since I am not feeling that many of them, and when I do, they are bad. I've always let my heart, or my "gut" guide me, and for the most part, it's gotten me in trouble. It started with Steven, and all the crap he put me through, and then got worse after Michele died. Her death, and especially her memorial service were very difficult for me; even though we knew she wasn't going to make it. But that service just about killed me. I physically shut down, was ill for nearly days. I ended up spending most of the time I was in my home town in bed, rather than seeing people, which I regret. Losing her, my best friend for over 30 years, was devastating. I miss her every day. 

 I'm spending too much time wanting to sleep, hide in my room, or just vanish into my mind these days, and it worries me. They say if you're worried about the state of your mental health, then there's nothing to worry about, but I am not sure that's true. I can worry about having a panic attack and still have one (or two or three); I can be nervous that I'll not make it through the week without a slightly manic episode (I've not been diagnosed, but I likely have low-grade bipolar disorder 2) and still have one and end up spending money that I don't have, or something else I shouldn't do. I have been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder --also known as Clinical Depression-- along with a type of seasonal affective disorder. I'm just a bunch of fun. I fight against demons of health, physical and mental, every day, and it's getting really old. There are days I just feel like giving in, finding a nice looney bin and checking myself in. While I was watching television the other night, I was almost jealous of the guy in the mental health treatment center; he looked so content. Part of me just wants to climb inside my mind and hide forever. Of course, that is kind of what I am doing these days, isn't it? I just hide in books, and movies, and internet crap. 

I am scared of so much--things I was never afraid of before. Anxious and worried so much of the time. I want to stay in bed. When I think about going out, I start getting nervous, and if I think about it too long, the panic attack starts. My heart starts racing, I start tracing, I feel faint, can't breathe, and my fingers get tingly. Then all I can do is close my eyes, take deep breaths, and hide somewhere private until it passes. It's easier to stay in my room. 

Reading Coleridge doesn't help, though...

 

 

 

 

Gone, Google, Gone

It's been a month now, as Max reminded me today. Miss Google has been gone for a month. Five weeks, actually. I miss her terribly. Her meow, her warm presence at the foot of my bed, the way she always curled up on top of whatever I was reading, her constant presence in my life. Every time  I get up in the night, I go to the back window, hoping to see her sitting on the porch railing, waiting for someone to let her in; every time I let Daisy in or out, I hope she'll be there, wanting me to let her in as well. But no such luck. My baby is gone. I only hope that where ever she ended up, she's happy. If she was killed, it was not painful, or slow. That if she's in pet heaven, she's hanging out with Belle and Cat-Cat, having tuna and cream. If she's with a  new family, they are treating her well, and she loves them. I'll miss her forever.

There's a moment.

Jenny just said pretty much everything I've been wanting to say this week. Right now I'm having a difficult time remembering that there is light on the other side, that things will be better, that it won;t always hurt this much. And I appreciate that I am not the only one trudging. Wait for me, please?