Larry the Lion was my special pal. He IS my special pal. He sits next to my desk, mostly because this room stays out of range from the marauding band of Dogs Who Like Plush Toys To Eat As Snacks.
Larry was given to me when I was in the hospital, recovering (?) from polio. That is what I recall. He might have been given to me that Christmas, which would have been a few weeks after I left the hospital. At any rate, I remember pulling Larry's string so many times - always until he said, "I'll protect you." (Here's a page of all his utterings.)
And here is a video of Larry in action.
My Larry is ratty, smelly, and very old. He's lost his tail (bar fight); lost most of his right ear (fight with one of the marauding band). He still has his whiskers (I remember chewing them some), and he's lost his voice. The string is gone. One would have to perform surgery on Larry to remove the mechanism and see if it can be repaired.
There's a small part of me that is trying VERY hard not to calculate how many eons of generations of dustmites have lived on him. I think I'll keep him, though.
He's here to protect me.
December 20, 2010
December 18, 2010
Quiet House
The house is quiet. No electronics are on (except for the ambient computer, the inexplicable stack of DVR, VoIP and Xbox thingeys in the living room). I'm listening to the neighbors mow their yard, the dogs napping and the tick of a clock I got at IKEA for my birthday a bazillion years ago.
The kid is away for a weekend youth group thing, and I have hours and hours to myself. I cleaned ALL the surfaces in the kitchen (except for inside the fridge or oven), and I'm moving on to declutter the mountain of clutter that clutters up the clutter-magnet areas in the kitchen, dining room and living room. Decluttering is a job best done when one has all the bills paid, all the dogs happy and all the trash cans empty. Which means it's a daunting task that never gets done around here.
I listened to a couple of radio shows and then turned on the TV thinking that I would putter while watching mindless stuff on TV, but it's not mindless. It's mind-sucking. It draws me right out of my headspace and into something else. It's devious and insidious. Pernicious and a couple of other -iouses. In fact, I'm very close to calling ATT and disconnecting everything except the internet.
Once I'm back in my own groove, I plan to cut out some last things to sew up for a little friend for xmas gifties, and then the epic mail run will be Monday. I always cut it close on the mail drop date, but this year, it's CLOSE.
Most of all, I spent last night watching a fun new show that I've got queued on Netflix: Hotel Babylon. It's a slightly racy hipster version of the Love Boat/Hotel (remember James Brolin's hit TV series?). The hotel theme isn't a new one, but this is a particularly clever one that is nice low-calorie fluff. Knitting with novelty yarn kind of TV. I dabbled in eating myself stupid with popcorn, wine and then some chocolate. By the time I had moved on to the cheese, I realized several major revelations about me: a) booze is a gateway drug to overeating, b) popcorn tastes really awful and leaves your mouth all greasy, and c) my chocolate tastes are very very expensive ones.
I decided that I was going to give myself the gift of weight loss for the holidays. Tonight is a dinner party, so I'll be testing my mettle, but I want to be in the minority. I am GOING TO LOSE WEIGHT DURING THE HOLIDAYS. I won't feel deprived, I won't cheat and I won't mope... it's a gift I richly deserve.
See what a little quiet can do? Uh oh, the neighbor has fired up the mower, now right under my window, so I'm heading into the other bedroom to sew. And not eat.
The kid is away for a weekend youth group thing, and I have hours and hours to myself. I cleaned ALL the surfaces in the kitchen (except for inside the fridge or oven), and I'm moving on to declutter the mountain of clutter that clutters up the clutter-magnet areas in the kitchen, dining room and living room. Decluttering is a job best done when one has all the bills paid, all the dogs happy and all the trash cans empty. Which means it's a daunting task that never gets done around here.
I listened to a couple of radio shows and then turned on the TV thinking that I would putter while watching mindless stuff on TV, but it's not mindless. It's mind-sucking. It draws me right out of my headspace and into something else. It's devious and insidious. Pernicious and a couple of other -iouses. In fact, I'm very close to calling ATT and disconnecting everything except the internet.
Once I'm back in my own groove, I plan to cut out some last things to sew up for a little friend for xmas gifties, and then the epic mail run will be Monday. I always cut it close on the mail drop date, but this year, it's CLOSE.
Most of all, I spent last night watching a fun new show that I've got queued on Netflix: Hotel Babylon. It's a slightly racy hipster version of the Love Boat/Hotel (remember James Brolin's hit TV series?). The hotel theme isn't a new one, but this is a particularly clever one that is nice low-calorie fluff. Knitting with novelty yarn kind of TV. I dabbled in eating myself stupid with popcorn, wine and then some chocolate. By the time I had moved on to the cheese, I realized several major revelations about me: a) booze is a gateway drug to overeating, b) popcorn tastes really awful and leaves your mouth all greasy, and c) my chocolate tastes are very very expensive ones.
I decided that I was going to give myself the gift of weight loss for the holidays. Tonight is a dinner party, so I'll be testing my mettle, but I want to be in the minority. I am GOING TO LOSE WEIGHT DURING THE HOLIDAYS. I won't feel deprived, I won't cheat and I won't mope... it's a gift I richly deserve.
See what a little quiet can do? Uh oh, the neighbor has fired up the mower, now right under my window, so I'm heading into the other bedroom to sew. And not eat.
December 15, 2010
Writing Is It
Made a list today. No surprise that writing was high on the list of things that make me feel essentially myself...
it's very difficult to work as a writer, teach writing and also love writing as a soulful part of your, um, soul. But that's what I do.
Daily, I hear stories and have ideas for books. Today, I got the idea for more adventures of Riley, my main character in one novel and a major/minor character in another one. This would be a collection of stories from his days as a cabbie. I'm sure it's been done, but Riley is so lovely and odd and special to me, his character would carry the thing. It would NOT be like Mr. Rourke on Fantasy Island.
Since I brought it up, here's a little slice of heaven: the intro to an episode from 1978. (Beware the intro and outro sound from the retrorebirth folks.)
Fantasy Island
it's very difficult to work as a writer, teach writing and also love writing as a soulful part of your, um, soul. But that's what I do.
Daily, I hear stories and have ideas for books. Today, I got the idea for more adventures of Riley, my main character in one novel and a major/minor character in another one. This would be a collection of stories from his days as a cabbie. I'm sure it's been done, but Riley is so lovely and odd and special to me, his character would carry the thing. It would NOT be like Mr. Rourke on Fantasy Island.
Since I brought it up, here's a little slice of heaven: the intro to an episode from 1978. (Beware the intro and outro sound from the retrorebirth folks.)
Fantasy Island
December 12, 2010
Of Sandwiches and Dragons
I attended a children's Christmas pageant this morning. Apparently, the children had had a lot to do with the scriptwriting because the play was a fresh little story entitled "The Dragon Who Never Had a Christmas." A world premiere.
Woodland creatures (which looked a lot like children in various Halloween costumes) opened the story by running away when the dragon came in roaring (in lieu of breathing fire). The flowers scolded him for being too mean and/or loud. And he wandered through the forest looking for this thing called a "Christmas."
Part of it involved visiting some wise guys (aka three young men dressed as Mafiosi while the theme from Godfather played), and they all shared a sandwich. The eating of the sandwich was non-simulated, and it may have been peanut butter because there was quite a bit of chewing and silence and awkward pauses, but then things got back on track when the dragon, with a bolus of sandwich in his cheek, said his next line and the show carried on.
What the dragon learned is that Christmas was about caring and sharing and giving and ... apparently, singing.
The best part though - the showstopper - was the gathering of the players at the end to sing the Whoville "Wah Hoo Dor Re" theme from the Grinch TV show, and one little ballerina (maybe she was one of the flowers?) was singing as loudly and as off-key as possible. An impromptu solo where she knew with great certainly every fifth word.
The whole thing was just as wonderful as it could be, and made me laugh, giggle, guffaw and smile. Lovely. Just lovely!
Woodland creatures (which looked a lot like children in various Halloween costumes) opened the story by running away when the dragon came in roaring (in lieu of breathing fire). The flowers scolded him for being too mean and/or loud. And he wandered through the forest looking for this thing called a "Christmas."
Part of it involved visiting some wise guys (aka three young men dressed as Mafiosi while the theme from Godfather played), and they all shared a sandwich. The eating of the sandwich was non-simulated, and it may have been peanut butter because there was quite a bit of chewing and silence and awkward pauses, but then things got back on track when the dragon, with a bolus of sandwich in his cheek, said his next line and the show carried on.
What the dragon learned is that Christmas was about caring and sharing and giving and ... apparently, singing.
The best part though - the showstopper - was the gathering of the players at the end to sing the Whoville "Wah Hoo Dor Re" theme from the Grinch TV show, and one little ballerina (maybe she was one of the flowers?) was singing as loudly and as off-key as possible. An impromptu solo where she knew with great certainly every fifth word.
The whole thing was just as wonderful as it could be, and made me laugh, giggle, guffaw and smile. Lovely. Just lovely!
December 11, 2010
Dog Stories: Betsy
George was my first Border collie, but his story can wait.
Betsy is the first BC puppy that I really got to know and love, and whom I ultimately failed through apathy and naivete. And hormones. Mine.
In high school, I was friends with a large family with five kids, ranging in ages from two older and ten years younger than me. Two of the kids were in my high school: one of my best friends Amy and her brother Wyatt. I would have to say that Amy probably didn't consider me her best friend. I was that kind of teenager. All fangirl but no fans. I loved her and that family like none other. They were close and raucous and gauche and godly - everything my family was not. Well-churched, with extended family all over the state, Amy's family had a big open door for "the lost" and I suppose I qualified. I spent lots of time over there, and it helped that the house was two blocks from high school.
After Amy went off to college (she was a year older than me), I still maintained ties with them, and specifically, had a massive crush on her little brother. He is two years younger, so it felt rather taboo, and I kept my feelings hidden.
For Christmas (I think this dog story has one of those typical elements to it), they got a puppy. A very very attractive and cute-as-a-button Border collie puppy. Any Border collie owner knows the upshot of this story, right?
At my house, I had just lost Suzy the beagle and Red the outdoor dog, and was left with Thomas who was around 7 or 8 at this time. I was looking for a project dog. And along came Betsy.
Betsy was a little terror, as most Border collie puppies will be if left to their own devices. No one in the family had ever thought of dog training. All the previous dogs in their network were retrievers or poodles or chihuahuas. Yes, these breeds can be a handful but less likely than BCs.
When she was little, Betsy was a cute little roly-poly with shark teeth, but her antics could be tolerated. As she grew taller, she spent more and more time in the backyard, and by the time my senior spring semester rolled around, I was feeling so sorry for Betsy. She spent hours in the back yard, destroying things. I piped up. "Betsy needs training. I can do that."
It was arranged that my two free periods after lunch could be devoted to coming to their house and letting myself in during the day (no one was home, except maybe for their maid). I could walk her, work her and turn her into a decent family pet.
For a month, I did just that. I enjoyed her, loved on her, taught her to sit/stay, and not to jump up.
What I didn't know (and I do now) is that it's not about training the dog, it's about training the people. I also didn't know that Border collies require a high level of exercise and action - they need jobs. Betsy had no job. I was her only highpoint of the day, and it was killing her. Idle Border collies are the Devil's playground.
Add to the mix the fact that Wyatt started coming home after his 5th period for some reason, and he and I overlapped at the house for about 30 minutes. The flirting was epic, and while no contact was ever made, I began spending more of my 75 minutes at their house hanging out with him. (Yes, this really is the truth. I was quite innocent in those days and never understood that that kind of unsupervised free time between teens is exactly how we get teen parents.)
In any event, as my interest in Betsy's training waned and in Wyatt increased, her behavior got worse, and eventually, the family decided to give her to an aunt or mawmaw "in the country" where she could "run free."
My guilt soared. Not only was my crush on Wyatt taboo (in my mind) but I had also failed to rescue this dog. I hadn't followed through on my promise and the lofty goal in my head to make her into the perfect family pet.
God only knows what happened to Betsy, and I hope something that I did served her in the future. As far as I know, everyone in the family and mawmaw loved Betsy a lot. No one was abusive or hateful towards her. It was just another case of a misplaced pet, and I truly hope Betsy found a good home at last.
I've made up for that over the years, to other dogs and specifically other Border collies. But Betsy was the first puppy I had long hours with. I can still feel her little cat feet and those baby shark teeth, and see her crazy eyes laser-punching holes in me from the other side of the glass, when I would sit on the couch and watch Wyatt play Simon (or some other electronic game that was emergent at the time).
What the family thought of me, I'll never know, and frankly, I don't want to know. I can sorta guess. Eventually, I was the stray that they gave away to someone else. After so many years of me looking into their lives, just as Betsy would stand at the sliding glass door in the backyard, I finally stopped my efforts to fit in, to be liked by them. I recall a conversation with Wyatt when we were both in college, where he was cruelly dismissive. In the same way that Betsy had been offloaded, so was I.
There's the catch phrase "You teach people how to treat you," and a subclause of this could be "Observe how people treat their dogs for clues as to how they will treat you."
Betsy, you deserved better and I'm sorry I couldn't make it happen. I hope you got the love, space and work you needed. I did, eventually.
Betsy is the first BC puppy that I really got to know and love, and whom I ultimately failed through apathy and naivete. And hormones. Mine.
In high school, I was friends with a large family with five kids, ranging in ages from two older and ten years younger than me. Two of the kids were in my high school: one of my best friends Amy and her brother Wyatt. I would have to say that Amy probably didn't consider me her best friend. I was that kind of teenager. All fangirl but no fans. I loved her and that family like none other. They were close and raucous and gauche and godly - everything my family was not. Well-churched, with extended family all over the state, Amy's family had a big open door for "the lost" and I suppose I qualified. I spent lots of time over there, and it helped that the house was two blocks from high school.
After Amy went off to college (she was a year older than me), I still maintained ties with them, and specifically, had a massive crush on her little brother. He is two years younger, so it felt rather taboo, and I kept my feelings hidden.
For Christmas (I think this dog story has one of those typical elements to it), they got a puppy. A very very attractive and cute-as-a-button Border collie puppy. Any Border collie owner knows the upshot of this story, right?
At my house, I had just lost Suzy the beagle and Red the outdoor dog, and was left with Thomas who was around 7 or 8 at this time. I was looking for a project dog. And along came Betsy.
Betsy was a little terror, as most Border collie puppies will be if left to their own devices. No one in the family had ever thought of dog training. All the previous dogs in their network were retrievers or poodles or chihuahuas. Yes, these breeds can be a handful but less likely than BCs.
When she was little, Betsy was a cute little roly-poly with shark teeth, but her antics could be tolerated. As she grew taller, she spent more and more time in the backyard, and by the time my senior spring semester rolled around, I was feeling so sorry for Betsy. She spent hours in the back yard, destroying things. I piped up. "Betsy needs training. I can do that."
It was arranged that my two free periods after lunch could be devoted to coming to their house and letting myself in during the day (no one was home, except maybe for their maid). I could walk her, work her and turn her into a decent family pet.
For a month, I did just that. I enjoyed her, loved on her, taught her to sit/stay, and not to jump up.
What I didn't know (and I do now) is that it's not about training the dog, it's about training the people. I also didn't know that Border collies require a high level of exercise and action - they need jobs. Betsy had no job. I was her only highpoint of the day, and it was killing her. Idle Border collies are the Devil's playground.
Add to the mix the fact that Wyatt started coming home after his 5th period for some reason, and he and I overlapped at the house for about 30 minutes. The flirting was epic, and while no contact was ever made, I began spending more of my 75 minutes at their house hanging out with him. (Yes, this really is the truth. I was quite innocent in those days and never understood that that kind of unsupervised free time between teens is exactly how we get teen parents.)
In any event, as my interest in Betsy's training waned and in Wyatt increased, her behavior got worse, and eventually, the family decided to give her to an aunt or mawmaw "in the country" where she could "run free."
My guilt soared. Not only was my crush on Wyatt taboo (in my mind) but I had also failed to rescue this dog. I hadn't followed through on my promise and the lofty goal in my head to make her into the perfect family pet.
God only knows what happened to Betsy, and I hope something that I did served her in the future. As far as I know, everyone in the family and mawmaw loved Betsy a lot. No one was abusive or hateful towards her. It was just another case of a misplaced pet, and I truly hope Betsy found a good home at last.
I've made up for that over the years, to other dogs and specifically other Border collies. But Betsy was the first puppy I had long hours with. I can still feel her little cat feet and those baby shark teeth, and see her crazy eyes laser-punching holes in me from the other side of the glass, when I would sit on the couch and watch Wyatt play Simon (or some other electronic game that was emergent at the time).
What the family thought of me, I'll never know, and frankly, I don't want to know. I can sorta guess. Eventually, I was the stray that they gave away to someone else. After so many years of me looking into their lives, just as Betsy would stand at the sliding glass door in the backyard, I finally stopped my efforts to fit in, to be liked by them. I recall a conversation with Wyatt when we were both in college, where he was cruelly dismissive. In the same way that Betsy had been offloaded, so was I.
There's the catch phrase "You teach people how to treat you," and a subclause of this could be "Observe how people treat their dogs for clues as to how they will treat you."
Betsy, you deserved better and I'm sorry I couldn't make it happen. I hope you got the love, space and work you needed. I did, eventually.
December 8, 2010
Fuzzy Math
Today's exams have yet to be read but I did get through Monday's exams while one class was writing. I had to bite my tongue so as not to disrupt the exam takers.
One of the exam prompts was to write a letter to the editor about the extension of unemployment benefits for those who have run up against their 99 week limit.
Student A wrote: "99 weeks is not long enough to find a job. I propose that we double that and make it the 218 week plan."
Student B wrote: "That is a long time to be sitting around not working. Too long. 99 weeks is 693 days, which is a little bit over a year. Someone could surely get a job in a year!"
Yes, Student B, perhaps teaching math to college students!
One of the exam prompts was to write a letter to the editor about the extension of unemployment benefits for those who have run up against their 99 week limit.
Student A wrote: "99 weeks is not long enough to find a job. I propose that we double that and make it the 218 week plan."
Student B wrote: "That is a long time to be sitting around not working. Too long. 99 weeks is 693 days, which is a little bit over a year. Someone could surely get a job in a year!"
Yes, Student B, perhaps teaching math to college students!
December 7, 2010
Hurry Up and StartFinish
Tonight I am frantically grading papers for my lit class, as their final class and "celebration" is tomorrow afternoon. I'm not sure how celebratory they will be when they see my comments on their papers. Yet, I'm not sure just how candid my comments will be. It's 11pm and I'm still grading.
I am also participating in Holidailies this year, and have yet to post something, so I'm rushing in to do just that, and then head back to the grading. A rather inauspicious start.
It would be grand if classes had some kind of flourish at the end. In all of my experience as a student, and now longer as an instructor, they do not. It is rare and the highpoint is usually buried deep on a bright and cheerful afternoon where the gestalt is just so, and I leave the classroom thinking "I just taught the HELL out of that class." The next thought is, "and they don't even know it."
No, class ends in a flustered rush of writing/reading/reviewing/testing, during which time some or all of us are freaking out at the workload. There are no high-fives, no Gatorade on the head, no applause (rumors of this at Ivy schools intrigue me).
Behind the scenes, the administrators are starting to look at the next semester, and begin sending out policy memos and dire warnings about upgrades, grade deadlines and... let's not forget the Fall Term traditions of copious amounts of sweets and even BBQ in the faculty lounge at odd moments.
Dear Administrators: How about a bar and chair massage?
Dear Students: How about you just wait for your grade to be posted, and then take it in stride?
Dear Colleagues: Quit hogging the computers, and please keep your voices down. Unless you have booze. If so, share!
Dear Me: Get back to work!
I am also participating in Holidailies this year, and have yet to post something, so I'm rushing in to do just that, and then head back to the grading. A rather inauspicious start.
It would be grand if classes had some kind of flourish at the end. In all of my experience as a student, and now longer as an instructor, they do not. It is rare and the highpoint is usually buried deep on a bright and cheerful afternoon where the gestalt is just so, and I leave the classroom thinking "I just taught the HELL out of that class." The next thought is, "and they don't even know it."
No, class ends in a flustered rush of writing/reading/reviewing/testing, during which time some or all of us are freaking out at the workload. There are no high-fives, no Gatorade on the head, no applause (rumors of this at Ivy schools intrigue me).
Behind the scenes, the administrators are starting to look at the next semester, and begin sending out policy memos and dire warnings about upgrades, grade deadlines and... let's not forget the Fall Term traditions of copious amounts of sweets and even BBQ in the faculty lounge at odd moments.
Dear Administrators: How about a bar and chair massage?
Dear Students: How about you just wait for your grade to be posted, and then take it in stride?
Dear Colleagues: Quit hogging the computers, and please keep your voices down. Unless you have booze. If so, share!
Dear Me: Get back to work!
November 26, 2010
Intrigued
I have gotten several new followers to my Twitter feed, and I'm wondering why. It cannot be that I'm posting because I'm not. I've been neglecting this blog and my Facebook page too.
Why? see previous entries. Compound pain with depression, overwork and underpaid, and you have the nearly complete picture.
"In this economy" is a phrase that I am sick to death of using, but that's the issue, as far as I can tell. I'm also careful not to squander my limited creative time in unpaid work, which makes me grumpier but there ya go.
In knitting news, I have two long term projects that are taking forever, and so I cast on a hat for a friend. And it turned out to be too big, for me, and so probably for him too. I have a largish head (to house this big beautiful brain of course).
But anyone who can explain the Twitter adds will be rewarded with my blessing.
Why? see previous entries. Compound pain with depression, overwork and underpaid, and you have the nearly complete picture.
"In this economy" is a phrase that I am sick to death of using, but that's the issue, as far as I can tell. I'm also careful not to squander my limited creative time in unpaid work, which makes me grumpier but there ya go.
In knitting news, I have two long term projects that are taking forever, and so I cast on a hat for a friend. And it turned out to be too big, for me, and so probably for him too. I have a largish head (to house this big beautiful brain of course).
But anyone who can explain the Twitter adds will be rewarded with my blessing.
August 14, 2010
From my Pain Diary
8-14-10:
This morning, woke at 7am (7 hrs sleep). Usual back stiffness that improves with upright and mobility.
Sitting ok.
Drank iced tea instead of coffee.
Watered the back yard, scooped poop. Wore sandals.
Sat at my desk for a bit.
Put hose on trickle to water front trees. Barefoot.
Sat on the couch for a bit, ate a bowl of cereal. Knitting a dish cloth.
Started hanging up clothes in bedroom, walking back and forth to hamper.
Sat at computer again for a bit.
Hip joint pain started twinging.
Now feet and ankles swelling, and achy.
Back is starting to spasm.
WHY?!?! What is so maddening about all this is that it makes no sense at all? Moving a lot makes me hurt (afterward); moving a little makes me hurt (immediately after); sleeping too little makes me hurt; sleeping too much, ditto.
ARGH!!!!
This morning, woke at 7am (7 hrs sleep). Usual back stiffness that improves with upright and mobility.
Sitting ok.
Drank iced tea instead of coffee.
Watered the back yard, scooped poop. Wore sandals.
Sat at my desk for a bit.
Put hose on trickle to water front trees. Barefoot.
Sat on the couch for a bit, ate a bowl of cereal. Knitting a dish cloth.
Started hanging up clothes in bedroom, walking back and forth to hamper.
Sat at computer again for a bit.
Hip joint pain started twinging.
Now feet and ankles swelling, and achy.
Back is starting to spasm.
WHY?!?! What is so maddening about all this is that it makes no sense at all? Moving a lot makes me hurt (afterward); moving a little makes me hurt (immediately after); sleeping too little makes me hurt; sleeping too much, ditto.
ARGH!!!!
July 22, 2010
My New Constant Companion
Based on the title you probably thought this would be about my new dog. While I have a new dog, my new constant companion is not the dog.
It's pain.
Back pain usually from early in the morning, while still in bed, until about 30 min. after I get up and move around. The stiffness hits me in my sleep, and wakes me up between 5 and 7 hours after I fall asleep.
Hip pain from misalignment, from walking too much, from sitting too long, from standing too long, from crossing my legs at the ankles too much.
Muscular pain but only after fatigue, and accompanied by twitching.
Emotional pain, imagining that this will never get better and I have to live with this for the next 48 years (because I have always planned to be 100 at the very least before I die). Also because no doctor offers me relief anymore, because no one in my life really gets it or helps. Because all I want is to move, work, dance, and feel NORMAL. Or at least pain-free.
Also painful is admitting any of this, talking about it. It does NOT make it better. Helpful comments do NOT help, despite the intention of the commenter. Reading websites for support is NOT supportive. I haven't yet found a doctor who understands it in a professional way. (There was the one doctor a while back, but he's in another city now, probably retired. And he wasn't exactly encouraging.)
A final element of pain is the public opinion that I didn't have a "full case" of polio and therefore, I won't suffer as much. And hey, look at FDR! He was president four times, and moved mountains. Look at that poet guy! What determination! Such great examples! NOT helping, folks.
At this point, I'm looking for a guru or wizard to make sense of it all, someone who won't blame me. The tiny bit of hope I find is in two things: my dogs are oblivious but loving, and researchers have found fragments of the polio virus in the spinal fluid of post-polio syndrome patients. This might provide answers to the cause, but in the end, it's not cancer. It's very low-end research, not sexy at all, and therefore, no one really cares or will fund anything remotely near a "breakthrough."
Negativity, fatigue, depression and degeneration are also part of the syndrome. Yay! Non-prescription solutions for depression involve.... EXERCISE. Which I am told is not indicated. Screw that. Yesterday, I could hardly get off the couch, but when I was out watching my dogs run around like idiots, I was not in pain.
Not a lot of writing gets done when pain is present. If I could figure out a way to run my dogs and write at the same time, then I'd be golden. And I may have done just exactly that. Stay tuned.
And yes I do have a new dog. He's quite silly and waggy. He is over the top optimistic and unapologetic about it. I like that. I am unapologetic about starting sentences with And. We have that lack of apology in common.
It's pain.
Also painful is admitting any of this, talking about it. It does NOT make it better. Helpful comments do NOT help, despite the intention of the commenter. Reading websites for support is NOT supportive. I haven't yet found a doctor who understands it in a professional way. (There was the one doctor a while back, but he's in another city now, probably retired. And he wasn't exactly encouraging.)
A final element of pain is the public opinion that I didn't have a "full case" of polio and therefore, I won't suffer as much. And hey, look at FDR! He was president four times, and moved mountains. Look at that poet guy! What determination! Such great examples! NOT helping, folks.
At this point, I'm looking for a guru or wizard to make sense of it all, someone who won't blame me. The tiny bit of hope I find is in two things: my dogs are oblivious but loving, and researchers have found fragments of the polio virus in the spinal fluid of post-polio syndrome patients. This might provide answers to the cause, but in the end, it's not cancer. It's very low-end research, not sexy at all, and therefore, no one really cares or will fund anything remotely near a "breakthrough."
Negativity, fatigue, depression and degeneration are also part of the syndrome. Yay! Non-prescription solutions for depression involve.... EXERCISE. Which I am told is not indicated. Screw that. Yesterday, I could hardly get off the couch, but when I was out watching my dogs run around like idiots, I was not in pain.
Not a lot of writing gets done when pain is present. If I could figure out a way to run my dogs and write at the same time, then I'd be golden. And I may have done just exactly that. Stay tuned.
And yes I do have a new dog. He's quite silly and waggy. He is over the top optimistic and unapologetic about it. I like that. I am unapologetic about starting sentences with And. We have that lack of apology in common.
April 6, 2010
Where Did It Go?
The writing. Where is it? Gone? On vacation? Squashed down, hiding? Snuffed out?
I'm trying to decide if it's the teaching of such mediocre and "at-risk" students that saps my energy. Well, yes, it does that, but teaching has never stolen my voice. That inner voice that tells me what to write, that makes up words and sentences as soon as I sit down to work. I am not bugged by that voice anymore, not awakened by it, not interrupted in mid-lecture with thoughts that I should write down.
Is this it? Is it over? With just the handful of scholarly publications, the glossy magazine features, and the file cabinet drawer of unpublished stuff?
I worry, deeply, about this.
I'm trying to decide if it's the teaching of such mediocre and "at-risk" students that saps my energy. Well, yes, it does that, but teaching has never stolen my voice. That inner voice that tells me what to write, that makes up words and sentences as soon as I sit down to work. I am not bugged by that voice anymore, not awakened by it, not interrupted in mid-lecture with thoughts that I should write down.
Is this it? Is it over? With just the handful of scholarly publications, the glossy magazine features, and the file cabinet drawer of unpublished stuff?
I worry, deeply, about this.
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