Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Downhill like a greased pig in a handbasket to hell on a ski slope

The foot was tendonitis.  It eventually resolved with rest and an anti-inflammatory cream.

Ah, but then things got weird.  Many UTIs, bad ones.  And soon, air through the  urethra.  Oh fuck.  Fistula, my colon attached to the bladder.  Surgery in December, with an ostomy.  My gut is literally sticking out my side and I poop in  a bag.  It still hurts though, and has gotten bulgy above the stoma area. Ostomy nurse thinks it is a hernia, but of course I need to see the surgeon about that in two weeks.  In the meantime, I can barely eat anything, I hurt, I am tired, and I am fucking miserable.

Pardon the language, but fuck me.  This sucks I had to cancel my SF trip, sell my Mexico vacation, and the regional burn in July is right out.

I. Will. Not. Miss. Burning Man.

wish me luck

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Kickin' it. Nope.

So the foot has been sore since about May.  X-ray and MRI show nothing, so nothing is broken or fractured.  What is this hot nail feeling, this stabby burning, this hurting hell which is making me lame?  Tendonitis.  Which is actually worse, as rest, stabilization, and anti-inflammatory cream are the only treatment.  And time.  And not timey-wimey wibbly wobbly time, just plan boring old time.

I already have a blister from half a day in the new brace.  Joy.  

Monday, June 22, 2015

Clearing out the cobwebs....

Middle of the night, cannot sleep.  So I wandered back here.  Could not find myself at first, fortunately I was still linked through wordpress as a commenter on Mr. Mallozzi's blog.

Yeah, life goes on.  I am not having a steller day. Or week or month.  I'm lame, feeling isolated, fat, and lonely.  Stupid foot hurts, and wearing the walking boot is making my knee and shin hurt more.  Stupid sleep test was not done right, I get to go back for seconds.  I need to schedule a colonoscopy.  I might have a UTI.  My container plants are wilting in the heat.  I am stressed over my art show at the coffeehouse.  Stressed about money.  We need a new kitchen ceiling, and a new roof.  The cats spat.  I cannot do housework when I am hobbled, place is a mess.  I count calories and make no progress.  I planned no art or theme camp for Element 11, don't know how I will get around, and generally do not want to go.  My libido has vanished.  Old neighbors moving away, my quiet block is changing.  I feel old.  Get off my lawn, or at least pick up the trash which falls out of your car and blows onto my yard.

And so it goes.

I'll be better later.  Still on the right side of the grass.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

A bit better. Perhaps.

I am quite relieved Congress got their act together.  However, that means choices.  Personally, I need to build up the emergency funds.  Corners have been cut as deep as I can without beginning to sacrifice a desired lifestyle.  Perhaps a better grip on discretionary spending?

Politically?  I don't really want to be an activist, but perhaps there is more I can do.  I've already begin letter writing.  I know it does little good with hard headed greed mongers, but it is a beginning.

I cleared the art boxes yesterday, now I need to clean up the clips and such, and repack the art which is ready to go.  The art which needs touching up or refurbishing is on the table or in the ready box.  Then I had a lovely asthma attack and spend the evening on the couch.  Joy.

Still have not found my glasses.  This is a rather blurry picture of them.


Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Of Sorts.

Sigh.  I am extremely nervous about the shut down. Sorting out the financials, seeing which corners can be cut and which are locked in.  Sorting the needs from the wants, and the want more from the want less.  Sorting which assets can be tapped and which are hands off.  Trying to stay positive.  

This may just blow over, but will make me flintier in the future.  I never thought I could not count on my VA and Larry's Navy retired pay.  Damn politicians.

Began sorting the art boxes.  Cards to be sorted and I need an album for them.  Clips and pens to be sorted, donated art to be sorted, art which has been hanging around too long to be sorted, art which no one wants to be sorted, and weird donations which must be reworked to be sorted.  Wrapping paper, bubble wrap and plastic bags to be sorted.  

Sort the art supplies and the kitchen table studio so I can sort out the sorted art.  Arrrrrgh.

I need to sort out the freezers too, and the pantry.  Take stock for the winter stock up.

Sort out my work room and my closet.  

Sort of tired and down at the moment.  


Thursday, October 10, 2013

Memories or money, take your pick.

I suppose I should sum up the past year.  These are snapshots, highlights.

The seroma finally resolved itself, just in time for Burning Man.  I still had an off year, although I was surrounded by friends.  Just wasn't at home in Hushville, where I usually reside.

Had our winter vacation, Cancun October 12.  That was resplendent.

Santa Rampage in Las Vegas, fun weekend.

Went to Mexico in February 13.  Larry's dad passed away while we were there, and it was during the bad storms back east.  We could not leave early, no flights, and Larry barely made it to the funeral.  

Went to Kauai in May 13.  That was nice, but reminds me of how far my physical health has declined.  Ate too much good food, spent too much money.  This was a bonus vacation, unusual for us to have three major get aways all so close together.

Burning Man again, back in Hushville.  A nice year, but problems with the Rhoadescar repeatedly cut short day trips to enjoy visiting and art.  We bought a new to us pickup truck right before we left.  Marvelous.

I quit Gold's Gym when Larry switched from flatbed to regional driving.  He's safer, but the pay is more variable and he is home less often.  I have rejoined Lil' Audry's Gym, "exclusively for women".  More comfortable with the format, but miss the swim aerobics.  They do have a pool, but no classes.  I did have to pay a year up front, but that forces me to stay committed.

Annual mammogram is good and clean.  I'm blessed.

If the government shutdown continues, we will lose our VA income.  That's nearly half of what comes in.  That new pickup scares me now, as do our previously booked vacations which we can't afford to cancel nor to actually take.  We have two "away" vacations each year, plus Burning Man.  For '14 it is Puerto Vallarta in January and St. George, UT in April.  Yikes.  I had everything budgeted so we could have a nice working semi-retirement, now everything is just going to be tight.  I'm feeling queasy.  We have some savings, but I don't like emptying them.  We have extreme fallback options, none of which will leave us intact.  Stupid Congress.

However, I know we are far, far better off than many other Americans.  We have a roof and we go on vacation, we have savings.  But the shutdown can easily take all that away if it goes on for more than a few months.  Should we have stayed home the last few years, not bought a pickup?  Maybe.  But I trusted the government.  Silly me.

As to continuing my previous blog post about religion... well, not just now.






Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Losing and finding my religion. Kinda.

Part one, a child's view:

I was born and raised LDS, when Mormonism was far from mainstream.  My parents were church goers, but I know before I was born, they had parties involving drinking wine and friends who smoked.  I know this because one of my brothers ate an ashtray full of ciggie butts and had to be taken to the hospital.  That ended that, I guess.

I recall not wanting to be baptized, the full immersion scared me.  I got double dunked when my foot flew out of the water.  The bishop asked me questions, I parroted the answers.  Even at eight years old I knew I could not say no, although supposedly I had the choice.  I did not and I knew it then.

I did like Primary, I memorized scripture like a champ. Didn't always make sense, and I forgot them as soon as I'd recited them.  I dutifully learned to cross stitch and knit and crochet.  I earn my green felt collar filled with rhinestones.  Well if this was getting into heaven, I had that part down pat.  Could it be this easy?  Uh, no.

We moved a lot, being a Navy family.  The church was always there as a safety net, but I did not feel safe.  There were mean girls, always mean girls.  I never could make the connection between Love Thy Neighbor and mean girls at church.  Jesus was lying to me, wasn't he?

And the whole Lammanite thing.  That didn't seem fair, did it?  Why would God be mean to a whole tribe?  I didn't know the words for racism, even with the news about civil rights surrounding me, but going over my head.  Was God a mean kid too?

I spent a summer with an LDS family while mom visited dad at the ports in Europe and the Med.  More praying than I was used to.  Had to give a talk in church against my will.  Had to babysit the younger sister, the toddler. I didn't like it much.  I discovered I didn't like holding the baby when the mom needed her hands free.  I did not like surrendering my childhood to this woman, to being questioned about how did I like being a little mommy?  I did not like it, I resented it.  I was the baby girl, not this puling thing thrust into my life.  I did not take to the brainwashing very well at all.

We traveled, I saw many cathedrals, many churches, shrines and temples.  I was taught to be respectful of these religions.  I put a lace cover on my head to go into some of these churches.   I took off my shoes in Japan, I rang the bells and clapped my hands and bowed my head.  But I was told my religion was the only right one.  I was confused.  How could so many people be going to hell?  They were good people, just different.  How could one religion have a lock on truth?  It didn't seem fair.

I had a glass of champagne on my 14th birthday in Nice.  I did not drop dead.

When I was 14 or 15, back in Utah, in Mutual, Wednesday evenings, we were told the lesson was Preparing for Our Future.  Boys and girls were in different classes in Young Adults, of course.  Always.  I was nervous, but expectant.  I knew I did not want to be a teacher or a nurse, but couldn't imagine what else a woman could do for a living, what other promises were in store for my life.  Was I good enough for college? What would I study?  Well, none of that mattered.  The entire hour or so was dedicated to staying pure and preparing ourselves for temple marriage, to be fulfilled by bringing more souls to the church by having children, by attaining salvation through the calling to priesthood of our husbands.  Even at fourteen, I smelled a rat.  A big stinking, lying rat.  I wanted something different, something more.  Was there nothing else for me?

We moved to Iran.  I was really cut off from regular church.  No sacrament, and Family Home Evening didn't really happen.  I was allowed to go to Midnight Mass with a Catholic friend.   I wore a chador to visit a mosque.  I watched the five daily prayers, we shopped at the kosher Jewish markets.  There were 40 nationalities at the school I attended.  I drank my first beer and got drunk on Russian vodka.  Lightning didn't strike me dead.  I learned the thrill of profanity.  I learned I had sexual feelings, although pretty much for myself only at that time.  I did not drop dead when I touched myself.  I rather liked it.  


I moved back to Utah, to live with my aunt and all her many kids.  I was forced to go back to church every week.  The sermons rang hollow.  God didn't care what I did in the privacy of my room.  My cousins were smoking dope, no one caught them.  I tried it too, didn't like it, probably because I had asthma and didn't know it.  I learned to ditch school.  I learned that my new friends were having sex, even getting married in secret.  Jesus seemed a long way away from everyday life. I was set up with a boyfriend because a single girl needed a man.  I liked him, but he wanted to get married and I was only 17.  I learned how to make out with him, but he didn't want to go all the way unless we were married.  He didn't want "to turn me into a ball freak".  Really?   


Church with a hangover was a joke.  My brother moved in.  I learned to drop acid, although not often and only quarter tabs. That I liked, a rare and mystical sacrament. I learned I did not like pills.  I broke up with my boyfriend and learned sex was overrated from a selfish, manipulative young man who abused me and forced me into situations I thought I couldn't control.  Sex became so overrated it didn't matter if I had it or not.  I read underground comix.  I went to racy movies.  The Mormon girls I was forced to associate with were mean girls, even though they didn't know how mean they were being to me, even the two who were nicer than the rest.  I had very few friends, the kids I'd hung with at Ben Lomond High School all were moving on and lived on the other side of town.  I didn't like anyone at Ogden High except for a handful of girls, and the gay guy in drama.  I had no idea he was gay, homosexuality wasn't completely on my radar yet.  Church became more and more of a joke.  I didn't believe in any of it, not God, not afterlife, nothing.   I'm not sure mom and dad noticed until I took off on my own out of the blue at age 18 to San Francisco.  


And there I found ... a lot of things.


To Be Continued.