“As a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I have had together. It doesn’t matter if you know me a little or a lot, are an in-person or an online friend, just write anything you remember!

Nothing like reminiscing……right?

Next (if you choose to), re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you.

It’s actually pretty funny to see the responses. If you leave a memory about me, I’ll assume you’re playing the game and I’ll come to your blog and leave one about you. “

Abraham-Hicks
Boulder, CO (6-11-05)

Namely, I have decided to change my political affiliation to Any Party That Does Not Hold Primary Elections In The Middle Of The Summer. Because if I have to answer the phone and listen to one more awkward and uncomfortable pre-recorded message asking me for my vote, on top of the Unidentified Yet Extremely Painful Ear Inflammation, as well as the fact that someone (I’m looking at you, Pip!) barfed all over my left Birkenstock last night, then I really don’t think I can be held accountable for my actions.

So please, Gwinnett County Republican Party members, STOP! FUCKING! CALLING! ME!

Because apparently you haven’t yet gotten the memo on this, but I don’t actually base my voting decisions on A Candidate’s Ability To Annoy The Shit Out Of Me Before They’ve Even Been Elected To Office.

But you can rest assured that if I did, you would all be winners.

The Bad News: Now I know that it is possible for a person to contract the shingles Inside. Their. Ear.

3,666

Number of days we’ve owned three cars:

3,021

Number of days I’ve successfully backed
out of the driveway without
smashing into the third car:

3,020

Having a very understanding husband
who told me not to worry, and that it
would be okay:

Priceless.

The other day as I was perusing the message boards I came upon a thread asking the intriguing question, “Has anyone knit the Clapotis?”

Naturally every time I saw this, the only thing I could think was, “That sounds like an extremely painful STD.”

Which was fine to think, but then an important gateway guarding the flow of action between my brain and my fingers broke down, and I actually wrote that on the message board.

(Important Side Note: For which I totally blame the Prednisone. Or actually, the fact that I’m slowly getting off of it. And my system is punishing me for taking away its PRE-SSSHHHUUUSSS!!, because without it I am Cranky McBitchyPants, but as soon as I take my ever-decreasing dose I am In Love With The Entire World. Well, except for the part that projectile-vomits all over the hallway and then wants to sit in my lap. That part’s a little hard to take no matter what I’m on.)

And let me tell you something. Apparently, The Clapotis? Is no laughing matter. Because except for explaining exactly what a Clapotis is (”a wide scarf/small shawl knitted on the bias with columns of dropped stitches that make waves on the purl side of the fabric”, in case you were wondering), no one has written anything else on this thread. And not only that-I’ve managed to shut down communication on the entire board.

Apparently I need to be a little more careful the next time I Use My Powers.

Ten years ago I taught Spanish at a local community college.

One morning I was collecting homework, and I got to a student who didn’t have his to turn into me. I expressed my displeasure with this state of affairs and he replied,

“Well, if I’d known I was gonna get arrested last night, I would’ve kept my Spanish stuff with me so that I had it when I got out of jail this morning.”

I haven’t really known how to BE in this place, because always before, even if everything else fell apart, I could always fall back on a cushion of words to soften the blow. So I turned to one of my tried and true coping strategies, namely; “When in doubt, freak out.”

Because I am nothing if not generous, not to mention an excellent Drama Queen, I decided to share the freaky love with my coach during one of our sessions.

“GOD,” I announced, in my best, quivering, innocent-victim-of-the-universe voice, “God has taken all my words away! The one thing I most loved to do in the world, and now He’s taken it away from me for no reason!”

In what can only be described as a Superhuman Exercise Of Will which most likely led to severe internal hemorrhaging on her part, not only did my coach NOT laugh at me, but somehow she was also able to ask me helpful, non-mocking coachful questions to help me work through this issue.

“Well,” she asked, “does everything you write on your blog have to be funny?”

“Uh, DUH! YES!!” I replied. (Aren’t I just a dream client? Don’t you want to coach me too?) Fortunately she has raised two children, so she never takes snottiness personally.

“OK,” she replied, recognizing an Intractable Brick Wall Of Stubbornness when she saw one, “think about this. You had a plan for your blog when you started it three years ago. But you’re not the same person you were three years ago. Think about everything that has happened over the past year. So what if you could allow your blog and your writing to change, and reflect who and where you are now?”

She makes a good point. Especially given the fact that, if I had to give it a title, the theme of this past year would be,

I have hurt, in some way, every single day, for the past eight months.

Eight months of sickness, trauma, my life being completely out of my control, and pain.

One day last October I lost my health. Not because of anything I did or didn’t do. Not for any logical, rational reason. Just ‘cuz.

Overnight, I lost the ability to be the person I had been, and do everything I’d been doing up to that point.

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with.

I never knew pain could hurt like this.

And even though I seem to have reached a place where the original illness is gone and the side effects are more or less managed, who’s to say they won’t show up again one day, out of the blue, for absolutely no reason at all? My body, my mind, my emotions, they are all tied up in knots and braced against more pain. Because I remember the pain. And I don’t know if I could bear to go through it again.

This was, and continues to be, a huge trauma for me. And I really don’t know how to be with it.

But I am still here. I do show up every day, even if all I do is open my eyes in the morning and acknowledge that I’ve arrived at the beginning of another day.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

This opening to life
we have refused
again and again
until now.

-David Whyte

“Boobs make men stupid.”

Well, duh.