Monday, March 31, 2003

Faith

C. asked me Friday if I prayed - and if I did to pray for one his friends who had almost been killed by her boyfriend the night before. I don't pray - but in that moment I once again felt an aching desire to be ABLE to.

I grew up Muslim - praying every day, 5 times a day. I woke up at dawn every day of my life from 7ish to 16ish to pray the morning prayer. I prayed at mid-morning, lunch, sunset, and once more before I went to bed. My exclamations 'Yah Allah!' were prayers. My words of hope 'Mashallah' were prayers. My words of gratitude 'Al-Hamidiallah' were prayers. I lived in a world where praying was almost as natural and spontaneous as breathing - and often just as subtle. Ten years of praying daily leaves a distinct impression on how you are as a person - and it strikes me as odd that I am now a person who cannot pray.

I stopped praying when I was around 17 - I was fed up with the artificiality of the people and patriarchy of the religion, and I transferred that anger and frustration towards the trappings of Islam. I stopped praying. I stopped fasting. I stopped wearing hijab. I slowly stopped believing at all. As arrogant as it sounds (and is) I didn't feel like a God who could ALLOW horrors to happen on His world deserved my worship. Rather like boycotting an environmentally detrimental company, or a racist artist, I boycotted a distant and ineffectual God to better merge my mind and the spirit I was developing into.

Through the first few years of college - if pressed I would call myself an atheist. As time went on - I would call myself a neopagan. As even more time goes on - and goes on - I call myself a pagan. But I still can't pray. My gods don't much care about the sufferings of humanity - they figure we got ourselves into this mess and our only hope is to pull ourselves back out. They are just as ineffectual on a grand scale as God has shown Himself to be - but they admit to it and never claimed to be anything more. My gods are caprious - sometimes providing help, other times standing totally mute. My gods show themselves to me only in nature - both in its kindness and its rage. My gods don't demand that I worship them - they offer me no comfort, no surety, no guarantees of a perfect life after death. My gods are the Creators - they provide a sense of connection to everything and everyone and they are far far far removed from the daily excitement I call my life. Whether that connection even exists or whether it is a fiction made up by my own mind - I don't know. All I can say for sure is that is what I believe.

To those gods - I cannot pray. It would be a waste of breath - empty air going out into the void that would have as much effect as asking the sun to change it course. Over the last few months though, more and more I've began to wish I COULD pray. I truly wish I could have dropped to my knees and prayed for C.'s friend. I truly wish that I could spend some time before bed praying for the people in Iraq - whether citizens of Iraq or of anywhere else. I wish that I could pray for SOOO much - but I can't. I would be a hugely hypocritical lie - and one that I would make for no reason other than to try to soothe others by telling them - "Yes - I will pray for you" because it wouldn't soothe my heart or soul.

So instead, I hang my head and tell them that I cannot pray for them - my prayers would be like chaff in the wind. I have no belief, no certainty, no faith in the existence of a God that would listen or care.


i pray
with bated breath
the beats of my heart
counting out the rosary
of my penitence
i kneel
before something so great
it is unknowable
and plead
for what i have not yet earned
i supplicate
the deaf God
of my world
i show
the blind ruler
of this universe
my pains
i entreat
the heartless creator
to free me from its creation
and receive nothing
but
less hope
less trust
less faith
in the god of
my doubting heart.

Friday, March 28, 2003

People

 I've got to vent SOMEWHERE - and as I don't want to vent on the other diary, and I refuse to vent to my mother or friends - I've got to do it here.


I cannot STAND Corey's family. It's true, it's true. I really don't like my in-laws. Corey is one of those people who grew up to be totally NOTHING like the rest of his family - he used them as a guide to 'what NOT to be'. Anyhow - the last straw was this - I got a letter (error #1) addressed solely to me (error #2) asking us (oddd, considering error #2) to consider allowing his grandmother to give us a reception in their hometown. I truely do appreciate the gesture, however - what I DON'T like is the fact that his ENTIRE family on his mothers/grandmothers side (exclusing his brother - and he's still on the fence about it) has decided to NOT come to the wedding because it's too far away. HUH?? How can you say - No - I WON'T go to my OLDEST grandchilds wedding because it would require me to step out of my comfort radious of 100 miles? No - I don't think I have any interest in meeting my future daughter-in-law/granddaughter-in-laws family? How can someone be so selfish? I could totally (and CAN totally) understand someone not being able to come for financial reasons - that was the main reason we moved it to Vegas rather than Jamaica. I can understand someone not being able to take time off to come - that's why we put it on a holiday weekend. I could even understand someone being TOTALLY terrified of airplanes (like MY grandmother - who IS coming)  being not all that willing to come. But - these people have never even BEEN on an airplane. They've never been any further than a day's drive from home - and the fact that they are willing to totally CRUSH Corey by stating that they WON'T come to the wedding (which most likely means his beloved baby brother won't be there either) reallllllllllyyyyy tweaks my nipples.
*sigh* Am I wrong for feeling this way? Should I just accept it and shrug it off and guess that maybe they don't see a wedding as important of an event as I do? And it's not even the fact that it's MY wedding - cuz I don't like em ANYHOW. It's more the fact that it's COREY's wedding - and they are giving off that 'it's not worthy' vibe - which I so easily transalte into 'he's not worthy'. And dammit - if there is a man who DESERVES to have a family worthy of HIM - it's Corey. He ain't perfect - but he is soooo very good.


So. I'm upset. I'm not going to show it (and I'm wondering if ettiqute dicates I STILL send them invites) and I'm not going to let Corey know (I can only talk BUT so much bad about them) but... I had to get that off my chest. It hurts my feelings cuz I KNOW it's hurting his feelings.


Eh. Screw em.


Jasmyn

Thursday, March 27, 2003

Generations

I come from a line of fatherless women. My mothers father left my grandmother and her three children when the youngest, my mother, was ony two. My mom has often wondered if she was a last ditch attempt to keep a failing marriage together - especially considering the fact that her older siblings were only 2 years apart, but 9 years older than her.
My grandmothers father left my great-grandmother when my grandmother was 7. He lived in the same city for the rest of his life, and they never got an official divorce. The only thing I remember of him was that he was black as coal with bright eyes and a constant smell of pipe tobacco. We lived in his house for a few years after he died.
My father & mother were never married, and she kicked him out when I was under a year old. He didn't have a good grasp on fidelity or responsibility, and my mom thought it best to cut her losses (and heartache) sooner rather than later. I vaguely remember meeting a few aunts and cousins - but I couldn't have been any older than three, and I'm not sure if the memories I have are true ones or if they are hopes that somehow turned into memories.

My mothers best friend from college (A.) is married to my father best friend (D.), thus he kept track of what I was doing - but he never contacted me. The first time he contacted me, it was the first semester of college, within the first few days I was on campus. He sent me a brand new computer with printer and all the software - a letter inside told me that it was a gift from my father provided with D.'s help. I've always been a rather cynically pragmatic type, and I remember telling my mother that if he wanted to buy his way into my good graces, he was making a fabulous start.

I heard nothing else from him for 2 years. I finally broke the silence next and sent him a letter. He replied, and in our following conversations we made arrangements to meet the next time he was in Atlanta. It was the saddest, strangest encoutner I could have ever imagined. He looks like me, a little - or more accurtely I look like him. He's very tall - close to 6'7 I believe, and totally dwarfed me. We talked about innane things - what I was doing in school, his job, my half sister, the small talk that all strangers make. We never got into the real stuff...I never really wanted to hear that he didn't care enough to even pretend to care.

Since then, I've gotten one birthday card (on my 21st), two emails (both of which I've iniated) and nothing else. I invited him to my graduation, and never recieved a response. We made plans - actually I made plans to meet up here at some point - he never showed. That was the straw that broke the already weak camel's back. I gave up at that point. I ranted and raved to Corey that I was tired of being the adult - I was tired of trying to get him to do what he should have done years ago and make him a prt of my life. So I stopped. That meeting was supposed to happen in April of 2000, I believe. I haven't heard a single thing from him since. I actually think more about what Imani - my now 17 y/o half sister is doing than I think of him.

I'm about to start a new generation (no, I'm not pregnant), and I fear having my children grow up without a father. It's not that I think it's a bad thing - it's a fact of life for many children - but I think it's a much, much, much better thing for a father to be there. It's rather like formula - if you HAVE to use it, well - it's okay - but breastmilk is always better. I know that Corey would never willingly abandon our children - but my subconsious often shows me life as a single mother.

I'm disconected from my own blood in a way that can never be repaired. I don't know the names of anyone on my fathers side, only know a few people on my grandfathers side (and that's only because they still live in the same city as my grandmother does) and I know absolutely no one on my great-grandfathers side of the family. I often wonder if they think of the offshoots that have been cut away, and wish that history could me changed to bring this family back together. I could do a geneological search and piece my family together - but it simply would not be the same as growing up with a horde of cousins and aunt's and uncles and - family. All I would have is a sheet of paper with the names of all those who share my blood that I'll never know.

Corey's family isn't coming to the wedding. They've never flown, and have no plans to start flying now. He doesn't really get along with most of his family anyhow - mostly because of their comfort and satisfaction with having narrow minds and living in even narrower locales. We know that we are moving away from here, and in both our hearts we know that we are breaking away from his family - and lately that has weighed very heavily on me. I want my children to be a part of a FAMILY - and while I will settle for one that is made of hearts rather than of blood - I truly wish (for our sake and theirs) that it could be different.

Tuesday, March 25, 2003

Illusions

We all hold precious illusions. I know have ideas that are so dangerously close to being the foundation of my world view that I dare not look at them too close or my world might crumble in.
I've tried to root out those unrealistic views of the world - to rid myself of the illusions that I use to justify myself. Most of the time, it's nearly impossible - like trying to reach the end of a rainbow. Other times, assumptions will just POP into my head and I'm forced to stop and think about where that came from, and I realize I have this seed of 'whatever' buried in me that I never knew existed.




I wanted to write about rainbows. I saw four last week, two double sets. I had to put on my sunglasses to see them clearly, but I could see the full arch of both of them. I'm still amazed by rainbows. I alwayshave this urge to hunt for the end of one, simply so that I can say that I've stood in the same spot a rainbow touched. My head calmly tells me that such a thing is impossible, becase rainbows are nothing but an illusion - but the child in me still challanges me to go and see. Somehow, I always manageto silence her. Poor thing.




My tattoo doesn't look ugly yet, but I can tell that it's almost completely scabbed over. The black isn't solid black anymore - instead it's black with grayish cracking lines running through it from when my skin twists and bends as I move. I can run my fingers lightly over it and feel the inked bits - they are nubbly and raised. They constrast suddenly and sharply with the smooth, soft bits of my skin that are between the lines. I rub my thigh and contemplate the braille of my body. Of course - I quickly snatch my wandering hands away since H. told me NOT to rub my grubby little fingers all over it, but eh. Whatever.




Porn. I can't really get into it - it's just SO fake. Most porn makes me laugh. I'm not saying that it doesn't turn me on just a wee bit, but honestly I'd rather have a good toe-tingling, eye-blurring, knee-weakening kiss. I'm not tempted to burst out laughing at that - which for some odd reason seems to spoil the mood with porn. I've been told that there IS good porn out there - where the women - while not models, at least look GOOD - and are NATURAL. I mean - what's UP with the Dragon Lady claws? And the BOOBS! Oh heavens - don't even get my started on the utter lack of anything interesting between either the virtual lack of boobs to the silicone wonders. I want some porn where the men look like theyv'e bathed recently, rather than looking grubby, sweaty and oil coated. Where is the porn in which the cum shots are real and so are the moans??
Eh. Maybe I should become a producer.




One of the random things I want to do before I die? I want to see a ghost.




I was talking to one of my coworkers today, and she said "Childbirth is the closest most women come to death before they actually die." I was so flabbergasted I didn't know WHAT to say. I mean - WTF? I asked her for a more detailed reasoning behind that statement and she said "Ya know, all the blood and stuff." Once again, see me looking REAL stunned. I mean, how do you even START with someone who has that level of fear of such a NATURAL process stuck in them? How do you even begin to convince them that women have been doing this for as long as humanity has been around, and it's NOT as bloody dangerous/risky/bad as American medical science would have us believe? She'd most likely be one of those caring neighbors who would call the cops on a woman having a homebirth.




I'm liking the bars today. This has been an odd collections of thoughts that have been bubbling around in my mind. It's actually procrastination. I'm thinking about starting up a business, and I'm starting to feel like its a really stupid idea in an already over saturated environment, and like my mom said The dot.com world is dead. I love her dearly, but sometimes - DAMN that woman. Anyhow - I really should be reading one of the books I have on small business start ups and how to advertise and all that junk - but instead I'm enjoying my new clikcity clackity keyboard by writing this long rambly entry. At the same time, I'm religiously checking The Agonist , and chatting to C. about why Corey was most strongly against us collaborating on a book of erotic fiction.
I don't know if I will ever be - worthwhile. In no way being morbid, but I could vanish off the face of the earth today, and very few people would truly miss the effect/contribution I've had to their lives. And - I'm not sure if I'm okay with that. I know that I don't want to be famous - but I do want to be - vital. Needed. Important in some way to people beyond those I call family. I wonder sometimes if that is why I want children so badly - so that I can have something that depends on ME and that I'm important to. Ugh. I certainly hope not - that would be horrid for both me & the children.




hm. I think my issue with porn is the illusion of desire. How can there be pleasure in sex without desire?

Monday, March 24, 2003

Mothering

So. I've just got off the phone with my mother. We've been having these kind of conversations a lot lately - where she tries to tell me what I should do with my life, and I gently try to tell her that there is no way in HELL I will ever willingly turn myself into a wage slave again simply for the pleasure of 'having' stuff.
L. tells me that because we grew up around money (which maybe he did - but I certainly didn't) we had the freedom to be able to see what else would make us happy besides money. I don't know - maybe that is it. But, I do know that as I've gotten older, more in touch with myself, and wiser - I've begun to realize that the 'money first' attitude isn't mine. It's no longer the #1 thing on my list of need to have. Maybe I can fix my mouth to say that because I've never TRULY been short of money. I've never had to decide whether to pay the phone bill or the electric bill because covering both wasn't possible. I've never had to make excuses to my children as to why we are having the same thing to eat for dinner AGAIN. But - at the same time, I don't want to have to chose between going to a meeting or going to the ballet recital I've worked so hard to afford. I don't want to work so long and doing something that I hate - simply for the money. I don't want to HAVE to work to the bone to have the 'things' I've been told that I need/deserve - but not being happy.
She told me tonight - sometimes if one has a goal, one has to sacrifice to reach it. I agree. And I've sacrificed - but it should be okay to draw a line in the sand and say "Here. I can give up no more - I WILL not give up anymore in order to have more THINGS around me." It should be acceptable to say - No more. The money isn't worth MY LIFE.
I don't plan on being poor - heavens no. I've got too much of a champange taste for that. But - I do plan on being HAPPY. And if being happy means that I don't make as much as a dentist does - hey. I can live with that. If being happy means that I won't be able to afford to drive a new car every other year - hey. I can LIVE with that. But - she doesn't see the huge realm of possibilities between working 80 hours a week at a job I hate but lets me bring home 150,000 a year - and working at a 7-11 struggling from paycheck to paycheck with no money to take my children to art classes or museums.

I haven't had the heart to tell her that I'm pretty sure of what I want to do with my life - simply because I'm almost sure that she wouldn't approve. It doesn't make enough money for her - besides not being the least bit impressive. Sometimes, I really wonder how she managed to raise a child with so much of her sense of money, but with such an unattraction to it.

I imagine it must be hard for her though. To see me, her pride & joy, talking madness about being happy - no matter the money. It must be worrying for her - to see me so willing to apparently toss everything she's taught me away for some 'emotional' feeling.

I don't know. Maybe I am a little too idealistic. Maybe I have painted a rosy picture in my mind of what a simpler life would be like. Even still, I yearn for it.

Bitter

I LOVE Me'Shell NdegeOcello . She's got a voice out of this world, and can play the bass like nobodys business...AND she's a hot bald woman. Her *thinks* 3rd album was called Bitter and that has been what I've been listening to (when I don't actually have the radio on) all weekend. It fits the feelings of helpless misrey I've been dealing with.

Eh. Sometimes I feel like it's rather stupid of me to care - almost ridiculous for me to see the sight of a city of 5 million being strafed and burning and feel a twinge of horror for the people who live - and hopefully did not die there.
I have a hard time trying to make my words of protest understandable as words of support for the troops. I admire/respect/pity the men and women who are fighting over there. I admire them because they have what must be the hardest job on earth - consiously killing others. I respect them because they can come back home and turn WHATEVER it is that allows them to kill off, and be calm, humane, productive parts of society. I pity them, because they are part of a battle that has nothing to do with 'defending' our shores, against a country that is 50% children, and against a treacherous dictator who has no problem massacring his own. I support our troops - I support their right to live and to be with their families and thus I am against this war. I don't blame them for where they are - they are soldiers, which inherently means they have no right to question their orders. I understand how they got there - I've thought about joining the military but realized that the free school and the GI Bill would mean jack all after I was court martialed for going AWOL the first time I was expected to kill.
I blame the so-called 'leaders' of our country - those men who never HAD to face the thought of killing another man and then returning to their normal lives. I blame them for EVERY death - Iraqi and American and British and Australian. I blame them for not trying something different. I blame them for not being STRONG enough to decide to assasinate Saddam rather than waging a war that is about as legal as assasinating him would be. I blame them for all of the vet's who will return to rocky lives, rocky marriages, a rocky economy and the awareness of the blood on their hands that will forever be buried in their psyche .

So - sometimes I'm a little bitter when I hear "We can't critize the President because we have to support our troops". Nothing I can say is going to make them feel better about what they are FORCED to do - but perhaps something I say can convince those who ARE forcing them to fight and die to bring them home and persue other avenues of 'regime change'.
I get downright aggravated when I read editorials about how some people have no right to protest because they've never fought. I start to get a little pissed off when people try to tell me that by protesting I'm disrespecting the memory of all the men & women who have died to GIVE me the right to protest. I simply cannot understand what web of idiocy has been draped over those peoples minds. How can they NOT understand that standing silent when I am in disagreement with my government would be the greatest form of disrespect I could possibly show those brave people? I am going to honor the memory of those who have gone before by exercising the right they DIED for. I am going to honor the soldiers who are currently putting their lives on the line by demanding that they NOT have to die for whatever spurious 'rationale' Bush & Co. come up with next.

So. I'm bitter about the state of the world today. I'm bitter that America has decided that she can try to run the rest of the world at her own expense. I'm bitter that becaue of our 'brilliant' policy of pre-emptive attack, we have opened the door to far greater atrocities than Saddam could ever commit on his own.

Mostly though, I'm bitter that in a country that is supposedly the bastion of Democracy - the People are being ignored and dismissed, and the Powers that Be don't even have the decency to try to present a compelling, true and convincing argument to support this war. I don't think that is asking for too much - and I don't think that DEMANDING that explanation is anything BUT the highest expression of our patriotic pride.

Sunday, March 23, 2003

Pictures

Okay - I still think this is an horrid picture of the tattoo, but then it just might be seeing my skin in all its dappled and ashy glory. :)



That's my hip! IT's the closest thing to a nudie pic I'll ever have online too. :)

These are the Boys.

Giovanni -


and Nikki

Saturday, March 22, 2003

Dune


All governments suffer a recurring problem: Power attracts pathological personalities. It is not that power corrupts but that it is magnetic to the corruptable. Such people have a tendency to become drunk on violence, a condition to which they are quickly addicted. - Missionaria Protectiva: ChapterHouse by Frank Herbert


I think I first read Dune when I was around 11 or 12. If I had heard Cartman at that point, when I was done reading I would have proclaimed - "They have warped my tender little mind."
Those books truly expanded my world view. They seem so - true. From reading them, I can almost understand how some people can proclaim Jedi as a religion. They have that kind of call to me.
The SciFi Channel presented a three-part mini series of the first book in the series Dune last year. It was breathtaking. I can't think of any other world to describe it. Last week, they presnted the second book Children of Dune. Once again, a masterpiece of cinematography.
Anyway, I was looking up The Litany of Fear so I could describe to another friend what my back tattoo would be, and I happened to discover the quote above. It seems so - erieely appropiate considering the state of the world today.

Realization

I never realized just how HARD it is to take a picture of your own hip.

Yes... I got the computer (a Gateway 400SP) and a digital camera (a Canon S45) and the tatoo (the firey one).

I quite nearly freaked out at Gateway over spending THAT much money - and for actually PAYING RETAIL. At one point I almost BEGGED the guy to find me just one coupon - just ONE sale priced item, but he couldn't. So instead, I soothed my consious by signing up for a super cheap (20.00 a month) CABLE MODEM deal. Heh. It's only 750Kbps, but considering I WAS running on 46.6Kbps, its a MASSIVE difference. :)
I think I'm going to be able to transfer all of my stuff from my work computer(s) onto here rather easily - if I was patient enough to wait and upload the stuff while I was at work, it would go faster, but I'm an impatient heifer, so eh.
I also - which I feel slightly guilty about - transfered Adobe Photoshop form the work computer to mine. But I KNOW that I will use it so very much, and god KNOWS I can't afford to spend the 600.00 it would take to get it.
I'm still surrounded my boxes and piles of paper. Everything installed smoothly (including the MS Office I had to pay an extra 300 bucks for - damn you Bill Gates!!) and it's wonderful.
The camera is fun too... I've finally managed to take a good picture of my engagement ring (which I will post over at the girly diary later) and of the boys, my little angels. I also took a picture of my Frog Prince - the permanent resident of my car which I have yet to name. I almost feel like naming it is dishonest to BabyGurl's memory. Besides, this car is so damn adrondynous, I've no clue what to call it.

The tattoo was cool - it only took him about 20 minutes to do it, and it only hurt in a few spots. Getting the black areas shaded actually hurt the least, and I expected them to hurt the point. Getting the tip of the longest flamedone hurt like HELL - but I think that might have been because he went over it more than once. I had to wait a while as the shop was really busy, but I had a good book to read so it wasn't bad at all. I'm quite upset that I didn't getthe ndrophin rush I was expecting - getting pierced has always given me a much better high. Eh well...maybe the back one will do that.

It's been a delightful weekend thus far.

Friday, March 21, 2003

Competition

Corey has no clue - but I'm near in LOVE with this man. Solely for his cutting, insightful, and utterly uncensored writings on his feelings about life as a black person in America.




And that's all I'm going to say about that.




Went to my first belly dancing class yesterday - I got there a few moments late because I couldn't figure out how to get into the building. I finally just gave up and hiked up my skirt and jumped the fence. Heh. It's - interesting. Takes a lot more thought than I expected - you have to concentrate on isolating sections of your body and ONLY moving them. And can I say that standing in front of a mirror THAT big on a weekly basis is going to keep me on the path of no dietary 'deviations'. I'm looking forward to keeping on with this class though - it's fun and it works some muscles I didn't even know I had. After just the first one, I'm sure I'll take it at LEAST once, and I want to take the Intermeadiate and Advanced classes too.
I've discovered something rather frustrating too. Actually - two things that are rather frustrating.
1) I'm VERY disconnected form my body. I have a hard time tapping into getting myself to MOVE the way I want to. I'm way too far into my own head to get further into my body. I'm sure its a side effect of YEARS of utterly NO physical activity more coordinated than walking, so I should be able to improve on that.
2) I am VERY flexible, and while that isn't a bad thing in the least, it makes it really impossible for me to stretch out certain parts of my body (like my shoulders, hips, back and obliques). I can bend until I simply CAN'T bend anymore (due to flesh getting in the way) and STILL not be stretching anything. I think I might swing by a bookstore tonight to and see if I can find a book about stretching - there's GOT to be something I can do.

I finally washed ALL of my clothes yesterday - seven loads (and that was JUST clothing). I counted, and I own 32 pairs of bras (retail price about 800.00 - I paid about 360.00). Once I narrowed them down to ones that actually FIT right - I was at 10 pairs.Well, only having ten bras will at least force me to wash clothes every week.
The ones I can't fit anymore aren't old (under a year - and with THAT many obviously they haven't been worn hard), and still in rather good condition. I'd feel HORRID to throw them out, but is there any place (womens shelter or something) that will actually TAKE bras? I know that Dress for Sucess won't take undergraments - but maybe I can call and double check with them - esp. since they are so big. They bend their rules for suits over a size 14, so maybe they will do the same for bras? I mean good support is the BEST way to look good in your clothes - esp. if you have some big ole bazoombas. I KNOW someone can use them...

This weekend, I plan on lounging about the house mostly. Cleaning some, finishing my centerpieces, and buying my COMPUTER & digital camera!! I got the money, and after a bit of internal debating because having one of those cards reflect a balance of 0.00 is just SO lovely, I decided to go for it. I want to start up a small business, and I simply don't feel RIGHT trying to operate that on the company's equipment. Ethically, it's just a little too far on the shady side. I have no problem with working on my novel(s) at work, as I have no plans of making money from them...
I don't know what computer I'm going to get (though I'm planning on getting a Gateway), but think I do know what camera I want - it's a tie between two very similar ones. Both Canons, as I love the 35mm Canon I have, and both PowerShots. One is the S40, and the other is the S45. *shrugs* Not a big difference between the two, and about a 50 dollar difference, but I need to get in a store and actually hold them to figure out which one I want.
And I'm going to get my tattoo too. On my way home tonight, I'm going to stop into Artistic Skin Designs and schedule some time with Tony (whose work I like the best) to get it done Saturday or Sunday. I'm soooooo excited. If I can, I'll take pictures with my new digital camera....

Thursday, March 20, 2003

Markings

I'm thinking about getting my 1st tattoo this weekend. I've definitely settled on this:



on my right hip but I haven't settled on when I'm going to get it. At first, I wanted Corey here when I got it - but that's really not that crucial to me. Besides, I'd love to suprise him with it.
So. I was thinking about this weekend. There's nothing special about it (except for the fact that I MIGHT be under 200 pounds for the first time in about 4 years), but maybe there shouldn't HAVE to be anything special about it. The act of getting tattooed itself is significant to me.
I'm actually looking forward to the pain of it - though considering I have a relatively high level of pain endurance, it might not be as noticable as I'm expecting it to be, especially since I feel so numb.

Well...numb's not quite the right word. I feel foggy - like my brain's been stuffed with cotton wool and then dipped in water. Work is worthless, as I'm not doing anything real here but checking salon.com, alternet.org and cnn.com.

I think I might go home now. Wash some clothes. Play with my cats. Go to my first bellydancing class.

Dream

I had the worst dream I think I've ever had last night.
I was driving to work, actually NOT speeding for once, more or less minding my own business. I'm suddenly surrounded by cop cars, and they yank me out of my car and proceed to arrest me. I'm crying/sobbing & pleading with them as to why they are arresting me. They tell me they are rounding up everyone of Arabic descent, and my name earmarks me as one of them. I'm taken to a jail cell with two other women, and I'm just sitting in the corner, still crying, utter terrified and shaken. I ask for a phone to make a call - and they tell me that no calls are allowed.
I woke up then, suprisingly NOT crying as I usually wake up crying when I'm that scared in a dream. I laid there, and thought about how possible such a thing is. If something like that happened - I would most likely be set free rather quickly as I LOOK NOTHING like a person of Arabian descent, but - it could happen. Suddenly, any resistance I might have had to taking Corey's name is utterly erased. In fact, I can't wait.

Blank

I feel oddly blank - empty. I feel like I've been drained of all color (which is NOT as easy thing to do) pressed flat, and propped up to view the suddenly two dimensional world. Tabula Rosa. I've issued a moritorium on television. I watch CNN occasionally, but only on mute with the closed captioning on. Other than that - it's not worth it. I realized that I wrote much more before I started watching TV - I think I was less distracted and more in touch with the writer inside - so I'm going to try to do that again. Also - the moritorium will help be go to bed earlier, as I won't be glued to the set until 11pm/midnight. Also - it grants me some form of peace of mind...very head in the sand yes, but still...

I started cleaning my house yesterday - so far my bedroom and my bathroom are spotless. Corey has to work this weekend, so I will have this weekend to myself (oh! wonderous joy! I love having him here - but not having him here is sometimes nice too...) It's not going to be as nice as it was last weekend - but it will still be pleasant. I should be able to wrap up my spring cleaning.
Yesterday, I went to a career development workshop. One of my friends is rather exasperated with me - quote "Why don't you just quit and run off to write and garden and midwife like you KNOW you want to!!!???" Eh. I'm a big fat wuss, that's why. I'm a big fat wuss with only 500.00 in the savings account that really should be earmarked for something else. And I'm scared. The tests that I'm taking tell me what I already know - but I'm a reader, so seeing it in black & white make it so much more OBVIOUS. Well...baby steps - at least I'm taking them.

Tuesday, March 18, 2003

Normal

I read this on one of the midwifery groups that I'm on... it's worth sharing with every pregnant/trying to concieve/new mother or couple you know.




Any time we talk about breastfed children being "better" or "more" or "healthier" or "sturdier" or "higher", we're saying "than normal." That's what comparatives mean. And of course the "normal" in those sentences must be "formula-feeding" because in this culture that's really the only other way babies are fed. So every time we do it, we're as good as saying to mothers, "formula-fed babies are normal, and formula-feeding is normal." That means formula-feeding must be safe, acceptable, low-risk, the standard thing to do, the default position, the culturally acceptable thing to do, everything that mothers perceive normal to be. And that means they're simply not driven to avoid it. We've as good as told them formula is safe and healthy. But what if we don't talk about breastfed kids being anything different from "normal"? Well, we all know formula kids don't outperform them in any way. That must mean formula is not as safe, not as healthy, not a complete food, and on and on.
Yikes! I think that notion is so utterly scary that we just avoid it altogether. Anne Altschuler sent me a couple captions from her Wisconsin paper. The first: "Study finds link between breast feeding and cancer." Well, of course the "link" was an inverse relationship. But that wasn't clear, so they had to print a correction: "A headline on Page 4A of Wednesday's paper was misleading. The headline was over a story about a study of breast cancer risks for women who breast feed their babies. The study found a reduced risk of the cancer among women who breast feed." But is that really what the study found? Didn't it find that women who don't do the biologically normal thing are at a risk greater than the biological norm? Don't they mean that there's an increased risk linked to formula-feeding?
It's very rare to see the f-word in print, though. Researchers seem to avoid it like the plague, to the point of honestly not recognizing that they're using the formula-fed child to represent the norm. Here's a statement from our American Academy of Pediatrics. "The breastfed infant is the reference or normative model against which all alternative feeding methods must be measured with regard to growth, health, development, and all other short-and long-term outcomes." Fine so far, and utterly correct. But the very next sentence ruins it: "Epidemiologic research shows that human milk and breastfeeding of infants provide advantages with regard to general health, growth, and development, while significantly decreasing risk for a large number of acute and chronic diseases."
To be correct, it should have read, "Epidemiologic research shows that formula and formula-feeding of infants provide disadvantages with regard to general health, growth, and development, while significantly increasing risk for a large number of acute and chronic diseases." *That's* how you say it if breastfeeding is the norm. But using the f-word would have been unthinkable, politically, and so they skittered around it. And in doing so, I would say they withheld vital decision-making information from parents.
As to numbers: if A is half of B, then B is twice as much as A. If breastfed babies have "half as many ear infections" (as formula-fed infants), then you could just as well (and more correctly) say formula-fed babies have twice as many as breastfed babies.
If A is 25% less than B, then B is 33 1/3 more than A. Maybe the easiest thing is just to assign numbers. In the first case, you could say A is 50 and B is 100. In the second, A is 75 and B is 100. The math gets trickier for some of the statistics. You just have to assign 100 to the current "norm", see what the comparative is, then figure out what you have to do to get from that comparative back to 100. If A is 30% less than B, or 70, then B, at 100, is 43% more than A. And I can't do that without messing around with a calculator.
Breastfeeding isn't the only place where we get the norm backwards. Which seems closer to the biological norm to you: a modern obstetric facility or a woman laboring with an experienced woman at hand? Which do we choose as the norm in our studies? Which *should* we choose, biologically speaking, and how would it affect how we run our hospitals?
Here are some figures from Marshall Klaus on doulas: Having a doula results in a:
50% decrease in cesarean sections
25% decrease in length of labor
30% decrease in use of forceps
40% decrease in use of oxytocin
60% decrease in use of epidurals,
30% decrease in use of pain medications.
So the mom thinks, "Okay, if I get around to it I ought to line up a doula, to augment my normal, safe, unquestioned hospital delivery." Now try this: When a woman is forced to labor without a supportive woman at her side, she experiences a:
100% increase in cesarean sections, or twice as many
33% increase in length of labor
43% increase in use of forceps
67% increase in use of oxytocin
150% increase in use of epidurals, or 2 1/2 times as many
43% increase in use of pain medications.
Don't you think a woman might think, "Wait a minute! How could the hospital be so irresponsible as to knowingly increase my risks this way?" (pardon the split infinitive) And suddenly the whole mirage of the normal, safe, unquestioned hospital delivery evaporates.

Monday, March 17, 2003

Catch-22

Even if, let's say - he DID decide to accept exile - what country would be crazy enough to take him? Obviously, supporters of that particular madman would have just made us (US) their biggest very-worst-friend.

War is here. Me and a friend of mine have a bet going whether it will start in the morning or the evening. It's actually rather umsettling that we bet on such a thing at all.
What's even more unsettling is the idea that there is most likely a girl my age sitting in Baghdad, talking to a friend, wondering the same thing. Luckily for me, I was born here and not there.

Does it matter that you swear off of TV (not even watching Children of Dune, just taping it instead) if you still avidly hang around CNN.com and the alternanews sites? I simply don't think that I could listen to such...madness without feeling a little infected myself. I suppose I'm afraid that something will twist off in my head and I will start to agree with him.

Moment of Silence

This is what war in Iraq will destory. This is who will be 'shocked and awed' by our military might and bombs.
I can't support it...




By George Carpaccio, AlterNet
March 16, 2003


When I think of Baghdad, the first thing that comes to mind is not the dictator and his palaces, nor his suspected store of prohibited weapons, nor even the nefarious web of prisons and torture chambers that have brought so much suffering to the Iraqi people.


I have made nine trips to Iraq since 1997, and have traveled and worked there with various organizations including Voices in the Wilderness, American Friends Service Committee, and the Middle East Council of Churches. Initially, I wanted to witness the effects of sanctions on the lives of ordinary Iraqis in order to serve as a more credible advocate, in my own country, for the people of Iraq. But during my time in Iraq, I have created many deep and lasting ties with a number of families; you might say we are part of one quite large, extended family whose members live in Boston as well as in Baghdad.


No, when I think of Baghdad and Iraq, I see my sisters and brothers, and my ever-increasing flock of nephews and nieces. I hear my niece Sharook asking me over the phone about my father (who recently broke his hip) and assuring me in her sweet soft voice and trembling English that she along with her mother and aunts is praying for his recovery. I remember the day her cousin Yassir, a fifteen-year-old champion soccer player, pressed into my hand the blue-ribboned medal he received from his school for excellence on the soccer field. He insisted I keep it. Stunned by his desire to part with something so precious, I tried to give the medal back. Yassir would not hear of it. "I love you, George," he said in Arabic. "Please keep this gift and do not forget me, ever."


Just the other day his mother Suha and I were talking on the phone. Before we hung up, she asked me what I would like her to send me. She explained that a fellow American, working in Baghdad with Voices in the Wilderness (a longtime anti-sanctions organization) would deliver her present to me. Earlier in our conversation, I had tried as best I could to alert the family to a likely timetable for a U.S. invasion and to urge them to evacuate Baghdad as soon as possible.


Suha understands the danger and is planning to move temporarily to a farming area south of the city. Nevertheless, she has decided to bake me a big batch of klege, a traditional Iraqi dessert that she knows I covet, and send it to my wife and I.


After we said our goodbyes, I happened upon an article in the Sydney Morning Herald entitled "One Minute to Midnight, and the Deadly Baghdad Canyons Wait." The author, Paul McGeough, attempts to help readers understand the pitfalls of bringing U.S. forces into the city. Unconcerned with the suffering this will cause the already over-burdened, battle-scarred, and resource-depleted populace, McGeough sifts through the views of defense analysts and Army generals. One of them, Barry McCaffrey, says, "They're not going to believe what we do to them . . . This would be the 3rd Infantry Division/Mechanized. They're going to drive M1A2 tanks down the street with a 120mm gun and fire five rounds into a lower floor and bring the building down."


McCaffrey’s words speak for themselves. No gloss is necessary to bring out their glaring malice and callousness. Of course, what he fails to say is that families dwell in those buildings – families like those of Suha and her four sons, and her husband Karim who can’t work because of severe heart problems. During a visit, he will invariably slip off to his garden and return bearing a prim yellow rose, which he entrusts to me as if it were a rare jewel he knows I will always treasure.


Suha’s is one of nine Iraqi families I am committed to helping through a trust fund I set up a few years ago. Sometime after my third visit to Iraq in 1998, I decided to provide monthly remittances to families I had befriended. At the time, these were Shia Muslim families in dire need of assistance.


I made their acquaintance through the good graces of our hotel receptionist, a young Chaldean Catholic woman who, though impoverished herself, reached out to those in even greater need. With the help of her parish church, she provided food and blankets to several Muslim and Christian families in Baghdad, and helped with finding jobs and homes for those who had migrated from northern Iraq.


The example of her faith, her good works, and her loving adherence to the Sermon on the Mount inspired me to undertake something similar on my own. Shortly after our friendship blossomed, she was forced to flee Iraq with her entire family, and now lives in Canada. I inherited, in a manner of speaking, six families whom she once assisted and took me to visit each time I came to Baghdad. I have since expanded our circle of care to include three more families.


I wish I were a rich man. But I am not. I earn my daily bread as a storyteller and artist-educator. Not much money in that. In the beginning, I put in extra weekend shifts at one of my jobs in order to keep the remittances flowing. I also cut back on expenses in order to meet my new responsibilities. Vacations were out of the question as were weekends away. I had to keep driving the same old, rusted-out clunker and make do with an aging wardrobe as well. Books, records, meals out – ancient history.


I should pause here for a disclaimer. Trust me that I am not a boastful man; my friends know me to be quite self-effacing. I tell you of my "sacrifices" to show what is possible.


After much tinkering with different ways to keep the trust fund solvent and to make sure the money got to the families in a timely fashion, I provide seventy-five dollars every three months in cash to each of the nine families. Either I personally deliver this assistance or send it over with a fellow activist.


The quarterly payments help the families purchase food that is more nutritious than what they receive from government rations. It also enables them to buy medicine at the local pharmacies. As in any family, emergencies or crises arise when extra funds are necessary. So far, I’ve been able to handle such occasions.


The first order of business when I arrive in Baghdad is to visit as many of the families as I can. In one of my covert identities as "Baba Noel" (Father Christmas), I have been known to pop in unannounced with a duffel bag stuffed with toys and other gifts, plus clothes, and a sizable cache of vitamins, aspirin, and other handy household medicines.


All in all, I’ve distributed about twenty-five thousand dollars to these families over a five-year period. The money has come from the sweat of my brow and the kind donations of my growing community of friends and supporters. Instead of launching cruise missiles on Iraqi cities or increasing people’s suffering by tightening the sanctions or threatening them with cataclysmic war, we have freely and joyfully given them direct material aid along with consistent spiritual support.


A few achievements I am especially proud of:


– Making it possible for Najra, a teacher, artist, and mother of three, to afford a caesarian section in a clean, well-staffed clinic; and recently, to receive treatment for an inflamed ulcer.


- Paying for the reconstruction of two ceilings in Najra’s home damaged during a cruise missile attack in 1993.


– Purchasing a refurbished sewing machine in Baghdad’s Arab suq so that she could start a new career making children’s clothes for friends and neighbors.


– Obtaining and delivering a thousand dollars worth of chemotherapy drugs for a young mother with cancer in both breasts (the drugs are often not available, even in Baghdad, or are inferior to what we have in this country).


– Enabling a twelve-year-old girl named Ghada to have a kidney stone removed at a private hospital.


– Raising part of the money for a special evacuation fund for all nine families in the likely event of an American invasion.


In return for my efforts, I receive infinitely more than I give. And through this free and loving exchange, I have come to see, perhaps more clearly than at any other time in my life, the shabby immorality of people like George Bush and the mean little men who surround him – men who speak about rescuing the Iraqi people from the clutches of an evil dictator and replacing tyranny with democracy while preparing to massacre hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqis to achieve their stated aims.


Something else I have come to understand more deeply: the wrongness of using violence or the threat of violence to create change, especially when the aggressor – in this case the United States military and its political minders – possesses all or most of the means of force. As an unofficial diplomat of sorts, I have built many bridges in Iraq – between my self and the culture I represent, on the one hand, and the people and culture of Iraq.


I like to think that when my friends and relatives in Iraq think of America, the first thing that comes to mind is not the bombast and war-lust of George Bush or the megatons of explosives he is prepared to use. No, I trust that what comes to mind for my friends and relatives are the times we have spent together and the love we have exchanged.


Like the time Fatima and her sisters and I piled into a battered old orange and white taxi and traveled across town to a large but rather creaky amusement park. For the better part of a languid October evening, the children had the time of their lives. While I supervised, they rode the carousel, the Ferris wheel, and of course the bumper cars; picked off wisps of cotton candy I bought from a vendor; and paddled around a weedy lagoon while a young man sang on a boat that went by.


Or the time I whipped up a real Italian dinner for Suha and her family. During the meal, she and her husband, who had never eaten spaghetti before, began playfully sucking on separate ends of the same strand until their lips touched and they gave each other a brief kiss. Their young sons were so embarrassed they didn’t know whether to cover their faces or leave the room.


This past December I called on Najra and her husband Rahim, a six-foot-six Islamic scholar and a first-class wit. In one of his wickedly impish moods, he set his wife’s reading glasses on the tip of his nose, covered his head with the black and white kufiyah I had brought him from Amman, and impersonated Najra while I videotaped him "for all of my American fans," he said. Rahim discussed in a faux erudite tone the aesthetic theories behind "his" art, samples of which were displayed on the walls of their living room. He concluded his presentation with an unexpected twist by launching into a medley of Tom Jones’ hits, notably "It’s Not Unusual" in scratchy English. Najra and I scooted outside to catch our breath from laughing so hard.


A few years ago Najra and Suha, who is her sister-in-law, baked a cake for me in honor of the Easter Eid. As we were drinking Pepsi and sharing the cake, Najra asked if I could provide any clothes for her husband, who had been wearing the same shirt for years. For some reason, I had an extra shirt in my book bag and gave it to her. Suha whispered something to Najra. The two then started chuckling while speaking to each other in Arabic.


"Okay, what’s so funny?" I asked. Najra answered me in English. "Suha says that if you stay any longer in Iraq you will have no clothes left and when you step off the plane your wife will see a naked man. She also says you must call the President and tell him, ‘Please, no more sanctions on Iraq. The people need so much they are making me a poor man with no money and no clothes.’"


An obvious question: how can my limited effort in providing minimal assistance to a handful of families serve the greater goal of dissolving the tension between Iraq and the United States and bringing relief to all the people? I recall a proverb I once heard from an Iraqi artist: when two elephants fight, he said, only the grass suffers. So it is that from the "grass," real change will come. The work I do in Iraq is quintessentially grassroots, person-to-person activism. Not only do I bring material aid; I also listen to people’s stories and share the truth of my own life experience. As far as possible, I witness and acknowledge what people are enduring under sanctions and the threat of war. Furthermore, I honor their culture, language, and customs, and try to create balanced relationships based on mutual respect.


Given the complexity of the crisis that now exists, I do not for a moment believe that what I have done could be construed as a template for a large-scale, nonviolent solution. On the other hand, the spirit in which I have carried on this work is something I would most definitely put forward as an alternative to the current whoops and hollers for war.


George Capaccio is a freelance writer and storyteller in Arlington, Mass. He has produced two videos and two books of poems and stories about his experiences in Iraq. His most recent trip to Iraq was in January 2003.

Busywork

It's still gorgeous outside. We (me and several coworkers) took a nice walk outside after lunch, and now I'm pumped about planning my spring schedule. My goal is to insure that I am OUT of the house most nights of the week. So far - I'm doing good.
Mondays - starting mid April, I'm going to take swimming lessons. Now that I have my 'new' eyes, I REALLY want to learn how to swim. That was one of the reasons that I never learned how to swim was because once I was in the water, I couldn't SEE. *laughs* I tried to explain to my mother just how odd that is, but I gave up. Your vision is altered enough as it is by JUST being in water, and I couldn't see as it was, so there was no way I could see clearly.
Tuesdays - starting April 8th, I'm going to be taking American Sign Languages classes. I planned on taking them earlier, but I missed the registration period. This time - it's inked in on my calander, and so I'm DEFINITELY going this time.
Wednesdays - I have nothing PLANNED for this day, but I'm thinking it might be a good gardening/laying about in the sun (if it's sunny) day. :)
Thursdays - The belly-dancing classes. Those start this week, and it's an 8 week class. :) This should be loads of fun! I have enough BELLY to dance with this is for sure.
Fridays - There is a Open Mic that I could go to - if I ever get up the nerve to go to a bigger forum than the one I started with. I want to write a few more new poems (or at least RE-write/edit some of my old stuff) before I move to a different forum. I have to admit though, the small group that I went to last week seemed to LOVE my poetry. It was really fun and exciting. One of the guys who read there (and his son) reads at this Friday night meeting, and they said that it's nice... so on the Fridays that Corey comes here, I can go to that reading. At some point when I get crazier or braver (and is there really a difference?).




I want to bitch, moan and whine for a while. I'm losing weight, and while that is a wonderful thing is sooo many ways - there is one way in which I'm UTTERLY dreading it. I'm going to have to buy new bras. As of today, most of my bras are 42/44 DDD. I brought close to 400.00 worth of bras from Lane Bryant while I worked there, which means I most likely only actually paid about 150.00 for them. The issue is that now, I've lost enough freaking weight that I really NEED to be in a 38/40 DDD, and dammit them bitches are EXPENSIVE. Obviously, the girls are big enough that they NEED some sturdy support, and so the cheap bras simply don't cut it - I might as well be wearing the wrong size. So - I'm dragging my feet, because I'm so not in the mood to spend what I need to spend to get some good bras, but - what choice do I have? I can't be going around with droopy boobies - besides it being most unattractive - my back will start to hurt, and I have NO intention of EVER getting reduction surgery, so bad bras aren't an option. Gah.

SunCatcher

If I could paint, that would be my self-potrait. A image of a semi-transperent me, swinging in the breeze from the edge of my balcony.
This weekend had to be one of the MOST gorgeous weekends I can rememeber in a very, very, very long time. I was out with friends all day Saturday, and managed to actually only spend 30 bucks, which may actually be a Saturday record for me. Saturday night, I had to work - but even that wasn't too bad as everything WENT smoothly (which NEVER happens).
Sunday though - oh mercy Sunday was the kind of day I've dreamt of all winter. I slept in late, awoke and had a very lesuirely breakfast. Then I went out onto my balcony in a wrap, with my brand new copy of Spiritual Midwifery and read. I sipped on a little water as I read, and debated making some tea. I finished reading, and just laid out in the sun. It was a PREFECT day... totally wonderful. I think I was outside dozing on and off from noon until the sky started to cloud up at around 5pm. I then went in the hosue, and settled in to watch Dune on the Scifi channel.
I am really impressed with how they have adapted the books to TV. While I thnk they could have found better actors, the spirit and the scope of the movie was good enough to keep me glued to the screen - and that is saying a lot for me. I watched/taped the first part of Children of Dune as well, and I'm REALLY lookingforward to seeing the rest of that - which is even MORE impressive since I didn't really get into the book that much.
I can't wait to start my garden. I don't think that we are past last frost yet, so I can't actually start PLANTING anything, but tonight I'm going to go out shopping for some plant containers. I saw some nice ones at Kmart, but I'm going to go to BigLots and the Dollar Stores and see if Ican find any for cheaper. I wish I could find a Farmers Market around here so that i could get some wooden crates for free and use those as planters. Hm. Actually I think there IS one, and near my house. I think I will go past there after work tonight.
I've decided that for the tomatoes & strawberries I'm going to get plants, but for the herbs and the vine & root veggies I'm going to use seeds. So - I'm thinking that I might need to start growing them now, so a stop at a nursery might be a good idea at this point too.

Friday, March 14, 2003

Done, done, done.

So. In a bag hanging on the door to my apartment is a bag. In that bag, there are 33 envelopes. On those envelopes, there are 33 55cent Love Letter stamps that I fingaled out of my local post office.



Sidebar: I HATE the new love stamps. I hate them with a passion (and I'm going to go totally bridal and scream: and they DON'T MATCH MY ENVELOPES). However, last years set of Love stamps were the love letter ones.... they looked like.... that. And even though I only needed 37 cent stamps, I decided to be an utter brat and get the more expensive ones that matched. And yes, I brought all that the post office had. Which is just enough for the STD's and the invites. Yes I'm spoiled. Dammit. :)


On those 33 envelopes with their 33 55ct stamps, there are 33 return addresses to me. Also on those 33 envelopes with their 33 55ct stamps & their 33 return addresses - there are address of roughly 50ish people who I hope to have at my wedding.

Oy. Vey. It took me close to THREE hours to find a pen (and two craft stores) (and much pleading to be allowed to open pen packages)(and much cursing about my choice of sparkly ass envelope) that would actually WRITE on the envelopes in a attractive way. You may remember than when we last spoke, I had given in on the pen issue and was going to go with clear labels. Much to may dismay, because of the color/texture of the envelopes, I might as well have used WHITE labels for how inconspicuous they were. *siiiigggghhhhhh* So, after much cursing and stomping about - I emailed the company that I purchased the envelopes from to see if they had any suggestions. He wrote back suggesting a Sharpie. I am SOOO glad that I took a piece of loose paper to the store with me, because the Sharpie SUCKED. So...many pens, many bad words letter...all I need to do is SEND THEM AWAY. :) Yay.

In other bridal news - I also found some spray paint for my centerpieces. The gold & the copper are going well, but I think the ivory is gonna be tough. The color of the holders now is dark brown - and obviously any missed patches show up on the ivory than does on the metallic ones. But I figured out that if I spray them upside down FIRST, then spray the top - it looks pretty nice. Right now I have a full set of the centerpieces with the candles and all sitting on my dining room table. Only on of the bowls actaully has LIT candles in it, as I am not crazy enough to waste my precious candles. :) But I like. I like verrah, verrah much. So. I've decided that the little gemmy things aren't needed, as you can't see them for the candles anyhow.

:) So. I've gotten a good bit done today. Yay me!

jasmyn

Wednesday, March 12, 2003

bubbles

Ever have a feeling or a thought that just felt SO perfect and glorious and wonderful that all of a sudden it feels like the entire top of your head is filled with bubbles? I just got off the phone with Corey - and he suggested as a possible place to move to when we leave here - Miami. Suddenly my body is filled with bubbles.
The cost of living is a little higher, but we could cover that by the simple fact of us living together. Midwifery is legal there, and in fact one of the few midwifery SCHOOLS in the US is in Florida. The weather is great - one of the main things I was looking for in a city was that it be WARM. The ocean is close by - and we have both always wanted to live near the ocean. We are STILL on the East Coast which honestly, was one of the biggest reasons I was uncertain about moving to Cali, since my family and ALL my friends live on the East Coast. Miami is a bustling city - Corey will easily be able to find cooking jobs there. MIDWIFERY IS TOTALLY LEGAL - oh my god I could go to school...and be safe in the law... and learn with others...and be back in school.
The crime rate is a little higher, yes. We would have to learn Spanish, yes - but we planned on doing that anyway. You can get hit by hurricanes - yes. However, at least with hurricanes you have forwarning, AND you can escape. In a earthquake, you are SO screwed.

:) I'm giggly. I'm off to find diaries of Miami type people. I can't figure out what was so unattractive about Miami that it didn't end up on our original 'move-to' list...

Expectations

Sometimes I think that I have exceedingly high expectations of the kind of mother I'm going to be, and I worry that I will look DOWN on myself if I am not the parent I plan on being. Yet, at the same time, I am not willing to mentally 'settle' for being any less. I think that every parent plans on being the BEST parent they can possibly be - or at least in my mind I would hope so. I would also hope that those same parents would have taken some time to THINK about how they want to raise their kids and how to guide them along. Corey and I have constant discussions about our kids. What we're going to name them, how we are going to raise them, discipline, school, friends, TV, bedtimes, eating habits, privacy - just EVERYTHING that we can think of (or some brat reminds us of) we talk about.

But there are so many parents who aren't - bad - per se, it just seems like either 1) they haven't thought about the consequences of THEIR actions 2) they don't care or 3) they don't realize how smart kids are. My latest bit of confusion on this topic - I have a coworker who has a gorgeous strapping 16-month-old son. We were sitting at lunch one day, and talking with another coworker whose wife recently had their second child. She begins to ask him about strollers as she plans on taking a long trip with him in a few months, and she doesn't want to have to carry a big stroller. Then she says He is SOOO strong - if he doesn't want to do something, I can't make him do it. In that case, she was talking about him staying in his high chair, but I had to wonder if she thought at ALL about how that is going to play out as he gets older. She is TEACHING him that if he struggles, complains, or whines enough, she will give in to his demands and give him what he wants. Obviously, right now the kid staying in his high chair or not isn't such a big deal - but what about when it comes to bigger things? Homework? Bedtimes? Meals? Bathing? General attitude? She is going to bitch and moan and whine about how she has to fight with him to get him to do ANYTHING that she wants - or that he throws temper tantrums - but she won't realize at ALL that she TAUGHT him that form of getting what he wants.

Looking back, I don't think my mother was mean or overly harsh to me. I honestly can't ever remember her having to physically discipline me - and I can honestly say that I KNEW better. Even as a very young child - I KNEW better. And I knew that there were certain things I could get away with, and certain things that I couldn't, and nothing more than the respect and LOVE I had for my mother kept me in line. I wasn't one of those children you see now-a-days in stores cringing as their parent reaches in to scoop them up - I was one of those children who never HAD to be scooped up for acting out. I also wonder if that is more the fact of the KIND of child I was, or if it was because of how I was raised. I believe that it was because of how I was raised.
There are several things that my mother did that I have SWORN to do for my children - simply because it makes sense.
1) Let them pick out their own clothes. My mother would select several mix & match options, but I would pick out what I actually wore that day. I did this from - 2? 3? years old.
2) Feed them what they need to eat. The concept of a child not eating anything but apples & hotdogs sounds like nothing BUT lazy parenting to me. I was usually consulted about what I would LIKE to have for dinner. Sometimes I go it, sometimes I didn't. If I didn't like what was served, I didn't have to eat, and I could go to bed hungry. It wasn't a punishment - it was me fully feeling the result of my actions. She never tried to feed me food that I hated, and she never had to fret about making everyone at the table happy.
3) Allow privacy. I firmly believe that every member of the family DESERVES privacy. Always. I had a friend who wasn't allowed to close her bedroom door - and that always creeped me out. Forbidding your child privacy insinuates that you do NOT trust them, no matter how much you may say that you do. I think the one and ONLY time my mother 'searched' my room, I was sitting there on the bed, bawling about something, and I fully deserved to have my room searched. I was 15 then, and I still believe that she never snooped in my room without my permission.
4) Mutual Respect. Some parents feel that they can treat their children as they would rather NOT be treated - and wonder why the kids treat them the same way. I won't snoop through my kids’ stuff. I will ask permission before I use anything of theirs. I will knock on their door before walking in. I will apologize/admit when I'm wrong. I won't act like I know everything & that I'm always right.

So. I know that no parent ever wants to FEEL like they are raising their children 'wrong'. Hell, I don't know if there really is a WRONG way to raise your child if you provide love and boundaries. But in my heart, I know that I have an image of a right way to raise our children - and I can only hope that we are strong enough to do it.

Creeps

There is a woman on Yahoo!Personals who is giving out my phone number. That bothers me on SEVERAL different levels. I don't know who she is, and none of the men who call me to get in touch with her seem to want to give up the goods on her. Today, I got the FOURTH phone call in under 2 weeks from a guy looking for 'Laura'. She sends them an email, and in the email she puts in a phone number for them to contact her. Now, if it happened once, I would have shrugged it off as a typo - I mean everyone's fingers slip occasionally, right? But 4 times? This chick is using a wrong number - and didn't even bother to check and see whose number it was. If I find out what her screen name is...I'm going to send her a VERY nasty gram. Gr.
I guess what is creeping me out the most is that I had this 'friend' who I met on Yahoo!. I say 'friend' because she certainly wasn't a close friend of mine for several reasons that were all on my part, but because I'm a softy, I didn't (which maybe I should have) discourage her from thinking of me as a 'best friend'. My issues with her started with the fact that she lies to everyone from her husband to her parents to her pastor, and I assumed me too. She was going to school to be a YOUTH MINISTER and claimed to be a rock-solid christian and she also claimed to have some mental health issues - which I don't know if that was true or not, but I know she never took her 'meds'. The straw that broke the back of her association with me was when we went to Dayton - she was having some marital issues, and wanted to get away. She can't keep a job, and doesn't have a car, so I was the driver. I had fun - dancing, drinking a little flirting - she had even more fun - including making out with some guy in the parking lot of the club. She however stepped over the line when she invited some dude she had JUST MET the night before (though even if she had known him for years it wouldn't have been any better) (and this was DIFFERENT guy from the guy she made out with) and fucked him in the bed that was oh - 2 feet from the bed I was SLEEPING in. Yeah. Very nasty. Did I mention that she hadn't even been married for a year yet? Yeah. I don't think any woman here would ever want to WAKE up to the sounds of some STRANGER fucking in the bed next to you. Ick ick ick ick ICK! So, once again, being a nice person - rather than listing for her in DETAIL what I thought of her, her habits, and her morals, I simply told her that I didn't think we should be friends any longer, and asked her to break off contact with me.
I know that she hangs out on Yahoo!Personals, and I think she might be twisted enough to give out my phone number to the guys she is drumming up. She called me a few days ago to see if I would meet with her to visit with her kids for a second, and I haven't responded - and don't plan on responding. She had a wonderful set of children who I liked quite a bit, but even for the kids I'm not trying to step anywhere NEAR the tar pit of dependency that she sucked me into the first time.

I may be kind, but I ain't stupid.

Light me up...

*does the mental cabbage patch*


I found 150 cream floating candles for - drumroll PLEASE - 42.00!! And that INCLUDES shipping. That price boils down to about 28 CENTS a candle, rather than the outrageous 1.10 a candle most places were trying to charge. AND! They were the self-same Ikea candles that I KNEW I had seen. And their a nice cream/ivory color rather than white. :)

Have I mentioned that I LUUUUURRRRRRRVVVVVVVEEEEEEEE ebay?

Now, I have to decide if I still want the pretty little glass gem-like things in the bottom of the bowls. I'm going to wait until I get the candles and see what I think.


jasmyn

Tuesday, March 11, 2003

Centerpiece

Hmm.. I was so busy fussing about the envelopes, I forgot to mention something else I did this evening. I found the centerpieces - FINALLY. I had seen these earlier, and thought that if they weren't the color they were, they would be perfect. I hemmed and hawed for a while, but when I went back into the store and saw them again - I knew I had to buy them. Thus, I am now the proud owner of THIRTY glass and wrought iron floating candle holders. I got them from the Dollar Store, and I figure that as it gets warmer, I can simply spray them them - 10 ivory, 10 copper, and 10 gold. I'm going to put one of each color on the tables, and hopefully (if I can find them) have three plain round floating candles in each one.
I had stalled on my previous centerpiece idea because after talking to my coordinator at the hotel, she let me know that the only kind of candles they allow are floating ones. So - now the hunt is on to find thesefloating candles. Since the holders (which I expected to be the pricey bit) came in SUPER far under budget (unlike anything else thus far) I'll be able too splurge a little on the candles. For some reason, I think I've seen the kind of candles I want at Ikea, but they don't show them on the website. :( So... I'm off to find some candles.

I'm such a hunter-gatherer. :)

jasmyn

Faux Pas

Ah well - I was going to try to be 'good' and hand-adresses my envelopes, but I'm running into a wee bit of a problem. I have the most GORGEOUS envelopes - a matte copper color that looks almost like hammered metal. They are very pretty, but - they don't take any kind of ink well. The paper soaks up the ink (roller ball, gel, regular ballpoint) and leaves it faded. I'm not willing to chance that it will keep fading after it gets out of my hands - and the address becomes illegible.
So - I'm going to do the unthinkable - I'm using labels. They are going to be clear, and done in a nice scriptlike print....but labels they will be. Ah well. I'll most likely be the main one who notices, with my luck.

jasmyn

Bookings

Booked:
The florist and phtographer. I need to still send the photog her contract, and I need to dig up that contract for the Flamingo and start to pick out songs.

Brought:
The candy for the favors.

Batty:
What I think I am for doing this at a point that STILL feels wayyyyyyyyyyyyy too freaking early. I'm a queen of long-term preparation and procrastination - all at once.


Due things for this week:
1) Address and mail the STD's.
2) Send the contract to the photographer
3) Find the Flamingo information
4) Design a tag for the favor bags.

jasmyn

Monday, March 10, 2003

*Survey*

I grabbed this as soon as I finished reading the first seven questions. Considering I’m sitting her mildly intoxicated – it’s even more ironic. Deep in my heart, I still believe that pleasure is a mortal sin.

ANGER
1. Who did you last get angry with? My insurance agent
2. What is your weapon of choice? Withdrawal of money – negative report
3. Would you hit a member of the opposite sex? Yes, I have done so in the past
4. How about of the same sex? Yes, though I’ve never actually been in a fight. I have hit my mother once – we both call that The Possesion.
5. Who was the last person who got really angry at you? Most likely Corey.
6. What is your pet peeve? People who waste time – more specifically, people who waste MY time.
7. Do you keep grudges, or can you let them go easily? Some grudges I let go off quickly – others I keep for a while. So far – the longest I’ve held a grudge has been a little over 3 years.
SLOTH
1. What is one thing you're supposed to do daily that you haven't done in a long time? Exercise
2. What is the latest you've ever woken up? Oh Heavens – woken up from going to sleep when? Maybe 4pm one of those times I came home from college.
3. Name a person you've been meaning to contact, but haven't: Frankeya – I’m still feeling vaguely guilty about fucking her boyfriend.
4. What is the last lame excuse you made? Wow... I actually can’t remember – does that mean I rarely make excuses, or does that mean that all of my excuses are good?
5. Have you ever watched an infomercial all the way through? Umm... yes. And I can’t remember what is was for – maybe Proactiv?
6. When was the last time you got a good workout in? A GOOD Workout? Hm. *LOL* Sunday. *yowr*
7. How many times did you hit the snooze button on your alarm clock today? Hmm... maybe only 2 or 3 times today? I was out of bed before 7, so it may have been only twice.
GLUTTONY
1. What is your overpriced yuppie beverage of choice? Oh wow – now that I don’t eat sugar – I don’t have one – at least not a caffienated one. My current drink of choice is either a nice red wine or a Nutty Martini.
2. Meat eaters: white meat or dark meat? Dark... I need some moisture in my life
3. What is the greatest amount of alcohol you've had in one sitting/outing/event? Oh heavens....I’ve finished an entire bottle of wine on my own. Hard liquor in more than about six or seven shots at a time makes me go and worship the porcelain god.
4. Have you ever used a professional diet company like weight watchers? Yes
5. Do you have an issue with your weight? Yes
6. Do you prefer sweets, salty foods, or spicy foods? Spicy...
7. Have you ever looked at a small housepet or child and thought, "LUNCH?" Thankfully, NO.
LUST
1. How many people have you seen naked (not counting movies/family)? *LOL* more than 100 less than 1000?
2. How many people have seen YOU naked (not counting physicians/family)? More than 10 – less than 100?
3. Have you ever caught yourself staring at the chest/crotch of a member of your gender of choice during a normal conversation? *giggles* Yes. And I wonder if I’m as noticable to other girls as guys are to me. I hope not.
4. Have you "done it?" Yes.
5. What is your favorite body part on a person of your gender of choice? Um...Men – hands. thick, strong, heavy hands that look like they know how to grab on. Women – Hips. Gotta have the sexy waistline thing going on.... something to make you wanna lick up her side.
6. Have you ever been propositioned by a prostitute? No
7. Have you ever been tested for an STD or pregnancy? Yes and yes. Both because I went to a fascist all girls school which tested you for both even if it was OBIVOUS you had strep throat. .
GREED
1. How many credit cards do you own? Oh god. Let’s see – one from work. Two if you count the corporate card. One for the car. One for the wedding. One for the OTHER car. One for Lane Bryant. I think that’s it – I just finished paying off the ones from college.
2. What's your guilty pleasure store? Any bookstore.
3. If you had $1 million, what would you do with it? Oh. Pay off my bills. Pay off Corey’s Bills. Pay off Ummi’s bills. Buy a house. Buy Ummi a house. Go back to school. Fund a restaurant for Corey. Invest the rest.
4. Would you rather be rich, or famous? Rich.
5. Would you accept a boring job if it meant you would make megabucks? Honestly, yes. That’s why I’m working where I’m working now. Would I do it again, NO.
6. Have you ever stolen anything? Yes.
7. Five things that you would never give up? Reading. Eating. Corey. Eyesight. Awe.
PRIDE
1. What one thing have you done that you're most proud of? I am here.
2. What one thing have you done that your parents are most proud of? I am HERE.
3. What thing would you like to accomplish in your life? To find what fulfills me and brings me joy.
4. Do you get annoyed by coming in second place? No. I always assume there is someone out there who is better than me.
5. Have you ever entered a contest of skill, knowing you were of much higher skill than all the other competitors? Yes. Spelling.
6. Have you ever cheated on something to get a higher score? Yup.
7. What did you do today that you're proud of? I made an effort.
ENVY
1. What item (or person) of your friend's would you most want to have for your own? Nothing actually. I wouldn’t mind having a few of their ATTIRBUTES – but their possesions? None.
2. Who would you want to go on "Trading Spaces" with? Oh. Me and my mom – we would do GREAT.
3. If you could be anyone else in the world for a day who would you be? A infant – I want to remember what being a baby was like.
4. Have you ever wished you had a physical feature different from your own? Yes – a naturally flat stomach.
5. What inborn trait do you see in others that you wish you had for yourself? Charisma.
Finally, what is your favorite deadly sin? Definitely sloth – it feels the best.

Computations

It's interesting that almost everytime I try to SAVE money - I end up spending way way way more instead. Case in point - I want to get a digital camera so that I can take MORE pictures and not have to pay to get ALL of the film developed. I'd much rather be able to see what's good, what's bad, and what's workable before I drop the 15 bucks to get them developed. And lately - I've been getting them developed on CD and looking at that more than I look at the print version of the pictures. So, all around it makes a lot of sense (artistically and financially) to get a digital camera.
But - and it's always this BUT that causes me to end up spending more money - I don't HAVE a personal computer. And as tricky as I've been thus far - there is no WAY that I will ever be able to install digital camera software on my work computer. So - I'm looking into buying a new computer. I already know that I want a laptop - I've used nothing but a laptop for the past 3 years, and I most likely won't evergo back to a desktop - it's just plain not worth it to me. Of course - that up's the spending range even more.
Eh well. I'm getting a nice little chunk of money soon, and while there are so many more 'worthy' things I culd do with it (like pay back taxes, or put some more money away for the wedding, or pay off a little more on some of my credit cards) I've decided (and even talked to Corey about it!) to use the money to get a computer instead. I'm currently kinda sorta split between a Toshiba Satellite and a Sony Vaio GRZ. They both got GREAT Consumer Reports ratings, they both have everything I want on them, and they both cost the same. I think I might swing through Circuit City on my way home and see what I think.

Clarity

Friday:
I decided to take the whole day off. I COULD have gone to work for the first few hours of the day, but I'm at a point with work that I will take joyful advantage of any chance I have to not go.

10:00 - I finally roll out of bed and get dressed. I know I will most likely be in these clothes all day (and sleep in them as I was too much of a dingbat to bring PJ's) so I put on my most comfy outfit - soft pants and a long wolly duster. Ate a light breakfast as they told me, gave myself the second set of antibotic drops (the first was the night before) and collected some entertainment material. I knew I wouldn't be able to read for the rest of the day after surgery, so I ressurected my portable CD player and grabbed some CDs and some Atkins snacks.

12:00 - At my coworkers house, waiting for her husband to show up to drive me to TLC.

12:30 - At TLC. Very nice place, in a office complex. I walk in, and one person is being led out my their ride, and another two people are waiting to be served - one for a first time, one for an adjustment. I check in, and settle down for the wait. I start reading again (Mother Jones Magazine - very good stuff) and waiting. Now, I'm nervous.

The times are going to be pretty guessworky from now on.

12:45 - I'm in the back office, signing the financing paperwork. The total cost for the potential of perfect vision? 3,600.00 - and that was AFTER the 20% discount my vision care provider offers. Youch. I might pay off half of it right away wth the FlexBen money I have - or I might not. Depends on some other stuff.

1:00 - I'm in examining room 1 - they double check the shape of my eye using two different machines - one that looks like a bulls eye and create what I call a 'temperature map' of my eye, and another VERY cool one that determines how much glare I currently have, a more detailed view of the shape of my eye, and a calculation of the size of my pupil. The tech is very nice, totally willing to explain everything to me.

1:15 - Examining room 2 - Teri (one of the techs) double checks the prescription that my doctor sent over, as well as the thickness of my cornea. She starts with the possible side effect - dry eyes, night glare, so on and so forth. I'm still nervous, but I read all of it in the consent form, and I decided I would do it then, so while hearing her TELL me about again didn't help my nervousness any, it didn't make it too much worse. This is the longest period of waiting...I finish most of my magazine.

1:35 - Still in examining room 2. I finally meet the surgeon - Dr. Lombardo. He runs through the list of potential side effects again, TRIPLE checks my cornea thickness and prescription, and details the procedure. After he leaves, Deb (another tech) comes in and runs through the post care proceure.

1:50 - Deb moves me to the comfy recliner in front of the laser room. She gives me four different eyedrops in each eyes - one was an antibotic, one was for numbing, and I can't remember what she said the other two were. She also gives me an Ativan that dissolves under my tongue. She gives me a hood for my hair, and a pair of booties for my feet. The Ativan is making me veryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy sleepy. I give up on reading anymore, as I would much rather take a nap. There is a guy sitting next to me who just came from getting an adjustment, but at some point he leaves.

2:10 - All four of the chairs are full - myself, two other new patients, and one readjustment patient. Most of us are sleepy. :)

2:15 - They take me into the surgery room. I left my glasses outside, so I can't really see anything. I know there is some sort of HUGE machine, and a bed with a headrest. The nurse guides be onto the bed, and I lay down. Dr. Lombardo is sitting at the top of the head rest, and I think there were two techs in there with him. He postions my head, then begins. He talked me through the entire thing. They hand me a little teddy bear dressed as a surgeon to give my twitching hands something to do. I felt kinda silly, but man I was glad to hold onto it.

2:20 - He tapes the lid of my left eye shut - they decided to start with my right eye because I had (HAD!!) a lower (relatively speaking) prescription in that eye, as well as a thicker cornea. They then place a strip of tape over the upper eyelid of my right eye, and one on the lower eyelid. Then he puts in this little springy dohickey that actually HOLDS my eye open. Can I tell you, there is NOTHING odder than trying to blink and not feeling anything moving. Next - the creation of the corneal flap.

2:21 - Something settles on to my eye (and he is still talking me through - telling me jsut what is going to happen before it happens). I hear a little *click* and just as he said it would, the vision in my right eye goes a little dim. I feel SOMETHING on my eye - it felt rather like a fingernail being gently stroked againt my eye. Then the *click* again, and my vision cleared. I hear one of the techs run off the numbers she is programming into the laser to the doctor. She than says -39 seconds of laser starting in 15 seconds. He tells me to focus on the blinking red light and hold my eye still. My vision is really - odd. It's blurry but crisp at the same time - I'm guessing it wassimply how the world looks with a bit of my cornea lifted. He tells me that the producre is about to start, the machine moves into position over my eye, and click-click-click-click - this rapid fire clikcing starts. The tech is counting down. 30 seconds left. 20 seconds left. 10 seconds left. 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - Laser complete. The only - odd thing that no-one thought to mention was the faint smell of something burning. The doctor reassures me that I did fine as he uses some sort of little spatula kinda thing to smooth my cornea back down. He then takes the tape off of both lids and takes out the clampy thing, then rinses my eye well with the numbing stuff. Blibking feels great. I try to look around and see if I can tell any difference, but he quickly tapes my right eye shut. Meanie. :)

2:22 - He repeats the same procedure with my left eye - the only difference being that instead of my vision going dim it went totally black, and instead of 39 seconds of laser treatment - it was 43.

2:25 - He uptapes both of my eyelids, they help me sit up, and they escprt me back to the chair. Despite the REPEATED instructions to keep my eyes shut - I'm peeking....and I can Actually SEE a difference. The sign over the laser room door "Danger - Laser in Use" that I couldn't read BEFORE I went into the room. I have this funny urge to start crying.

2:30 - I call my coworker and tell her they are done with me - she tells me she is on her way to pick me up.

2:35 - They put me into a nice quiet dark room to encourage me to close my eyes, and I drop off to sleep until my coworker comes to get me.

3:00 - She makes it there. I put on my big ole ugly wraparound sunglasses, and go to her car. My eyes are starting to hurt when I have them open a little now, so I spend most of the trip (to get some food for me and then back to her house) with my eyes closed. I eat quickly, take the second Ativan they gave me to help me sleep, and head off to bed around 4:00. I can SEE - not quite clearly as print letters are still rather fuzzy - but still!!
Before I go to bed, I get to do the first 'part' of the post care - the sleep goggles. Two slightly rounded clear pieces of plastic I have to tape over my eyes so that I won't rub them and possibly disturb the corneal flap before it heals.

9:00pm - I wake up when I hear my cell phone go off. It's my mom, calling to see how I'm doing. I chat with her for a few minutes, go get a glass of water, change the CD I fell asleep to earlier, and head back to sleep.

Saturday
8:00 - I'm awake BRIGHT and early - and I can see. It's still not perfectly crisp, but close enough. We eat breakfast, and I go through either forgetting that I'm NOT wearing contacts, or marveling at the fact that I can see.

10:00 - I'm at my post surgery checkup with my eye doctor. She confirms that everthings good, clears me for driving, and re-runs the eye shape diagram. My astigmatism is almost totally gone, and my eyes look perfectly healthy. I schedule the appt of Thursday to confirm my new 'prescription', and then drive myself home.




So. Yesterday my sight was really crisp - almost totally like what I had been used to. Today, it's a little more blurry, and that my simply be because I'm using my eyes more. They told methat my vision would fluctuate pretty much for the first month or so as my eye heals and settles back down, so the blurriness is to be expected. Other than remembering to put my drops in every four hours (an antibotic and a steriod to reduce imflammation) and wearing my goggles at might (both of which I can stop doing Wednesday) - I'm fine. I can see clearly. I can read. Waking up and looking at the time on the alarm clack and SEEING it clearly it was a little startling. Getting into the shower and having everything be as clear as it was before hand (even though I did 'try' to take my glasses off before I got in - which caused Corey to laugh at me) was odd. But I'm getting used to it, and it's is WONDERFUL.

Saturday, March 8, 2003

Visionary

I can see! It's a fascinating and wonderful thing. More on the surgery later, as I'm not supposed to be on the computer at all.

*dances through flowerly fields with joy*

Thursday, March 6, 2003

Blinding

I'm not nervous - not yet. Right now I'm just - jittery. I've thought about little else all week - and while I could back out, I'm not. Tomorrow, I'm going to undergo LASIK surgery - and if you've heard any horror stories about it, please don't tell me now.
I don't think I've EVER been able to see well. I was homeschooled, so the normal way of telling that children can'tsee wasn't there. I didn't watch TV either, so that was another sign missing. Yeah, I always had my nose ina book (literally) but I was a bookworm - that wasn't much of a suprise. It wasn't until I was eight, living in my great-grandfather's house, that my parents figured out I couldn't see. I was found out as I tried to sneak an Oreo cookie of my stepfathers which he jealously (and in hindsight obsessively) forbade us to eat. He was laying on the couch a few feet away, and I was trying to see if he was asleep. His face was blurred, so I squinted my eyes to try to see him better. He asked me why I was squinting at him, and when I told him I couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut, he (a glasses wearer, unlike my mom) promptly sent me to the eye doctor. I think the other reason that no-one noticed my bad eyesight was because I had hearing problems. Well, not really hearing problems - my mother was worried that I did because she did, and because if you called me and I Was reading a book, I wouldn't respond until I was actually touched.
But anyhow...I started wearing glasses when I was eight. Horrid ugly things they were, and I knew that then. However, the novelty of actually being able to SEE beat any unattractiveness I might have felt at that age. I continued to wear nothing but glasses until I was 16 or 17. I think it may have even been at 15, as when I was 16 me and my mother went to an information session about RK, which was the first version of laser surgery for eyesight. I was firmly turned away, being told that I was too young and had too much variation in my eyesight. I stored that away, and promptly started pestering my mother for contacts. She stood firm (and I'm not sure why) about me not getting contacts. I think she was more nervous about me sticking my clumsy fingers in my eyes than I was. My summer before my junior year of high school, I started wearing contacts. I haven't turned back since.
When I moved here, I found a great eye doctor downtown. I already knew that my presrception hadn't changed in a year, and I was hoping that it would continue to stay steady. Each year when I went to get my check-up and a prescription for new contacts (only once for new glasses as I don't wear them often) it was confirmed - yup, your prescription is staying steady. Then, two of my coworkers had LASIK done, and they both sung the praises of the surgery. The seed was firmly planted in my head. In November, we were setting up our benefits for the next year, and something whispered to me "Do the flexible spending thingy - you can get LASIK then". I thought about it, checked it out, determined that I could afford to have the money taken out of my paycheck every month, and at least partially offset the outrageous cost of the surgery.
So. That brings me here. I've lived a life based on my sight. I find joy in reading, writing, taking photographs - all things that without the amazing gift of sight, I would be utterly unable to do, and now I'm taking the biggest risk I have ever taken with my eyes. But...I don't want to live my life utterly dependant on glasses on contacts. I want to be able to SWIM and SEE. I want to be able to ride rollercoasters and not worry about my eyes tearing up so badly that oneo f my contacts flies out - and yes, that's happened to me. I want to be able to CRY and still see more than 6 inches in front of me. I want...I want to be able to see clearly, solely with the orbs in my eyes. Greedy? Maybe. But it's so worth it. For all of you people who have perfect vision and have ALWAYS had perfect vision - I envy you. And I'm willing to take a risk to join your ranks.
Maybe tomorrow I'll be nervous. But right now, I'm just looking forward to watching a hundred sunsets on my own.