Hygienic Hijinks

I saw a few commercials about it, and found myself warming to the idea. But not so long ago, I thought it was the most bizarre practice I'd ever heard of. I was afraid to visit a European country for fear I would be forced to take part in this cleansing ritual.

Now, I'm a big proponent of cleanliness, but there are some concepts that are foreign to me. I just didn't think I could ever get used to the idea of sitting on a toilet and having my genitals accosted by a stream of water.

By now I guess it's clear I'm referring to a bidet.

If it's not clear by now, then I'm sure you're a little perturbed.

Those darn late night commercials. If I had a credit card with a huge limit, I'd be very dangerous. By now, I would own a convection oven, Nathan's Reversible Stovetop Grill, A Tempur-Pedic Nasa-developed foam bed, a Food Saver Vac, and a Mini Steam Zapper, and a Magic Bullet mixer…at the very least….

I saw an infomercial about a Bidet toilet, and made another of my frequent Ebaying excursions, wondering if there was a less expensive alternative. I typed in "Bidet." Lo and behold (all Ebayers say that at one time or another, and usually outloud, even though they are generally alone in a room with a computer and no friends or social life)-but, anyway, Lo and Behold! A Bidet conversion kit. I could attach this thing to my own toilet and have the benefit of hygienic cleansing all the time! And it was a two for one special. So rather than bid, I just opted for Buy it Now and got the set. Wouldn't this be a fantastic Christmas gift for me and my best friend? I mean, who else would buy her a Bidet? Who else would be thinking about her genital hygiene? Isn't that what best friends are for? (Don't answer that.)

Anyway, a short time later, the contraptions were delivered and I set about installing mine, so I would know how to install hers for her. Won't she be thrilled. Won't the caroling be fine?

Jingle bells, jingle bells,
I've got a Bidet…
Now my nether regions
Are nice and clean today, hey!

Determined to assemble and attach the thing without assistance, I gathered my tools and read the instructions. Long moments later, I discovered that the coupling I was to use, meant the tubing behind the toilet had to be cut to a shorter length. I did so, and got it all hooked up, and when I tested it, realized the hose was leaking and I had no rubber gasket on hand. Then I realized that I couldn't put the toilet back the way it was because I had shortened the original hose. This was the only toilet I had. Wouldn't that be an entertaining conversation with the landlord? "I need another piece of toilet tubing until I get a gasket for my Bidet hose…yes, a Bidet. Yes, I'm squirting water on my private parts and no I'm not a weirdo." (not everyone is as worldly as I had just become).

It was midnight and all local stores that carried things like gaskets and washers were closed. I'd have to improvise.

I wound up cutting a piece off a rubber plug that was meant to go in the bottom of a piggy bank. But it was just the right size and I managed to eliminate the leak.

I was so proud of myself. I couldn't wait to drop my pants and try it out.

The first thing I noticed was that the trajectory of the stream was a little off, and I gave myself a mini-enema. The second thing I noticed was that the water was cold. Not quite as luxurious as the Bidet Toilet that had warm water and a blow-dryer built in.

It took some getting used to. It was the price I paid for the price I paid. The cheaper Bidets did not have warm water; and I would still have to pat dry with tissue, because the cheaper ones also did not have a convenient blowdryer.

I finally got it working sufficiently, and used it several times before going to sleep, feeling just a little wicked, and a great deal more hygienic.

I went to bed early that morning, and was awakened four hours later by my best friend who dropped by for a visit and used her key to come in and bring me a croissant.

My sleepy brain finally kicked in and I realized I could not hide the Bidet on my toilet and I had already told her I got the same gift for both of us. And the Bidet was the only new thing. She'd notice, of course, and then the surprise would be ruined.

She eventually went to the bathroom and I waited. After a few minutes I heard her exclaim, "Oh, my God!" and she was laughing.

When she came out of the bathroom, she had a huge wet spot on the front of her pants. I was confused. Did she sit the wrong way on the toilet? Did she somehow manage to relieve herself without removing her pants?

Seems she had noticed the activation lever on the toilet when she stood up to flush, and pushed it, dousing herself with the stream of water coming from the Bidet nozzle located just below the toilet seat, pointing forward.

"Why in the world did you stand facing it and push the lever?" I laughed.

"I didn't know it was a bidet, I thought it was some new gadget you had that sprayed that blue stuff in the bowl," she said.

This was not how I pictured her enjoying her Bidet.

Hygienic Hijinks

Symbols Are Not Things

In recent news there is a battle of wills at play regarding the presence of a 10 Commandments monument in the Alabama Judiciary Building.

I feel the same way about this as i do the flag-burning issue. The real issue here, i believe, is that people make the error of attaching God to a symbol, rather than to their own inner consciousness. It makes no difference what they do to that monument or symbol. Proponents of keeping it in that building are saying, essentially, that removal of the monument will somehow damage God.

This is essentially a fallacious argument, since the very nature of God is that He/She/It, as an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving, infinite, incomprehensible and perfect Entity can ever be damaged by something a human does. I find it ridiculous that there are those misguided enough to think they are somehow protecting God. God does not need our protection.

The real issue here is that we are a nation founded on Freedom. Freedom of religion also is included in that, and so the more logical action would to be either put up monuments/ symbols that represent all religions and belief systems, or take them all away.

Symbols Are Not Things

Canine PTSD?

He has begun to have bladder control problems. He goes through phases when he begins to shake, and whine for no apparent reason. He has, for the second time, exhibited a sort of PTSD response to normal stimuli. When we were at the other house a few months ago, he had this response to LS on the porch, when she had removed her boots, and smacked them together to knock off dried mud. He yelped, screamed and ran under the furniture, he was shaking uncontrollably.

When i would get near him, he would suddenly yelp as if i had kicked him in the ribs, and i hadn't touched him. He would no longer raise up to put his feet on me, as he has always done, as if his "up button" was malfunctioning. He acted like he could no longer jump into our laps while sitting, either, and if we tried to pick him up he would scream. This lasted for about 3 days, and nothing helped. He was not physically injured in any way, so this was very much like PTSD response to some past trauma--triggered by something unknown.

Now, months later, he had about a 24 hour bout with the same thing, and i just ignored it. And now, i catch him sitting and staring at a dresser or a chair or a wall, as if in a trance. When i tell him to go lay down, he moves to another object and stares at it--almost in a posture of punishment, like when you reprimand a child and tell them to go face a corner. He seems fraught with anxiety and fears. He will whine and grumble while he stares, sometimes, like he's having disturbing thoughts.

He seems fearful of his food bowl, of the kitchen floor, of grass, of trash bags, of anything in my hand, of the doorbell, or any other people in the house. He no longer runs fearlessly outside to the yard to relieve himself, but has to be cajoled, or dragged into going. He hides beneath beds and furniture.

While often comical to witness, it is at the same time disturbing. LS says, "He's crazy. That dog is just crazy." But he didn't always act like this. I assume it's possible for animals to have mental illness, just like humans do. But what brings this on? I've tried reprimands, gentle understanding, ignoring him...but nothing seems to help. He just acts like a crazy person.

Canine PTSD?

Behorned Cleated Demon, & the Exxon Valdez

I have horrible cramps. A little behorned cleated demon is kicking the crap out of my ovaries...

Oh it's so hard to be female sometimes...

I could run a hot bath and get in to soothe my horrible cramps.

I can see it now...I'd get all settled and then reach for the soap and realize it's up on the hangy thing, and I'd have to stand up to get it at which time the giant squids would fall out of me, and turn the water pink. I'd then have to drain the water because i don't want to soak in pink squid water.

Then I'd have a fresh tub of water, soap in hand, maybe play with a little boat in the tub, like i did when i was a kid...That's when the Xenical "side effects" would kick in...bubble bubble... isn't it funny: the idea of passing wind under WATER?

Then the little boat could be the Exxon Valdez...in the oil slick... except the oil slick looks like Catalina dressing. So i could throw a lettuce leaf in there, put some teeny little illegal immigrants on the lettuce, "Save us! save us! Mr. Exxon Valdez Captain, save us from the Catlina dressing ocean and pluck us from the lettuce boat so we can live among the land of the free, the home of the brave."

I'm convinced that hormones can cause mental illness.

Behorned Cleated Demon, & the Exxon Valdez

Figs From Hell

or FIGtastrophe
or
The 7th Circle of Hell is Full of Figs and I Can't FIG-ure It Out

It was supposed to be a simple process. My friend, Justice Harlow, drew a logo for someone. A company called The Hairy Fig. We were going to scan the drawings and then import them from the scanner to Paint Shop Pro, where I would resize them according to the needs for the website, and for business cards. Somewhere in the middle of all this, something went terribly wrong.

It began when my friend asked me to place all the large versions of the 4 different fig designs on one page and print it out. And to put all four of the smaller ones on a page, too, and print that. When inserting the large images onto my web site design software page, they were HUGE. I mean, like Figs from Space. It even crashed my program after getting some pesky memory overload error. I looked at the image dimensions, and it showed they were huge. Like Texas-- Huge. But when I would print them, they would be half-size. When I resized them, they printed even smaller.

She became so upset, waving her arms and saying, "What the hell?" that she knocked over her Sam's Diet cola, and made a huge spot on the rug. We blotted that up, and pressed on.

No matter what I did, I could not get those damn figs to be the right size. Go FIGure. It became a comedy of errors after that. And since it was in the wee hours of the morning, This incited screaming meemies in me me. I mean in me. Perhaps it was just a FIGment of my imagination, but these figs had a mind of their own.

Justice wondered aloud if maybe all the images on both our websites were also too big, but for some reason we couldn't tell, because our software showed them smaller. This was a horrible thought, because I knew we had hundreds of images. I told her to stop fucking with my Chi, and we moved on...

Meanwhile, the Velveeta and Ro-Tel cheese dip we had consumed earlier, began to turn on us. We suffered gastrointestinal distress, and I was experiencing vertigo. We knew it was the Velveeta and Ro-Tel, because we had had the first part of it the night before, with the same results, but only the second time did we make the connection. What are they putting in cheese these days?

While I strained my brain to FIGure This out, my partner left and came back with a fresh bottle of Mocha Frappuccino, but couldn't get the lid to screw off, so handed it to me, feeling I was the stronger of the two of us. (A myth I perpetuate by calling myself the "husband.") After several tries in which I felt I had totally lost my ability to grip (or couldn't get a grip?) I reminded her that we had appointment with galleries early in the morning after our meeting with the Fig Client. We needed to go to sleep....but she made this whimpering sound. It seems that Mocha Frappuccino is an excellent substitute for her chocolate craving--the one that usually has her eating candy bars or Snickers Ice cream cones purchased from Walgreen's at 2 a.m. She also pointed out that since the Mocha Frappuccino only had one gram of fat, but was like eating 10 Snickers bars, it was a health conscious for her to drink it.

But I couldn't get the lid off it.

More screaming meemies, and the added enjoyment of peeing in my boxer briefs. I finally used scissors to remove the plastic coating around the cap, but entertained images of gouging the scissors into my hand--This made me laugh so hard, that tears rolled down my face. I finally got the cap off without mishap, but then I was still taxed with the dilemma of the figs. The cute little cartoon fruits that had become my nemesis.

I went on a potty break, and saw that my Christmas lights in the bathroom had burned out. I like Christmas lights in the bathroom because it's just enough light to keep me from stubbing my toe or missing the toilet, without having to suffer the glare of the overhead lights. There have been times that I wore sunglasses into the bathroom when I did not have Christmas lights...but I digress..

Back at my desk, and the Fig Fiasco, I opened a new Aqua filter to attach to my cigarette and the innards came out of it and dropped to the floor. I laughed some more, and peed in my pants again.

Finally, Justice said she would just go to her office (in the next room) and use her computer to print out what we had. She brought back the sheets and the tracing paper wrinkles were now showing up bolder than ever, even though this was the same file, printed on the same printer. The Fig Files were now becoming more wrinkly (older?) as they rested on the floppy disk.

Then she said, "Don't you think I ought to color a bigger version of the figs, in case the client wants to use it on the web site?

Some days it just doesn't pay to gnaw the straps off...

-------------
illustration by JH ©2002

Figs From Hell

The 11th Hour

(the Persistence of Screaming ©Jae Baeli)

Sept 8th
In a few short days, the 2nd anniversary will be upon us. The Eleventh hour of the 11th. Media, et al, is buzzing about the likelihood of some other attack on us by terrorists. I am apprehensive as well. It makes me angry at them and angry at an administration that mismanaged things from the start.

Now the Village Idiot who usurped the Throne--the one we call our President--asks for huge amounts of money to try to clean up the mess; to fund the rebuilding of their "infrastructure." Well, we have some sorry infrastructure over here, too. How is it that Bush cannot justify the money for Education, health Care, more police, social security, and a plethora of other things, but he can find 87 billion dollars to give to a country that hates us? They hate us for the same reasons many other countries hate us. The U.S. Political Machine sticks its nose in where it doesn't belong, coerces and bullies and tells other people what their religion should be, what their lives should be...mostly in the name of Black Gold.

The U.S. Politicos are the global mafia. They spend astronomical amounts of money rebuilding this other country, and we won't even own it afterward. If Saddam needed to be taken out, it should have been a coalition of countries doing it. But Bush was too much of a war-monger and too worried about getting re-elected, so he wanted to be a war-time president because approval ratings always go up for them...that means he's greedy. That means he doesn't have the nation's best interests at heart. And now he's begging for help from the U.N. after they all told him they wanted no part of the way he wanted to do it.Democratically speaking, he was voted down, yet somehow that concept escaped him and all those in his administration. Neither Saddam nor Bin Laden have been captured or killed, all these Weapons of Mass Destruction have not been found, and I think it had more to do with being embarrassed that Bin Laden got away, so he went after someone more accessible. Isn't that like Robbing Peter to pay Paul? So what the hell was all that for, again?

While we're spending billions on the country that hates us, the terrorists will still do what they're going to do, and we won't be ready to defend ourselves because all our resources are tied up in another country, instead of our own.

Charity begins at home, dammit.

The 11th Hour

The Pusher

Certain people...why do they vex me so much? My most vexing personality type is the PUSHER. They suck the juice out of my brain and it is just so tired....

Recently, I had an unusually taxing experience with the Pusher...I had to keep reiterating that my response in a situation was about BRAIN FATIGUE...BRAIN FATIGUE...BRAIN FATIGUE...BRAIN FATIGUE...BRAIN FATIGUE!

I wanted to get some some facts straight:

• I am not her
• My brain is not her brain
• My particular needs for balance and harmony are not hers.
• I was not angry that she spilled tea on my desk--I recognized that was an accident--I'm not delusional.

I was angry about what the spilled tea DID to my already fragile psyche…(my fatigued brain). It was merely the straw that broke the camel's back. The scene escalated because the triggers continued to appear, on the heels of an already-present breaking point. I realized I had again fallen prey to the limits of my psyche; My books were stained with tea, several diskettes were ruined, I was fearful that the liquid would drip into my computer which was at the rear of my desk without a cover on it; she continued to apologize for the Tea, when it was not about the tea, it was about the trigger that would not have appeared had she honored my requests earlier.

Yes, I threw my glasses, and I threw the tea glass. I was angry and frustrated and it was an angry, frustrated reaction. But I know she made an assumption about it. I did NOT throw the stuff off my desk, it got nudged off when I was wiping the spill and that desktop hutch and all its shelves and the drawer were merely propped together and not fastened, so they fell to pieces when it fell, and it took everything with it because everything with cords was run under it and got snagged on the way down… just so she didn't think I did some table-clearing out of rage.

I did not harm my dog, Giz. I walked into the hall to get a towel out of the hamper, and saw him on top of the bed, digging. I smacked him on the ass and chased him with that plastic tub lid to scare him so he'd be less likely to do it again.

I never, at any time, wanted to or DID become physical toward her. I was angry and completely taxed, and completely frustrated with her continued inability to understand a simple concept I have explained to her ad nauseum, which she choose to continually ignore, and which continues to indicate that she is hard-headed and not concerned with what I need in order to be healthy. This, while she has simultaneously told me lately how UNQUALIFIED I was to share a home with her, be her lover, or to ever share a home with her or be her lover.

The issue was BRAIN FATIGUE. She pushed. She always pushes. She doesn't know when to stop pushing. She is a PUSHER. And she pushes because she has this intrinsic blindness in her mind about what is the natural "speed" of things. Her speed, the one in her head is NOT COMMON. She continues to impose her own truths on the brains of others. This will ALWAYS cause people to react in negative ways, unless they are a type of person who enjoys being pushed. As for her comment about me needing a drug to withstand her mental pummelings, I daresay that a large portion of the population would also need that. (and it is a much wiser alternative than allowing my emotions to completely take over a situation that needs, instead, rational thinking). Perhaps it is why her previous girlfriends have become so crazed and volatile around her. Has she considered that?? Has she considered that their organic or chemical craziness could in part be induced by her own tendency to PUSH?

Concerning the elements that contributed to this series of events….I have not been sleeping well for days. I have been worried about her and her situation for some time, and feel deeply the troubles she has experienced; I have been working on my own web sites, examining all the new epiphanies I've had in a relatively short time; trying to understand this new piano gadget; trying to understand financial issues and budgeting things for my future; doing research on a grand number of difficult subjects; thinking a lot about my relationships with other people and what my future may or may not hold; running that track in my head of things she has said to me lately such as "Never in a million years will I be with you romantically because I can't be with a mentally ill person" and dealing with the overwhelming sadness that brings me, as I feel it is simultaneously something I cannot completely cure, and something that is also made worse by her particular insistence that things exist as she interprets them; I've had stomach problems, bad nutrition, hormonal fluctuations, and I've had a backache and a raging headache on and off for about 5 days…so my BRAIN was taxed when she came over. . .that's part of it.

The most important part of it, however, and the part I would like her to focus on, is STILL BRAIN FATIGUE--But the kind SHE inflicts. And last night she inflicted it on an already-fatigued brain (something she does to me repeatedly). I did very well for quite some time, but we were at that project for 13 hours, not counting the couple of breaks, and the work done the previous day. (I don't spend 13 hours at a time on my own stuff, contrary to what she seems to think. I switch off and do meditative things to rest my brain before I go back to it. And when my body tells me to rest, I rest. I don't care whether that seems "normal" to her or not. It just IS. This method is the way I have managed to feel more mentally healthy lately. This is one of the controls I have put in place in order to "Play to my strengths." These controls are not ALLOWED by her because all she can focus on is what she needs from me, and not how to work with me so that I can give her what she needs from me. I guess she doesn't comprehend this and assumes I am somehow shortchanging her. (This is not accurate).

It is a fact that if someone is mentally tired, they will revert to more primitive responses. Look it up. That's what happened last night and that's what has happened to me in the past years when my brain was also taxed beyond endurance by dis-ease in my body, chemicals, stress, pain, and a person who continues to PUSH.

Now, she will roll her eyes and get on the Superior Train with her little GOLDEN ticket::: but I take responsibility for one thing and one thing only….NOT INSISTING to her that I get some rest and be in a rested brain state before we continued. I let her convince me several times to just sit back down and continue for a few more minutes…although I knew it would take more than that…(this is a repetitive pattern with us). Even a few more minutes meant much more to me than it ever could to her, because of the implications for me, personally. (That's living on the edge, and while you she may require that to feed her Dervish brain, I DON'T).

While I was taxing my brain, she was reading emails, answering emails, coming up with still more complicated ways to add to her site, and sitting there watching. This process affected me more because my brain is NOT her brain. When my brain begins to shut down, it's for a reason. It is my body's response to overload. It is a defense mechanism manufactured by my own body. It is not much different than the body's response to pain, or the actual MEANING of pain. Pain is an indicator that something is wrong, something is out of balance. The real solution for that is never to mask the pain, but to eliminate the thing that is causing it. (Again, I see that she thinks I was somehow doing nothing different for her than I do for myself, but she cannot possibly appreciate the changes I've made here when I am alone…I know when to stop, and I know how to start properly so that I am prepared--no different than a marathon runner who knows there has to be certain things accomplished and in place before they can begin to compete. She is very blessed that mental things are not like marathons for her).

I also know when to rest. When alone, I allow myself to do that, and then I function better. She pushes me past my limits. She would get the same reaction from a vehicle she drove at 100 MPH for extreme distances: it would run out of gas, blow a head gasket, burn up all the oil, or simply stop running; the same also for an animal if she pushed it to a corner and prodded it with a sharp stick: it would bite her and run away. This is a basic law of human nature. I owe her no apology for being human. If she is too myopic, arrogant and self-centered to understand this concept, then all I can say is, she's going to have a hell of a time finding anyone who can be compatible with her.

She also has this fallacious idea that I spend hours and hours without stopping, working on my webpages. I do spend hours and hours. And why does she think it takes me so long? I give myself BREAKS, and I only work on them when I have prepared my brain for it at the beginning, which, as she recalls, she did not allow me to do. The entire morning started off in exactly the sort of fashion that creates chaos and stress for me in my brain. She does not understand this, and I guess never will, and there is not a fucking thing I can say to make her understand it. Perhaps she is not wired to understand it, just as I am not wired to function in the way she sees fit--another example of her being intellectually self-absorbed. I told her many times I require certain things in order to function in a healthy way, and I have been VERY successful in creating and maintaining that recently. It changes when she comes along and imposes her own process on me. If she is incapable of allowing others to honor their own process, to implement their own set of conditions that are conducive to productivity and harmony, then the problem lies with her--not them, or me. If she wants things done perfectly and in record time, she should do it herself, as she seems to be the only one qualified.

The only thing I am guilty of is not being strong enough to withstand the repeated attacks on my brain that she is so fond of orchestrating. I don't think she does it on purpose or to inflict intentional harm. I think she does it because she can't help herself. Her strength BECOMES her weakness. What she CAN change is this unwillingness to honor the very personal and crucial requests of others less fortunate than herself in the brain-function department. She will never find that peer or that lifemate she wants until she realizes this about herself.

She bribed me, cajoled me, begged me, pushed and prodded and even used a few guilt-inducing comments so that I would do it anyway. So my MISTAKE was only that I did not have the balls to tell her NO, Absolutely NOT. This stems from the fact that I love her and I share a history with her that I am forever trying to "live down." Regardless, I will not let this taint the progress I have made, and I will not let her make me the scapegoat because it would be so easy to do that since I am the one with the "problem." How convenient that she has someone to foist all that onto, rather than looking at her own part in it.

She is quickly becoming another one of those people who refuse to allow me to be who I am. Does she even understand what it means to allow people to be who they are? Not this, "I don't care" stance she takes, but truly, realistically and fairly allowing that others are not HER. I am the one who has had stress issues, who has had an overly sensitive constitution because of them, who "doesn't have to work for a living"-- I am the pariah. Fuck that. I have managed to survive when I probably shouldn't have, I manage to look in the mirror when it makes me disgusted or frightened or angry. I have struggled my whole life to be a better person, a person who is productive, and who honors my gifts and always tries to hang on to that loving portion of myself, that compassion, that thirst for knowledge and understanding, and that sometimes vicious challenge of reinventing the self. I'm not responsible for other people's misplaced resentments about their own mistakes and their own life-outcomes.

I am SO sad that this pattern continues to happen with us, even when I implement solutions for my own part in it. I have made many changes, and a great many of them have been in an effort to find some harmony with her--between us. But I can see now that my efforts are inconsequential because she continues to REFUSE to meet me halfway; (meeting halfway is not defined as "I don't care" or a dismissal if the real issues). She continues to say she will meet me halfway, and then she won't. There is no question that I do have episodes like this--the reactions to extreme triggers--yes, that's part of the challenge. And that is, by GOD what I have…challenges … challenges I choose to rise to rather than run from.

I don't, however, think those challenges define me as "crazy," and I don't think it makes me much different than 9 out 10 of the people out there in the world. I just think the combination of the psychological and the physical makes me incapable of dealing well with certain situations at this point. But that doesn't mean I can't heal myself of the wounds that exist outside those things, or that have developed peripherally stemming from those things... It doesn't mean I don't make progress. It doesn't mean I can't separate the disabilities from the natural evolution that takes place inside a being who is aware enough to embrace it. I think some people just learn to control certain aspects of their lives to avoid those triggers, and some don't. I have worked very hard at discovering those things that trigger me, and I have toiled to degrees that she cannot imagine, to implement ways to alleviate them. (take organization and housecleaning and tidiness for an example…I was a slob my whole life and very unorganized, and now I am not, because I CHOSE to change that for my own mental health and to discipline myself). I have changed habits, altered facets of my personality, and questioned every indignation, fear, belief system and coping skill that occupies my mind and heart and life; and I have made great progress. I am proud of that progress and what happened last night does not negate that progress, nor does it support the overly-simplified argument she makes.

From her note and phone messages to me, it is clear that she has some erroneous ideas, and has once again missed the point. The point is not the spilled tea glass--that was merely the trigger that finally released what had been building for hours. The point is NOT that I was helping her with her web page--contrary to what she said in the messages--I completed a great deal in a short period of time without the usual problems; and the conflict only began when I started informing her that my brain needed to get away from it, but she decided it simply wasn't enough for her. . .The point is NOT that I am mentally ill and have irrational reactions to some things; I have normal reactions to abnormal stimuli. The point is that she tends to exacerbate those responses by her unwillingness to adapt to the needs of other people around her. And this is something that will reappear in her life repeatedly, until she fully grasps that she is an anomaly, and EVERYONE will disappoint her because her level of mental functioning is so much higher than the average….

She says she could never be with me in a partnership again in a "million years" because she's "not built to be with a mentally ill person." Perhaps she's even missing the point in that. Because I know in my experience with her that she is incapable of putting herself aside, as selfless as she thinks she is. Although she can be generous, loving, giving, kind, funny, brilliant…and an entire list of other wonderful things…..she is incapable, in certain instances, of backing off. She is incapable of tempering her own narrow idea of what the process must be in order to gain the outcome, and of comprehending that everyone else's brain is not her brain.

Perhaps it is time that the light switcher has her own room illuminated.

The Pusher

Mississippi: First Circle of Hell?

Mississippi just might be the first Circle of Hell. The heat and humidity here is oppressive, to say the least. I can always get a derisive laugh out of locals when i say, "When's it going to snow?" I admit, i had some preconceived notions about moving to a coastal area. Most of those notions were probably based on movies I've seen like Sleepless in Seattle.

Important distinction here: that's the Pacific Northwest, this is the Southern Gulf. I've noticed that when people talk about living "bi-coastal,"they are obviously leaving out the THIRD coast. The U.S. is really tri-coastal. The Gulf Coast, however, is like the red-headed step-child.

I can't speak to the appearance of the ocean on either West or East coast, but i can say that the Gulf of Mexico looks like one giant mud puddle. It certainly doesn't appear as it does in movies. And there are no shells or other washed-up sea treasures on the beaches--no, they clean the coastal sand with a big vacuum truck. So beach-combing is out.

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Then there's the Tern sanctuary area that you must avoid in the interest of preserving an endangered species.

And you can't have your dog on the beach either. That will cost you a hefty fine

I had hoped to go floundering for the first time in my life, but roommate, who is a Mississippi Gulf Coast native, said it was awfully dangerous, since we would likely be accosted by bad men up to no good.

Even with all these obstacles aside, often the beaches are just plain CLOSED. Most often, "as a result of high bacteria levels." We are told we will be notified when it is again safe for human contact. The good stuff about beaches, then, is not to be had.

Then there's the threat of hurricanes. Obviously, not something one looks forward to, but even if no one is hurt and there is minimal property damage, there's the power outages that leave you in sweltering triple-digit heat afterward for sometimes weeks. And if the roads are blocked near where you live due to debris, then all the hoodlums are likely to take advantage. Cops can't get to you, you can't leave, so you're at the whim of any gang members or other undesirables who may want to enter your house and take whatever they want--including YOU.

To add to the negative column, there's also an unrelenting collection of toads that croak so loud, it can drown out the TV.

Overall, Probably most bothersome are the fleas. I've never in my life had so much trouble with flea infestation. About 3 times a day, i have to get down in the floor with my dog and pick fleas. Hundreds at a time. A few hours later, he's scratching and whining like crazy again. Cats have them too. Nothing store-bought works. I'm about to try herbal and natural remedies next.

Not surprisingly, i am looking forward to living in Colorado again, if i can ever get to the right region--Boulder/Denver area. I'll take cold weather, fresh air, creative arts communities, and cultural and entertainment choices any day over a bad beach. I just hope there's no unforeseen form of hell there. Like giant, attacking snow bunnies.

Mississippi: First Circle of Hell?

Vaudeville Mantis, Finals & A Severed Finger

I DREAMED there was this Praying Mantis who was the size of one of those anti-theft steering wheel "clubs." This Mantis could sing and dance like a seasoned vaudevillian.... I came around a corner in this building and saw him and was flabbergasted. He was singing "My Way." All I could think about was getting to my camera so I could return and capture this once-in-a-lifetime event... When i returned, camera in hand, the Vaudeville Mantis had gone; witnesses pointed around the corner, and I found him there, smaller, not singing and not dancing...a regular mantis...i was so mad. No one would believe me, now. I would have no photographic evidence...I wanted to go tell LS about this...

I moved through the building toward wherever LS was (this large building/dorm theme is recurrent in my dreams... not sure what it means, so if any dream interpretors are out there, drop me a line and edify me). On my jaunt down the corridor, I passed old classmates, all decked out in prom attire. They were saying "You missed the final." (This is also a recurring dream-theme: missing finals or not going to classes, or not being able to find my locker or classroom). I was upset, disturbed, but then said, "Fuck it. Who cares? I don't need school anymore, or that stupid piece of paper that says i graduated."

Continuing on my trek to find LS and tell her about the Vaudeville Mantis, I was worrying with one of my fingers, twisting at it, and pulled it off...severed it like there was nothing to hold it together. There was no blood, though. I tried to push it back together, as if it would magically reseal itself, as I wanted to get to LS.

A few minutes later, I noticed my finger had re-joined on its own...And that made me wonder if it was ever really severed; and if it wasn't, then that might mean that the Vaudeville Mantis wasn't real either; and that might mean i was just a little insane. So i wondered if maybe i shouldn't tell her about the mantis...

Vaudeville Mantis, Finals & A Severed Finger

Mississippi Bites

Four days ago, i was bitten by something. I assume it was some sort of spider...but thankfully, not the kind that sends you to the E.R. with nausea and anaphylactic shock, and not the kind that rots a big hole in your skin like something out of a bad horror movie.

But toxic enough to be painful, cause swelling and prevent the use of my right hand for four days. The bubble that formed had the consistency of a water balloon. Then the bubble began to spread out the next day until my whole hand was swollen. It felt like i had pumped air up under my skin. I couldn't make a fist, or even bend my fingers toward my palm until today-- five days later.

I watched it closely and monitored my symptoms just in case, but it ran its course without becoming ugly. Part of the self-treatment i used along with extra strength Tylenol and cold compresses, was to apply minced garlic over the bite held in place by a bandage. I had some garlic i bought earlier for cooking. It comes in a jar with the garlic juice in it, too, and feels very soothing after taking it from the fridge, cold. I also used vinegar. Garlic is great for drawing out the toxins in a sting or bite. Vinegar takes the burning sensation away and helps soothe the discomfort. I used them both on my roommate when she was stung by a wasp--and she's very allergic. But it prevented her from having a more severe reaction.

Now, moving on... No sooner had my hand begun to feel better, than i became the victim of another attack I was dipping dog food from the bag to feed Giz, and felt a sharp needle pain on my hand--yes,the already suffering, still-swollen hand. I saw that it was an ant. God knows what kind of ant. There are so many kinds. Maybe a Sugar Ant or a Oderous House Ant...or Pharaoh Ant, or a Fire Ant. Interesting thing about a Fire Ant--if one of them is killed violently, it lets off some kind of bio-alarm, and all their ant friends will come after you.

As i began to slap them off me, i saw that they were crawling onto my socked feet, up my legs, and were making their way up my arms, too. I ran to the sink and washed my hands and arms, and then smacked them off my legs and socks. I had felt about 20 needle sensations and knew i had been bitten about that many times. Luckily, i only found three spots that were immediately swelling up. (See photos). I again used a garlic compress and vinegar, and after an hour, the pustules went down. When i stopped using the garlic and vinegar, tough, the places began to spread out and get inflamed again. Then today, i discovered about 5 other bites that only swelled when they began to itch and i began to scratch them.

More than ever, i am looking forward to getting out of this buggy place. I've lived around insects all my life, and have never had this many injuries and difficulties from them. Mississippi Gulf Coast is just not the place for me.

Mississippi Bites

Chess For Sex

Chess for sex is so much better than strip-poker. It's a blending of the intellectual with emotion, competition with the carnal. Even though i lost, i really won, because chess-partner took mercy on me and let me have the consolation prize: which was the same as the winning prize. And it was great. I found myself driving to her house with an excitement and glee I had not expereinced in some time. And I also find myself taking online chess lessons, now, because i don't know if the mercies will be extended next time i lose.

Chess For Sex

Monster Under the Bed

When I was a child, I experienced a common phobia regarding the "creature under the bed"...when getting into bed at night, I'd turn out the light and run across the room, jumping onto the bed, careful not to get my vulnerable, little-girl feet next to the opening beneath it. This was so nothing could grab me.

Now that i am an adult, my phobias are much more mature.

Now, when i go to the bathroom at night, i always turn the light on so i don't sit on the toilet in the dark and not see the awful creature that wants to reach up and grab my genitals when i sit down.

Monster Under the Bed

Door Christians

Well here's my latest little adventure...I'm one of those people who has to have a certain amount of control over my environment to be happy. When that gets disrupted, it fucks with my Chi, as I like to say. As a songwriter, I often spend long hours working on tracking my music in my home studio. I was in the middle of recording a new song and had already started over twice, and really had it going good this time when....

...there was a knock at the door. My dog, Giz, went to barking, ('Cause it fucks with his Chi, too) and I stood up quickly, tried to lay my guitar down, ripped the headphone plug out, tripped over the guitar cord and muttered an impressive selection of profanities. I checked through the window--some dude and a younger girl. Seemed harmless enough, but hell, the recorder was still on and I HATE being interrupted!

I opened the door and said "Yes?"

Referring to a card in his hand, he says, "Are you Jud? Jud Ba-eely?"

First of all, i am female, and i don't know many females with the first name, "Jud." I wanted to say, "Do i look like a Jud to you? But instead countered with: "No, Jae Baeli. (I gave emphasis on the pronunciation of my last name, Bay-lee). "Who's asking?"

He said, "I'm blah-blah from the First Baptist Church, and--"

I could feel the steam forming in my ears. This makes me so mad. It's like door to door spamming. I kept wishing for a delete button or a block-this-person switch, or even a trap door beneath my stoop. I said, "Do you have any idea how rude it is to just drop in on people? I'm in the middle of something and you have really fouled things up."

He says, "I'm sorry. We were just wondering if you attend--"

I interrupted him again. "I was in a training session with my sex slave, and about to make an offering to Satan, so I don't think we need to continue this."

The look on his face was enough to give me some satisfaction as I closed the door in his face.

I guess this makes me sound awful, but I really hate that shit. I don't want anyone cramming their religion down my throat. If I want to go to church, I can find it--it usually has a huge steeple on the building and lots of singing inside. I'm no pagan or anything, but it's just such a rude thing to do, in my opinion. And knocks on my door have a way of scaring me. My heart rate climbs and my blood pressure soars. Not sure why. So as is the norm in these situations, I began to shake, and then I couldn't continue recording because I was so shaky. I am so mad, now.

So there's a part of my "dark side" for ya. I'm probably going to burn in hell.

Door Christians

Jenfu

The Internet can be such a treasure chest. Amid my brief excursions into dictionaries and reference materials for my writings, i stumble on little gems that make me feel so fortunate. Not a Fountain of Youth, but maybe a fountain of comfort, entertainment, moments of peace or camaraderie.

One of those pearls is an online journal by a young woman with the moniker, JENFU. I read her entries, and i feel inspired, hopeful, understood--jealous; i feel i want to know what she looks like, to put a face to the writing, i want to be her best friend. I eat through her entries, and think, "God, i wish i could write like that."

"It isn’t that late, not much past nine, but it feels late. It feels like it could be any time after midnight, when things just stop and the background expands, and it is you, standing on a dark street against that dark backdrop, and everything in the world narrows down to you, alone, under the streetlight, your arms moving through the yellow light as if you’re underwater, and the only possible sounds are the scrape of your heels on the sidewalk as you shift from foot-to-foot, the rasp of fabric against fabric, your hands skating down your arms to clasp your elbows, pulling your body heat back into you, your breath, and the wind that flies up the hill, hits the street with a thud, and goes clattering down the sidewalk, down the other side of the hill." (Jenfu)

If i could grasp that intimacy, the vivid, picturesque quality of these vignettes, i could be a best selling author. (well, that is is the right folks saw it and offered me a contract). If my tortured prose could only spill out of me in that way, i would finally believe in myself.

As much as this is impressive serious writing, i find this next piece, RINGU, absolutely hilarious. I almost peed my pants, reading it.

http://jenfu.net/archives/000231.html

**addendum. Since reposting this here on blogger, i figured out that i can't access those blogs from Jenfu. I'm just sick! I spent a long time googling her (and i bet she didn't even feel it). Seems she's off the map as far as her older stuff. I have some print outs but can't find some of them--to include "Ringu." I might have to hunt down her email and ask her to send me some stuff so i can quote her some more. She's been my favorite blogger for about 6 years. I only had one book in print back then. Now i have twelve. And...I'm STILL not a best selling author, because the right folks haven't seen them and offered me a contract. Dream, on dreamer.

Jenfu

Breath of Life

I am fascinated by the unknowable. Some people spend their whole lives saying "I Don't Know" to those esoteric questions that arise. Me, i like to explore the issue and come to some sort of conclusion. It's that propensity i have to bring order to the chaos. That's another reason why all my bathroom accouterments are neatly stored in transparent shoe bags on the wall....

One monstrous "unknowable" is the question of when our souls enter our bodies. When does a life become something more than a tumor on life support, and instead a human complete with its own soul? I've spent a great deal of time turning this one over in my head and listening to the input from other deep-thinkers. I've come to a conclusion; a sort of encapsulation that i believe sufficiently explains this enigma so that i can move on to more important things like finding lost socks.

I think that the soul enters the body when a newborn takes its first breath. I think the decision a soul entity makes to take on that particular body of that particular human is a decision made from a position of higher consciousness. There are specific karmic lessons to be learned by belonging to that body,in that situation, with those parents, in that location, with those specific circumstances. In the case of a newborn that might die, that soul may have decided that the best lesson to be had for all concerned was for the parents to lose the child. And perhaps that soul only needed the experience of being an infant for a few hours or days or weeks. As difficult as this experience might be on a human level, we cannot impose our human limitations, weaknesses and spiritual blindness on something as beautiful and wise as a Soul.

Breath of Life

Dreams, Nicole Kidman, & The Path Not Taken

I actually remembered a dream his morning, First time in, what? A year? Two? A long time. Anyway, I dreamed that LS and I were in Eureka Springs, and she was at the corner of my desk, using my phone, and that corner of space, like she tends to do. . . and she was trying to get hold of Nicole Kidman, who was in town. It was like an assignment-as if she was working for a local paper or something. She wanted to interview her. She had the number to her hotel room. I said, "You can't just call her up-she probably doesn't even answer her own phone."

"Why not?"

"I'm sure she has 'people' who do that for her."

Never mind, she was determined that she was just gonna ring up Nicole Kidman. And damned if she didn't. I sat there in disbelief, listening to her interview her, jotting notes on a folder and scrap paper on my desk-which irritated me. Wasn't it important enough for her to bring her own paper? And why was she using my desk anyway?

It felt competitive. And I immediately swore that I would not only interview Tom Cruise, but in person, at a coffeehouse downtown. I remember being all excited that I could be in a town where celebrities walked around just like everyone else, and I could sit and get "Sightings" pictures to put on my website, and do reviews of businesses and take lots of photos. . . all for my website. It was exciting and fun to me. . . but back to Tom Cruise. There really was a sense of competition there. Like, we had broken up and were living in separate residences, but here she was again, in my office--my SACRED SPACE-(looks a little like "Scared space. . .or scarred space. . . mmmm. . . interesting Freudian possibilities there. . . )

But she was monopolizing my peace, my time, and then doing something impossible, which always makes me mad--that she has this magic way of making things happen.

I know part of this dream came from my research about Eureka Springs, and looking at some board postings where people said celebrities visit there a lot. They don't like to mention names, but gave initials, and one was TC-- I thought Tom Cruise, and then later a poster verified this (among others) so I was thinking about how cool it would be to be in this little café by the street, people- watching, taking notes, writing. . . and seeing someone like Tom Cruise or whomever walk by. I thought about how cool it would be if someone like that would just sit down at my table, and we'd have a relaxed, normal conversation, laugh it up and then move on with our day. . .

I have never met anyone famous. Well, let's see. . . Linda Ellerbee. . . Sara Hickman. . . Nanci Griffith--I guess that's the extent of it. But LS has met all these loads of famous people. Hell, she HUNG OUT with some of them. Like Ellen Degeneres. Ellen even called her at her mom's house several times. And LS was invited yearly to a party at the home of Anne Rice, where all kinds of famous people mingled. And there was meeting the members of Heart. . .and it seems there are many more she told me about...

So, am I jealous? You betcha. Somehow my life path never led down the walk of Fame, or even on the adjacent street. And does it matter? No, not in the grand scheme of things. It really only matters that I have made some sort of mark on the world, other than of the SKID variety. I'm not star-crossed, or obsessed with famous people. I just think it would be cool to meet them. And having met all kinds of people, including famous ones, would mean I had LIVED; that I had been to places and crossed paths with all kinds. I feel so inexperienced. And that makes me feel ashamed, at my age.

Back to my nocturnal movies...at some point, I dreamed also that I knew what Jenfu looked like (the writer who posts a journal online, with whose writing I am completely infatuated). She looked like Kristen Hall (the singer) except thin. Mmmm. Is this me, imagining? Visualizing? Doing that thing I can't seem to EVER do?

So what does this mean, this event of events-this DREAM REMEMBERED? Is my brain doing better? Is it coincidental that it comes on the heels of a relationship change and a decision for LS and I to move either-to-Eureka Springs-or-Little-Rock- and-that's-final? I really do hope LS is able to find what she's looking for or missing in her life. I'd hate to think she'd end up in the French Quarter, half a nation away (well, not really, but it feels so). I really do want her in my life. I really do cherish our friendship. Obviously, she needs mental stimulation of the social variety frequently, and is "bored to tears" by me and my geekiness; and I am much too idiosyncratic to cohabitate with anyone. . . unless they demand nothing, are bothered by nothing and stay gone at least half the time.

May as well live alone for crappin' out loud.

Dreams, Nicole Kidman, & The Path Not Taken

One Thing After Another

The bird, the partner, the dog, the Fed Ex lady, coffee...

Status quo.

My cockatiel, Bingo, lives in a huge "condo" cage with every toy and snack and luxury a bird could want. But she begins to shriek as soon as daylight hits the windows, her nocturnal sleeping clock disengaged by sunshine. My usual groggy reprimands, like, "Bingo, hush" and "Bingo, shut up!" and "Goddamn it, Bingo!" don't help. But you know, i just always hope i won't have to get up. She wants out of her cage so she can perch on my shoulder, leave lots of poopie on my shirt, bitch at me to scratch her head, then bitch that I'm not doing it right, then jump down and pull all the cigarette butts from the ashtray and drop them in the floor along with paper clips, my lighter, and that pill I'm supposed to take each morning. Then she must punch the edges of all paper products with her beak, and eat all the pencil lead, (if there's any to be had), try to climb on my coffee cup for a drink, to which i say "It's hot" and she tests the side of the cup with her tongue just to check my story...

So forgive me, if I'm not too keen on getting her out of the cage.

But the shrieking. Lord God in heaven.

The only thing I've found that cures it (aside from avian homicide, or the free-for-all i just described) is to take her from the cage and put her in a dark closet or the other bathroom. The darkness makes her think it's time to go to sleep. And i have some peace so that i can go back to bed for a few more hours... I do that, and return to bed.

Just after slipping into dreamland, Giz, my mixed breed dog (the guess is half spaniel, half chihuahua) climbs up to the bed and starts to invade my personal space. Meaning, he walks up the length of my body and lies down on my chest. And whines. I ask if he has to go out- and i get that excited keening sound as he catapults himself off me, leaving another series of toenail scratches on my skin. I get up and go to the door, avoiding the dido movements all around me as he revs up for the trip outside. Another phobia, though, is of wet grass. So he goes to the edge of the walk, and squats about 3 inches away from the grass...on the concrete. I call to him sharply, and his flow stops as he darts back down the walk. "Oh no, you're not coming inside until you go--" I have to drag him toward the grass, but he still won't go.

So i go back inside and get my shoes and leash, and return, snapping the leash on his collar, and walking out into the wet grass, calling him. He finally goes, but not after a sniffing trek through the grass and back around to the pine bark--an acceptable compromise so that i can go back to bed finally. My partner is awake, and there begins some witty banter, at my expense, the details of which escape me. Finally, i just said "Stop aggravating me--i want to go to sleep." We do. A few minutes later, Giz starts making that awful sucking, "sick" noise in his throat that always wakes me up; a precursor to some ugly warm mess on the rug that i have to clean up. I rushed over and called his name, as if to scold him for this thing he could not control. He darted out from under his little sleeping tent, and i had to coax him to me so that i could drag him into the bathroom...i had to drag him since he doesn't like tile or linoleum floors. Another of the mysterious traumas he must have suffered before i adopted him from the Humane Society.... Now both children are in separate bathrooms. I set about cleaning up the mess. Done with the cleaning, my allergic rhinitis sneezing fit arrives on schedule. I have one or two every morning, but only after i am up and around, so now i'm looking for Puff's Plus with aloe. I have to get up and go to the bathroom to blow. I grab a peanut butter bone for Giz to let him know he's not really in trouble just because he made another bile stain on the carpet...he holds the bone in his mouth, stares at me uncertainly, moving toward the open door. I tell him it's okay, he can go.

I know i won't be going back to sleep now, so my first impulse is to make coffee, but both sides of the sink and both counters are full of dirty dishes. I unload the dishwasher, fill the carafe and then discover there aren't enough fresh beans in the grinder. Well, i love fresh ground coffee beans...and besides, that's the only way I'll get coffee out of them, aside from eating them whole, which i prefer not to do. So i have to grind some. I hate the noise- and maybe my partner will too (since said partner is still asleep) So then I'm sitting down with my beloved coffee and checking my email when Fed Ex knocks- Giz goes crazy barking and whining as always. He is traumatized by knocks on the door, too...The package is for my partner who is still in bed. I toss it on her legs and go to my office, where i close the door and hope to get this written.

And how was YOUR morning?

One Thing After Another

Stood Up Like a Chump

I spent two days preening myself. I plucked, and shaved and used cleansers, emollients, lotions, oils, facial masks, lotions for puffy eyes. I wore a $300 suit, and was so excited about the evening. It was to be a double date with my best friend and her new girlfriend.

Then i got stood up.

Humiliation. Sadness.

New Year's eve and i felt like a big fat chump. So the last thing i wanted the next day was to tag along with my best friend and her girlfriend. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and stay there.

I climbed in bed, covered my head and slept.

Stood Up Like a Chump