tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-124385642024-03-06T23:56:59.801-05:00my life my words my mindMe blabbing about whatever comes to mind. Sort of a grab-bag of Trina's brain contents.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-37440841292984245202012-12-07T23:54:00.004-05:002012-12-07T23:54:32.546-05:00Because I can't resist sharingMe (in response to overheard WoW chat): So you know that sucking dick is boring, apparently?<div>
<br /></div>
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C: It's boring for <b><i>you</i></b>.</div>
Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-419109431064007962012-02-26T03:30:00.001-05:002012-02-26T03:34:31.002-05:00ExpressionI often theorize. I'm the Queen of "What If". In retrospect and imaginings of the future.<div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">With the present, I'm almost superstitious about even <i>considering</i> hypothetical situations. As if, should my mind dwell on a bad one, quantum entanglement or existentialism or some other potential reality of "mind over matter" will assert itself, and I will inadvertently cause that idea to manifest itself.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">Part of this was recently explained/validated for me in one of the later <i>Dark Tower</i> books by Stephen King; I don't remember which. In it, he was discussing love. Romantic love, between adults. And he described something to the effect of how if you find it, you can't believe the universe would have allowed you to be so fortunate and that it could be yanked away at any minute. Sorry for the sappiness, but that's how I feel about Chris. Every single day, I am struck - usually in small ways - by the fact that I somehow found the perfect person for me, someone I love and like and can't imagine <i>not</i> living with for the rest of my life. Even after all these years, it doesn't seem quite real.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">And that part of me that doesn't believe I have found and could keep something so wonderful insists (constantly) that he could be gone in a moment. The news - now on 24/7 on tv and the internet and magazines and newspapers - only reinforces the voice screaming at me that it's all terribly fleeting and unsafe and unpredictable. So I tell him I love him. A LOT. Like if I go upstairs, or out to the kitchen, or out to check the mail, or to the grocery store or to fill up my gas. I say it multiple times a day. And I mean it.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; ">But on the flip side, there are a lot of people in my life with whom I find myself vocally paralyzed when it comes to expressing my love for them. I love them. SO much. And the same worries about losing them apply equally. I always feel the love. Sometimes - <i>rarely</i> - I verbalize it. But (I think) because I didn't have such a hurdle to overcome with them like I did with Chris, saying it that first and hardest time, when it was so terribly fraught with meaning and fear and confusion, it's more like love is the status quo and should be understood. And so my general Failure To Communicate, combined with the lack of urgency/deadline/expectation to make the declaration by some finite point in time has rendered it nearly impossible for me to say to almost every other human I know.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">And it drives me crazy and hurts and makes me feel awful that I can say, "I love you," 20 times a day or more to Chris and the kitties and Sam (and - because I made a concerted effort to make it a habit - to Liam and Rebecca). But I just can't seem to do it with anyone else, even the people I wish it was the same kind of habit with.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">So if you're reading this, I love you. Even if you are a stranger and have no idea who I am. I love you and think you are special and important, and I am glad our lives have intersected <i>however</i> they may have done; I wish you all the best.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">And if you are personally known to me and part of my "real" life, I'd like you to know that I'm working on actually saying these things to you out loud, hopefully on a regular basis. I wish I could better explain why it is that I can't do it now. And in the meantime, please accept this as my expression of the things I feel and cannot say.</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-83635512140350814892011-11-06T03:09:00.002-05:002011-11-06T03:33:46.471-05:00CultureMore specifically: appreciation vs. co-opting.<div><br /></div><div>How do you know which side of the line you're on? Lately, I am completely enamored of Indian cuisine. I've stocked up on a myriad of spices, beans, and other ingredients. I'm cooking from highly-rated recipes and books (I'm all about reviews!). I love "restaurant" Indian food, and I'm also increasingly addicted to the "authentic" dishes I prepare.</div><div><br /></div><div>But in all the books, every recipe is given it's English/American name, with the "real" name in italics and smaller print below. I feel like a giant asshole using the Anglicized terms for things, but I also feel incredibly uncomfortable with using the Indian names for everything. It smacks too much of trying too hard, and of pretending I'm part of a culture I have no claim on.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've always thought it was weird that once a country/area is "discovered", we don't call that land what the people who <i>live there</i> call it. Why do we insist on "Spain" and "Germany" etc. when the natives have their own word for their homeland? It has always felt incredibly disrespectful.</div><div><br /></div><div>The same holds true for foods. Granted, a lot of plants have traveled around the world over the past few millennia, and have many names in many cultures. But if I'm cooking the particular cuisine of a specific region, and I <i>know</i> what they call a certain dish, why on earth would I give that dish my own name, that basically just gives a description of the main ingredients? If I went overseas and visited an English-friendly restaurant or family, it would feel weird to have deviled eggs referred to as "hard-boiled eggs stuffed with yolks mashed with mayonnaise and mustard." And what would they call hot dogs or scrapple? But that's what we do with a lot of foods.</div><div><br /></div><div>My current solution is to use the "popular" names for things most people are familiar with, and "proper" names for things I haven't seen elsewhere. I'm not sure what else to do, or how else to think about proceeding. I know it isn't a life-or-death issue, but it's something I have control over and I want to get it <span style="font-weight: bold; ">right</span>. If anyone has any thoughts, I'm all <i>oídos.</i></div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-35472607086315256782011-09-22T02:43:00.003-04:002011-09-23T02:27:35.160-04:00"Growing Up"Although I'm sure it started much earlier, my grasp on the concept of growing up really started to take hold and crystallize in 2005, when that hurricane came and stole my name.<div><br /></div><div>A lot of things had happened beforehand, and they had a dramatic impact on my life. But I still held onto the belief that I could hope for some time in the future - however brief - during which I could take a breather and get some relief from the overwhelming sadness and pain. And while there have been weeks (maybe even entire months!) of respite during the intervening years, there was always <i style="font-weight: bold; ">something</i> that came up and brought the pain back, and something beforehand that left a lingering pain that obscured those periods of peace.</div><div><br /></div><div>Following a number of smaller losses, I have recently experienced the slow death of a near and dear relative - my PopPop (that's "grandfather" for those of you living elsewhere who may have never heard this term). I've only ever dealt with quick/unexpected human losses in the past (as an adult, and one not so great at keeping in touch with people), so this situation was very different and very affecting. Now that he is finally at peace, I am infinitely grateful to have had the time to spend a few more days with him and several chances to tell him how much I loved him. But the past week was one of the most wrenching, confusing, and gutting of my life. It also came during a time where it seems like ALL of my friends are going through terrible experiences of their own, and it has really felt like the universe was giving us all the finger.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it made me realize something about "growing up" that I probably should have understood years ago. As much as I have (and want to maintain) a carefree attitude about life, and as much as I want to keep hoping for that "someday" in which I'll have a decent stretch of time that isn't punctuated by pain and loss, it isn't realistic. Part of living a life connected to friends and family and animals I care deeply about means that there will always be a source of pain or loss not too far around the corner. If I'm not hurting, someone I love probably is and should know that they can come to me. If I haven't lost someone (or had a bad scare), someone I know <i>has</i> and needs comfort. I also can't just blithely expect everyone I care about to live forever just because I can't imagine life without them. And the fact is that the longer I live, the more this will be true.</div><div><br /></div><div>Childhood and childishness are, if nothing else, marked by an assumption that the skies will always clear and everything will get better. And that's not wrong. Growing up just means recognizing the hurts that were going on this whole time, acknowledging them, and doing our best to alleviate them if and when we can. I think I have officially reached the "acceptance" stage in realizing what kinds of pain I should expect for the rest of my life. I'll take and cherish all the good times that come my way, but I can no longer treat the bad/sad times as tremendous aberrations that need to be avoided and waited out. I think this may officially make me the Grownup I never thought I'd be, and that's ok.</div><div><br /></div><div>As an aside - one consolation this past week came in a rather roundabout way. While PopPop was sleeping one day, the minister who was visiting asked me what my favorite story about PopPop was, and I drew a total blank. At the time, I felt terrible that I couldn't think of anything. But sitting there, angst-ing over this deficiency, I realized: I don't have <i>stories about</i> PopPop - I have <i>memories of</i> him. I got to spend so much time with him and MomMom growing up that when I think of them, that's what comes to mind. I know I've heard stories, but I can't recall them. I would like to learn some stories, of course, so I can have them as well and share them with family in the future, but I feel so much better having a lifetime of lovely memories than I would be if I just had a few "good stories".</div><div><br /></div><div>I remember walks in the woods, where he pointed out wild-growing things as well as plants he had cultivated. I remember those walks ending at the stream, and wading in the ice-cold water there, hoping to see fish but being just as happy to settle for glimpses of water-strider bugs. I remember climbing in his fruit trees, and catching birds that had invaded the blueberry patch and releasing them. I remember picking berries and veggies (especially the silver queen corn) from their gardens. I remember watching <i>The Sound of Music</i> for the first time with him and MomMom. I remember riding with him in his pickup truck. I remember eating my first bagels at their house, and thinking how cool it was that my grandparents drank milk with their meals, just like us kids. I remember annual Memorial Day picnics and Christmas dinners. I remember the beautiful pictures he took of plants and butterflies. I remember that he made wine when I was a little girl; and I remember what a special day it was when Chris and my brother bottled the last two carboys of wine he had put up in the 80's (it was pretty much hard liquor when they bottled it) in bottles with a label made from a picture of him back when he was a pilot in World War II, and how happy he was that they were bottling that wine and carrying on the brewing/wine-making tradition in our family.</div><div><br /></div><div>I could fill pages with these memories. And maybe I should, for the children who are small now and those presumably coming in the future. Because another part of being a grownup is sharing how things used to be, and who the people who are no longer with us <i>were</i>.</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-58811010156686408352011-09-09T00:21:00.002-04:002011-09-09T00:38:31.828-04:00SometimesOk, ALL the time... I want to whine. I have a lengthy list of things I want to gripe about. And then I read the news, check out some blogs on issues near and dear to my heart, and am once again reminded that my problems are First World Problems. Hell, more than half of the things I've written about here with sincerity and pain are <i>nothing</i> compared to the suffering going on daily (hourly! minute-ly!) around the globe. And I know it's all relative and we only know our own personal pain, but I still feel like a shit. So I don't post. Because why post about the idiosyncrasies of my self-perception when there are people literally living in slavery and pain and degradation?<div><br /></div><div>This, of course, puts me on the path of questioning why I should publicize my self-examination at all. And I'm not certain I should. A big part of me feels like I ought to pick an external subject that speaks to me and dissect it when the mood strikes, and leave the navel-gazing to private ruminations. But that doesn't feel real. And while I'm not the <i>best</i> at being completely honest in my real-world dealing, I am also not about to start down the path of being anything that feels deliberately <i>dis</i>honest to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Grrr.</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-21351144378503677212011-09-08T02:33:00.004-04:002011-09-08T02:44:00.370-04:00SharingI feel like I'm on the other end of the spectrum from where I was a few years ago: then, I was suffering loss after loss after disaster, with no end in sight. It was truly horrendous.<div><br /></div><div>Now, things are (knock on wood) going pretty well here, but a LOT of dear friends are going through experiences similar to mine of not so long ago. And while at the time I thought I'd have given anything to make the pain stop, I'm now in the position of wishing I could lift at least some of the burden of that same pain from the hearts of my friends and carry it myself, even if it means more of that pain I was so desperate to get through.</div><div><br /></div><div>I realize that while I might not have <i style="font-weight: bold; ">noticed</i> my load lightening back then, it most certainly was relieved by the love and caring of these friends. And all I can really do now is hope that they know how much I appreciated the support they gave me when I needed it, and that I'm here to share their burden as they shared mine.</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-47795347481185505222011-07-10T00:32:00.004-04:002011-07-10T01:06:29.388-04:00Still here!<span class="Apple-style-span" >Thanks to a very thought-provoking (in a good way!) comment, I was reminded that I do have a blog and am once again neglecting it.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >We're making excellent progress on squaring away our finances in order to get out of this house, and we have a contractor coming on Monday to get started on a few small-ish projects that are necessary for selling. I'm re-acclimating to having a husband after losing Chris to a never-to-be-repeated (AKA Trina <i>will</i> get her passport) 3 week stint in Australia.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A good bit of our free weekend time is tied up with soccer - we have season tickets to the Philadelphia Union again this year, and it's a TON of fun!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">Currently, we're both anxiously awaiting the release of A Dance With Dragons. It's due on the 12<sup>th,</sup> and we pre-ordered the hardback AND kindle editions. Our 10-year wedding anniversary is the 14<sup>th </sup></span><span class="Apple-style-span">and I have a feeling we'll be at the restaurant waiting for our food, both madly reading away on our kindles. Not that I object to this,I just hope Morimoto doesn't take offense to an apparent disinterest in his cuisine. I'm psyched to be going back for the awesomeness served there, I just can't say that it's more exciting than a return to Westeros.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">Speaking of Westeros, I don't often plug other blogs, but I'm making an exception. I don't know the wonderful people behind this blog, but we've cooked a bunch of their recipes (all awesome) and enjoyed the food and also its tie to Martin's universe. If you want to cook Ice & Fire-inspired foods, or amazing cuisine based on foods of eras long gone (or just fabulous food you haven't seen recipes for because it's esoteric), please check out </span><a href="http://innatthecrossroads.com/">innatthecrossroads.com</a>. I could vouch for individual recipes, but at this point now there are so many and I'm so picky that it would be kinda weird. Unlike many "celebrity" chefs with cookbooks, these folks have tested their recipes and found them delicious, and I can only co-sign.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I've been testing new perfumes, but mostly settling into a few that I know and love, and I'm ok with that. I'd rather love and test than be constantly hunting for new loves. I've latched onto several HG's, and am roaming around them, versus wandering far afield to sniff every new thing. I have never been more content in the perfume department.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I haven't left, and I'm sorry I'm not better about posting. But I'm here, alive, happy, and enjoying my NOW. And it is good.</span></div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-39514304676988798432011-04-08T04:19:00.003-04:002011-04-08T05:01:26.366-04:00Not Necessarily DeepSometimes I have stray thoughts that I feel compelled to record, with no idea where to do so. There's not necessarily much history behind them; they aren't particularly humorous (except to me, in some cases, but I crack myself up all the time with things that are just weird to other people); and they certainly aren't going to change the world for the better. But they're in my head and must come out. Today's installment:<div><br /></div><div>- If Chris and I do, as we hope/plan, have a child and then end up splitting up, it will be the kid's fault. We've been married almost 10 years now, and have been together for over 14 years. Most of them have been happy. I'm still very much in love with him and could spend the rest of my life with only his company and be content. Part of me still wants him all to myself, and worries that a permanent change to our dynamic might be a harmful one.</div><div><br /></div><div>- My eating disorder will be old enough to vote in the next election. And I have a feeling that, in terms of healthcare at least (I'm sure it wants to deny me any coverage that might help me kill it), it is a Republican.</div><div><br /></div><div>- I wonder what percentage of our landfills is occupied by issues of The Watchtower. I read the copies our local Witnesses bring by because I find them genuinely fascinating. I have read large portions of the Bible and am familiar with even more, and never came to the conclusions/realizations that the Jehovah's Witnesses do. I don't agree with much of it, but it gives me food for thought. In the end, though, I don't keep them. And I'm sure most people don't, and I know not everyone recycles. So my weird brain is currently occupied with wondering if more space in landfills is taken up by diapers, "sanitary items", or Watchtowers. I'm sure any of it is enough to make SOME number of people feel guilty. Or is that just me?</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-46502480515668677302011-03-28T03:26:00.003-04:002011-03-28T03:50:13.183-04:00Familiarity...has been said to breed contempt. I think the longer we stay in this house, the more true this becomes for me.<div><br /></div><div>Right now, I'm in the grips of a paralyzing fear that no matter what we do to fix this place up, or how low our initial sale price is, NOBODY will want it. This is mostly due to the fact that we live in a neighborhood that once held a bit of promise, but got caught up in the housing bubble to a ridiculous extent. It has one of the highest rates of foreclosures in this state because prices swelled FAR beyond what these houses could ever be worth. We have a LOT of equity in the place, so we can sell lower than a lot of other folks in the development, but then it becomes a dangerous game.</div><div><br /></div><div>We can afford to sell lower than what most folks are asking, but if we price too low initially, buyers will assume there's something wrong with our house (it's fine, probably better than most since we've owned it since it was built, but too low a price might make people think otherwise, even though a low number would just be a way to try to get out faster). And I'm so sick and tired of this house, and SO familiar with all the ways it is lacking that I have a hard time imagining anyone else could possibly want to buy it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have this sick, sad premonition that we will be in a financial position to move and get out of here, but no one will buy our house, and we'll be stuck here for years. And while I'm glad we didn't buy into the bubble, I'm sad we didn't position ourselves to at least get out of here while the getting was good. I don't mind not making as much as we could have, but I'm terrified of not being able to get away at ALL.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't worry that we won't get enough for the house, I worry we won't get ANY offer. This market scares me, and our location in this market scares me even more. I just want to be gone, and it frightens me how little I'm willing to accept to get away from this place.</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-2845864079447262342011-02-28T04:15:00.003-05:002011-02-28T04:28:30.081-05:00Broken PromisesThe closer we draw to the goals we decided that we have to meet in order to get out of this house and move (at this point preferentially to Roswell), the more I feel like I'm breaking a promise. To myself, yes, but also to family members I never really declared my intentions to.<div><br /></div><div>I'm resigned to not making my grandparents' house our "family home" (for me and Chris and the theoretical future progeny), but I'm not giving up on keeping their house in the family. It still KILLS me that Gramma's house went to auction and sold for what it did. If Chris and I had had ANY inclination that such would be the case, things would have gone very differently. I am resolved that this will not happen again. I feel this way about MomMom and PopPop's house, and also about Aunt Gerry and Uncle Ed's house. These are two that have "historical" significance and really shouldn't leave the family.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this doesn't mean a change to our current plans/aspirations. There is SO much in Georgia that I look forward to! Fantastic houses on nice properties (with MATURE trees!) at amazingly reasonable prices, my sister and her family nearby, an amazing city and outlying area that we love, and parenting resources that can't be found around here. I'm approaching the age where (assuming it's even possible) bearing children is increasingly dangerous for me and said children. I want to be out of this house and neighborhood as soon as possible, and I really want to be in the Roswell area if/when the fruit of my loins spring forth to unleash their mayhem upon the earth.</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-33387356464178236232011-02-09T01:37:00.006-05:002011-02-10T01:10:27.057-05:00Recap (more "Common Sense")<span class="Apple-style-span" >I've been thinking about revisiting the food/ED stuff for a while. It's not like I ran out of things to say, more like I was worried it would take over here when that hadn't been my original purpose. But a family member recently started a blog on food issues, which reminded me that I might want to think about this issue again in light of our impending planned move and family expansion. And re-reading those old posts, I'll admit that they make me sad because I fell off the proverbial wagon in times of pain and loss, and am now back at square one. But I do want to get better and plan to do so, especially if we have a child. I will NOT model my current eating on a child. ANY child.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >And then today Jezebel posted an article that highlighted a lot of my points on correlation vs. causation: <a href="http://jezebel.com/#!5754961/10-things-that-supposedly-cause-eating-disorders">Things that supposedly cause eating disorders</a>. I know what <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Jez</span> was trying to do, and I salute the effort, but they missed a big opportunity to embark on a serious discussion.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So now I have several reasons to get everything I've written together in one place, and straight in my head. Without further ado, here are my former posts on this subject:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://mylifemywordsmymind.blogspot.com/2005/09/heres-hoping.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Here's Hoping</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://mylifemywordsmymind.blogspot.com/2006/03/dr-phil.html">Dr. Phil</a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://mylifemywordsmymind.blogspot.com/2006/03/common-sense-part-1-of.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Common Sense (Part 1 of ?)</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://mylifemywordsmymind.blogspot.com/2006/03/common-sense-part-2-of.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Common Sense (Part 2 of ?)</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://mylifemywordsmymind.blogspot.com/2008/02/common-sense-part-3-of.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Common Sense (Part 3 of ?)l</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://mylifemywordsmymind.blogspot.com/2008/03/common-sense-part-4-of.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Common Sense (Part 4 of ?)</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >There may well be more to come on this topic. Part of me wants it, part of me dreads it. I know friendship issues are something I never explored and now I feel motivated to do so. Hopefully I won't drop that ball. It's a painful subject for me, but what isn't? And given that the subject played a major role in the eating issues of a family member, I would be remiss in ignoring it. Please let me be better than that.</span></div><div> </div></div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-74362321075757210982011-02-05T03:10:00.002-05:002011-02-05T03:24:12.533-05:00"Miracles"I don't profess to know everything (or anything even close) about the body or the spirit. I don't claim to have even the barest grasp on the nature of miracles. I believe in them as a concept, if only as the manifestation of extremely unlikely statistical outcomes; but I can't declare any personal experience of divinity or claim a belief that such events are the result of intervention from a higher power.<div><br /></div><div>I do know this: two people who mean a LOT to me in different ways are alive today, despite many indicators proclaiming that they would/should have been gone more than 6 months ago. I can't label it and don't want to. I just want - and plan - to celebrate the fact that they are still here. And no matter the cause/reason, it <b>feels</b> like a miracle to me.</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-49562937182194794152011-01-31T23:26:00.003-05:002011-01-31T23:55:08.279-05:00UnsubscribeWe've dealt with a lot of loss over the years with our animal friends. And this issue has come up for me before, but not so painfully or notably, for a number of reasons.<br /><br />The first week or so, it didn't really register. But more and more, reality intrudes: I am subscribed to a LOT of emails - many shopping-oriented, for coupon codes - that are ferret-centered and from which I need to unsubscribe.<br /><br />I think I've been able to be in denial about others: we could start another aquarium at any time, and the fact is that we WILL have birds again (like it or not?) because we're the appointed guardians of two for sure, and two more in all probabilty (and I really need to nail that down one way or another, if only for planning). So I could easily/happily just delete and ignore emails from companies/groups regarding avian and aquatic companions.<br /><br />Ferrets are a whole different ballgame. They are SO easy to keep accumulating, and SO hard to say no to once you know and love them. And you never want to just have one last and lonely ferret. It feels just awful. But at the same time, we made the decision not to take in any more several years ago, because we DID have to make a decision. The pain of losing them is hard to describe or explain. It's similar to losing a cat or a dog, but worse because the life was shortened and condensed and so much more potent and vibrant. Some people can accept that and deal with it; Chris and I aren't such people. It hurts too much, and we just couldn't take it any more.<br /><br />I'm not saying we've taken a stance of never ever again living with ferrets, because I could never say that (and I don't think he could either), but it will be a good 20 years until we try again, should we choose to. So as the emails come in, I've been unsubscribing. And it's like salt in a wound. It stings, and in a place I wasn't expecting.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-36886708746473538152011-01-24T05:28:00.002-05:002011-01-24T05:49:13.621-05:00DilemmaSo, we're drawing down to the wire we set up (from a financial perspective) that we have to cross before moving. And moving is the wire for procreating (I do NOT want to have a baby in this house/neighborhood). And, being me, I'm considering a billion things in terms of moving and procreation and parenting, none of which I can really focus on since they aren't immediate.<br /><br />But a question occurred to me today: being half of a white, heterosexual couple who plan on doing things the old-fashoined way barring complications, what specific things should I say/do/consider in order to raise an un-bigoted child? I have general ideas about the principles I want to pass on and demonstrate, and a genuine dislike for closed-mindedness. But I'm already embodying (or planning to embody - unless there are surprises/setbacks *knock on wood*, our plan is for me to be a SAHM) a lot of normative traits.<br /><br />And those aren't *wrong*, but I'm not sure the best way to teach our child(ren) that other lives/choices (regarding work allocation, <strong>not</strong> sexuality - that is <strong>not</strong> a choice and I don't mean to suggest otherwise) are also wonderful and healthy and happy and attainable, if not aspirational. I've tried online searches and book searches on amazon, to no avail. I think I'll be ok, but it would be so much easier to have some sort of guide so I'm not flailing around blindly. I'm already hampered and blinded by more privilege than I can ever understand; and while I know it's there, I also know that living in it prevents me from seeing or identifying all of it.<br /><br />So if anyone out there has reading suggestions, I'm open. More than open, I'm bordering on desperate.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-37813422338037992312010-10-23T00:31:00.002-04:002010-10-23T00:36:13.299-04:00Sad dayIn a little over 12 hours, I'll be attending the memorial service for one of my cousins. He had a gentle nature, a kind spirit, and a genuine love of animals. The world has lost a good human being.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-64343716869208033192010-10-21T05:05:00.006-04:002010-10-21T05:58:00.088-04:00Can it be said enough?I don't think so. I've written about this before, and in the wake of recent tragedies, I'm revisiting it.<br /><br />From how the media is portraying recent events, one would think that we're in the middle of a wave of suicides by LGBT teens and young adults. I have a feeling that this isn't the case, but rather that social media is finally shining a spotlight on something that has been going on for centuries (if not <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">millenia</span>), but was always swept under the rug or politely overlooked. Bullying is real. Teen suicide is real. And the sad fact is that for far longer than I've been alive, bullying of LGBT and <strong><em>any</em></strong> kids deemed as "different" has been given a bit of a pass. It's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span>, because what they feel and what they do and who they want to love is "wrong" to many people.<br /><br />No, it isn't. God is love, right? So how can love for <em>anyone</em> be anything <em>other</em> than godly? We're taught "judge not, lest ye be judged", but apparently that isn't true for LGBT people. I guess I missed Jesus giving us that little caveat. And hello: Jesus chose to hang out with lepers and prostitutes - WHO would be their social equivalent in this day and age? People really think Jesus would have a problem with the LGBT community?<br /><br />And on a slightly divergent note, I <strong><em>love</em></strong> the "It Gets Better" campaign. And I love that we live in a world of what many people consider "<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">over sharing</span>". Because 20 - 30 years ago, people didn't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">discuss</span> these things. It wasn't "seemly". And people suffered in silence, not knowing that there were MILLIONS of other people going through what they were, some right down the street. As much as our voyeuristic culture often disgusts me, I can't help but be grateful for the fact that the idea of "normal" has been blasted to smithereens, and that people can share their most horrific experiences and find others like them who can help them cope, grieve, and heal.<br /><br />It's a slow process. And it's far from easy or pretty. But I'd honestly rather live in a nation filled with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Snookis</span> than <a href="http://jezebel.com/5667853/betty-draper-francis-still-needs-your-love">Betty Drapers</a>.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-84478755773122282272010-10-12T04:51:00.002-04:002010-10-12T05:05:01.753-04:00New CriteriaMy parents might or might not be thrilled to learn that I'm getting over my tv addiction. I still blame them for the fact that depriving me in my childhood left me susceptible in my adult years to all the garbage most people with functioning brains are able to dismiss.<br /><br />I think burnout + my recent forays into new areas of literature (including making my way back to good YA fiction) = lack of patience for sub-par programming.<br /><br />As I was catching up on my tv tonight (following a lovely but busy weekend visiting with my family AND Chris's), I realized that some shows just aren't measuring up and I was actually getting frustrated with them. And then I found my new boundary.<br /><br />Chris hates many of the shows I watch, chiefly among them: what I call "judge shows". I like a LOT of those, and try to reserve them for when he's sleeping, but they're the sort of show I only half-watch and don't get upset if I miss something. I have plenty of others I like that don't bother him, so I watch them when he's up. Tonight, some of those he also isn't a fan of were bad enough that I'd rather watch a judge show than them. I'd rather watch a show I half ignore than Show X? Why bother?<br /><br />And so, I'm not. If I'd rather pop on Judge Judy or The People's Court, then a show has failed the basic requirement of engaging my interest and attention. My DVR has a much higher free percentage, my Season Pass list is shorter, and I feel like a free woman!Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-4133907514117373952010-08-30T03:47:00.003-04:002010-08-30T04:19:51.855-04:00...I don't know what to call this one.<br /><br />As much as I wish it were otherwise, I'm not really a "good" person. I try my best to do what's right for me and my family, but I often fall short. My shortcomings - and awareness thereof - only help shine a light on my failures both in living my life and in exercising empathy. I cut no slack for myself or anyone else. I'm a judgemental bitch, and I give no one any quarter.<br /><br />I'm in a bit of a crisis right now because I'm dealing with someone who is seriously neglecting the non-humans who depend on her. I want to whine and detail what is so upsetting me, but one of the things that's angering me the most is something other people I know (and love) have done with their own fur-babies. And while some of them did it long ago before vets and other pros in that arena finally spoke up and started saying why it was horriffic, others have done it more recently. So I don't feel like I can run to them and cry like I want to about what she's planning. And it's not even the worst of what has gone on and is going on in her house. If anything, it's the least of her crimes. But because it's still in the "contemplation" phase, it's what's upsetting me the most.<br /><br />I've presented alternatives. I begged her to reconsider. I begged her to re-home the animals (the ones in this scenario AND the rest for several reasons).<br /><br />I'm not a perfect mama when it comes to animals, and have never claimed to be. I've made so many mistakes that haunt me still. But I have never turned a blind eye to clear suffering and parasitic infestation. And I have never contemplated maiming my babies for our convenience. I would buy new furniture every year before mutilating an animal, or I would sit on the fucking floor and feel joy in knowing that I love my babies more than I do a sofa or a table.<br /><br />And so now I'm in a corner I painted myself into and I'm whining to the internets. Because I don't know how to turn to the people I know and love without making them feel like this upset would be a judgement against them. And I honestly don't know that it wouldn't be, deep down.<br /><br />I will always take the side of those who can't speak for themselves and who are denied self-determination. So in a human-"pet" situation, I will never be on the side of the human, even (or especially) when that human is me. We ALWAYS have a choice; they are forced to live with the decisions we make. And since that is the case, I can't, in good conscience, side with anyone but them. And when the decision isn't mine, and the outcome is out of my hands, and I've argued to the best of my ability, all I can do is scream. Silently. And hope against hope that I was heard and she does the right thing.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-4915848663234920042010-08-23T06:47:00.003-04:002010-08-23T07:11:52.671-04:00Somebody(yes, this title is a Depeche Mode reference)<br /><br />I know I've been lame and sappy before. And I know I've whined at the other end of the spectrum too. But there are times - sometimes weeks on end, like lately - when almost every single moment of observing/contemplating my husband is one of extreme gratitude and appreciation.<br /><br />He is no saint. I will not go into all the small, hilarious ways in which he makes it clear just how human he is. He's aware of this blog and has read it, but we haven't discussed my writing about him here to the point where I can be that specific, even though I'm sure he'd be fine and I'd love to share the hilarity. But I digress (so shocking!). My point is that I could elaborate ad infinitum on the myriad behaviors/incidents/tendencies that illustrate exactly why rose-colored glasses would never suit my vision prescription in terms of my darling dearest. It wouldn't pertain.<br /><br />We've had difficult times and blissful times. But sometimes, like lately, we synch up so much that we complete what would be a sickening number of each others' sentences if someone else were present. Our views line up. Our plans line up. Our dirty thoughts line up. What we want for the future is close enough to identical that it validates all the decisions that led up to me deciding he really was the one I wanted, and all the decisions since then.<br /><br />And I see him in a light that allows those small flaws to show, but at the same time illuminates all that is smart and funny and awesome and <strong><em>right for me</em></strong>, and he fucking glows. GLOWS! For days or weeks on end.<br /><br />Though things like this<br />make me sick,<br />in a case like this<br />I'll get away with it...Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-61077628258136717312010-06-29T04:30:00.003-04:002010-06-29T04:41:28.538-04:00Milestone!Tonight, for the first time since her diagnosis, Garlic required a dose of <b>ZERO</b> units of insulin!!!<div><br /></div><div>I have skipped doses in the past when her glucose was super-low and she was symptomatic, but that's different. This afternoon, based on dosing trends and her sugar reading, she needed just 0.5 units. Tonight her sugar was low enough that the next dose would have to be decreased by a half unit. Thus: zero!</div><div><br /></div><div>After the recent losses we've suffered, and with Garlic's current unpleasant health situation, this was a much-needed little victory. Yay, Garlic!</div>Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-1505138996800911702010-03-19T02:52:00.006-04:002010-03-19T04:05:03.419-04:00MemorieeeeeeeesI distinctly recall a point in the not-so-distant past when I wasn't anywhere nearly so whiny on this blog. I'm aware that I am the one responsible for setting the tone here (unless one chooses to believe that The Almighty/the universe has taken a particular interest in my life and how I perceive the events therein), and I'm really working to get back to a place where I have more fun here, and don't just vent the pain and frustration.<br /><br />In the grand scheme of things, I'm happy to admit that I have a pretty awesome life. My husband is my best friend and fantastic in ways I will leave to the imagination. I live with a crew of loving (for the most part), amusing, and interesting critters. I am lucky enough - <em>knock on wood</em> - to have the care and feeding of the aforementioned spouse and pets as my "paying gig", and therefore am able to sleep on the inconstant schedule my body sets for me, with few repercussions.<br /><br />I think a big part of me rebels against talking about the good stuff. Like doing so will resemble bragging, or jinx things. I have enough Russian and Irish in me that I tend to be fastalistic and almost pathologically avoidant of situations and statements that might attract universal irony. I'm <em>seriously</em> itching to delete the above paragraph for exactly this reason. But the alternative - only airing the painful and depressing shit that's already out there - is no option for me. I don't <strong><em>want</em></strong> to be a pessimist. Or a downer. There is a lot to enjoy during our time on this planet, and I want to write about that as much as (hell, <em>more than)</em> the painful-but-important things.<br /><br />First item of fun: a drink! My mom invented a sinfully delicious new drink recipe recently, which I shall share forthwith.<br /><br />Apparently there's a new trend of honey-flavored whiskey. The one she likes (which I tried) is Seagram's 7 Dark Honey. A quick internet search led to the discovery (for me) that there is some controversy surrounding this particular booze, because they are apparently attempting to circumvent the FTC blogging regs (which I, for the record, feel are a fucking joke considering that they hold bloggers to a ridiculously higher standard than people in print media. But I digress...) by having people (PR people, it looks like) comment on blogs without disclosing that they're basically spamming anyone who mentions the product.<br /><br />My points in mentioning all this are that 1) I refuse to link to the aforementioned product, since they seem to be doing just fine coopting the internets via blog posts, and while I enjoyed said product, I am not their whore; and 2) because apparently I have to disclose the source for products I discuss in a remotely review-ish capacity, here it is:<br /><br />MY MOM BOUGHT SEAGRAM'S 7 DARK HONEY AND MADE ME THIS DRINK, AND I LIKED IT. If they want to track her down and reimburse her for her bottle, more power to them!<br /><br />And for anyone out there in copyright-land, this is <strong><em>her</em></strong> recipe that she created. It's fan-fucking-tastic, all her own, and something I know my Gramma would have given her stamp of approval. Steal it and I WILL hunt you down.<br /><br /><strong><u>The Promised Land</u></strong><br />1 oz. Seagram's 7 Dark Honey<br />2 oz. fat-free half-and-half<br /><br />This is like a whiskey-based white russian, or something similar. The dairy cuts the burn of the alcohol down to almost zero, so you're left with a rich "milk and honey" drink that will give you a sneaky buzz very quickly. Perfect for a nightcap, or as a "drink" for those who don't like a boozey burn. And who doesn't like fat-free?<br /><br />For anyone with raised eyebrows, I was hesitant myself. I generally am not a whiskey fan, and only drink it in the occasional sour. As for ff half-and-half, until now it was reserved for coffee. It never occurred to me that it might be a drink base, despite all the Hungry Girl drinks based on ff ice cream, ff syrups, etc. This is way more simple and delicious than most other "diet-conscious" concoctions out there. And no, I have no idea what the nutritionals are on this and no desire to find out.<br /><br />In other alchohol-related news: Chris told me tonight that on his way home, he saw that our local Rita's Water Ice is open for the summer. With a warm weekend approaching, I'm declaring open season on bbq and Rita's 'Ritas! Yay, tequila!Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-79210677423065497242010-03-12T06:43:00.005-05:002010-03-12T07:14:38.000-05:00ReconciliationI was getting caught up on my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">DVR</span> recordings tonight. Last week's episode of "Numbers" was a sort of throwaway about a group of boys who had been molested by a teacher and who all became different people as a result. At the end, one character said that he wouldn't have become the man he was if it weren't for the molestation, and that registered. As painful as periods of my life have been, and as difficult as it still is for me to work through the repercussions, I often feel the same way.<br /><br />I like myself. Hell, I <strong><em>love</em></strong> the person I am.<br /><br />It isn't easy living with my brain, but I make it work. But I have a VERY hard time reconciling my current state of self-acceptance with the abuse I suffered. I feel like being happy with ME means being <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span> with the things that made me who I am. And that it's wrong to accept my flawed state of being, because it means accepting the terrible things that led up to it.<br /><br />Do I think I might be a better, more healthy, more productive human being had I not been abused? Absolutely. But a part of me wonders how compassionate I might be. How accepting I might be. How forgiving I might be. I hope that my positive traits aren't solely a result of the abuse. I hope that I would have developed into someone similar without the trauma I suffered. But there is no way to know for certain. Not that anything in this life <em>is</em> knowable. I just get irritated that as a natural second-guesser, I was dealt an especially tricky hand.<br /><br />And then, as someone who believes in some greater Something out there, I am reminded of Neil <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Gaiman's</span> statement in <em>Good Omens</em> (I guess it could have been Terry Pratchett's assertion; stupid collaborations): "God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players [i.e. everybody], to being involved in an obscure and complex variant of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time."<br /><br />I have to believe that <em>someone</em> knows what the cards mean. I'm mystified.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-71526174940922133612010-03-11T04:29:00.004-05:002010-03-11T05:33:26.635-05:00Careless WhispersYes, <em>that</em> "Careless Whispers" (by Wham):<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I feel so unsure</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>As the music dies</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Something in your eyes</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Calls to mind the silver screen</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>And all its sad good-byes</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I'm never gonna dance again</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Guilty feet have got no rhythm</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Though it's easy to pretend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I know you're not a fool</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I should have known better than to cheat a friend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>And waste the chance that I've been given</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>So I'm never gonna dance again</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>The way I danced with you</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Time can never mend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>The careless whispers of a good friend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>To the heart and mind</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Ignorance is kind</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>There's no comfort in the truth</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Pain is all you'll find</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I'm never gonna dance again</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Guilty feet have got no rhythm</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Though it's easy to pretend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I know you're not a fool</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I should have known better than to cheat a friend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>And waste this chance that I've been given</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>So I'm never gonna dance again</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>The way I danced with you</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Never without your love</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Tonight the music seems so loud</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I wish that we could lose this crowd</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Maybe it's better this way</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say<br />We could have been so good together</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>We could have lived this dance forever</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>But now who's gonna dance with me?</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Please stay</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>And I'm never gonna dance again</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Guilty feet have got no rhythm</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Though it's easy to pretend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I know you're not a fool</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I should have known better than to cheat a friend</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>And waste the chance that I've been given</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>So I'm never gonna dance again</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>The way I danced with you</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>(Now that you're gone) Now that you're gone</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>(Now that you're gone) What I did's so wrong</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>That you had to leave me alone</em></span><br /><br />It isn't entrely appropriate/applicable, but whenever we lose a baby this song invariably works itself into my mind at some point during the grieving process. And tonight, just a few days after we helped Harriet to the Bridge, it came into my head while I was washing the bedding she last slept in.<br /><br />I know it's my personality that makes the guilt ingrained, but I have yet to have a pet death that did <strong>not</strong> evoke that response. I always feel there was some avenue I should have explored, or maybe just that I should have done something <em>sooner</em>. I always imagine there was something I could or should have done to stave off the inevitable.<br /><br />And the fact is that our lives with our pets - and other humans - are dances. Every relationship is different and special and irreplacable. So whether or not losing Harriet was even partially my fault, I know that I will never dance with anyone the way I danced with her. And I'd have given anything for her to stay, even just a little bit longer.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-13498673082526850612010-02-01T05:18:00.002-05:002010-02-01T06:32:59.047-05:00Difficulty<span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>*** Warning – potential trigger(s) for sufferers of eating disorders (bulimia, in particular) ***</em></span><br /><br />This isn't a Ye <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Olde</span> Common Sense post, but still it's bulimia-related and needs the above warning.<br /><br />I know I haven't talked about this stuff in a while. I always feel bad doing it, because it's not a nice subject to deal with, for me or anyone. Anyone who has dealt with an eating disorder knows that it will be a daily/hourly/minute-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ly</span> (is that a word?) struggle for the rest of their lives. And lately I've been doing better. A LOT better. The majority of my eating is healthy, and when it isn't, I can tell myself that the bad things I ingest are massively outweighed by all the good foods. And I've been maintaining a healthy weight. Not my <em>ideal</em> weight, by any means, but one that doesn't stress my body, and one that I can live with and not freak out.<br /><br />But every once in a while, the things I've done to my body catch up to me. I can have a day of completely healthy eating, and feel <em>so</em> good about all the choices I made. But at the end of the day, it turns out I had one or two bites too many. Psychologically, I'm fine with it. But my digestive system just can't handle it. Food backs up into my esophagus because it just doesn't move at a normal speed through my system, and the pressure starts freaking me out. And then acid starts backing up into my throat too, and I get more upset. I take <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">pepcid</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pepto</span>, gas-x, anything to relieve all that pressure and discomfort and burning, and nothing helps. And I have to do what I fight so hard NOT to do, because I can literally <em>feel</em> the damage being done: I purge. And I know that the anxiety doing that causes makes things worse, but once things hit a certain point nothing else helps.<br /><br />And then it really gets hard. Once the deed is done, the self-recrimination starts. I second-guess every choice that led up to that last, awful one. Didn't I <em>know</em> that eating a few more bites of salad would be too much? How, at this point, could I <em>not</em> realize that even a couple more carrots would put me over the edge? Because I <em>do</em> know that no matter how healthy the foods are, there is a limit to the volume my body can handle before going into overload. And every time I go over it, I blame myself and I doubt my motives and I can't help but wonder if there was some small self-sabotaging part of me that was looking to undo all my work.<br /><br />Because it <em>is</em> work, and I have been doing it. I have <em>days-long</em> stretches of abstinence, which is a pretty big freaking deal in terms of bulimia. When every meal, every bite, every drink (even of things as benign as skim milk) is a battle, a day of abstinence is a beautiful thing. Two in a row feels like a miracle. So when I'm not careful enough to maintain it, when I screw up and set myself back to zero, it feels like it <em>must</em> have been intentional on some level. Which is horrible. Thinking - knowing, if I'm really honest - that there <em>will</em> always be a part of me that is looking to take me back to a place where the disorder owns my life? It can be wearying. But I've come to terms with the fact that I am a self-sabotaging person(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ality</span>). A lot of my current hermit-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ness</span> is a manifestation of the very necessary care I am taking with myself, to determine how much and how often I can "put myself out there" without doing damage or triggering my destructive tendencies.<br /><br />But the idea that it <em>might</em> be an accident? That a couple good days might lull me into a complacency that would land me back in that place simply because I <em>wasn't</em> being careful enough? That terrifies me even more. I know I will always fight with food. What it means to me, what I can eat, how I eat it, all that. And I know I will have to fight myself on several levels. I have come to terms with that. But I <em>don't</em> know how to deal with the possibility that I might allow myself to be lulled into a false sense of security by a few good days. DAYS. Not weeks or months - that, I could almost see. But days? When there is so much at stake and every <em>hour</em> is such a struggle after a fall from the proverbial wagon?<br /><br />And again, I know that it is literally impossible to think about every single bite of food and sip of liquid over the course of a day, especially when one feels compelled to do so every day. But <em>not</em> doing so, even when eating a totally healthy diet as I have been doing, puts me at risk of hitting that physical tolerance limit. And once that has been reached, no amount of telling myself to wait it out (because it's just discomfort that isn't health-related) will avert the compulsion to relieve the physical and mental pressure. So how can I <em>accidentally</em> let myself eat too much? And on the other hand, how can I allow <strong>food</strong> to have so much control over my life? Am I not admitting defeat by allowing food, rather than my <em>will</em> (whatever that means, in the end) to have the final say?<br /><br />I know I'm <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">overthinking</span> and being too hard on myself, but that in me which is fighting to beat this thing screams that I <em>have</em> to be, that I can give it no quarter. And sometimes I don't know how to live in a world where I can give myself no quarter. Hence, my difficulty.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12438564.post-42528055086271015562009-12-01T04:43:00.002-05:002009-12-01T05:08:03.714-05:00SSDDEvery time I think I've neglected this blog too long, and maybe have too little left to say, something sparks me up again. And not shockingly, the subject is civil/human rights, yet again.<br /><br />That fucking asshole "pastor" Rick Warren (he who was stupidly invited/allowed to deliver the invocation at Obama's Inauguration) is again pissing me off.<br /><br />One of the supporters of Uganda's proposed [inexcusable] law that would execute homosexuals is Martin Ssempa. This heinous bit of legislation would also call for the prosecution of people who know someone who is gay but doesn't report them. Hellooooo McCarthyism. So sorry to see you again.<br /><br />But I digress. The problem is that Ssempa is a pal of Warren. Ok. Past transgressions? HARDLY. When asked to comment, Consummate Asshole Warren stated [quote is from Newsweek], "it is not my personal calling as a pastor in America to comment or interfere in the political processes of other nations."<br /><br />Really? REALLY???<br /><br />Because let me tell you something - JESUS CHRIST had something to say in the matter. Actually, a few things to say. Something along the lines of, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone" comes to mind first and foremost. Can you really not follow HIS example???<br /><br />Or how's this - "render unto Caesar what is Caesar's" may be a little obscure for a dickhead who can't think outside the box. But if you are a U.S. citizen, then one of your foremost tenets is the separation od Church and State, right? So laws venturing into religious territories violate the laws of the land. And Jesus was clear that politics/taxes/laws have NOTHING to do with your religious views. So if you try to enact laws based on your religion, they violate both the land you claim to love AND the direct orders of the dude you claim is your Lord and Savior.<br /><br />There is NO passage in the Bible where Jesus says anything HIMSELF about gay people. He has a shitload to say about FIGS (look it up - you will laugh your ass off) and a bunch of other things, but nowhere does he mention gay people. John and Paul and all the ther apostles can be as homophobic as they like - I don't give a shit about what they say anyway. The Old Testament rules are silly in this day and age (who doesn't eat shellfish, who isn't allergic these days? Who checks whether their sweater is blended materials?), and the opinions of the Apostles are as well, to me.<br /><br />The only person who matters in the New Testament is Jesus, and he was mum on the gay issue. Honestly, if he were to show up today, who would he be hanging out with? Who are our (unfortunately) proverbial lepers? Gays/trans people/HIV patients. Who do you think He would have healed in modern society?<br /><br />So, yeah, Rick Warren needs to crawl back in his evil (yes, EVIL) little hole. Or at least denounce the laws supported by an acquaintance, which violate everything he is SUPPOSED to believe in.Trinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08711876205793925101noreply@blogger.com3