March is a funny thing. It’s just another month, another thirty-one days tucked in between April and February. It isn’t even all that special really. It doesn’t even have a holiday that’s a big deal. Sure, sometimes Easter falls in March, but not usually. The term, “Ides of March” in modern day often refers to doom coming in March. Ides however, actually denotes the middle of the month. For me it’s irrelevant, all of March sucks usually. March is a month where every year I find myself wishing I could hide on a deserted island and just stay there until it passes. The truth though is that hiding wouldn’t help, in the end I’d just hate April too, because I’d get told about March eventually.
Anyway, the point is, I think a lot of people have a month that they just consider to be a bad month in some way. For me since I was a child it has been March. Routinely those I most care for are lost in March. I don’t know why but it’s true.
I try not to think about it until the month is over usually, then I’ll make it into the last few days and something will pop up and smack me. It’s just the way it seems to work. My one grandfather died in March rather unexpectedly, though in a nursing home for his Alzheimer’s he was fairly healthy I’m told (I was 10), he died knowing that the next day he was supposed to have his leg amputated. I’ve always figured that it was partly a “fuck you if you think you’re going to lock me up and now chop some pieces off of me, I’ve got to go.” Seriously.
My grandmother was pretty damn healthy, no major health problems in years. She’d had some TIA’s (transient ischemic attack, aka. mini stroke) off and on for the last 5 years or so, but nothing major. She’d only had one major stroke that I know of and that was back when gramps was still around. Then one day late in the night while on the phone I get a call-waiting call. When I answer it I’m told that grandma is sick, having her stomach pumped at the hospital because she has food poisoning. I’m not sure why it was, but I simply knew that she was going to die. When I told my sister who was on the other line she got pissed at me, accused me of being mean to her, and hung up. I was 14, going on 15 at the time – home alone and with no way to get to the hospital. I spent the night on the phone, crying and talking and eventually fell asleep on the couch long after dawn, curled around that phone and the voice on the other end that made sense. A voice that got me through so much shit and was probably the only one I could have handled at such a time. My mother was in Northern California at the time that this all happened and was finally reached and went straight to the hospital. Eventually, she brought my sister home (sis lived with grams) and they woke me up, still there on the couch, the line still connected to someone a thousand miles away. Grandma had passed.
The Nov 7th, 2000 ah what a day. It’s not getting an honorary spot in March though it might deserve it. If you were older than 15 on that day then you probably know what is significant about it in a world history kind of way. Nov 7th for the United States was the day that George W Bush got ‘elected’ into office the first time. All the sordid details of that can be found elsewhere however. That was the day I would have my first chance to vote in a presidential election. However, I never got the chance to vote, and wouldn’t even be very upset about not doing so and the stolen election until several months later. Once again, a phone call. This time however would end up harder on me than the last 2, shaping my hatred of hospitals into something more palpable. My other grandfather had a heart attack that election day and slipped into a coma because of it. He was air lifted to the hospital from his home which in this instance, it’s debatable whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. His daughter, Laurie is the biggest cunt on the planet and within hours was asking if she could take him off life support. It was very bad, between her and her brother Lindy I wanted to kill someone desperately. I spent every waking moment at the hospital in the ICU that first week, hoping he’d come out of it, becoming an old pro at the nerve testing they do on coma patients, and keeping my dad posted as best I could. While I was standing vigil, holding his hand and telling him stories, Laurie and Lindy would be emptying his home of every stitch of anything, right down to nothing, including the curtains. I was at that hospital more than anywhere else until Thanksgiving. After Thanksgiving I would end up driving to Kansas to bury another grandmother, but that is neither here nor there nor has any place in this story.
My Grandfather, who had this massive heart attack, was taken off life support in late December. A bunch of us standing around a bed: morbid and expectant. Nothing I will ever repeat as long as I live except for a very select few. I remember standing there, sobbing inside (by now I had stopped crying, something that would take several years to happen again, besides perhaps the odd tearing up here and there), staring at the faces around that bed, thinking that a large number didn’t deserve to be there. I held his hand and somewhere I hoped he’d fight it. After about 10 minutes of standing there, nothing happened. The son, Lindy the asshole, turned to the doctor and said, “How long is this going to take? I can’t be here all day and night.” No joke. I thought my dad was going to kill him, and that’s saying something if you know my dad (a person who doesn’t really display anger more than a couple times a decade). Gramps held on.
Eventually, the cunt daughter had him moved to a cheaper hospital and refused to tell anyone in my family where that was. He would end up dying alone, still in a coma, in March the following year. I like to think that if he knew what was going on, that he understood the sudden and extreme lack of my presence. It is something that has upset me since it happened and upsets me still. His funeral would be a monstrous affair, run again by a cunt with an attitude that didn’t give a shit for her father’s wishes. She would have a military service (it’s cheaper and him being a vet the government helps pay) though the man was staunchly against the service since he left it over losing a stripe over something stupid. She would have music played there that he hated instead of that which he loved best. My family wouldn’t have even been present if we hadn’t caught the obituary in the local paper, as she told us and his closest friends that the funeral was to be held at 4:30pm when in fact it started 45 minutes earlier. We would all leave there more sad and angry, feeling as though someone had punched us in the stomach and torn out our hearts. Another loss in March.
Every year it seems something bad happens in March, it simply cannot be helped. A person very close to my heart, Tim, one of the few young people I’ve met who have the same lung problem as me, gave up his fight for his life in March of 2006. Tim didn’t get PH the way a lot of people do. He didn’t get it from diet pills and he didn’t get it from a heart problem like me. Tim got PH because of his ribs. Oddly, he was a drunken college boy that slept wrong, with an arm over his head (normal for a lot of people) but because of his ribs or something he got a blood clot. The clot went to his lungs causing a pulmonary embolism. He had the surgery to fix it but would find himself bouncing all over the health spectrum for several years, as his original clot had transformed his body into a traitor and given him PH. Tim was on the list for a transplant off and on for quite a while, and in the end would have a desperate battle with his organs that left him so frail that a transplant was nearly impossible. Before the fighting with the hospitals could resume, he would pass, leaving behind many he had touched. He was 26 and had battled PH for nearly seven years. Unfortunately, though it has no bearing here, Tim actually made it to the high end of the average life expectancy for the disease. The median from diagnosis is five years. Most doctors say 3-7. (For anyone who cares to know, I am approaching my 3rd anniversary from diagnosis, though the doctors are certain it was present already in March 2003, which would make this my March my 5th year of definitely having the condition.) I wish I had known Tim longer. He was one of those people that even in the worst situation he could find a light in the darkness, a true gift. When he was in the hospital for the last three months of his life, he wanted to call me from Oz to tell me not to let the disease get to me. Not to let his experience with it color my own fight. Though I’m sure the nurses hated me from afar for the jelly beans, I hope they still remember the smile he wore. I truly hope the story of pelting them with the confection are true but if not, I know his mum and nurses still had a time trying to get him to quit eating the candy. Tim and I had a lot in common, from our sense of humor, to music, to being in IT (though he surpassed me I’m sure), what we didn’t have in common, or that I don’t think we do, is that light in the dark. “And that side is the message I’m giving about never throwing in the towel, never giving up, doing what you HAVE to do, because guess what? If you’re going to get out of this mess you HAVE to do it, and fighting all the way you will!” Says the guy who was on dialysis at the time and hadn’t been able to move (literally move more than his arms) for almost 2 months. He is missed. He will be 2 yrs gone in 6 days.
That same March, I got a phone call saying my biological father, whom I’d had nothing to do with – basically ever, was dead and someone needed to come retrieve his body. Do a double-take there, you’re entitled. A strange thing to have happened to be sure. The result was an emotional upheaval with shady lines drawn in the sand and tentative tendrils of wanting to learn. After several months it would eventually morph into a kind of surreal dream drifted away but not forgotten.
Always there is something in March, from minor things that are highly upsetting to things like death. This March there’s been a freak accident with pieces of roof damaging both cars – not like death but upsetting. Yet there are other things that are worse, like coming to grips with my own mortality late in the night. Lying in my bed and suddenly being completely unable to take a breath; the intense compressions of pain much like an elephant on my chest, unable to breathe in. A bout that would last about 10 minutes, gulping in breaths few and far between like a fish out of water, left dizzy and queasy when it passed. Perhaps I had a heart attack, perhaps it was something else, who knows? The only thing I remember thinking was “it’s fucking March and I’m not ready just yet.” Yet there are other things too.
My grandmother-in-law is dying. A person who was once strong and independent, a woman who always did whatever she could for her family, stretching well beyond the norm just to make sure they were happy or had what they felt they needed (whether they did or not), has been reduced to a woman bed ridden who now barely recognizes the man that she’s loved for the last 40 years. This woman who has given everything and barely gotten anything in return, and where are her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren now? Most of them haven’t seen her in the last year. Up until January she was still of sound mind, completely there and ready to make a joke or scold for an off-color comment. Every day she loses a little more of the woman she once was.
When it comes to Gram, I feel guilt. I feel guilt that when she was having major medical problems last December I goaded her into staying here, just a little longer. Usually I am the one quick to tell an ailing person that if it is their time, do not stay for the living, the ailing are more important, if it is their time it is their time and the living will make due. In December, I told her that she had to hang on. She had to stay, her son was getting out of prison and wanted to see his mother one last time, she couldn’t go, she had held out so long – after telling me she would never make it to his release date, she was so very close – a handful of days away. She must hold on, for herself and for him. Now, here she is slipping away, afraid to go. I know she would rather have made it to see her son but sometimes I feel it would have been better to let her go. Instead, I visit her at least once a week, usually twice, with phone calls in between to check on her, and gradually watch one of the greatest people I have ever known slip away. In this month of March she has drifted so far from us that it is a wonder that she is still here at all. With five days left to this month, I find myself wondering if she will be another March loss or if it will be early April. For certain it will be before my birthday that we lose her.
One can lose someone in a great many ways. By death or distance or even simply change, is one worse than another? I think it depends on the person and the situation, and perhaps the relationship with the person. I have a friend that has been close to my heart for many years, something like half of my life. Sometimes our lives lead us away from each other and I believe the longest we’ve gone without speaking to each other is something like two years. Could be longer, I’m not sure. Point being eventually we always seem to catch up with each other in the end. Last March he was the only good thing that happened to me for the month, late one night I woke up with him on my mind and got on the trusty internet and searched. After about an hour I had a few prospects, sent out some messages and went to bed. The next day I was lucky enough to have a reply and we’ve been talking since. There have been a few times in this past year where it looked as if another break was on the horizon but it hasn’t happened. Stalls and pauses for sure, but nothing longer than two weeks. Though I don’t think everyone has a friend that even comes close for them as he does for me, to lose him again would hurt me badly. It looks like he’s going, or even gone, but I can’t be sure until a certain amount of time passes. So what does that do? Well, it creates a constant though vague sense of dread for me – when is that phone going to ring, that message going to ping through? Is it going to at all? During the year that I’ve been talking to him, I lost the only other very close friend I’ve made in the last ten years, a friendship lost to distance and the other person’s guilt over a few hundred dollars – hardly worth the loss.
The thing is I don’t particularly like people as a rule. Much less trust them enough to make “real” friends. Since I was a small child ‘til now I’ve had exactly 4 friends that I would tell my secrets to, expose my heart to, and not hide from. 1 was lost to drugs, 1 was lost to their immaturity, 1 lost to their inability to grow, and the other – up in the air. Yes, I hear you, I said he and I always come back together, and we do. I just don’t like the idea that with all of my health problems no one can come close to knowing if that will happen again. If he was to disappear from my life for 3 years there is great risk I wouldn’t be here to come back to. Fatalist, pathetic, and something I feel stupid saying, but true none-the-less. We shall see. I cross my fingers and I wait.
Today is one of five days left to March. What can be fall me that I am not foreseeing? As always, must just keep it together and wait.

i refuse to let myself talk me out of letting this one out there

i can sit here with tears streaming down my face and not explain why for all the times i should have cried and didnt for all the times i needed to and refused for years that my heart was frozen in an iceblock and i couldnt explain myself when everything moves fulltiltfrightening heading for the brick wall while the earthquake rocks under my feet and all i can hope for is someone elses happiness if i can just make it one more year long enough to know that your happiness will stick this time then i can go but i cant leave here with that or if i can i cant explain for that i cant account for that you dont know those things that you do that make me love you that make me care that make me hurt and weep and die inside like a rose left too long in the vase forgotten forgotten i cant reconcile the idea of never hearing your voice again as my friend as my confidant id tell you anything everything if i thought you could handle it if i thought it mattered if i thought you wanted to know if youd just ask cant throw it out there cant make you understand why it matters to me why the thought of the loss of you makes my heart bleed and break why i could see myself dying if i knew for a fact youd never be back a sleep peaceful and over long whatever is left is left for worms no words could express dont care how melancholy or psychotic it may sound that you will be my heart in some way to the end that you can make me cry with a thought when others may try for years and have and i will cry my tears and i will sit and shake in the darkness skin blue by computer and i will be alone again as always in some way and i will say i cant cry i wont cry as i sob my pathetic sob that makes no sense to anyone but me but it will not cleanse me it will only make me fuzzier and darker within myself and if i hate people too much and if im cynical too much its just because it is but dont doubt that i love you ever dont doubt that i ever have dont ever question its validity or sincerity believe in me even when you no longer believe in anything i will be there in some form or fashion i will always be waiting for you and if this effects you in a negative way or makes you uncomfortable i apologize and say dont look too close for my tears i will keep them to myself in the long days of waiting that lie somewhere ahead i will keep it to myself but i will be here and i will be waiting for what that is worth i love you

I am so hungry. It’s quite sad really. I just can’t bring myself to eat anything today. It’s depression. You see, this terrible thing happened. A week or so ago I found myself at the Farmer’s Market. They have delicious fresh produce there, some of the best around. As I walked around, looking at all that shining or leafy fresh goodness, I couldn’t resist picking out a thing or two.

I had walked along, sniffing this, thumping that, squeezing here and there. I was having quite a grand time if I must say so myself. My senses were in hyperdrive, my eyes tingly, my mouth watering, my fingers twitching with sensory overload.

After about an hour of wandering around having a sumptuous overload, I found myself back at my car with three bags of fresh produce and almost thirty dollars less in my pocket. The sun beat down on my face, warming me inside and out. I had throughly enjoyed my shopping experience.

When I reached home I had gingerly washed all my beauties and put them away. I kept out a nice big crimson colored apple. It was beautiful, it really was. The light coming in from my kitchen window positively made it shine in my palm. It was almost supernatural in it’s perfection, the light hitting it just so, begging for that first juicy bite to be taken. It’s skin was so red, it’s sweet protected inside nice and firm. One knew that biting into it would have that satisfying crack and crunch that you simply don’t have with any other fruit.

Gingerly I’d cradled my apple in my hand like it was delicate treasure as I carried it into my office. I set it next to my monitor where even there it seemed to glow with an unearthly cast. At that point, I wasn’t very hungry and so, not ready to eat it, I got down to work and my sweet lovely apple was soon forgotten.

As a day goes on, between editorials and phone calls, emails and answering machines, one gets busy as one is wont to do. Each thing always leads to another and before I knew it I was up and getting ready for a dinner business meeting that could not be missed. I would like to be able to say that my poor apple and my not eating it had weighed heavily on my mind and that I felt disappointment and having not enjoyed it, but that would be a lie. Abandoned is abandoned no matter how you cut it, or not, as the case may be.

The following morning, as I had prepared my first cup of caffeinated wonder to take with me into my office, I’d thought about my dazzling trip to the market and what a small joy it was. I found myself thinking I should make it a weekly event. I’d had a few things to work on that morning, before going into the office late to check a few things. Afterwards I went to a late lunch with a close friend and then home again to get ready for a cocktail party for a colleague who was retiring. In my office I’d cast a glance to my patiently waiting apple, now perhaps a bit less shiny, a little forlorn looking. Tomorrow, I had promised myself.

On the third day, perhaps my apple was looking a little less firm. I’m quite certain that there began to be spots that were a bit of a darker red than in other areas. Gently I’d picked it up. In my hand I could tell my apple was sad. It was losing it’s luster, it’s firmness for sure, and definitely, it’s juices were beginning to settle. Later, I’d promised. Hunkering down into a long bout of editing.

By the fourth day, my apple was seriously starting to suffer. The very dark spots had begun to creep even farther across the apples once beautiful surface. Guiltily I’d admired my apple, and beginning to feel sorry for it cradled it in my palm and carried it to the window sill. There I’d figured perhaps some of the shine might come back to it. It looked sad there, sitting on that sill, almost accusing really. In just a little bit, I swore.

On the fifth day, as I was making my cup of java, I made a point of bringing a nice sharp knife with me to my office. Surely with a nice glinting blade balanced on my keyboard top, (you know, above the F-keys?) I would eat my apple and give it the dignity it deserved. I’d had dreams the night before in which the background noise to every setting was the crisp crunchy sound of someone biting into an apple. I was not guilt free by any means. I’d crept into my office, refusing to look at the window sill, sure that if I ignored it just a little longer, I would have a nice healthy snack and not feel so bad until I did.

The sixth day, was bad. You see, I accidentally cut myself with the knife that was so stupidly and rather precariously balanced on the top of my keyboard. Turns out, that little shelf isn’t as handy as I had thought it was. As I’d run for the bathroom to clean my wound, I couldn’t help glancing at the apple and felt as if it was beginning to take revenge on me. On re-entry I had noticed the room had a rather pleasant apple fragrance and so thought perhaps my apple wasn’t so bad off after all.

The seventh day, I ran into my office, grabbed a file folder and ran out again. I could not face The Apple.

Today, the eighth day, I walked in late in the morning hungry and holding my head high. This apple would not get the best of me. After all, I genuinely wanted to eat it! I was very hungry! I was even intending to buy more apples at the Farmer’s Market when I went back. Apples are very nutritious you know. I strode right up to that apple, sitting on that windowsill, and I winced.

Long and hard I winced. Surely this was not my apple. I had noticed gradual changes but really this must be a mistake. This apple? This one on my window sill? It looked, well it looked old, sad, and perhaps a bit -dare I say- gross. It had several very dark spots on it’s once lustrous skin and those dark spots looked oddly flat as if they went against the natural contour that should have been there. The sweet apple smell that had once been pleasant now smelled slightly sour. I hesitated to touch it yet knew that I must. Carefully I reached my fingers out and closed my hand on the apple.

I had to fight the urge to draw my hand back, the apple felt so foreign in my palm. Inside a debate began, could I force myself to eat this apple anyway, perhaps throwing away the worst bits? I was very hungry, after all. I drew it up to my face and began to inspect it, startling when my pinky fingernail sank into one of the fleshy dark red spots. The sour sweet smell the apple had been gently been giving off burst into the room full force, causing me to gag. I peered at it again, it really was a sad little thing now, once it had been a fine example of natures miracles! Once it had been a gleaming shining example of what a delicious crispy apple should look like! Now, now it was a softening, funny colored, odious mess.

I found myself creeping towards my desk, slow baby steps as if the apple was going to call me on it at any moment, even as I cupped it in my hand. My eyes caught the glint of sunlight off the cool silver of the knife on my desk. I looked down at the apple once more and blanched. I simply couldn’t convince myself to eat the destroyed fruit. Guiltily I took five hurried steps towards the edge of my desk and lobbed the apple into the trash. It hit the bottom of the aluminum can with a resounding bang, causing my heart to jump. The echo in the air had barely faded when another sound shot into the room. The sharp report of the door slamming closed behind me as I beat a hasty retreat. Away from the apple, my guilt, and the knowledge that sometimes, good things go bad.

I wrote this for someone else’s writing blog. It’s prompt 57. Had a bit of fun writing it so decided to post it here also. (I have not edited for grammar or anything.)

Try to use all of the words in a story: Plastic bottle, hockey puck, dirty handkerchief, crumpled note, unhinged door

—

She was staring at me, again. I hate it when she gets like this. Intermittently she would glance back at the television a look of awe and pain commingled on her face in strange mask that I couldn’t identify. I took a deep breath, swallowing past the hockey puck lodged in my throat, I was going to bite the bullet and just ask. I could handle it, right?

“Are you okay?” I said this as strongly as I could as if I would brook no argument about discussing it. Meanwhile I was taking in her hands wringing her dirty handkerchief, their knobby knuckles and bony fingers looking like knotty twigs swept together in a semblance of hands. She was working and unworking the handkerchief, it’s delicate flower embroidery twisting and pulling in such a way that one would fear for the antique stitching, the fine linen wrinkled and discolored.

“Of course I’m okay.” She said, shrugging off my question and turning her attention back to the television. “It’s all just so sad.” Now shaking her head slowly in her show of misery.

I looked at the television, trying to glean where her melancholy was coming from. The view was of an ocean, vast and blue, nothing so far as the eye could see. I watched for a moment more, observing more choppy ocean with no end in sight.

“I give. I simply don’t get it. I’m sorry. Does the ocean depress you? Are you thinking of global warming? Did you have friends on the Titanic or something? Just kidding. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Can’t you see it? There it is, bobbing along, so alone, so sad. It’s like life you know. You think you’re one, a part of a unit, a group! Then one day, you find yourself cast alone and bobbing along. Lost. So lost. Drifting. So sad.”

I leaned closer to the screen my breath fogging the glass on the ancient monstrosity. “You know, if we got you a nice flat screen HDTV you could see whatever the hell you’re looking at a lot easier.” I mumbled under my breath.

“Why do I need a new TV to see something I see perfectly well that you can’t?” Her voice snapped out at me, admonishing and making me blush. “Doesn’t look like I’m the one with a problem does it? Maybe you should get yourself a fancy ass TV so when you’re at your house you’ll watch something worth watching. Now quit being a ninny and pay attention, the camera is panning again.” She said this just as the camera very gently nudged a little towards the left.

I couldn’t decide what to stare at the screen, her never ceasing fidgeting, or her face with her sad blue eyes. So instead, I stared dilligently at the ocean. As a child I’d been great at visual puzzles and stereo-grams, certainly I could crack this puzzle and figure out what she was staring at. I stared so long and hard that my eyes began to tear and I started to feel sea sick. Yet, even though I could feel my gorge riding high and my eyes bugging out, I refused to give up.

“You still don’t see it do you?”

“Nope.” Briefly I closed my eyes and willed my breathing to normal so as to keep myself from becoming violently ill.

“You’re how old again? My god you’re hopeless. Go get a glass of water or something, you’re really putting me off here. I’m having a good philosophical sad and you’re wrecking it.” The derision was dripping worse than her sarcasm and was that a snicker there at the end I heard? I pulled myself from the doily laden couch, astonished to find my legs asleep I stumbled my way to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of water. By the time I returned I felt much less sick.

“Maybe you should stand on your head and look at it from another angle or something?”

“Maybe you should just tell me what the hell you’re looking at and why any broadcasting company would play fifteen straight minutes of empty ocean? Or maybe I should just bundle you up and take you to get your medication checked? I doubt I’m the crazy one.” I was getting a little tense. I took some deep breaths and counted to ten.

“Tisk tisk. Did ya ever see that movie? The one with the guy that masturbates and his wife thinks he’s disgusting?”

“Oh my god! You did not just say that to me! We are not talking about this. Lala la la. I am so not listening anymore.”

A loud snort echoed through the nearly silent room. “No you idiot. God, you think I had kids and still don’t know what masturbation is? Anyway, that’s just one of the bits in the movie. Another part is this boy gives him a crumpled note and he smokes it, though I don’t understand how, and he acts like he’s all relaxed so I guess he gets high or something. Wish I had some of that paper. But anyway, he has this daughter and he has a thing for the daughter’s little cheerleader friend? All these nasty sex fantasies a dad shouldn’t be having? You know. The movie with the naked chick in the flowers?”

“Are you screwing up the plot lines to American Beauty you crazy old woman? I didn’t even know you’d seen that.” I stared at her openly now, wondering where and the hell this crazy train was going.

“Yeah maybe that was it. Anyway, the daughter also has this friend, this real dark fellow who takes his camera everywhere right? Well the movie wastes all this time on this fluttering spinning grocery sack that this boy filmed. It’s really quite stupid in a way. All I could think of the entire time was that the boy should have picked it up and thrown it away instead of filming it, but you know, I’ve always hated litter. Anyway, what I’m watching shows the real beauty that they were trying to display with the plastic sack.” She nodded here, as if confirming that she was right about something. As if simply by nodding all would be made clear to me.

“Uhm, okay, for starters, it wasn’t a crumpled note, it was drugs. Marijuana, which I suppose you know what that is, Ms. I know all about masturbation. As far as the bag goes, I liked that part. It showed duality and how something beautiful can be seen if you take time to look. The bag was dancing in the wind, it was really-”

“Oh blow it out your butt! Don’t you try to get all philosophical with me, I’ll win. Watch the damn screen you unimaginative degenerate.”

Caught off guard I found myself following orders and staring at the screen. Suddenly I saw– something. There was something there! In the water! I saw it! But what the hell was it? I squinted, I turned my head to the side, I opened my eyes as far as I could. Still, I could make no sense of what I was seeing. The crackling sound beneath my palms brought my attention to my own need to fidget and my attempt to apparently wring the plastic bottle in my hands. Gently I set the bottle at my feet and peered again into the blue. It took a moment to spot it again, the thing, floating there in the water, but finally I saw it.

“Okay,” I began, tentatively, “I see it. Now what?”

“What is it?”

“I thought you knew!” I said, exasperated. “How can you say it’s a philosophical thing about togetherness and aloneness if you never know that it was with something!? You’re the one watching it. What the hell is it?” I jumped from my seat and began pacing the room, knowing my irate reaction was out of tempo with the issue but unable to calm myself. Another snicker from the cause of my insanity.

“It’s a door. It’s an unhinged door.”

“What in the F- I mean, heck? A door? What the hell is a door doing in the ocean?”

“Well, that is the question now, isn’t it? Certainly it was part of a bigger whole. If not a home or boat or something, still it was manufactured with it’s brethren and now it’s all alone. Floating out there. Adrift. Apart. It’s almost as if it’s not even a door anymore is it? How can a door still be a door if it’s a floating piece of wood? Isn’t it now more a raft than a door? Or something?”

“Gram, I gotta go. You’re making me crazy. I just came over to tell you not to forget your therapy session today. I’m glad I did too, I’m pretty sure you desperately need it.” I leaned over and hugged her, my looming frame eclipsing her ridiculously as I gently clutched her to my chest for a brief moment. “Love you Gram.”

“Love you too dear, even if you are philosophically challenged and unimaginative.”

“Yes gram,” I acknowledged as I slowly shut the door behind me and stepped out into the sunlight. Slowly I shook my head, I could just hear my wife laughing at me as I related the story to her over dinner. A smile opened up on my face, maybe I was missing something, maybe Gram really did see something I didn’t in a door floating on the ocean.

Okay okay, so I haven’t been keeping up with this as well as I could be. The best news story that I was exposed to over the weekend that actually piqued my interest was this one Here.

It’s about a Jack Russel basically saving a little girl from a predator. So great. Tiny dog kicking some dudes ass. That’s totally fucking awesome.

More seriously. In todays news, they are back on the topic of MRSA, Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus. Basically it’s a super bug. While not exactly new, it is news worthy for a few reasons. Mainly because it kills people and most doctors simply don’t even catch it until it’s far too late. Also, it’s in the news because a boy died after being sent home with allergy meds when he had it.(found here) Here’s a problem with that story - smite me if you want. Mom is suing for 25 Million dollars because it wasn’t caught in her ER visit with her son. Yes, that’s sad, however!!!! Do you know how much shit like that isn’t caught in an ER setting? The kid was DYING of it. This isn’t something you “suddenly” crop up with. Doesn’t the mom own some of the responsibility? Even if you don’t believe she does, it presents mostly like a common cold (duh staph people) and testing would have been a) time consuming b) expensive. Ahhh, you say everyone deserves treatment. Don’t you think his mother would have pitched a BITCH if they said they wanted to run tests on something SHE THOUGHT (obviously, otherwise she wouldn’t of gone home to watch her kid die two days later) was allergies? Now, remind yourself also that this family is from Brooklyn. Yes, they totally deserve good healthcare. That’s not my point. Yet… 25 million dollars? Sounds to me she’s looking for a free paycheck, and unfortunately, the link I’ve gone to has a terrible pic of her that makes her totally not look like a woman that’s just buried her child and more like a woman that is looking for a fast buck. You can read more about the MRSA epidemic here.

My concern with MRSA isn’t just about a kid dying from it. It’s about the speed in which it appears to be spreading. Not because I’m a doctor but because it spreads so easy and is something that would be a major bad thing for me to catch. Oh yes bad for anyone to catch but hear me out here, doctors freak when I have a cut that’s too pink around the edges or a cough that they don’t think is responding fast enough to treatment. MRSA is a big scary for me because there are so many ways to get it and - as that mom found out - it looks like a run of the mill illness.
It is important to know - that this does not mean if you get the sniffles, gulp down antibiotics. The reason we have superbugs is because we are basically over medicated and the shit mutates. Don’t believe me? Look it up for yourself. Constantly dosing ourselves on antibiotics for every little thing has been linked as a cause for all the shit like the MRSA and the bad flu. It’s been linked to other diseases too. So.. Next time you get the sniffles - have some tea and chicken soup, cuddle with a blankey and sleep that shit off. Don’t hit your doctor’s office or finish a prescription of antibiotics you got from god knows where. (Just as an aside, women folks should know that use of antibiotics, especially overuse- causes vaginal yeast infections, so, would you rather have a red nose or a stinky itchy “unmentionable”? How’s that for food for thought?)

To prosecute or not to prosecute that is the question. Here’s a story about the California Wildfires - one of them that was believed to be arson has been confessed to have started by a kid. As the kid’s info hasn’t been released you can about guarantee that he was under 13. (found here) Should the DA prosecute? If you believe they should, what kind of punishment is fitting? Does it matter that it was supposedly an accident? Should the child’s age factor into it? Here in CA they are calling almost all of the fires arson right now - but please remember some are natural. Not to get on my bitch bandwagon, but wildfires are supposed to happen. The reason most are called Arson with no people caught for the “crime” I believe has to do with insurance companies. No, I’m not a conspiracy theorist - look at most of the major CA fires that have destroyed homes and search whether those particular fires were linked to arson even once in the media. Fires that don’t burn structures are less likely to be linked to arson - regardless of where they started. Welcome to the Act of God clause. Wait wait - I have a question about that - that Act of God clause. Okay, if I don’t believe in God, how can it be an act of God? And even if I did - how can a company say they believe in God? God influences them as a company? Hmm, doesn’t sound right, does it? Think deeper ’til you start thinking about the seperation of church and state and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

Well people, there’s a lot of news out there in the early part of this week. I’ll be back to annoy and piss you off tomorrow.

Decided not to post about the news yesterday but definitely going to today.

One of the big things in the news today is regarding the children’s health care issue. You know, the one Bush promised to veto (and did) that went back for a rewrite - that will probably be vetoed (again)? It passed at 265-142 which isn’t enough to stop a veto. Here’s the thing my friends, for starters, our president is mostly concerned with the poverty kids - you know, the ones that already are eligible for free health care through their state? So he wants to fuck over the middle class — that thing he excels at, if I may say so. So forget the middle class kids that need it most. The revamp however, talks about how it’s not for people that can afford insurance and not for people who can get medicaid. Well… Um…. You know, I qualify as middle class and according to the state I should be able to afford to dump 936$ a month in for my sons insurance. Is that feasible with other bills like, oh rent? I’d tell you what we bring in as a family, but I won’t. Suffice to say, if I paid that in insurance JUST for my son? I’d be fucked. But that’s what the state of cali wants me to pay. Seriously, I’ll send you the paperwork if you don’t believe me. This isn’t even a “oh I have a lexus payment” or some shit - this is, I couldn’t pay normal utilities, rent, and that bill and have money left. Insurance from Ry’s work for my son is about 350 for Eye, Dr, and Dental - can’t really afford that either. According to the state though, as far as their “other” money markers are for the poverty level, I’m about 3-13% over the poverty line. Yes, my friends, meager isn’t it? So where does that put me really with this new idea they’ve got going? It’s entirely possible I’d end up on the side of the “oh you make too much” which is bullshit. So, ask yourself where you think that cap should be - country-wide. 10k a year? 30k? 80k? 130k? Where should it be, because really you’re about guaranteed that the only people it will be good for are those who make under 40k - if it isn’t based on some bull about whether an employer offers insurance. Please remind yourself I haven’t read the in depth proposal on this, this is my supposition from what I’ve seen in my state and country and experienced.

The decade-old health program is aimed at families that do not qualify for Medicaid but are too poor to afford medical insurance. As with the bill Bush vetoed, the revised measure would add $35 billion over five years, financed by a 61-cent increase in the federal excise tax on a pack of cigarettes. (this story found here)

Yay! Time to fuck over the smokers again under the guise of something helpful!!! Here’s my bitch on that — You want to penalize the smokers, getting to where they can’t even smoke in their cars - certainly not on a sidewalk or any where else public - out doors or otherwise (remember I’m in Ca, we have entire cities where it’s illegal to smoke except for in your house or car). A large portion of the country is so happy ostracizing smokers and beating money out of them every chance they get. What’s with that? You can’t claim they are your savior - your personal cashcow for shit like health bills and then turn around and not allow them to smoke. Duh. And before someone decides to bitch at me — fuck you if you think that a smokers second hand smoke is exactly why you need the health care bill. Do some f’ing research asshole. You aren’t getting cancer from their smoke, you’re getting cancer from the HUMMER you’re driving at 9mpg. You’re getting cancer from your hormone infested food. Your fried everything. Your carbonated sugar-ated everything. You’re getting it from your cell phones and your gimme-gimme-gadgets that you don’t need. You aren’t getting it from the dude you walked by once that happened to be smoking. AND if you don’t know that? Good, Die. You’re too uneducated to live in my opinion.

Put this to bed!!!(see article)
I’m sorry, but I’m so tired of hearing about Princess Di. Please can we file that one yet? They are always coming out with something new. How many years has it been? Does it really matter if she said “Oh my God” before she died? Do we really need to learn about the Fiat at this point? Is it going to make a difference? So please, if there is someone out there listening. I don’t ever want to read another Di story unless it’s in the tabloids and she’s coming to speak to us in Granny’s mashed potatoes. Thanks.

Ta Ta

Fires are still waging war on Southern California, some of them becoming the worst fires in the history of the state. More than 500,000 people have currently been evacuated and the winds are picking up. The wind is important because when it picks up the fires get more o2 and then get more out of control.
Here’s a map of the fires currently in So Ca in relation to where I am.

The following is an image showing the smoke blowing into the antelope valley from the South East, coming from the Arrowhead fire.

This one is primarily smoke from the Agua Dulce / Porter Ranch / Stevenson Ranch area - there may be Malibu smoke in there as well.

Right now, we’re getting a growing plume of smoke over our southern mountains, here in the valley, however, that will change. Wind is already picking up and gusts are expected to top over 50mph. (Last report I heard was 75mph) Either way, once that wind really gets started, all that smoke will blow back out over the southland - over the LA Basin basically. If you’ve seen the satellite images of the smoke you can see that 90% of it is going out over the ocean. Due to a lull here in the wind, (which only means its going to get worse) some of the smoke came north. While on the map I don’t appear to be terribly close to the fires, as of last night some people were being evacuated from their homes and into local schools here in the Antelope Valley area. {av area: Quartz Hill, Palmdale, Lancaster, etc.}

Map is from :

LA Times in Conjunction with Google Maps

You can find a real time update on the local fires here.

Also in the news today more on Turkey and Iraq. I bet you were surprised weren’t you? Yesterday, it was reported that there was a cease fire supposedly taking place in Northern Iraq by the PKK. (according to Iraqi officials)

Turkey is saying they will fight back regardless of the cease fire and are maintaining that they must defend themselves against violence coming from Iraq. However they can’t be looked down on for it because of the PKK are the “terrorists” isn’t that great? Sounds to me like the Turkish leaders are learning from the American leaders that you can do basically whatever you want if you dump it under the heading of terrorism. The Story can be found

here.

“He stressed that Turkey had no claims on Iraqi territory and insisted any military action would only target the PKK but said it “could not wait forever” for the Iraqi authorities to curb Kurdish militant attacks.” He Being Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan of course.

The thing is that while yes they have a right to be there are they making it better and is it necessary? The real conundrum is that once Turkey gets into Iraq especially after they’ve signed up with Iran, — where’s it going to go? I’m sorry but I’m torn. I’m not sure if I should be supporting Turkey and Iran or not. Part of me agrees that they could probably help to eradicate the militia that is still plaguing the troops and the people of Iraq. However, it is entirely possible that they go in and they take over Iraq displacing all the people there and killing our troops (perhaps). Not that I’m a cynic- ha ha -but who else is with me that they are gearing up to do exactly that? Is there some way the American government could join forces with the Turks and the Iranian forces and take care of Iraq once and for all? Probably. Will it happen - don’t hold your breath.

Back on the wild fires for a moment, sorry I cannot help myself. Last night Tanya Tucker was on Larry King live because her guest house on her Malibu property burned - she wasn’t even there. Which - luckily, she kept reminding all the people who were continually asking if it was scary to be evacuated. I was amused that the biggest celeb that lost property as of last night that the Larry King show could get was Tanya Tucker. Shame on me! CNN is reporting that several shows had to change their filming plans due to the fires and that the ritzy hotels in the Beverly Hills area are full to capacity! More or less.

Here’s that one.

While I could personally give a fuck less if shows like NCIS and 24 come out when they are supposed to because of filming delays - apparently some people out there find it news worthy. The only thing that was worth mentioning to me was that Tori Spelling and Sean Penn (no they aren’t together, don’t get worked up, she’s still with that guy–you know, that other guy..dave or something.) have had property loss. Even still my friends, from Tanya to Tori to Sean, it’s fluffer. More than something like 1000 homes and businesses have burned so far, so I feel the same for the Celeb’s as I do for the unceleb’s. I don’t know why people are talking smack though (read reviews on news stories regarding said celeb’s loss of property). You can hate Tori or Sean all you want it doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to feel a momentary pity for in their loss, even if they can rebuild. Sean Penn has even been a major contributor to helping after Katrina, so shame on you fuckwits that are saying “who cares” to the celeb’s property ruin. Truth being, right now sucks for a lot of property owners, famous and not, and you should have a heart. Don’t weep for em (I certainly won’t) but at least recognize that losing your shit isn’t easy, regardless of how much money you have.

I’m off for now. Ta Ta
eieio

You’d have to be hiding under a rock to live in the United States and not have heard about the california wildfires that are raging at the moment. Then again, if you don’t live here, you might be thinking “yea, isn’t california always on fire?” or maybe even “Didn’t Malibu and San Bernadino just put out a fire?”…

The truth is, California isn’t always on fire - it just makes the news whenever it is. Then you add in that the same areas usually burn and it feels like you’re hearing that certain areas are on fire every other week when that isn’t the case. The fires that are currently waging war with the wind and firefighters are pretty impressive–even to someone who’s seen it all before. CNN Video of CA fires One of the landmarks that has been burned in these fires is the Castle Kashan in Malibu, which was actually pretty impressive and looked down over all of Malibu. It even looked like a real castle, go figure. (here’s some pics before the fire)

Good luck to the firefighters, may they come out on top of this and hopefully the residents in these areas make it out okay (property damage is better than loss of life). All I can hope is that nature follows in due course giving us the rain we need. Usually, that’s how it works.

Also in the news yesterday is Cheney with his statements regarding Iran (here) A snipet of what CNN printed is:

If Iran continues on its current course, Cheney said the U.S. and other nations are “prepared to impose serious consequences.” The vice president made no specific reference to military action.

“We will not allow Iran to have a nuclear weapon,” he said.

Sounds to me like the Pres and the Vice Pres are gearing up to force a war in Iran. If you think that’s impossible because the rest of government won’t back them, think again. All he has to do is declare that Iran is an imminent threat and he can basically do whatever the hell he wants for 48hrs…. Something like that anyway. Major bone of contention there depending on who you’re talking to whether or not it’s possible. Which brings us to whether or not calling the leader of Iran a terrorist - not even veiling it, but straight calling him a terrorist - was smart on many levels. On the one hand calling Ahmadinejad a terrorist sets Bush up with getting the American People to think that the man is a terrorist. On the other hand, all he did was piss Ahmadinejad off. So was it a smart move? Less than 2 weeks later or something you’ve got Iran and Turkey hooking up together - what does that mean for America and our being in Iraq? Not good things.

Look it up and be informed. It’s a scary fuckin’ world out there people.

You must be broken
By the thousand ways of wasting time
Get to the point
And off a hundred lines a week
No need to change my mind
A cleaner shade of thinking time
Conversation Via Radio- Blue October

In the shower, whiling the time away as if I have anywhere else to be. Not really. Nope, not today, not most days in general. Standing there under the too-hot spray thinking about how petty I can be sometimes - I hate hot showers, did you know that? I’d rather have a mild shower at best. Hot water doesn’t do much for me unless I’m in pain, physical pain. Have to take showers that are too hot sometimes now, just because people tell me not to. Now there’s something petty for you. Apparently hot water can alter your blood pressure, who knew? (someone, obviously)

Lots of things in the news these days, debates that no one shows up for, public thrashing of other political powers. Can’t believe they let Bushy get away with just up and calling the president of Iran a terrorist. I’m telling you, Bush is a damn nut. I’m betting on a war in a minute, even if he uses his promises of veto for leverage. Heated debates between me and others have most people saying it won’t happen - stretch the military too thin - too much money in wars already - good reasons all but it doesn’t mean shit does it? Really when you look at it how can you say that GW and his cabinet give a crap about things like that?

Not sure where the political crap is coming from today in my head.

I had a pretty good day in ways I guess. Nothing bad for sure. Lots on my mind lately, like what the fuck am I doing? I feel like I’m sinking with no hope for swimming and wonder why I bother. A line in a song plays through my mind, a constant litany of “But I don’t have the energy to try.” I’m sure that’s incredibly healthy from a mental standpoint. For sure, right?

Sometimes I feel like I’m slipping in a major way but at the same time I think that can’t be right. I wonder how much is me pushing myself beyond my breaking point and how much of the feeling is me being paranoid. Without going for more testing I can’t really say what the truth is. Speaking of testing, I’m now 6-7months pastdue for that testing - those appointments. Like if I hide from it it’s going to go away or something? I’m not entirely sure what my reasoning on that is, to be honest. I know I should go and I don’t have a good reason for not going and yet - the appointments never get made. Strangely, those around me have been letting me get away with it too, maybe if I pretend long enough they eventually will forget?

lost

Today I went to the Aquarium of The Pacific in Long Beach. It was the first time I admitted publicly that I was in a situation where I shouldn’t be walking around willy-nilly. So, depending on who you are, you know that my giving that part up was major for me. The thing about it is, though the AoTP looks huge? It isn’t. The Aquarium at Mandalay Bay is FAR superior in my opinion (cheaper too). The one in Vegas is bigger, has more, and is better done, hands down. I probably could have gotten by without the stupid fucking wheelchair but whatever, what’s done is done. As far as that whole thing goes, my defeat and the wheelchair that is, I feel like I finally gave up a piece of myself. The piece of me that still claimed I can do everything on my own - but sometimes choose not to. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Part of me just wants to curl up in a ball and hide under the bed or something.

I went on a boat tour while I was there - god that was stupid. I love the ocean but the boat tour was pretty damn retarded. At least Kay had fun. That’s what counts right? I don’t know, looking at 5 harbor seals on a buoy thing seems like a rip to me. Not to mention the oil haulers and what not. I’m not a treehumper or anything but christ, between the oil smell, the trash in the water (which there wasn’t much really) and watching stupid kids throw popcorn at the gulls and disregard their own trash as the wind rips it up and out of the boat — I could have lived without.

All that said, the main thing I wanted to talk about was the ocean.

It seems like a lot of people I meet either feel elated by being near the ocean or drown-myself-while-you-aren’t-looking depressed by it. Why’s that? I’ve never met someone that could honestly say that sitting on the beach looking at the ocean didn’t make them feel something. Plenty who weren’t sure, what, exactly they felt. But still.

Since I was a small child going to the ocean makes me want to kill myself. Truly. But it’s a love hate relationship. If I feel crappy, going to the ocean doesn’t make me feel better but it certainly helps in some way. I don’t know why this is for me but it is. I do not swim in the ocean *shiver* but I will walk in the surf. Mostly I’d rather sit on the beach and stare at the water and I’m content with that. These days, I’m not so sure I can do that anymore, you’d be surprised how much cardio there is in walking 1000 yards in that sand that sucks you down. The last time I went to Santa Monica just to chill at the beach was over 2 years ago and getting half-way to the water made me feel like I was going to die any second. Pathetic isn’t it?

I don’t feel sorry for myself. It’s important that anyone reading this realizes that. I don’t. It is what it is. It’s just that now I’m admitting more openly and maybe more to myself how fucked day to day life can be. It’s weird to know you’re resigned to your death but something as simple as being in a wheelchair and pushed around for a few hours makes you want to collapse. Public situations in general are an exercise in weirdness. Just finding that I have to park X far from somewhere where I am going to be doing a mild amount of walking in a public setting can make me have panic attacks. Not that anyone I go with knows that. I’d tell them if they asked directly but it isn’t info I’ll volunteer.

Oh how much I evade so simply on the premise of it not being a direct question. *shakes head*

How long can one hold on, on sheer tenacity alone?