je suis fatigue

If I recall from my high school French that means I am tired. I was up late last night chatting with JB and having "The Killer Envelope" waiting for Gastric to read to me this morning. I will let Gastric peruse it thoroughly before letting her read it to me. I suspect some of its heft has to do with the money Viper owed me for the medical supplies. And funny how she was too sick to open that box on Monday but by Wednesday she had recovered sufficiently to write a long letter and hand-deliver it one floor up. I am just amazed at her recuperative powers. So, while I feed the ducks (hopefully) this a.m. I will get the full vitriol that the Viper is so capable of from a dramatic reading by Gastric. So it is off to the loading dock for me...(Time passes)...The heft in the letter was, indeed, due to the enclosed money. The letter itself was decent and kind, with some of her humor, which leaves the door open for a future dialogue. Perhaps she will be more gentle with her associates as she loses more of them over time. She anticipates a full recovery from whatever is ailing her. So I worked myself into a tizzy for naught. Also, to my sadness, no pulchritudinous poultry on parade this morning. This goes with the precariously prancing pistol packing purple pygmy polo ponies. That said, there were no ducks, either, this morning. Alas and alack, I heard not a quack. There: I wax poetic. It strikes me this is all very anticlimactic and for you accustomed to more drama, well, here goes. It was a dark and not so stormy morning and the ducks were no where to be seen. All that was left of the duck zombie apocalypse was orange webbed tootsies and, of course, cracked corn, Jimmy. The squirrels were going nuts over the corn and seed and cared not one jot for the ducks. Oh well, not so good, huh? Oh, my, I was just informed that Donna and one duckling are out waiting for breakfast. She is down to one duckling and, to be honest, I feel her loss. I wonder my responsibility in the scheme of things. She comes into the open, but hawks are all over campus. I hate the food chain, except when I am on top of it. Well, then they are fed. The three young adult ducks did not show up today. Maybe later as well. Off to get labs done. There's drama for you.

The Viper Strikes

Well, as sick as she claimed to been, she managed to make it upstairs to my place to leave a voluminous response to my letter. I am afraid to read it for fear it is upsetting and I don't need more upset today. Gastric will peruse the tome and read it unto me. So no Hyphenated feedback tonight just the sound of the other shoe falling.

The new rug

I purchased a new rug for the living room. It's red and black and goes well with the furniture. Gonif has been going bonkers since it was put down, zooming all over the house, literally bouncing off the walls to welcome it and today her had the official puking welcome. Surprisingly it cleans up much better than the old rug. So between the zooming, the fact that Yankel lays on it instead of the wood floor, and Simcha goes into his famous belly up rub my tummy pose, I believe it is well liked by my crew. I did have a rough night last night. Just didn't feel well. Still a little oogie this morning. Started the day with a Coke (and not a smile) to settle my stomach down. Topped it off with a Dramamine. Doing better now. Of course you know what will make my day...Emily and the ducklings. Shifting gears. I meet with the nutritionist today at 2:30. Should be done by 4:00. So what should dinner be tonight? Who cares? Changing gears. I have no idea if Patricia has gone to the hospital. I suspect she is down in her darkened condo wondering why I don't care enough to call her to see how she is doing. "Nobody loves me" she must opine. And, it's true. I have enough stuff going on that I don't care enough to become engaged with her again. So when she calls for her medical supplies I will deliver and that is all. You know what? I think I will write out a note for her now...strike while the iron is hot. More to come...(time marches on). I leave the box with a handwritten note down at Patricia's door. Couldn't hear if the TV was on but I am pretty certain she is home and not the hospital. The note was a few paragraphs long. First I told her I couldn't order stuff for her anymore and that she owed me $35 for the medical supplies. The next two paragraphs thanked her for giving me space and I told her I needed a longer time to deal with issues from therapy and I wouldn't be seeing her. Then I wished her well and good health. Finally, I concluded with a note saying that she would perceive of my note as "cowardly" (that how she referred to a similar note she got from Brody's Mom) and that I was sorry she would have that perception but I need to take care of myself first. Hopefully she is not laying on her deathbed. I am sure I will get a voice mail. But I am tired of being played by her and I need to move on. So, hopefully, this is the last Viper related blog entry. Now out to see the ducks...(more time passes) We had a full blown duck patrol this morning. Not Emily, sadly, but three young almost full grown ducks. Gastric got so excited when she spotted them headed our way. Me, too, if I am honest. It's always a good day when ducks come for a morning feed. One flew right past my head and I could feel the breeze generated by her wings. Ah, sweet duckies of life at last I have found you. Now back to our regularly scheduled program.

...and thus ends

Emily and her brood made a return visit this afternoon, mere moments ago, spotted thanks to Bookworm's keen eye. There were in the parking lot cleaning up from the morning's chow. We managed to wrangle them over to the sidewalk where they stayed momentarily and then headed back to the river. Twice in one day...sounds like I have a moral obligation to feed the crew. I'll have to go out after afternoon breaks now and also be careful where I leave feed in the morning. I don't want some wanton UPS driver to run my pals over, much less FedEx or the various MSU trucks, vans and other delivery vehicles. I am here for another few hours today and then out to dinner with Brody's Mom. Will make for a long day but the appearance of the babies and Emily made my day. Maybe more photos tomorrow. The ducklings are getting bigger. And they are able to manage the larger pieces of corn now and not just the smaller seeds. Oh, Emily, stay safe tonight and I will see you all tomorrow.

So it begins

Patricia, who asked me to order her some medical supplies STAT, now says she is too sick to open the package, and not to bring it down, saying she may go to the hospital today, which will mean I get to watch her cats and I can also get my house key back without asking for it. I was all set to write a letter stating that I would not be ordering anything for her in the future and was limiting our future contact. But now that plan is on hold. I was hoping to catch the fallout from that letter today so,I could speak with Hyphen before she vacated for a week. Oh, well. Hoping to see ducks today, and not the hawk in the tree or another raccoon riding a garbage truck. But it always come back to my heart and how easily that gets hurt. I feel sorry for Patricia, as I do for anything hurting, but I can't tend to her while I am hurting, too, and some of that hurt is a result of contact with her. I hate to be suspicious but it feels like she is making herself sick to get me to resume our "friendship". I just can't do it. It tugs on my heart but she is making me crazy and I have enough of that in my life without her added burden. Just like the ducks that tug at my heart when there are only three ducklings when there were originally four and there is a hawk in the tree. Or a raccoon escaping a trash compactor and riding on a garbage truck and heading for the hills, or in this case the river. I do what I can to protect myself, but nature is a harsh mistress. Patricia is as well, but I can and should manage her better. She knew she was quite sick last week but waits until now to do something about it...makes me suspicious. She is not above doing this on purpose, to make herself a martyr. My mother could do that as well. She also had a "look" she would shoot me that was supposed to instill fear in my heart, which it did, until I learned to mirror that look and shoot it back to her. When I was sixteen, that is. Now that I am sixty I should be able to protect myself better from these unsettling friend (time passes)...Donna/Emily Duckinson came for a visit this morning, down to three ducklings. I am forced to acknowledge that nature is, well, a harsh mistress (it bears repeating). How do I know for certain it is Donna? She came right to the loading dock. Emily was more shy (although if she lost a baby last week to a hawk Donna may have had reason to be skittish). Still, Gastric and I feel the day is off to a better start because of the duck visitation and the lack of a hawk in the big tree in back of the library where it had been perched yesterday. Perhaps we should just call Donna Emily Duckinson because of her loss, a loss she would feel deeply, as a poetess would. Here in is the full text of her poem: Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility – We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun – Or rather – He passed Us – The Dews drew quivering and Chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle – We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground – The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground – Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity –

Ducks on the Dock

Nothing gets my day rolling better that Ducks on the Dock. I am hoping Donna, with all four duckies, will appear and, if not, Emily Duckinson with her three and try and convince myself they are not actually the same ducks and that Donna might have lost one of her babes. Ah, Darwinism at work; the weakest may have perished. But right now I refuse to believe that. They must be safe and well and not actually part of another critter's food chain. While Social Darwinism is alive and well in this country actual Darwinism on a smaller scale on my own loading dock is unthinkable. Gastric will be her shortly and off I go to feed the ducks. I will be back in a few... Well, no Donna or Emily, perhaps due to a hawk in a nearby tree earlier this morning. I hope all is well and good in Duck Land. However, we did manage to see a new simile in action...like a raccoon riding a garbage truck. Obviously the raccoon, which was riding on top of the truck when Gastric first saw it and blathered like a idiot that there was a raccoon riding the garbage truck, had been picked up at a previous dumpster and had emerged from the compactor intact and was on the cab of the truck when it got to the Library stop. The raccoon then ran across the windshield of the truck, down the front of the truck and hauled ass. Rocky was last sighted running behind the Admin Building and headed towards the safety of the river. Gastric and I then shared a few gastric moments ultimately erupting in a cascade of laughter and then coined the new simile, which I am certain we will use repeatedly throughout the day and into the future anytime we experience fear equal to that of being trapped in a compactor with only one route to safety, like a raccoon riding a garbage truck.

Yet another Sunday

I actually played music with a friend, who we shall call The Bookworm. I managed to crank out some songs on the mandolin with her on guitar. Mostly old gospel tunes, which is odd because we both seems to be non-believers, her more so than me. But nonetheless we played for about an hour and now my left wrist aches. I managed to hurt it a tad when I picked up a heavy jar containing rolled coinage. Now I am icing and relaxing to the sound of rain and the wind. Pasta tonight with roasted veggies, including fresh eggplant, zucchini, onion, tomato and a head of roasted garlic. I'll bake the vegetables up and rough chop them and add feta cheese and kalamata olives, and maybe capers, I love Sunday pasta night. And the farm fresh organic vegetables roasted with olive oil, salt and freshly ground pepper will be lovely. I have decided that tomorrow night when I drop off the Viper's medical supplies that I will make a cleaner break than I have already made. No more ordering stuff for her and if I am brave enough I will tell her no more anything and get my key back. I don't know if I can be that brave but I will screw my courage to the sticking point and try. I will probably be in a shit and a sweat over it. Still it needs to be done. Hyphen has decreed so. I can already smell the garlic roasting. Ah, there a non sequitur. Well. I am off to do battle in the kitchen. Later my friends.

Alone

It is one of those strange nights when I hate being alone. Strange noises eminanting from the downstairs security door and Gonif is on alert. And I hate it when their keen ears prick up at some barely audible sound and it only serves to make me scared. What the hell do they think they hear. But there was a strange noise in the hall. Oh, well. It has been a strange day. The police were outside this morning circling the next building, which made me wonder if Drunken Librarian had called the police on himself again, as he has in the past. But in spite of the book ends of the weirdness of the day, it was a good day. Brody's Mom and I spent the day together, culminating in a cookout this evening with Gastric and JB. We had a fun day at the Meridian Township Farmers Market where, per usual, I bought too much, but, per usual had a great time. I was able to introduce my companion to baba ghanoush and samosas. And the cookout went very well. Additionally we played a game and had a wonderful combination of desserts. And we gabbed for hours. A perfectly wonderful day, in spite of no nap. I should be tired but I guess I am too wound from the sounds in the hall to relax. Watching the Dodgers beat up on the Giants. Trying to relax. Debating on taking a walk tomorrow to the East Lansing farmers Market. It is not that I am in need of more produce but the walk would do me good. Anyway, that is the evening report, such as it is. I just need to relax. No more pondering tonight.

Dinner and a walk

I went out to dinner Friday night with Ms. Bypass and The Shutterbug. We dined at a place in Old Town aptly named Meat, a hole in the wall of a BBQ place that would qualify as a dive and the food is fabulous. I had the brisket and sampled their BBQ sauces. The meat was perfectly smoke and tender as can be. I also copped a rib from Ms. Bypass which was reminiscent of the ribs I grew up with in Detroit. Dry rubbed and no sauce. And fabulous. After dinner we walked Old Town a bit and visited a few shops that were still open. But this is not the reason I am still awake. I saw Hyphen today, ostensibly to work on some trauma issues regarding The Ex. It turned into trauma issues that bubble to the surface because of The Viper. I finally opened the note she left me and it was to announce how much she misses me and how sick she physically is. Wanted me to order her some non-latex gloves and a wound cleaning spray. And don't ask why because I assure you that you really don't want to know. So I was stressing for almost two days over what turned out to be nothing other than a sad little note. Hyphen believes (and I concur) that I am better off without Patricia and I should end the friendship sooner rather than later as it is triggering some unpleasant memories from my youth. I feel badly for her and her illnesses but that is no longer and excuse for maintaining what is essentially and unhealthy relationship. So I am unable to sleep right now as I am a little agitate. So I thought I might regale you with tales of light. When I first moved into my little condo I would never turn the lights on. In the summer this was not a problem but come late fall and early winter I would literally be in the dark from the time I got home from work, the only light would be that emanating from the TV. Pure depression. I did get over that but I can't tell you when. But of late I have been sleeping with the lights on. Now it is an illusion. It stays light until I get up and turn the lights off. For some reason it seems to be a comfort. It wards off the sensation of losing two minutes of sunlight a day since the solstice. I make sure to turn off the aquarium lights but the regular lamps stay on late. It is bright as day in here now and although I drifted off for a bit, it was no more than a short nap. Yes, I feel one of those dark nights of the soul creeping in on me. Up all night pondering how to tell the Viper she is no longer part of my life. Hyphen gave me some words and I may paraphrase but ultimately I must used my own words. When her supplies come in on Monday I will take them down and maybe have a short talk with her. More likely, like Brody's Mom, I may write a long note as my written skills are superior to my verbal skills. I get tongue tied and can easily be bullied in person. I know that is how Brody's Mom felt when she wrote her note, that the Viper would rail against her and cause her emotional pain. The Viper has a long and somewhat proud history of driving people away from her. She doesn't realize how toxic her moods can be. I once said while I was down there that a pizza sounded good. And after Jeopardy I left. The next time I went down I was castigate for the pizza remark as I did not order pizza for US that night. And that deeply hurt her. As I was preparing to leave because of the tongue lashing I was taking, my hands pushing up on the arms of the chair, she stopped and became Little Mary Sunshine, I made an innocent remark and was held to task for it. Consequently since that time when I have gone down I do not mention food. I can't tell her that I still go to shows at Wharton with Brody's Mom as that would be perceived of as a betrayal of the Viper. I have been rading books on setting boundaries and each time I set one with her she moves the line. I have read books on toxic people and emotional blackmail and recognize these traits in her. I must make the break and hang out more with wonderful people like Ms. Bypass and Shutterbug, whose recent photo on Face Book makes me more determined to dissolve the relationship with the Viper. And on this I must be strong.

Gastric and me

I am hoping that Gastric will tend to my "flock" this morning as I enjoy, as much as I can, one of my last Fridays off before the start of the school year. Gastric has a bag of duck and duckling food and my best wishes for a morning at work, preceded by the loading dock sitting with friends and ducks. Donna and Emily will have to make do. Gastric is going back to Horrock's today and will pick up some smaller feed for the ducklings, as the cracked corn is a little too big for the babies. Today I have an insurance physical, followed by the revelation of the contents of the Viper's note to me at Hyphen's, although I am debating opening it this morning and saving Hyphen for better uses. And if I open the envelope now, I could share it with you. Oh, decisions. I hope also to get a nap in this afternoon before going out to dine with Friends Without Aliases. We are going out for BBQ at a new place for me, Meat. Ribs or brisket is my taste for today. Gastric should be getting up soon. I will call her about 7:00 and see if the ducks appeared this morning. Actually, yesterday, as I was getting rady to depart, my friend came and got me as Emily and her ducklings had come back to the library for a late afternoon feed, thus getting my weekend off to a good start, and necessitating a Gastric run to Horrock's for more duck chow. They are eating well. Back to the Viper's note. It is causing me some anxiety. Hyphen has agreed to read it as I expect the worse kind of note from her. But I don't want to waste more time in therapy over her. Ponder, pondering and ponderous. No, I think I will save it for Hyphen as it is causing me stress just thinking about opening it for you all. I will share with you later, once fair Hyphen has weighed in. In anticipation, tomorrow may be a busy day spent with Broady's Mom. Blogging and having a cookout later in the day. Sunday I will take it easy. I will need it. So, off I go, awaiting the nurse for the physical, a home visit. Maybe I can catch of few winks before then. But wait. I have one fish, an Endler's Live Bearer, that is very slowly dying. I know, I know...get over it Czarina. But it seems to be suffering and its companion, another Endler's, is tending to it. I don't want to flush it alive, such as it is, but I wish I had a way to ease its pain. I am projecting. At least it has a friend to see it through. The other fish are leaving him be. And so it goes.

Speaking of Emily

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all". Eggactly. Donna and Emily and their respective broods are all things with feathers, thus, metaphorically, Hope. And Emily would want me to share these words with all of you: "If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain". Truly a wise quacker to go with the plethora of prancing pistol packing purple pygmy polo ponies, alliteratively speaking.

Yet another duck

We had a visit from yet another duck with three smaller ducklings in tow. This was not Donna, as the ducklings were much smaller than hers. This we, or rather I, decided, is Emily Duckinson. She waxed poetic "I do not intend to tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death...". Oh Emily, dear Emily. Such strong words for such a small duck. Yes, Emily is decidedly more, shall we say attuned, to me spiritually. Whereas Donna marches right up to us on the loading dock, Emily was far more timid and I fed her and the ducklings by the bridge over the lovely and much maligned Red Cedar River. I hope the promise of corn and small seeds are enough to lure her and Donna back tomorrow. Thus we had our daily duck but not the one we expected. Here's to getting the word out.

Dum, dum da...

You can substitute foreshadowing music of your choice. When I got home last night there was a note from the Viper, AKA Patricia. No, of course I didn't open it, silly! I am going to save it for therapy on Friday. I think I will just give it to Hyphen unopened and have her filter it for me. Lately in therapy I limit the Viper to ten minutes of discussion so I have time in therapy for actual work, like doing trauma work dealing with The Ex, but this may get a few extra minutes. The reason I scheduled the extra session was for doing the trauma work but damn if the Viper didn't throw a monkey wrench into that plan...like she does. I told Patricia that I needed some time to work on my own stuff, but she keeps forcing the issue. Phone calls and now a note. And, yes, I anticipate the worse. Hyphen said to say something to the Viper to the effect that I can't be the kind of friend she needs and I feel badly about it but that is the bottom line. It sounds like it is headed that way. I just don't need this kind of added pressure right now. But it is always about her and her needs, not anyone else. That's the kind of self-centered behavior that drove me from the Drunken Librarian. It was always all about him. I get the feeling that I am perceived of as the perpetual caregiver, from my mother, to The Ex, the Drunken Librarian and now the Viper. Even the Urinal needed me, in a sense, to validate his work. And I am not this big, nurturing Earth Mother Type. That would be Gastric. Sorry Gastric, AKA Pseudo Hyphen, but you are the big sister I never had. Alright, maybe not the Earth Mother, but definitely the Earth Sister. But many see me, also, as the supportive type, and not that it is bad, it is just burdensome at times, with certain people like the Viper. I want to be there for my friends, just not them that it is all about. Here's hoping I can post later about the Donna visitation with the ducklings. It is Thursday, after all. Also, to further the alliterative progress of the perverse prancing pistol packing purple pigmy polo ponies and the turtles that ride with the pack, here's to ya. See if you can alliteratively keep the "P's" flowing. Punfully or painfully yours, The Czarina.

Pondering

Longevity itself isn't the issue. There is never enough time.

What a difference.

As Gastric is picking me up this morning and the purple pigmy polo ponies are at bay I have a little extra time before I depart for work. No shit fits this morning. Simcha was a good boy. Lunches are made, music has been practiced without incident and the aquaponic fish tank has taken root. Best of all the Betta seems to be thriving. I came home late from work yesterday to find the wheat grass I planted on Saturday had sprouted. Wonder of wonders, I guess I set it up correctly! Today is the ice cream social at work. I will be busy most of the afternoon. Then Brody's Mom and I are going to see her Pilates instructor and maybe I will be inspired to go on a permanent basis. Who knows? I have an extra session with Hyphen this week on my Friday off. The days of summer are dwindling and I have fewer three day weekends to enjoy. Hyphen also recommend Hyohen Squared, a nutritionist to counsel me on my burgeoning health needs. I see her on the 30th. I have to keep a short term food diary for the visit next week. And pages of history and lab work. Next Wednesday will be a long day, too. As for Donna and her ducklings, I hope she waddles over for some cracked corn and various seeds. Yesterday I learned ducks are monogamous. Who knew that ducks are more faithful than The Ex? Serial, or perhaps cereal, monogamy was more their style. And as I was getting ready to move out The Ex announced someone new would be moving in the same day as The Ex needed to be cared for. Couldn't live alone because of the diabetes issue. I knew they would never be alone like I would be. But I have come to enjoy my singularity. That's how I prefer to think of it. They have their keeper, I have my freedom. Thus spake I. I also have my spiders, Naomi and Phoebe. Life is full of possibilities, with the possible exception of longevity. So, this morning is off to a better start than was yesterday. I have the comfort of a Hyphen session to look forward to on Friday. I will have all weekend to process and then have another session on Monday, the last before she vacates. That should give me a good basis for introspection. I am hopeful the ice cream social goes well. If not, well, we tried. And I can be blamed for moving it up on the calendar as my fellow board members wanted it to be in Late August, a week before classes start. Not a good time for a busy staff. Okay, off I go.

Bumpy start redux

Something in therapy yesterday struck a real nerve and I have been unsettled since. I believe it has to do with my recent health issues and residue from a past relationship, most notably THE EX. Gastric, aka Pseudo Hyphen, was unable to get me out of my mood and if it weren't for the duck visitation today I might still be deep in a funk. Mildly rescued due to the fowl appearance this morning and the sense that Donna Duck recognized me as one of her own and brought her babies over to see me improved the mood. But more to the point I feel lately as if I am more defined by my health issues than who I might actually be. I'd just like the chance to be me for a change and not a list of my symptoms. I share some medical issues now with The Ex. And Hyphen thinks I need to do some trauma work on that subject, which I am anxious to do and hope I can start this Friday with an extra session, providing I can cop a ride there. Hopefully JB or LAD will be able to take me and then I can reciprocate and take them to lunch or something, providing I am not a puddle of goo after the session. Hyphen, dear Hyphen, is vacating the week of the 4th-10th. I feel pressured to get some real work done before then and then do my best to avoid the Viper to maintain equilibrium that week. Get the hell out of funky town. I was a bitch this morning to Simcha, who merely wanted some attention while I was attending to something else. And then to compound the injury, I inadvertently stepped on his tail. So he was no where to be seen by the time I left, although I left extra treats in the treat tower for him and left the air on for all the cats. My temper, when I am in a mood, is fast and swift and I have a hard time reigning it back in before I hurt myself or one of the cats. Hopefully I can get away with a raised voice and a few well place fuxs. Not this morning; I was swinging mad. I need to calm down and get some control over my emotions. Donna was a blessing this morning, fourfold with the ducklings, and no trolls complained about leftover seed in the parking lot. So that is the full morning report, short fuse and all. And I got absolutely no good work done on the mandolin this morning before my temper got the best of me and I had to put it away before I destroyed the world and my instruments. Fux. Hopefully the purple pigmy polo ponies and the gurgling turtles stay at bay and are not activated by my moods. Fat chance, says the fat chick. Fat chance. And speaking of fat, I now have a registered dietician I can report to and get some nutritional advice. Yet another practitioner to rescue me from myself. Yee Haw!

Bumpy start

I was fit to be tied this morning as when I was trying to play the mandolin, Simcha, who is never a bother, bothered the hell out of me this morning. Snagged my slacks, which only served to annoy me more, and my temper got the best of me and I snapped and yelled at the poor cat who had no clue what was going on. To put in mildly I was in a mood. Well, the mood lifted when my Donna Duck and her four babies came for breakfast this morning. You say "How can you be so sure it was Donna?". I say "She came right to me from across the parking lot and plunked her tail feathers down for a repast, right in front of me" That is to say she recognized me. I am certain of it. The foursome last week must have been the ladies in waiting to my fair Donna, or perhaps they were the Pseudo-Donnas. But she has four of the cutest ducklings I have ever seen. I mean, she made a beeline to me this morning. No hesitation. Provided the custodial crew with a hearty morning laugh out on the loading dock. Hopefully the trolls that oversee the lot aren't too upset with the few kernels of corn that was left. But I have teased you long enough. Here is Donna, the Madonna Duck, and her ducklings.

Two weeks

Until the dreaded summer hiatus of Hyphen. But she'll only miss one week you say. Ha, I say, like that is supposed to matter. And did I mention that Patricia, AKA The Former Clovella, AKA The Viper (that one may stick), phoned on Saturday to say she missed me and that the her nephew's dog had passed away, to which I responded to the latter that sometimes that is for the best (The dog had oral cancer) to which she responded that doesn't matter to a child. Well, the child in this case is eighteen and about to go to college and not some five year old child who had never experienced a loss. My ennui said it all for me as she had awakened be from an afternoon nap and she promptly, but nonetheless sadly, bid me adieu. Thence, awakened as I was, I proceeded to put together the aquaponic fish farm and spent over two hours putting something together that was supposed to take forty-five minutes from start to finish. Made my hair sweat. Well, at least the Betta is still doing swimmingly. Maybe the plants will take root soon and my work will be rewarded. I am in the midst of the midsummer's night, or in this case, morning, funk. Some is due to the the depressing health news of the past week. I try to keep myself as healthy as possible but, in spite of my best efforts, my health, in general, seems to be on the decline. Weight is an issue but I am losing weight on purpose and walking about 1.5 miles a day, some days more, some days less. I seem to be on an awkward health treadmill that nothing I do has any positive impact. I did cut back my mood stabilizers, per the psychiatrist's suggestion, to lower my A1C for the next quarterly lab draw in October. Even mildly elevated as it was has done its best to plunge me into a depressed state. I am deemed in control but nothing could be farther from the truth. And all those years I spent in Cloud Cuckoo Land trying my best to exit is not being kind to me. I want to hold on to something but nothing is there. Even music, which in the past has been my religion, has left me. I finally played this morning, yet begged the mandolin teacher for another two weeks of grace before resuming lessons. Something else I suck at. Like being kind to myself. Oh, well. So now what? I just laid on the couch on Sunday and worried myself to sleep. I was up much of the night finally deciding to get up at 4 to play music. Thank goodness my neighbor doesn't mind. I just feel like, among other things, time is going by way too fast and nothing I do seems to put the brakes on. Control keeps popping up as an issue, as in, something I am not in possession of. Even the Donnettes deserted me today. Although I left them food under the magnolia tree, just in case. Maybe I should leave something under a tree for me. Just in case. Just in case.

Sunday in the park with George

Well, gracious good morning, y'all.  Yesterday was a busy day with spurts of glorious inactivity.  I put together an aquaponic garden/fish tank that was supposed to take forty five minutes to set up but given poor instructions, rising frustration levels and a trip to Petco to get the needed betta for the fish farm, it took in excess of two hours.  Finally figured the sucker out, I hope.  At least the fish is still alive. And we will see if the basil and wheat grass takes off.  Ostensibly the way it works is the fish feeds the plants and the plants clean the water.  We shall see.  This is what happens when one is bored with just a little too much disposable income,

Today, today, today.  I think I have enough produce left for a small army but might make a trip to the farmers market just for the walk.  I have to hit the drug store for drugs; finally get my antibiotics for the mild sinus infection I have.  Have a Coke and a smile.  I have a lovely ribeye steak for tonight.  A light lunch and also pack lunches for tomorrow.  And just thinking of all that work makes me tired so I think I shall go back to bed.

It's Sunday and this is how I feel.  I should do something and feel productive in lieu of the beating up I took yesterday.  I think I shall wake him up and feed him.  Later, y'all.

A visit to Horrock's

After getting a hair cut followed by a slight nap, not of my own doing, Gastric picked me up for an afternoon of errant errands and an unexpected trip to one of my favorite "produce stands", Horrock's.  A produce stand beyond all belief. I dropped in excess of $100 on healthy stuff, including food for Donna and the Donnettes, ten pounds of corn.  I got some corn for me, too, as I have a lovely recipe for roasting corn in the oven and until we get the good local sweet corn, those small white kernels that pop off the ear, roasting is my preferred method.  And, oh my, cippolini onions, cubanelle peppers, two kinds of eggplant, cucumbers, tomatoes that actually smell like tomatoes, Vidalia onions, and fresh herbs. I went berserk.  And then, with all this wonderful food in the house I went out to dinner with Brody's Mom.  She had crab legs to eat for the first time and while the crab was flying we got to gabbing and gab we did until almost 9:00, when we hastily exited the restaurant and hit a craft store to get some items for her impeding baby shower for the equally impeding birth of her grandson.  Got home late and fell into a deep sleep.

Today, ah, today, some of they lovely food will get cooked for a gourmand feast for me.  Roasted eggplant tossed with farfalle, grape tomatoes, garlic, feta and kalamata olives, tossed with olive oil and fresh lemons.  I do love to cook.  And ere know I live by myself I do eat well.  And the summer season is the best for doing some really fresh cooking.  I have some lovely shiitake mushrooms that should sauté up nicely paired with a ribeye steak and fingerling potatoes.  And then there is Therapy Mondays and the resumption of the fetal position.  But this weekend we dine!  I think for lunch I will make a small frittata.  So much to do, so little time.

Time to pay attention to cats.

Duckless in East Lansing

Okay, so I am home today, on the range as it were, with no ducks in sight.  Getting ready to go out for  a scheduled haircut and a day of relaxing things to do.  I was told the Troll Meister was on guard duty today so Donna and the Donnettes did not make an appearance,  I will hit the local pet store to get more duck chow and put in on their bill.  Alright, a fowl pun.  Sorry it will happen again.

Like I said I do have some running around to do, but will fit in naps strategically placed around the day.  I have a lovely salad for lunch and I plan to go out to dinner.  Not too many more Fridays off, have I will Yoda.

I am going to start back musically on Sunday, devoting the day to music.  Make a nice breakfast, pamper myself, and get out the tools of music and play my guts out.  I owe it to myself.  It has been so much easier without having to block Patricia into and out of my days.  It's been a week and no smoking Clovella.  I have no idea what she is going through, how she is talking about me or what, but I am free, I tell you, free.  Hyphen gave me some handy things to keep in my back pocket to use if she tries to overtake my life again.

I am basically taking a problem break, that is, a day of not dealing with reality.  Let's see how that works for me.

What?  You were expecting something more poignant.  Um, not so much.  Time for a haircut.  Woo hoo!

Donna and the Donnettes

The girls did pay a visit this morning.  Donna and three other female ducks all came for a hearty breakfast of corn and other seeds.   And they made the cutest noises, not very duck-like but more like baby snorts, almost squeaks of joys.  I just hope I have not earned the disapproval of the trolls of the library by having the ducks here for breakfast in the morning.  The more the merrier I say.  Even the garbage truck guys were careful in the lot not to frighten the ducks.  I "herded" them under a tree beyond the parking lot and gave them a pile of corn and seed to devour when I went into the building for the day.  I have tomorrow off, but I have given Gastric food for the morrow.  I know I have a obligation to tend to my flock now that they are accustomed to coming here for food.  And, man oh man, does it make my day.  Turns my frown upside down.  Well, girls, we are going to Horrock's tomorrow and more Jimmy cracked corn with be coming your way on Monday.  It warms the cockles of my heart.  You like me, you really like me.


Donna Duck Here for the Czarina who is weeping tears of joy over our appearance today.

Cut the Czarina some slack here.  She has so little in her life that us coming to cheer her up is the least we can do for the gourmet feast she puts before us each day we magically appear from under the bridge, and there are no trolls in our land.  And knowing she will be home nursing a cold but has left Gastric in charge of our feeding makes our little duck hearts flutter in our breasts.  I brought the girls with me today, my siblings, as we now feel safe enough here to come for duck chow.  Sorry we were late yesterday.  We did miss you. 

Now, as for Monday.  Be here or be here.  No in-between.  We can't want to try out the new corn feed.  Have a great weekend Czarina and feel better. 

It just keeps getting worse

I had a miserable day yesterday.  First and foremost, I missed Donna.  She came late to the party and I couldn't get out to feed her.  Second, I had a doctor appointment  replete with bad news  that has caused me some distress.  Because I take Abilify for the bipolar my blood sugars are running high.  I will say this in all honesty that my diet is pretty decent.  I don't eat candies, cakes or cookies on a regular basis.  The medication I take for one problem is basically creating another problem.  And, to be equally honest, I can deal with high sugars better than I can deal with being out of control mentally.  Although I have a call into the psychiatrist to see if I do have some options.  I have been walking over a mile a day, and it don't know where the hell I am.  No, seriously folks, I walk as much as I can handle, I eat a balanced diet.  OK, throw in the occasional pizza and a Coke.  But in general I eat lots of veggies and a low carb diet,  I have lost weight, not a lot, but it is a start. But the bottom line is I feel embarrassed that I am not in better "control" physically.  This feels like I am an out of control pinball waiting for the drain hole to come.

This comes on the heels of my rheumatologist wanting me to switch to an shot form of the  medication and quite frankly I am not prepared to take that leap.

Which leads me back to Hyphen...no we aren't going to live forever.  I am sixty now, well past mid life.  I'd like to have a few years to enjoy the fruits of my labors, relax and age gracefully.  I am not asking for a lot, just to slow the process of falling apart.  And I am falling apart.  Getting old is not for sissies.  I have been without a second kidney for over ten years and many of the problems I have now all impact that one kidney.   I figure the way my life has gone that I will reach a great breakthrough in therapy, get up to leave Hyphen's office and drop dead.  That's been the family history.  How else do you explain losing a beloved grandmother to a Montgomery Ward's truck during a funeral procession?   We are just fodder for a punch line.  "She figured it all out but before she could tell us she dropped dead".

Oh, Donna, sweet Donna of the muddy bill, what is the answer?  Oh, wait a minute.  She is ducking the question.  Why a duck?

What a day

That is what it feels like today.  As I am getting ready to depart my condo there was a necessarily redundant cute kitten roaming outside the building all alone and I, well, felt verklempt.  Poor orphan of the storm.  She ran and hid in the bushes and I can only hope she was running to her momma.  I obsessed about the kitten all the way to work.  And to add insult to injury Donna Duck din not make an appearance this morning.  Verklempt and bereft. 

I do have some manner of doctor's appointment today.  I will be grilled on my last set of labs, which by her account, were not very good.  But more than that, with all the changes in the weather lately I am feeling kind of, well, icky.  Maybe I can offset her concern with a case of the ickies.  Also, icky news from Doctor M who would like me to go to giving myself injections of my arthritis medication and that is freaking me out.  I don't feel like giving myself shots.  Well, I have a few weeks before I see her again and I can delay making that decision until I see her again. 

So all manner of anger and grief issues melding with medical issues and my state of mind is kind of crappy.  If I could breathe deeply I would but my sinuses are all plugged and I can't breathe.  Go gentle all.

More cause for fuxing

You may have heard me mention the cats' treat tower in passing.  Here it is fully realized.  The idea is you put treats in the top and the cat is supposed to snag them through openings on the side, suppose being the operative word.  From the get go Simcha figured out that the opening at the top where the treats go in was perfect for putting his whole head into and grabbing mouthfuls of treats at a time.  The other two, even watching him, have not adopted this technique.  They each have their own set of rules they play by.  Gonif puts his paw in and snags one at a time, like you do, and Yankel lays on the floor by the tower and waits for the other two to drop a treat.  After two years he decided he could indeed get his own, but why bother.

I bring this up because Simcha has me trained regards this tower in the most Pavlovian of ways.  Regardless of how filled it is with treats, he bops it, threatening to dump it over.  That is my bell.  I rush to the place I keep the treats and put more treats in the tower before he topples it.  Well apparently I missed the first bell.  He toppled the tower, spilling treats all over the floor, eliciting a string of expletives from me.  He, unlike Gonif, is not bothered by a loud voice; in fact he gets downright defiant.  So I am cussing at the damn cat and cleaning up a different kind of cat mess and he is calmly waiting for more treats.

I mention this as yet another example of how I take anger at one thing, e.g. a puking cat, and blow up all out of proportion to the actual incident.  The anger is frustration at something else, but it comes out as anger towards the cats.  That is to say I haven't learned how to deal with repressed anger at say my parents, and it comes out as inappropriate anger to the cats.  That's my anger issues for you.

So there you go.

Speaking of not paying attention

I love the Marx Brothers.  I have all their movies.  And recently I was asked "Why a duck?", which brings to mind a classic Marx Brothers routine from the movie Cocoanuts.  So when I was asked why Donna Duck I reply  "Why not?"  Herein follows the whole exchange between Groucho and Chico.

Why a duck? 

To wit I answer: Why not (which is a whole 'nother routine by Dayton Allen, which just goes to show you my real age)

Goodbye and good luck.

Donna Duck's Top Tune of the Day

Angels

Okay, so a duck isn't exactly an angel, but she has been on her good behavior all day and she thought I might like this song to cheer me up.  She wanted me to share it with you.  Her voice is still somewhat undetermined but she is flying high.  Actually, she has not made an appearance today.  I am hoping tomorrow morning my Donna Duck call will entice her, like the Sirens did to Ulysses lashed to the mast of his ship.

It's a miserable day.  Hope this works to add a dimension to the day that may have been lacking.

Actually, the song put me in mind of my late great uncle Hal Levine and his equally late wife Carol.  It was the second marriage for both.  She was a bit of an odd duck (sorry Donna).  She had a thing for angels.  The whole living room was covered with her renderings of angels in various media.  And not very good renderings at that, but, then, that is how she envisioned the angels in her life.  It was my first and only visit to Milwaukee.  Went the Summer before my dad's death.  Death, death, death, the boys are marching.  Anyway, we went to Milwaukee for a long weekend.  The nice part was the sightseeing and getting to see the Brewers play the Houston Astros at Miller Park with the roof open (ostensibly for the angels).  Got a helluva sunburn that day.  Lake Michigan seems like a dream to me now.   Anyway...I digress...keep me on point Donna.

Donna says take a break and take it easy.  Or in Hyphen's words, and verily I say unto you...go gently and breathe (And here you were thinking I don't pay attention to your cues to be mindful)

Donna Duck

Is in need of her own voice.  Not prone to fowl language she sounds as if she is voiced by the Czarina.  Thus she is a duck in search of her own voice.  Please leave comments if you have an idea of what she should sound like.  She is as real as the Czarina and not just the Czarina's alter ego.  She has a voice to be determined by your feedback.

Thanks

The Management.

Another sleepless in East Lansing

A sleepless night.  A quasi sleepless night.  It was a long night.  Didn't get to sleep until almost 2:00 and then was up at 5:00 a.m.  Also, it got cold last night so. About 4:30 I covered up with a pillow, too lazy to get up and get the quilt.  Once again I couldn't get motating until later so I did not practice music this morning.

Gonif is zooming around the condo, which is good to see as he has been a little too quiet of  late.  He had some turkey this morning and took off like a bat outta hell.  Yankel is pulling treats from the self-serve treat tower.  Gastric gave the boys some new treats and he is trying them out.  From the sound of the tower they are a hit.  Simcha is looking out on a cloudy morning. It's light out, but not as light out as it was two weeks ago.  Time marches on.


Donna Duck here:

The Czarina is once again indisposed, feeling far too sorry for herself for, among other things, not sleeping well last night and having to pull a ten hour day today.  Hopefully she remembers the duck feed this morning as I am a tad hungry.  She loves having me to come to her blog aid.  I expect to be a regular contributor.  And I know she will remember me when school is in session and will continue to leave food out for me as by then I will have become dependent on her gentle hand feeding.

Thank you Donna for filling in.  The Czarina is back.  Yankel is now having a morning zoom.  More like a trot, but some movement nonetheless.  And Gonif is on his tail.  Simcha is eating some treats thanks to the largesse of Gastric.

It's a cold morning and day for mid July. Just a harbinger of things to come I am afraid.  The students will be back in just over a month.  Yes Donna the students.  You'll be dodging them as they terrorize the campus with gay abandon.

Off to work.

Puking cat

I had an insight in therapy and the more I think about it the more,it seems true.  Remember I told you about yelling at Gonif for puking?  Well, I used to get blamed for causing my mother distress when I got sick.  It was all about her.  I got sick to hurt her.  That's how I was feeling when I yelled at the poor cat for puking.  And he didn't understand the yelling.  I was just way off base.

And I was pondering how my mother came to be a mean mother and had to look at her mother, Dorothy. She was a saint to me but maybe she was distant as a mother.  And I learned from everyone that I was at the nexus of the family problems. Dad used to call me names and would say he was just kidding and couldn't I take a joke.  And I remember one time dad and I had a tussle over seating the the couch and he physically pushed me off the couch onto the floor and to this day I get spasms in my neck from landing on it that day.  I didn't stand a chance as a kid.  I tried to be the clown, the good child, the wild child, a conciliator but none of those roles worked for me.  I just keep coming back to the lack of parenting I had.  And the fact hat dad and I had ten good years together after my mom died really didn't make up for it.  I didn't get to be a kid,  I was a caretaker, an enabler, a parent to my parent.  Dorothy provided a certain relief but even she could be cold and distant at time if she thought  I had been bad.

So that was therapy today.  I can't wind down or relax.  My mind is going a mile a minute,  I am manic with these words and thoughts.  Maybe time for a pill.  Or time to give Gonif some more turkey and not yell at him if he pukes,

Donna Duck here

The Czarina is currently indisposed, laying in the fetal position on the couch.  So I thought I would take over the blog for a while.

First I wanna thank all the good folks who suggested that the Czarina get duck food for me. While I  loved the bread sticks they were not good for my girlish figure.  The Duck Chow is very good and I favor the corn over the smaller seeds.

Second, thanks to all the good library folks on the loading dock in the morning for feeding this orphan of the storm,  I know the Czarina feels a special affinity with the orphan of the storm.

The indisposed Czarina wants to mention that on the way to Hyphen's she and JB saw four young deers, two male two female, eating leaves off  a tree.  I guess the Czarina did not have deer chow or else she would have stopped to feed them.

The Czarina is very tired from her session with Hyphen and not feeling too well physically.  Maybe because all she had today was a Coke.  She should learn to take better care of herself, like she does me.

So, I am looking forward to seeing my library friends on the dock in the morning.  I have a hankering for corn, and, yes, bread sticks too.  But to keep the peace I shall only partake of the corn and seeds.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled program.

Hyphen Day

Well, I saw Hyphen and got out a little over two hours ago and I have been laying in the fetal.position for the last few hours.  It was a difficult session, as they all have been lately.  The books I have been reading have kept me focused on a number of issues so even outside the confines of the office I am working on them.  I have been reading a great deal and processing that.  Now I am processing the session, to wit to woo, Hyphen referred to herself as Hyphen.  I love it.  We discussed some of my past injurious behavior and how Hyphen impacted the current state of my being.  Process, process, process.  The former Clovella is basically out of my life.  I doubt if I can resume social relations with her.  I did like how Hyphen framed the conversation or letter to Patricia, saying I just could not be the type of friend she needed at that was a painful recognition for me.  And the best part of it is that is it very true.

I haven't been able to eat all day as I have been very anxious.  Lunch was a Coke.  Strangely still anxious and not hungry.  Maybe some more time in the fetal position is needed.  I've decided Gonif is my role model today.  Here is his version of my present position.  After the shoddy treatment I gave him last Friday, to which I have owned up, I am being a good mom today, the kind I wish I could have had and the kind I truly want to be.

I do believe

I am somewhat depressed.  I think all the recent work in therapy and what I have been doing on my own has resulted in some depression.  Not unusual in the Dog Days of Summer.  Grief issues abound in terms of dealing with the inadequacies of parenting.  And dealing with Patricia, AKA the former Clovella, has proven to be difficult on my own.  I just couldn't get motivated to play music this morning.  I laid in bed, or couch as it were, and couldn't get moving for over an hour.  Good thing my ride won't be here until after 6:30, late for me to get to work.

I think what I am lacking right now is a sense of belonging, a connection, also a sense of being in control.  I have done a lot of things in my past that I am not proud of, like the head banging, which I am sure has resulted in some permanent damage to my head and its contents.  All in the name of feeling something, anything, but not depression.  Thankfully I think I am past such self-injurious behavior, but not the depression.  But a summer's morning like this, soon to turn cold and gloomy by tomorrow as a harbinger of things to come just pushes me over the proverbial edge.  Again, must I remind you, days are growing shorter by two minutes a day.  I hate Fall and winter is not much better.  At least winter has a certain promise of spring.  But Fall, crap, it's just death and dying, not to mention the dreaded back to school.

So I feel disconnected.  Hopefully Hyphen can put some of this in perspective.  I am overwhelming her with books.  Things I have read that I want to share with her.  Brody's Mom and I had a good talk on Saturday and that helped some but I am cast adrift right now.  Dare I eat a peach?  Maybe a nectarine?  Measuring my life out In coffee spoons,

I have yet another few books I want to read.  One, a graphic novel on being bipolar and another on a mindful path through depression.  I will try reading both at once, depending on my state of mind.  I was reading another book by Susan Forward entitled Toxic Parents and laughed out loud at one point.    The woman was saying how she was depressed but didn't want to commit suicide as she was afraid she would only run into her deceased parents and have them start in again on her.  I said that years ago.  But that passage made me laugh.  Maybe as I droop I will bring that to mind and laugh all over again.  That could have been me.

One other thing I should add.  My oldest cat, Gonif, is hyperthyroid, but just so.  I give him ground turkey a few times a day In lieu of kibble else he will scarf and barf.  Friday he was scarfing and barfing the turkey and puking every time he thought about it.  And I, sweet rational me, was screaming at him for puking.  At least I didn't hit him.  But I was just furious at him.  Really, it wasn't his fault, but it was my problem.  Depression does that to me, makes me irrational.  I just gave him  some turkey and he is laying calmly in front of me grooming.  All is right in his little world.

I am ready

I think...to start playing again.  I took a week off and now I am emotionally and intellectually ready to begin again.  Mayhap a session playing with a friend can be arranged.  But I think starting again is right. Slowly to begin with as my left hand is a tad bit sore from all the weather changes.

So yesterday I finished reading "Mean Mothers" and have fodder for therapy.  I had one, damn straight.  I will work on writing some thoughts out for the session tomorrow as it helped last week to keep me focused.  And only ten minutes will be devoted to Patricia, now to be known as the former Clovella.  I did have a two minute conversation with her regarding phone calls at work and constantly bothering me.  I feel like I have really set some good and lasting boundaries.

And speaking of fodder, Donna Duck now will have duck feed to feast upon.  Five pounds of it.  Now Donna and her friends will have the right food, fit for ducks, and not the bread sticks that will foul her fowl.

And finally here is Mr. Simcha in full belly whore formation.  I am off to the farmers' market.

Dad's bithday

Today would have been my dad's 83rd birthday.  In another six days my mom's 80th birthday.  Two peas in a pod, they were.  An alcoholic living with an enabler.  Too wrapped up in each other to have much time for a third wheel like a child.  Or like a wild child like me.  I am thankful I had my grandmother, who could be warm and loving but who could also pull guilt out of the pocket of her house dress when she tended to be the disciplinarian.  But today is for my dad.

It hit me a while back that when I was going through college my mom was only 38 and dad was three years older.  Still young.  But I can never picture them as being that young.   But starting when I was 16 my dad, then 39 and I would play tennis on Sundays before going to his mother's for a visit. In the warmer months, something we did until I left home at 22.  We'd arrive at his mother's sweating and still out of breath.  And then dad would re-read the newspaper while his mother grilled me about the past week.  It was charming.

But I digress.  My parents were very young when they had me not uncommon in the 1950s.  I remember being still stupid and fixed in my thirties.  And I cut them, after the fact, a little slack.  And then beat myself up for not appreciating their youth.

Dad died ten years ago in April,   He had been a smoker most of his life.  The day he told me it hurt too much to smoke any more I thought that was the beginning of the end.  But he was a young man at one point, full of hope and love, both for his wife and his child.  But so much for his wife that I felt and was treated like an outsider.  As was her mother, Dorothy.  I remember being told we had to sneak out of the house on a Saturday night, just like I would years later it for other reasons, so we wouldn't have to take Dorothy to dinner with us.   And to be honest I was a little jealous of the insular relationship my parents held.  They had no friends they would socialize with, just the occasional cousins.  And never with his brother and sister in law.

I don't know where I am going with this.  Maybe just to pause and acknowledge dad and his youth.

On to other topics

Patricia has recently gotten into the habit of calling me at work.  The first time she called I said I was busy.  The next time she called she left me a rather pathetic voice mail as I was away from my desk.  Basically she wanted me to say a prayer for a nephew's dog.  Yes, this was certainly worth calling me at work.  Hopefully I will have a chance to talk to her, calmly, this weekend, and let her know that is not acceptable behavior.  My work phone is for work and then only for emergencies,  not to ask for a Jewish prayer for dead, a Kaddish, as the dog was not dead.  When the dog does die she will be a wreck again, saying the boy doesn't need that pain.  Well who the hell does?  It happens.  Get over it.  And it isn't your frigging dog.  I often say she has the worse empathy of any social worker I know, but if it is in her family she goes off the deep end.  I may be a cold and indifferent person, I don't know.  I do know I don't need her calling me at work with such bullshit.  Yes, more explicit boundaries need to be set.  But not this week.  I am taking a Patricia vacation.  And working on stuff for me.  Monday is another therapy day and I want to have anothrer book read.  And I have some plans with a friend.  Not to mention the farmers' market and getting together with a friend and playing guitars.  Until Tuesday I do not have time for Patricia.  And that is firm.

I take Fridays off in the summer so I don't know if Donna Duck showed today.  I got some feedback from folks at work and Donna will be getting cracked corn next week, not breadsticks.  I hear you folks.  Bread and crackers are bad for waterfowl and I will follow the will of the library's concern  for Donna.  Sometimes a pleasant story is taken to extreme by some and turned into a negative.  Oh vey, as one woman said,  is there such a thing as too much empathy?  Is there Patricia?

Return to the Cuckoo's Nest Part IV

Safely ensconced in the ambulance I was taken to another local hospital to drink more charcoal and be put in their version of isolation.  Why the drivers took me Club Dread instead of back to the Cuckoo's Nest is beyond me.  I was given a private room that wasn't really private.  The room was encased in case, locked and I had a commode to accommodate my pressing needs but absolutely no privacy.  I was feeling pretty stupid about what I had done and just wanted to go home to my cats and resume therapy and not drink ever again.  The staff psychiatrist visited me after two days and told me I had to commit myself again because of the suicide attempt.  I was less than happy.  Actually, I had a shit fit and was calling the beautifully dressed and coiffed psychiatrist a variety of names and they sedated me and gave me a phone so I could make arrangements to get some clothes and have the cats cared for in my absence.  I did not call my father at this point.

So, another ambulance ride later I was at Saint One Flew for what turned out to be a short term commitment.  Their psychiatrist, seeing how absolutely contrite I was, and how unlike the other inmates I was, recommended outpatient treatment for a week and I was sent home with more drugs and a hardy hi ho silver.  Of course they sent me home in a cab that dropped me at a pharmacy not to be named by my home.  And, of course, they were out of the medication so I had another hissy fit, this time with the pharmacist who was a former companion of my Ex.  My God, they were all over the place.  The Good, The Bad and the downright Ugly.

Come the following Monday, bright and early, I got a cab and went to the outpatient unit for the day.  Unlike the inpatient unit, this unit actually functioned well.  I met my current psychiatrist, Dave, and he immediately took me off the Lithium and put me on another mood stabilizer.  We also met in group in the morning, had a lunch break, did various forms of therapy in the afternoon.  One common element is most of the people in that unit were recovering alcoholics, like myself now, and much of the group focused on drinking and the problems it caused in our lives.  I did outpatient for a week and felt well enough to go back to work.

I did, however, have to talk to my dad as the hospital had notified him of my mistake.  He came up that following Monday after I was released from outpatient and came to take me to lunch.  He was amazed I was depressed enough to consider suicide and for a not too religious man gave me numerous religious reasons for me not to kill myself.  Thus was lunch and he went back to Detroit thereafter.

I did try to go to AA meetings.  I tried.  It didn't take.  I felt the groundwork was too christian in orientation, generic christian, and I didn't feel like I was getting the message.  And much like when I quit smoking, I just set my mind to the task and haven't had a drink since January 6, 1997.  I initially felt like I had failed in AA, but I realized it just wasn't the right path for me.  I have sought out other sobriety agencies and books but the religious tenor always put me off.  Even the Jewish Twelve Step programs didn't fit my needs.  But I have remained sober.

This is not to say  that I haven't been depressed since and felt mildly or acutely suicidal; I have.  But with the help of first Pat and then Hyphen I have pulled back from the brink many times.  I have used this blog as a sort of journal to work some issues out and have been grateful for the feedback.  I can't seem to find the energy to keep a journal but blogging seems to suit my needs better.

Thank you for following me through this process.

And now for something completely different:

Me and my new buddy Donna Duck.  Yes, My Duck returned today and much to my surprise came up onto the loading dock and let me feed her again.  Actually, while I was running to get more bread sticks, Gastric coaxed Donna with her duck whisperer voice and up she came.  And she waited while I opened the package and calmly took the food right out of my hand.

This is Donna and me.  Ain't she a cutie?

Gentle Flyover Owosso Part III

Well, the second psychiatric hospitalization went much better than the first, but was necessitated by an overdose of Lithium on my part.  Overdosing on lithium is much like having an short term amnesia.  I could hardly remember my name.  I showed up for therapy that day pretty much out of it and my therapist contacted my psychiatrist and arranged for me to go someplace safe for a while.  When I did have some wits about me I said NO Saint Lawrence.  The psychiatrist did some wrangling with Blue Cross and said something to the effect that I was too stressed out by city life and I needed the country setting of beautiful downtown Owosso, subject of numerous songs by me.  I was given an intake interview there in the ER and given liquid charcoal to drink to flush the Lithium out of my system.

Now Owosso is a small community about an hour away from Lansing, way out in BFE.  I was dropped there by my soon to be Ex and had no way to get back home so the idea of sneaking out was not an option.  Besides the floor was locked.  I had no visitors this time, although my therapist, Pat, did phone me once to see how I was doing.  The locked unit is referred to as the Stress Unit and not the loony bin.  And the difference between them and the Saint One Flew was like night and day.  Owosso's staff was good, responsive to patients needs and not antagonizing them like Saint One Flew.  And there was structure.  Right after breakfast the whole floor met as a group to assign jobs for the week (mine was to wake people up for breakfast) and have group.  After group we had a break and that was followed by various forms of alternative therapies: art, music and more group.  And, although I had quit smoking by then, the smokers' lounge was a great place for us to gather in-between therapies to talk amongst ourselves and engage with each other.  I was there for two weekends and on Sundays the patients made dinner for ourselves.  We had a meeting during the week to decide what we wanted to make and the staff bought the ingredients and we made dinner and dessert. 

I was very anorexic then and I was about 95 pounds soaking wet.  They had trouble getting me to eat and additionally I was sick with a UTI while I was there so I really had no appetite.  I just wanted to go home.  And the Lithium haze persisted for days while I was there.  I kept trying to recall my passwords for work.  I kept trying to call my Ex at home but I couldn't remember the phone number.  And for the good that would have done me as the Ex was having yet another liaison and was never home. 

The Stress Unit was kinder and gentler than Saint One Flew.  The ambiance was nicer as well and they had like a atrium connecting the sleeping area to the dining and group areas.  And the people on the floor actually needed to be there, not merely there for a rest.  One woman, a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Philosophy was there and she constantly picked the flesh off her face which resulted in nasty open wounds.  She needed to be there.  One man was there because he recently had a leg amputated above the knee and was suicidal.  He needed to be there.  One woman never spoke and was so withdrawn I thought she would never open up.  By the time my week was over she did, in fact, speak during group and was starting to get better.  She needed to be there.  I needed to be there. 

I spoke to one of the nurses about the Lithium Haze and she said it was not uncommon for that to happen with that kind of overdose and that the haze would lift in time.  I fully participated, as much as I was able to, in group, art and even picked up a guitar in music therapy.  Family night was Wednesday when the families of patients would come in and have a session with their loved ones and a staff psychologist.  No one came for me.  We saw movies on Saturday night, complete with popcorn.  In other words, it was a good experience and I highly recommend the therapeutics of the place. 

I finally got out on a Monday and realized the I was still not quite 100%.  I kept repeating to my soon to be Ex that "I am doing okay, right?"  I wasn't.  I went back to work and kept a low profile.  Soon a bank statement arrived and I actually looked at it and was surprised to find that a $5,000 withdrawal had been made and I had no knowledge of it.  I went to the bank that day and closed the joint account out and opened my own account with what was left.  I didn't tell the Ex that until the Ex tried to get more money out of the account only to find it had been closed.  Pat, my then therapist encouraged me to move on with my life and within a week's time I had located a new place to live, thanks to my late buddy Jerry (I was going to be his neighbor in the condo building) and started packing.  The only problem was I had three months before I could take possession of the condo.  We acted as if we were still friends and the Ex continued to deny any affairs, current, ongoing or in the past.  Of course the day I moved out the new love moved in.

Needless to say I didn't feel grounded.  I went from and large home to a small condo; a place where I could lay in bed and see out the living room windows.  I felt like the walls were closing in on me.  I started drinking again.  The Ex wanted to remain friends and I said that the only way I could hurt the Ex as much as the Ex did was to deny that relationship.  (Years later the Soul Sucker told me she maintain a relationship with the Ex and two years ago said the Ex wanted to get together with me to work things out...another nail in the Soul Sucker's coffin).

In any event I commenced drinking lots and began giving stuff away, like my guitar, as I was seriously suicidal.  By Christmas I was bereft and by the 6th of January I took another overdose of Lithium very impulsively, and immediately phoned my psychiatrist and the ambulance was at my door in a matter of minutes.  And therein lay the next chapter of this narrative. 

Saint One Flew...Part II

I was in isolation for one week.  There I had limited talk therapy but lots of drugs.  And lots of people who were genuinely crazy, much more so than myself.  When I achieve the status of the open ward, as they locked the door behind me the chap who was harassing me tried to follow me out, which resulted in alarms going off and with him getting a very strong sedative to calm him down.  I really  do believe he would have assaulted me without being left behind and sedated.

On the open ward we were more responsible for ourselves.  We had assigned tasks, like cleaning the kitchen and doing our own laundry.  I got some talk therapy but not a great deal.  Basically what it felt like was a holding cell for people who wanted a break from the "real world".  I had a woman tell me in no uncertain terms that she was only there to get a break from her kids and her mother could handle them for a few weeks while she rested.  She wasn't on medication and did not participate in group.

Gastric was visiting me every day.  The soon to be Soul Sucker was there too.  She was there when I was trying to commit myself.  You see the Ex and she "decided" I need help because I would come home from work, take a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and lapse into unconsciousness.  So one Friday they got me in the car and took me to Community Mental Health for an intake interview.  I was initially told to come back in a few hours when I was more sober and could make the actual commitment.  So about 3:00 a.m. I arrived at the psych unit and had a two hour intake evaluation.  I didn't want to be there but I was pressured by the Ex and the Soul Sucker.  And sure I managed to earn my commitment by knocking myself silly on any convenient wall.  So there I was, alone, forsaken.

After I got out of the locked ward I made some relative progress and had one on one counseling.  The staff still hated the inmates and the reverse was true.  What I missed was being able to shave my legs and my furry eyebrows.  Once, before I was released to go home, the Soul Sucker took me to her home to see how I could manage life on the outside.  I immediately confiscated her shower, shaved and plucked.  I felt like a new woman.  The lithium was making me a little less manic.  She took me back that night and after much wrangling I was released, not to my Ex, who couldn't bother to pick me up, but to the late Dianne.  I got home and was greeted with a house that had not been cleaned in two weeks.  I immediately went into manic mode and cleaned the house from top to bottom.  A friend came over whilst I was cleaning and asked where I had been for two weeks and I related the whole ugly episode to her.  She knew the Ex was sleeping around but was too sensitive to my state of mind to tell me.  Basically everyone but me knew The Ex was sleeping around.  But it would take another six years for me to finally wake up and move on.  And that was only when I found The Ex had depleted a joint bank account to play around.

So that is the tale of my first commitment.  There would be two more, once right before I moved out on the Ex and one almost as soon as I moved into my own place.  But that is for another day.  But unless things have remarkable changed since Saint Lawrence was absorbed by Sparrow Hospital I can't imagine a less helpful place to be committed to than that blemish on the ass of God.

Saint One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Lawrence Part I

My first stay in a psychiatric hospital game in 1990.  The place was Saint Lawrence Hospital, the only hospital in town with a psych ward.  Let me tell you it really was like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  The staff alienated the patients and the patients returned the favor.  The staff was horrible to the patients.  Open hostility reigned supreme between the two groups.  I have no idea if it has improved since my last hospitalization there in 1997.  Staff may be more responsive to us crazies.  Who knows.  But the place was a literal looney bin and was the last place I needed to be to get help.  I was in the isolation unit for a week.  The diagnosis was bipolar and self injurious behavior.  I cracked my head so often I looked like I had broken my nose.  Black and blue and a popped blood vessel in one eye.  I looked like hell, and the other patients felt free to tell me that.  One "gentleman" who was there in lieu of serving a prison sentence for repeated DUIs and had a glass eye from an automobile accident, followed me around every where and felt free to come into my room to harass me.  And when I complained to the staff about it they told me I should handle it myself.  I did one night, yelling and screaming at him as I was afraid he was going to assault me.  Of course the yelling and screaming only served to keep me in isolation longer.  But he did stop bothering me.  He bothered the staff instead and kept taking his glass eye out to terrify the nurses. I had a roommate who was a cutter.  She when into the community room in lock down and while staff was holding a mirror so one of the men could shave, she seized the mirror, broke it and proceeded to cut herself.  They just bandaged her up and that keep her in isolation for a while longer.

One of the men there was a schizophrenic gentleman who I recognized from the library as a patron.  When he was on his medication he was a graduate student in English Lit.  When off he would be at Saint Lawrence in the isolation ward.  The staff went ballistic one night when he tried to flush his dirty sheets down the toilet, which of course plugged the toilet up and caused a flood.  You could hear the staff screaming at him to behave.  But mostly he was a gentle soul who was trying his best.  He died a few years later, discovered in his apartment, off his medication and basically dead of dehydration. 

I was allowed visitors and when Gastric came the above mentioned patient, Jerome, would had her his overcoat to hold.  I don't know why but he did.  My Ex came to visit only occasionally, preferring to spent time with a new love interest.  The Ex was not quite yet an Ex but I hung on to the illusion of togetherness and I believe now  the Ex convinced me to go to the hospital to facilitate the liaison.  Along with the Soul Sucker, who is still good friends with the Ex, they got me admitted after some false starts.  I was crazy, bruised and lost all track of time.  I missed the UofM/Ohio State game and spent Thanksgiving on the isolation ward.  Some of my true friends came to visit: Gastric came often, along with JB, LAD, and the late Dianne.  But not so much my not so soon to be Ex.

And I think I will leave you hanging with this retelling of my time in the isolation ward.

Putting the brakes on

I wish I could put the brakes on summer and slow the days down.  As I get older time seems to be a frequent flyer.  And working at a university I get the same back to school angst I got when I used to have to go back to school in September. Here it is late August when the students flood into town.  Summer is so quiet and and easy to get around.  Campus is lovely, even in the rain like today.  I know we are losing two minutes of sunlight a day and that makes me sad.  By Brody's Mom birthday in August it will be palpable.  End of summer festivities like the Great Lakes Folk Festival really marks the end of summer for me.  Oh, I will still go to the farmers' market on the weekend.  That goes until the end of October.  Soon the tomatoes will be out and the corn will be ready.  But it all foreshadows the end of summer as we know.

I am going to drink my coffee now and ponder the universe; something even Einstein couldn't really comprehend.  What is one to do?

Maybe on a lighter note

Normally after a stressful therapy session I like to go home and take a lot of drugs and sleep the therapy off.  Yesterday I had errands to run after therapy.  I had to meet Gastric at 3:30 to pick up a package.  So between the time I got home from therapy and leaving again I took a shower, as I was, in Gastric's words, sweating like a whore in church.  I also made lunch for today and waited for my ride.  Gastric's car, however, was loaded with the evil sister Nutella and a cousin, simply named Cuz.  We had to stop twice to get them home, once for slushies and once to drop one off, and then drop them home before we could proceed to the errand at hand, which was to pick up a package at the FedEx office for my long lost nephew Bubba's birthday.  Both Gastric and I were angry by the detours and delays and spent a great deal of time fuxing things.  So to compensate for the crap, I began substituting turtles for various quotes, e.g. A turtle, a turtle, my kingdom for a turtle.  Further, Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this turtle of York.  It was a pleasant diversion from the stress at hand.  And today is Bubba's actually birthday so a shout out to him and happy turtles to you.  Turtle stands for anything you would want to substitute it for in a phrase.  Although turtles to Gastric and me do have a certain flatus meaning.  So there you go.

There were no ducks on the loading dock, although we had some friendly sparrows, who I thought would be caught up in the food change sooner rather than later.

I think I may be in Patricia's cross hairs, or crossed hares.  In any event I plan to stand up for myself from now on.  She can't keep alienating people and expect it not to have consequences.  Stay strong and stay focused is my motto now.  She's not my mother, although she can be very mean, like the the mothers in the book  I am currently reading.

Mayhap forthcoming will be the tale of my first psychiatric hospital commitment.  That sounds fun.  It starts with drunken melancholy and angst. Would be that I had a doppelganger to explain things away.

Turtles Ho. 

One relaxed moment

At least one of us was relaxed last night.  Gonif took over the chair and is on the way to La La  Land. I was up most of the night, finally opting out of consciousness around 3:30. Slept all the way until 5:00  a.m.  I have a ten hour day at work awaiting me.  Well, maybe my duck buddy will be back.  For sure Gastric, aka She Who Walks With Turtles, will be on the loading dock with me this morning discussing God knows what, maybe turtles, and girding our loins to do battle with the powers that be. Thank goodness I have no meetings today.  And I have plenty of work to keep me busy;  my lists from last week are very long and I have a great deal of catch up to play.  Took the day off from practicing and feel a little less frustrated.

A poem:

SHE walks with turtles, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies,. And all that's best of dark and bright. Meets in her aspect and her eyes

Excelsior!

Memories, like the corners of my mind

I have just finished reading "Mothers Who Can't Love" and have started reading the book "Mean Mothers",  It sparked a memory so vivid that I can't shake it or get to sleep.  My mother used to say, among other things "I love you because I have to but I don't like you".  My God, how powerful a statement that sent to me.  I wasn't likable.  I tried hard to be likable.  I was the clown, the peacemaker, the confidant, I was codependent at the age of five,  I was a tiny adult, forced to grow up too fast and leave my childhood and childlike world behind.  No wonder I am in therapy.

Where I digressed this morning was running away from home at twenty two.  I got through my undergraduate degree in 3.5 years and worked nine months in a minimum wage job to pay for graduate school. When I came to MSU for graduate work I turned my back on my family to preserve what little sanity I had left.  Sometimes the only answer to the situation is to abandon all hope and get on with your life.  I cut myself off, not only from my mother, but from many people I loved, like my grandmother Dorothy and the Aunties.  Some times I would sneak into Southfield for a visit and not tell my parents, and unless you were Dorothy or the Aunties, no one knew about these visits, which were usually preceded by a phone call full of guilt provoking words.  Once my mother died in 1996 my father, from whom I was estranged, became my buddy.  And it wasn't until he died ten years later that my family came out of the woodwork to tell me, not just that they were sorry about my dad, but that they had basically abandoned me to an unfit mother and an intolerable situation .  Too little. Too late. But the sting of leaving family behind also gave some in the extended family that I didn't give a rat's ass about anyone in the family.  This is especially true of the Rat Bastard cousin who physically abused  me when I was five.  They see my departure as abandonment and not something I did to save   myself.

I don't think sleep will come tonight.  I should have never started reading that book after a late supper. What to do, what to do.  A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants.  Sometime you just have to pull down your pants and slide on the ice.  What other platitudes can I come up with?  Oh, fux.

The one proud moment I had today was telling Patricia I wasn't going to get her Popsicles and she had better make other arrangements. I am certain to get an angry call later this week.  Also, for  the sake of some peace of mind I cancelled my mandolin lessons for the month just to get my shit together.  I am trying to take care of myself without the constant self loathing that I am prone to.

Gonif is asleep in my chair, belly full of turkey.  I guess it may be time to put me to rest.

Belated 4th of July wishes and post.

This is how it feels today.  I love the smell of therapy in the air.  Here's to Hyphen and an excited forty some odd minutes.

And now that it is past the 4th, isn't it about time for the back to school ads to be appearing on television?  

Epiphany

I quit drinking on January 6, 1997.  I had a few drinks that night and took an overdose of lithium and ended up in a psych unit again.  It was in that unit I decided drinking while taking psychiatric medications was probably not the brightest of ideas I could have.  I went through a week of very intense outpatient therapy and resolved not to drink again.  A resolution I have begrudgingly kept.  I do miss a nice glass of Merlot or an icy cold beer on a summer day.  Part of the problem with being a gourmand is so many recipes call for wine.  There is alcohol free beers and wines and I use them in recipes.   My French onion soup just wouldn't be the same without some O'Doul's Amber.  But once again I digress.

When I first moved from a large house to my small condo I decided I could have a few beers a night. That morphed into a few Jack Daniel shots.  And that lapsed into me sitting in the dark, watching baseball and listening to Mozart's  Requiem and crying my eyes out.  I'd wake up at 3:00 a.m. And get ready for work and walk into work about 5:00 a.m.  That went on for six months and then that epiphany of the suicide attempt and I stopped drinking for good.  My dad was mystified as to why I was so depressed.  Well, thanks to my psychiatrist I was put on the right combination of medicine for me and by 2000 dad and I were on our way to being world travelers.  My therapy was going well and dad and I were going great guns.  The last trip we took to the Netherlands, Belgium and France.  I noticed that he wasn't doing too well in terms of his breathing.

Fast forward to October 2003 and I was having some health issues, not the least of which was kidney cancer.  And about the same time dad was diagnosed with a lung tumor.  He insisted I have my surgery first and he was actually there for me.  Stayed in my small condo and took care of me for almost two weeks until I went back to work.  He had some more tests and finally lung surgery in March the following year and by April 26th was dead.

I was in shock.  But I did not drink.  Some family came for the funeral: his brother and my cousins.  I have the guest book from the funeral but I remember it was sparsely attended.  Then came the ordeal of closing of the house in Detroit, which I did with a great deal of help from my posse.  I still did not drink.  Oh, I wanted to.  But I had this seems that if I drank I would die and then my mother would meet me wherever and ask me why I never visited her anymore.

And that will suffice until I tell you my story of running away from home at the age of twenty two.