Time

When I was in college and felt lonely and depressed, I would look at my self in the mirror and try to see what was behind the skin and eyes. (The photo is my senior picture from high school) I tried to see who was in there, who was trying to get out and who other people saw. I memorized the shape of my lips and the curve of my own cheek, I saw the speckles of gold in my brown eyes, and the pores on my nose. I looked at the way each eyelash came out and saw each imperfection in my teeth. I wondered whether I should take the plunge and actually DO something about my bushy eyebrows and even then, noticed the beginnings of the crack in my forehead between them. . Sometimes I would do it while I was drinking (drinking age was 18 for beer then, don't get all "underage drinking!!" on me). It was always interesting to me to watch myself get tipsy. The way I got harder and harder on myself until eventually I could no longer look at myself and my eyes closed. Then, I'd put my head down and fall asleep, to awaken all better the next morning.

I still find myself doing this when I am seriously depressed. Normally, I barely have time to see if I wiped the toothpaste off my chin before I run out of the house, but when I am sunk low in my soul, I will wander up to a mirror and lean up against it, trying to see who is in there, who wants to get out, and who other people see. Though the pupil is one eye is slightly different (from a surgery years ago), the gold speckles in my eyes are the same - and the eyebrows would still make Brooke Shields and Tom Cruise proud, but now I see all these little crinkles in the corners. My lips are smaller and tiny lines emanate from them - now I understand the use of lip liner, how it helps keep the lipstick from feathering out around old ladies' mouths. My eye lids are lower, the crack in my forehead is deeper and I still see the imperfections in my teeth. Things all over are drooping more than they used to, like my nose? What is that? Is your nose supposed to get longer? And other pieces are hurting farther into the day than they should.

This is the slippery side of the 40s - closer to 60 than to 30, and that not only terrifies me, it saddens me. I am not done living and doing all the things I wanted to do. I don't have a list per se, and heaven knows I have had a pretty friggin' spectacular life so far, but I am not ready for it to be on the DOWN side. I don't want to slow down. I am not to a point where I want to sit back and enjoy it...and with my income, I will never be able to retire and really just enjoy life.

I have PLENTY of time, everyone says...Heck, my grandmother is 92 and still drives her self to bridge and my own mother is healthy as a horse and yet....I am afraid of the end. I am afraid of the pain. I don't want to be a hunched over, feeble invalid with someone feeding me and wiping my butt. Who would do that anyway? Who will be there for me? Who will hold my hand as I slip into the blackness of forever. Who will go through my things and decide what gets thrown away and what gets kept....and who will want any of my crap anyway. The comic book collection? My 2 boxes of diaries and journals? My 14 photo albums? Who will want that 40 year old feather pillow I have insisted on toting around the world with me? Will anyone find the stash of emergency cash I have hidden in my room?

sigh....just depressed today, I guess and thought I'd share it with the whole friggin' world, since there isn't anyone here to talk me out of the Pit of Despair I've wallowed into. Aren't ya glad you stopped by, if anyone actually does? Sorry....I will wallow out and shake myself off later...

Pay it Forward

One of you made an incredible last minute donation to my campaign to raise funds for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, putting me over the top of my goal of $1,500. I will let you know who, if she says it is ok...but here's the deal...I am gonna pay it forward! A friend of mine is walking in the Susan Komen walk in San Diego soon and she is just short of HER goal...so I am going to go help her out.....

Here's the challenge....find someone you can help in some way, not necessarily financial, but you know what I mean, and then just ask them to pay it forward (not that my donor asked me to, I just WANNA!!). Sure, PAY IT FORWARD was a great movie (that is a link to the incredibly sad end), but gosh wouldn't it be a wonderful world if we all did shit like that?

Well...why not?

Go on, get outta here - go find someone and see what they need...and fix them....It IS possible to change the world.

and now that I watched the movie ending again, I need to go find something to dry my damn computer off...it is floating in tears!!!

Play Baby

I've always wondered how it would feel to have my newborn baby ripped from my hands and handed to someone else. I know it happens all the time - sensible women realizing they aren't up to the challenge of motherhood, and rather than abandoning the baby at a church or throwing it in a dumpster, they have made the choice to give it up for adoption. Or surrogate moms who are doing the hard word for someone who can't. Not being a mom myself, I have always imagined it would be really hard, after growing this thing inside of you, living, eating, sleeping, breathing for it, and with it, nurturing it, feeling it, seeing it on the ultrasound. And, oh, that moment of quickening, when you first know there is something alive in there...a piece of you that is NOT you...that little kick you know wasn't from bad nachos...throbbing to its heartbeat, flinching with its hiccups.

Then the pain, the push, the deep breathing, the screams, the agony of delivery....the scars made to your body, the stretch marks and nerve damage, the fallen arches, the exploded veins, the loosened muscles and everything else.

But, then there is this life, this new baby with its sweet eyes, unfocused, but surely staring up into your soul, blinking in the new light. A tiny little hand flailing toward your face, a perfect little foot, which you only imagined as it kicked you in the bladder every night, that you can hold and caress, and smell. Oh, that new new baby smell!

Then, in comes some stranger. She gently plucks the baby from your arms, and it is then that the realization of doing the "right thing" would prevail, right? Giving the child to someone who can better provide, better nurture, better care for that tiny little piece of your self takes over and while it might hurt for a little bit, the reality of what you are doing is salvation.

Bullshit

I am not a mother. I have been pregnant, but I have never given birth...to a human child anyway. My children are the plays I direct. I birth little play babies. First I read them or see them as some one else's play baby, but soon, they become a part of me as they infiltrate my dreams. I see them playing out in my head when I am awake, even while I doing statistics, I imagine the actors on stage, the composition of the stage pictures....the colors of the set and the intensity of the lights. Then come the auditions, and I see the potential humans that could become the actors who bring my play baby to life...and I carefully pick the ones who I think will best suit these characters...For months, I dream about these actors in my play baby. I see J and G and M doing my play baby on my imaginary set.

Finally rehearsal begins and they say the lines out loud, not just in my head and my play baby quickens and becomes real. I can touch it and shape it and nurture it. What I eat and how much sleep I get directly affects my play baby, so I go to bed on time and eat my veggies and drink LOTS of water. I give my actors suggestions and ideas and help them find their way to the soul of these characters who make up the play baby I have been dreaming about for months. Instead of genetic testing and amnios, we struggle with blocking and set issues. The costumer brings in choices...did she not hear me when I said NO GREEN CLOTHES...Does she not realize my lead actress is a red head and looks VILE in red?? The set develops and as pieces adorn it, this big green "emerald city" becomes a home for my play baby and the actors begin to really live the play baby's life, and then we add the technical elements of lighting cues and sound effects, the music score becomes a part of the sense and sensibility of the whole thing, and piece by piece, my play baby evolves.

Before you know it, it is opening night, the final push, the final screams of agony and my baby is born. It is OUT THERE for everyone to see...staring up at you with these innocent newborn eyes, curious, yet calm, and just as you settle in to get to know this new baby, this new creation, everyone ooohing and ahhing and sending you flowers....

Then, your producer sends you an email saying YOU ARE DONE. YOU ARE NO LONGER NEEDED to give notes to the cast or crew. You are no longer welcome back stage. You are permitted to attend the performances if there is room in the house, but no more changes, no more notes. Here is your check, turn in your keys, Buh Bye, have a nice day.

I have directed dozens and dozens of plays and I have never had this experience! I have always been there to enjoy the run of my playbaby, to watch it grow and develop, and watch the actors sink into a warm ease with their characters, and then, at the end, when the play baby is all grown up, and there is a final closing performance, and we all cry and say how much fun we had....and then we gently go our separate ways.

That is the way I wanted it to be. I feel so cheated that I put in all this hard work and effort and instead of being allowed to be involved in its growth and development into a fullly realized production, my play baby was ripped from my arms, I've been shuttled out of the hospital and the door has been slammed in my face. I am numb and cold and lost and ever so depressed.....

Dear Sissy

E, darling sister of mine,

I love you sooooo much, but you have never needed anyone's approval to live your life, so why do you constantly seek it out from your mother in law, of all people? You may be married to her son, but you were born MY SISTER - and it does not matter what everyone ELSE in the world has or does, because you are good enough! Just sit there and listen, and be nice to her, count tiles in the floor, whatever - she is sitting there chatting with you, a family member NOT ignoring you, as you so often complain about...hell, I am sure she is scared to talk to you about anything cuz she knows you have a hair trigger and you will bite her head off. AND I SAY THIS CUZ I HAVE ONE TOO!!! You have to walk on tippy toe around me most of the time...

Who CARES if she thinks we come from a trailer park????? I am sure she doesn't, having met the rest of your family, but why, oh why do you feel the need for her to be all gooey and impressed and gushing about you or your kids. She is NOT going to change, so why do you constantly make yourself miserable and make her think you are a bitch? When you say snide or snarky things, she really is not smart enough and just does NOT get it! It only hurts YOU!

Who gives a shit if K walks in and, instead of saying hello, she says "something is burning!" that is HER....you can't judge her, and you need to stop being so judgmental about them! If you hate it so much, Move. Leave P and go somewhere where you won't have to listen to how wonderful R is, or how great T did in soccer, or how cool B's golf score was, or how awesome everyone ELSE in the family is. You KNOW you have class and taste, and your kids are smart, intelligent, well behaved and obviously loved by their aunts and uncles and cousins - I saw that at Thanksgiving last year.

And WHO CARES if your house is "plain" - you don't have solid wood floors or granite countertops or top of the line berber carpet - but you have DOUBLED the square footage of your house since you moved in!! You paint and do all the things that your mother in law was so impressed that R managed to do - maybe she was sharing that with you cuz she knows you work your ass off and you like fixing your house, and she was happy that R was finally getting into it and she thought maybe you would like R a little more if you knew she was trying to do all those things the amazing sister of SSP did!!

STOP comparing yourself to other people, sissy. Count your blessings and you will be happier. Your life will be easier and not so much struggle

I know you think I don't understand, and maybe I don't understand your Yankee inlaws, but I KNOW you and I know you are making yourself miserable by looking out of your palace and seeing how green the grass is everywhere else....Stop. Look at what you have, how healthy and happy your children are, how secure you are in your safe comfortable home. Change what you can, and if all else fails, come to AZ and live with ME...see how happy you will be then!!

I love you

SSP

Opening Night

Tonight, Rabbit Hole opens. We amazingly had a SOLD OUT preview audience last night, and understandably the cast was a little ruffled and dropped some lines and missed some cues. Once, the stage manager was caught on stage when the lights came up a little too early, but for a final dress rehearsal, it was not bad - besides they say you need an off final dress to insure a fab opening, so it should be great.

Here are some photos from rehearsal, and then some pictures of my set....and some of my actors...

Now I am off to direct for the Play in a Day thing...Busy day...but this is why my blog is so boring lately....thanks for stopping by....

welcome new baby!!

My brother and his wife welcomed their second child, a son yesterday, October 27, 2009. He is a little slimey here but you can tell he will be a cutie pie....his mama and daddy are no so shabby, and heck, look at his Aunt SSP!! Maybe we set him up with Tessa Tangerine over at Pacing the Panic Room some day? I can't wait to see him - maybe a trip out in December once this play that has been eating my LIFE is over..

Colin joins a big sister, Nora, who was 2 in August. Speaking with complete authority, everyone needs a big sister - ask Linus....

I'd been putting off finishing this blanket for some reason, but when she was more than a week over due...I figured maybe if I finished it, she'd have him...sure enough, I finished it Monday night and the next morning, she went into labor (OK, she was induced, but still.....)

Very happy for my baby brudder....but after I hung up the phone, I cried a little...not sure why...guess the realization that it really IS too late for me to have babies....and I don't have a partner so adoption really isn't an option - I don't think they'd give me one considering the diabetes.....oh well...now I have 5 nieces and nephews....they can each take me for 2 months out of the year when I get old, and then 2 months camping in the grand canyon, then start the rotation over.....

Mommy Dearest

My roommate from my sophomore year at CU is having more angst with her evil mom, Skeletor. I thought I would share the most recent skirmish between me and my own Mommy Dearest (who I really do love and miss, but man, sometimes....to the moon!)

I called her 3 sundays ok and we were chatting as usual, and since I had just lost my lead actress, I must have sounded a little bummer and she asked what was wrong, so i told her. Instead of saying "I'm sorry," or "what happened" or "that stupid cow," my mother said, "oh that's too bad, and how are things working out with your set designer" (who, the week before made me almost turn in my resignation and I had called to cry about what an evil prick he was).... When she asked how that was, I felt like she was trying to point out how, apparently I was unable to get along with ANYBODY, which is patently untrue...So I changed the subject. I simply said, "hey, how's the weather in Ft.Lauderdale?" and we carried on the conversation about the weather and then we talked about her coming out to see the show - I looked up some fares on line, we settled on some dates and she said, go ahead and book those...and we hung up

A couple hours later, I called her again:

Me: Hey mom, I was calling to say I was sorry I changed the subject to abruptly earlier. I was not in the mood to talk about it, and it really felt like you were pouring salt in the wound by pointing out that I had also lost my set....

Mommy Dearest: [SARCASTIC RANT VOICE ON] Oh I am SO sorry you felt like I was pouring salt in your delicate little wound. BLAHBLAH BLAH MY friends, if they don't want to talk about....

Me: but I was calling to say I was...

MD... something, they will just SAY, hey let's not talk about that and we can change the subject BLAHBLAH BLAH and on and on and on....

Me: I was calling to say I was SORRY you BITCH!! click

Then I didn't talk to her for 2 weeks! and that was hard, cuz as oil and water like as we are, we still talk on a regular basis...adn god damn it, SHE was the one who was the bitch and needed to call me!! My sister said she had the story completely different (I happen to have an EXCELLENT memory and am quite sure of the conversation - even the "blahblah" parts)

I finally caved - we chatted superfically - never mentioned the row or the bitch word, and didn't mention the visit that I did NOT book. It is ALWAYS me that apologizes and I am SICK of being sorry. I am the way I am because of the way SHE raised me, so why do I have to sy I am sorry????

THEN I find out she has a 10 day trip to see my sister and her kids over Thanksgiving and another 10 day trip planned to see my brother and his new baby (which was due 2 days ago and still hasn't popped - his wife is MISERABLE). She was gonna give me a lousy three days, which frankly, might be 2 days too long....I hate that I just said that, but no one makes me as insane as my mother....All the guys I have dated have done less damage than my mother....She didn't mention the trip and since she never sent me a check for the ticket, I can only assume she knows I didn't book it. Maybe i ought to ANYWAY and see if she uses it? I could sit at the airport and wait for her....

At least I don't have kids for her to scar like poor old Briana...but I tell ya....If it's not ONE thing, it's your MOTHER....check that - if it's not one thing, it's MY Mother

(500) days of Summer

This is NOT a date movie! Or more precisely, this is not a movie you go see with the guy who broke up with you 'cuz HE wasn't sure an intimate relationship was right since he wasn't in love with you, but even so, he didn't mind "coming over" after fixing your car battery.

Trailer

more from Hawaii

I just realized that I never finished recapping the Hawaii trip waaaay back in June. It really was a great trip and deserved a better narrative - if not for my 20 readers, then at least for my poor old memory and my infamous Christmas newsletter. Chronicling my trips has always been something I enjoyed doing, so I don't know why I slacked off so poorly. I did a much better job on the Sailing Journal (if you care to read that, it starts here). Just to sum up a few things before I forget, while I was laying on the beach, I read Revolutionary Road, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, The Piano Tuner and some trashy Doris Roberts novel. All three of the "novels" end so sadly....Can't say I recommend any of them as nice light beach reading, but they have been on my list for a while and I am GLAD they are over.

On the summer equinox (Sunday June 21), I had a LOVELY day - it was Free Day at the national parks around the country, so even though I was a little worried everyone on Hawaii might show up, I headed down to Volcano National Park. On the way around the bottom of the island (which incidentally is where the cheapest gas on the island is! NOT Costco, as I had been led to believe!), I stopped at a TRUE black sand beach. One kind of sand beach happens when the black lava rocks erode away...there are several of these. But THIS black sand beach was formed when the hot lave flew up in the air, and then crystallized into glass pebbles as it hit the water. Then as it was dashed to BITS on the rocks, it creates instant black "sand." Eventually this one will erode away, or people will take it away...I had sand stuck in my shoes and socks when I got back to the car, so imagine that multiplied by hundreds every day...i wonder how long it will be there?? Then I got back in my little red car and headed off to the Park. It was a pretty nondescript approach - a very gentle sloping mountain to the left and the azure blue of the pacific to the right (OK, not so nondescript - the ocean was friggin' gorgeous!). I could tell I was going uphill by the huffing and puffing my little car was making, and then all of a sudden, the bright clear day gave way to swirls of fog and mist! I was at the visitor's center. They explained that the crater was giving off tons of noxious fumes which mixed with water vapor were causing the fog, and for some people it caused problems. When I first got out of the car i was a little light headed for a moment, but that soon passed and I enjoyed a few hours wandering around. As we got closer to the actual crater, the fog gave way to a really nice day and you could see very clearly the plume of water vapor, as well as the curtain of gas exuding from the crack in the earth! For a while we could see a rainbow.

We couldn't drive all the way around, due to the recent eruptions, but I did walk all the way through the Jagger Museum, and took a little guided tour. Our guide taught us about the island and the volcano - such as how they did away with the mosquitoes in the area by doing away with the wild pigs! HUH, you ask? well, the pigs felled trees to get at the succulent roots...and the big hole made when a tree feel over made a nice holding place for standing water...so it rained and the water became a nice little breeding ground for mosquitoes....so...get rid of the pigs and get rid of the mosquitoes. And not just cuz mosquitoes suck, but they were somehow killing off a certain species of bird as well....so nuke the pests, and save the birds - sounds good to me!

The guide also taught us about the birds and other flora and fauna unique to the Hawaiian Islands, and how it all got started - if you don't believe in evolution, you should take the tour at Volcano National Park, and I betcha you'd change your mind. It was fascinating learning about some of the successful attempts to rescue extinct species...

I walked through the Thurston Lava Tube, but didn't go into the unlit parts...and then through some of the most Jurassic Park looking places I'd ever seen! I walked along Devastation Trail a way, which was kinda cool - all trees and flowers and foresty and then BAM, it looks like you are on the moon! It was lovely with the birds and the wind...of course, then it was truly devastated when a car load of obnoxious kids arrived and I could hear them yelling and sniping at each other, even though they were clear at the other end of the trail.

The volcano was erupting while I was there...but not like you'd imagine...just kinda flowing out, and I didn't drive all the way down to see it - they say it is most visible at night, and I am not the best night driver, so I headed out. besides, that damn bird needed his cage cleaned...god 4 months later and I can STILL smell that!!

I did head down to the beach later that evening to watch the sun set...and I had my camera take a nice picture of me...yes, it is posed, and it was uncomfortable, but you get the idea :-) More on Hawaii to come.

U.G.L.Y

I was in Circle K today getting a big ass diet coke, and I filled my 32 oz cup almost to full and then stepped aside to let the fizziness die down, and out of consideration of the guy breathing down my neck. He has one of those GI-NORMOUS mugs - like a 2 liter size...and he is a big guy...real hefty ("more chins than a chinese phone book," to quote the play I am directing). Oddly enough, he starts filling his container with DIET COKE. I said, hey, can I just squeeze in real quick to top this off and be done, and he has the GALL to exhale in annoyance and roll his eyes, and THEN step aside so I can fill the last 2 inches of my cup. I could feel the holes he was burning into the back of my head.....I just wanted to just smack him - GOD. I had to restrain myself from throwing my drink in his beady-eyed piggy face!! AND he got that refill for the same price I did!!!

I hate ugly people...yeah I know "hate" is an strong word, but there is really no reason to be so stupid. If you are in the grocery story, and you notice the guy behind you has only a few items, and you have a whole cart load, what would be the harm in letting him go??? I do it ALL the time and it just irritates me, particularly at Costco, when I just go in for a bottle of vitamins or a monster bucket of hummus...and everyone else is stocking up for the Day After....

whatever....patience is a virture and I am ALL out.

recharging batteries

Sorry I have been gone so long (if you care). I am in rehearsal for a play and my regular day job is nuts, AND I organized this big shindig for 37 kids over the weekend - plus I won books from Charmed and Dangerous, (THANK YOU!!!)so I have been trying to read (with an actual book in my hand). But last night's adventures moved me to share....

As I have mentioned before, sometimes you know when something is gonna happen and there is nothing you can do to avoid it, although you desperately try....and hope...and in the end, you just say, "yeah, i knew that would happen"...well, it kinda got a revisit last night.

My car is old (i bought it new in 1994 - this photo is me and her in 2001 on our first visit to Arizona - I had red burn marks on the back of my legs for about a week after this photo was taken), and there are parts on it that have been replaced many times and things that NEED to be replaced, but for it's age, it is a good car, and it gets about 28-30 mpg driving around the city, which is really nothing to scoff at.

Last night after rehearsal, I stopped at the grocery store for something to eat and when I came out and got in, nothing went on. no lights, no radio, no buzzing to do the seat belt. Shit...this hasn't happened in ages...turns out, it hasn't happened in over 10 years. I called C, the guy who dumped me a few weeks ago, (he was the only person I knew would still be up, AND frankly, the only person I run with who would have a clue as to what to do), and he very kindly said he would come help me...he DID say he wanted to be friends when he dumpd me...so he came out. He tested the battery, he cleaned the leads and retested, and finally took it out (not an easy job as Saturn bolts a cover over the battery), and brought me to Autozone (which was open til 12).

The date on the battery was July....1999. we joked we would say it was only 2 months old - it just said 9, not 99.....Shoot....it lasted 10 years, damn right I am going to get another one from Autozone. So then, C took me back to my car, installed the new battery, and instead of driving off into the sunset, he suggested he come up...wink wink....

WTF? Isn't he the one who didn't want to see ME any more as he wasn't into the total intimate relationship - he wanted to just be friends - hang out, see movies, go out to eat....and apparently, now I know, a few other friendly things. Me, being lonely and tired, not to mention hungry, my normal guard was down, so I said sure...and he came up and we "hung out," so to speak, and he didn't run out the door when we were done "hanging!" Rather, he spent the night, and ate breakfast, AND adjusted my hot water heater. If this is the way friends with benefits is supposed to work, maybe I better be IN....not sure this is the "relationship" I want, but I tell ya, it is better than having been stranded at Safeway all night....right? Charmaine??? what do you think? I wonder what else I can break and get him to come fix???

Here is the guy at Autozone, astounded by my ancient battery

Funnies

So in honor of Random Tuesday, I am catching up on my favorite blogs, randomly, since most of them are so much better at posting regularly (rather than randomly, like me). One of my most favorites is by Julie over at 47 and Starting Over. She has the funniest post today EVER. It relates yoga, exercise and alcohol all on the same page, and it made me Laugh out Loud. I am in a pretty bad mood today, so you know it has to be good. Go see!

thanks

wow - thanks for the outpouring of support from everyone...It was very good for me to read all of YOUR blogs and tributes and see the pictures (thank you King). For the first time I forced myself to look at pictures of that day, and while I did it with tears pouring down my face, until I was waist deep in salt water, it felt good to get it OUT and to see the whole thing, like the rest of the world saw it...2 dimensional pictures, that while gut wrenching and heart breaking, were still simply frozen snatches of time. Watching the videos was a little harder....but I am glad they are there, and I hope they stay there, and they aren't ever hidden away like pornography. Kids need to see this....

So, I also felt the self-indulgent urge to send the essay to my friends and family - none of who read this blog (at least I hope not), and got a mix of reactions from them..mostly loving and supportive - many had no idea what I had been feeling, and I guess it explained alot to them about my behavior these last few years...

My mama called and said I was getting to be as verbose as my father. I am not sure if that is a good thing or not, but I think he is a helluva writer...just hope I am not as IN YOUR FACE FUCKA as he can be...(daddy, are you still reading this??)

It felt SO good to get that all out. I NEEDED it, and thanks to those who read it, and MORE thanks to those who thought it was crap and withheld the urge to tell me so....

September 11th

It has been a long time coming. I have tried many times to put black markings on paper about this event that so deeply touched me....usually I use other people's words and images, who have been more successful than I in summing things up. So here it is....the 8th anniversary of a really fucking bad day for many of us, and I am finally ready to unleash it. And it is self-indulgent drivel, if you want my honest opinion. There is no point and it has no end, sort of like the health care debate....can any real conclusion or final assessment be drawn? If you'd rather read something much more interesting and sure to draw copious tears to your hardened heart, and I sure wouldn't blame you, please see Brian Doyle's exquisite and gut wrenching piece Leap (in fact go read it anyway - it is much better than what I wrote below)


So, anyway.....before September 11th, writing had always been a joy. I was always jotting down ideas and making notes, culling my journal and email for little tid bits to develop - the process of creating something with words felt cathartic and liberating. It was so easy to spew my scattered, incomprehensible thoughts out of my fingertips as words, and stories and poems (and not just in English), typing or scribbling faster than I could think, onto paper, sometimes sending them away, far away - sometimes for someone else to read, and sometimes NOT, to burn, to bury, to delete, to fold up and tuck into my journal...it always helped when I was down or sad or upset and even when it wasn't emotional diarrhea, I enjoyed it immensely, and I loved sharing it with my friends and family.

But then came that awful day, and the spewing sputtered. An emotional earthquake rocked my foundations, and I erected this giant dike in my head, and around my heart and my words stopped coming so freely. After being called unAmerican for voicing my liberal opinion by certain narrow minded people in my family, I stopped wanting to share ANYTHING with ANYONE. I stopped contributing to the diabetes support group I had always followed, I stopped writing long letters during lunch,I stopped writing silly poems. Things and feelings and thoughts and emotions and even actions were choked back, tucked away, hidden, stuffed into the back corners. Words literally failed me, and writing was no longer the outlet it had always been, it no longer made sense and it didn't feel right. I couldn't say anything appropriate or reasonable, and really, the bottom line was, who cared anyway?

As the years pass, I will pull my finger out of the dam every so often, and let out a little trickle of emotional fodder to create something for my "blog about nothing," about life, my life, the world, but I have always ached to have something of my own to say about the whole overwhelming, nonsensical specter that was/is September 11th. (And please don't call it "nine eleven" around me - that is "shorthand," something the media concocted to make it catchy...It's a Fraternity, not a Frat, it's your country, not a cunt, and god damn it, it is September 11th, not 9/11).

After that day, in the days and weeks that followed, I burrowed in. It was a long time before I really communicated with anyone, and I mean “communication” on every conceivable level. Sure, at the time there were plenty of mechanical phone conversations and shallow email exchanges. Friends offering heartening words, asking concerned questions but nothing, no one, really scratched through the veneer of my stiff upper lip and my “getting back to usual” appearance. “Oh, I am OK,” I said, “I had an acquaintance or two who worked at the restaurant, but no one I knew really well (I found out later I was wrong)...just taking it day by day.” but I was NOT taking it day by day. I did not take it at all...it was taking me. For ages, I felt like I was being crushed by an enormous weight! I wrote,

It (what is “it?” is it grief? pain? sadness?) washes over and through and around me, surrounds me and sucks me down; drowning me in a bottomless sea of sadness and loneliness! I hate my job, I love my job; I hate New York; I love New York; I miss my family; I don’t want anything to do with my family - all they do is die and get sick or make me feel bad that I can’t (won’t) do more for them. I have no one to talk to, not that I WANT to talk to anyone, no one to listen to me, not that I have anything to say. No where to pour my heart and soul and fears and tears and whines and complaints, and the few small joys when they dare to raise their little heads, as if I would be able to vocalize or physicalize them, as if there really was a heart or soul alive in me anymore and the longer I go, the deader I feel...walking into a frozen fjord, growing number and colder with every step. No one to slap me out of this silly little mood, if that is what I need, nothing to physically, mentally divert my attentions...I have never felt so isolated and lost and small.

Everyone I knew was half a world away, a million miles for what it was worth, with their own lives, jobs, work, email backload, children, pets, car troubles, health concerns etc. and could do nothing to help, save, guide, steer me, I knew that; not that I would take help or saving or guiding or steering from anyone without grievous argument.

I was always a barely-controlled sniveling basket case of scar tissue, snot and blood, but after September 11th, I had to fight even harder to keep that blubbering little worm under wraps. In the weeks before that day, I was surrounded by family and friends in Texas and Colorado, I frolicked in the Canyonlands and drove my purple car 90 miles an hour across Arizona, with the wind tangling my hair into befuddled little snarls, the skin on my arms golden brown, the wrinkle between my eyes all but gone. By the end of September, it was back, and deeper than ever...my skin paled until it was as colorless as my soul, and my first grey hairs appeared. I became a phantom on the subway to work, a ghost on the sidewalk, walking through Times Square, with all the other shadows. We all wept on occasion. In this ashen world, did we finally really see each other? Instead of protecting personal space on the train, you could almost feel the person next to you leaning in, drawing support and warmth from your own broken and fragile body....as tears rolled silently down my face, I felt a hand touch my arm....but even so, I was so terribly alone.

I left New York in June, seeking purpose, and more creative opportunities, to find a real relationship with a man, to drive my car and get my stuff out of storage. I like to imagine I am better now. I no longer dwell on the events of the day, try not to conjure up the pictures etched on the back of my closed eyelids, for when I do, I remember that I have only a fragile grasp on control, and even that is held together by the tenuous threads of my logical mind. My irrational mind still wants to let go and fall. I still want to peel my grasping fingers loose and let my soul take flight. I still want to scream, I want to hit and hurt. I want to scratch my fingers down something soft and yielding, I want to bite down HARD and feel the blood spurt in my throat as something gives in my teeth. I have this caged animal inside of me that is clawing to escape and it is a struggle to keep it quiet. Ice, I tell myself. I am ice, Ice is hard and cold. Ice feels no pain, nor sorrow or anger or fear. Ice needs no fire to survive, and indeed, maybe my internal fire needs to be doused so I will feel less sad, less anger, fear no more, and the bruises of loneliness will heal.

2001 was a dreadful year for my family in general - I lost more family members in the 6 months before and after September 11th than in the rest of my life combined. And even so, I can't forget the thousands of people in those buildings and on the planes! Looking out the windows as they approached the end, snuffed out like birthday candles - poof - now you see em...now you don’t - they were cremated alive - pulverized into dust before their hearts stopped beating, before their voices finished shrieking - and the ones who jumped from towers - I can never ever forget that. At least Granny had a chance to say good bye; at least Aunt Sue got to tell everyone "I TOLD you I was sick," before she died....Which way is better, I wonder....I still wonder

Sigh....all things end, everything dies, a new day will come tomorrow, a new threat, a new fear, and I will continue to hold back - There is no summary, no nice tidy resolution here. I have not come to any pithy realization or found a great soul searing revelation. But at least some of the garbage I have been carrying around in my head for the last 8 years is OUT of me now. Maybe now, the water can flow more easily. My writing always began with good intentions, though I was rarely able to make a good conclusion, but perhaps that IS the conclusion. The end just IS, you can't predict or plan or devise the end. Maybe this isn't the end, and maybe a day will come when I can more adequately express what I am trying to say.....for now, I will just remember to keep trying to remember why life is so damn important and all the economic woes and health care crises and the financial meltdown and the car repair stuff, and the ruins of my latest relationship really don't matter

free books?? I am in..

Here is a fun blog: Charmed and Dangerous. She is short and sweet and to the point..and dead on i n many cases....check her out :-) But stay away from the book contest....tee hee...kidding.....but seriously, I love books....when i was 8, I would do EXTRA chores to earn money...and every month or so, my mama would take me to the used book store and I'd buy Bobbsey Twin and Happy Holister books.....I still have them, and apparently some of them are collector items.

here is just a glimpse of the books that are currently out and reachable in my almost unpacked house. There are 5 on my nightstand and a whole SLEW on the shelf in thebedroom in various stages of completion...then there is my office. Two whole shelves are nothing but plays and theatre history and acting theory, and the other is literature, like the Black Cauldron series and Wrinkle in Time and a Little Prince, Narcissus and Goldmund, Asimov, Hitchhikers' Guide, etc. Then the other tall shelf is full of french and italian grammar books, old text books, craft books, travel guides and more. All the Bobbsey Twin/Happy Hollister books are still in boxes, as are about 100 books I enjoyed as a child, like Nancy Drew and The Witch of Blackbird Pond and A Little Princess, but they are all part of the clutter I carry around..then there is that entire box of Richie Rich comic books.....hmmm maybe I ought to have book giveaway!!

pre-destination

You know how when you KNOW something is gonna happen, and you KNOW there is nothing you can do to prevent it, and you fret and worry, but then you think, "nahhh, I am second guessing myself - my negative attitude is contributing to this, so just relax - THIS time, I could be wrong and it will all work out just fine."

and then it turns out, as usual, that you were right?

Yeah, I am that way about my relationships with men.....I must say, it was a fun summer and I did get lots of things done around the house that wouldn't have otherwise been done, so I guess I should be grateful, and gosh darn it, he was good in bed, but now he just wants to be friends...he wants to go out to eat and watch movies and help with projects...he just doesn't want any emotional attachment (and I assume he realizes there goes his blowjob in the shower)

And even though I KNEW this day was coming, I stuffed it down, and never let it color the relationship. Hell, I even brought him ice cream the other day cuz I knew he was working outside and wanted to do something nice and unexpected for him.

so Charmaine....take the King and stop second guessing it....or kick him to the curb...no sense in dragging a dead dog down the street attached to your bumper...

And who the hell said 9/9/09 was gonna be a "lucky day?" All those fools who got married in Las Vegas today are in for a nasty shock.....9/9/09 upside down is pretty close to 666!!!

desert dweller

I love living in the desert! who says it is barren??? I went for a walk early this morning before it got too hot and there bunnies and lizards and frogs and quail and a few other things that moved too quick to be seen but made quite a racket in the underbrush. The prickly pear fruits are ripenng, so it is time to harvest them and make jelly and candy and syrup, so me and Natty got our tongs and a bucket and went "berry pckin'"

Here is out haul...these are prickly pear fruits.....stay tuned as they will eventually turn into margaritas (there is a long drawn out process and I am going to Monterey tomorrow, so for now the fruit is in the freezer)

i have to go pick the cactus spines out of my fingers now...hurts to type and my "boyfriend" is coming over...he definitely won't appreciate that.....Natty still had some in her hands when she left too, little bastards!!

Diabetes

NYC, Aug. 6, 2009- In findings that add to the prospects of regenerating insulin-producing cells in people with type 1 diabetes, researchers in Europe, co-funded by the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, have shown that insulin-producing beta cells can be derived from non-insulin-producing cells in the pancreas.

Maybe this is the decade? Maybe NOW is when they finally find that cure I've been praying, (yes ME, praying), for since I was 10! Friends and family, it's that time of year again - the kids are back in school, the leaves are turning (actually that is 'cuz it hasn't rained here in ages), and I ask you again to consider making a small donation to the JDRF.

As you know, I have Type 1, or juvenile diabetes. This devastating disease usually strikes preteens - I found out at a camp physical, tho, as my pal Robert can attest, it also hits grown adults! Why don't I just lose some weight, stay away from the ice cream, you ask. If I had Type 2 diabetes, that might help, however (lesson time), everyone is meant to make insulin in their body. It is the "key" that unlocks the sugars in the food we eat, so it can get into our cells and be used as energy. Type 2s make insulin, but either can't fully metabolize it, or they might not make enough. Diet, exercise, and sometimes pills, can help the body use its own insulin more efficiently.

Type I diabetics don't make ANY insulin at all. We have to put it in, or die. Since insulin is a protein, we can't take it as a pill (stomach acid woould destroy it), so we inject it. I have been putting insulin into my body for more than 3 decades now, and frankly, even tho I use a pump now, I am sick of poking holes in my body ON PURPOSE!

Look, if they cure diabetes, they resolve a HUGE portion of the national health crisis! The complications are the same for both diseases and that is what puts our health costs into the BILLIONS - kidney & heart disease, blindness, amputation, circulatory & digestive problems...ALL caused in large part, by DIABETES!

If for no other reason, do it for the children, like this sweet adorable child!

I personally can't afford a donation of $1,500, but I can tug heart strings and muster support and together we can raise $1,500! Maybe it's your $5 that helps end the fight? For the cost of a grande mocha latte or a pack of cigarette? Times are tough for all, and I am grateful for any support you can provide...and if not, I still love you, and hope you will still read my blog

Love, SSP

If you want to make a donation, let me know and I will send you the link to my walkathon page.....your help would be most appreciated!

Dear So and So

Dear Euripedes:
You will be thrilled to know that your work is alive and still being butchered after all these years. Please don't roll over in your grave when you see the chorus of The Bacchae dressed like MC Hammer, and the god Dionysus played as Fonzie!

Love, SSP

Dear Science,
How come in the almost 100 years since insulin was discovered, all you have managed to do is make more efficient ways to get it into us? Why can't you figure out how to cure it, and if not that, why can't we have a glucose meter that is more accurate? The government says 18% standard deviation is ok....but I am telling you, if we can dock space ships going 35,000 mph, why can't my glucose meter be within, say 10% of accurate?

just sayin, SSP

Dear ???,
Thank you for making the sun set. I sure do love your work!!

gratefully, SSP

where you at, man?

i am in NYC...here for business but as always find some pleasure. I met up with two friends from high school, neither of whom I'd seen in a LONG while, and it was like we just saw each other yesterday! Also saw a pump pal - we have a standing lunch date when I am here in January every year, at the Barking Dog Cafe on 34th Street. It was fun to mix it up a bit, and see her in the summer. I saw The Bacchae in Central Park last night, and while I am a theatre professional, I don't think I am qualified to give much of a review....all I can say is, "you get what you pay for," and since the tickets were FREE, and the show is still in previews, I will reserve judgement, but I just hafta ask, if you are trying to convey a sense of HORROR, and you cover an actors hands and arms in blood, why oh why would you dress her in BLACK? why not white or cream, so the blood can really show to us losers in Row S? anyway...Seeing Mary Stuart tomorrow at the Broadhurst. This has always been one of my favorite Broadway houses. and I have heard nothing but good about this show, so here's to hoping for a good evening!

I am staying on the Upper West Side. My boss has a little studio apartment near Central Park West, and as he is away on vacation, he is letting me crash. He lives like a college student, so it's not the lap of luxury, but it is nice to have a place in a cool neighborhood to call home for a few days. He actually has a house out in the Jersey 'burbs with his partner, so this is really just his crash pad for when he is working. Here are some photos of the place. Lovely brick wall is crumbling and makes everything slightly dusty red. The A/C only really feels good when you are sitting down there - the loft, where the bed is, is always toasty warm.....and the ladder to get up there is QUITE the adventure for this old lady....I don't know how HE does it!

I was supposed to meet up with Michelle from Raw Cool tonight, but she is getting ready for a marathon and couldn't make it...bummer....I will look for you in January, chica!!

I was hoping for a nice falafel sandwich at my favorite place in the village - Ali Baba on Macdougal...but it is CLOSED for frickin' repairs...more likely, it was condemned, but damnation, I was aching for one!! They just don't taste the same in Tucson!

More later....