Sunday, April 10, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Peek 6
Is this a peek at growth or abandonment? I can't decide.
At home tonight, the faded red-orange cover of an old sketchbook -- tucked away in the garage behind a stack of boxes -- caught my eye. I hadn't looked through it in more than a decade, maybe even two. I picked it up, hoping I'd experience some sort of connection to my old self. You know....back when I was optimistic and excited and young and didn't need glasses in order to see.
Looking at these yellowed pages today, I remember losing all track of time, getting lost in the details of seeing and interpreting. I went through a period of fascination with faces, especially eyes. The fine lines in the iris...the sparkly catchlights. I studied closeups in magazines, my own reflection in the mirror, my friends, my dogs, my pony. My best resources were photographs and my own reflection, though....staring intently at friends and animals, I learned, can freak 'em out just a tad.
Here's a portion of a page, circa 1984. I'll resist the urge to critique it. How good or sucky it is, is not really the point. The point is that I loved it so much that time itself vanished. Four hours seemed like ten minutes. Poof.
I still get lost in time today, but never while sketching. Nowadays it's when I'm writing or exploring with my Nikon or immersed in a cool project at work or learning something new. Is it sad that I don't sketch anymore? When I moved on, was I listening to my heart or was fear keeping me from the pursuit? Did I run from my bliss or did I follow it?
At home tonight, the faded red-orange cover of an old sketchbook -- tucked away in the garage behind a stack of boxes -- caught my eye. I hadn't looked through it in more than a decade, maybe even two. I picked it up, hoping I'd experience some sort of connection to my old self. You know....back when I was optimistic and excited and young and didn't need glasses in order to see.
Looking at these yellowed pages today, I remember losing all track of time, getting lost in the details of seeing and interpreting. I went through a period of fascination with faces, especially eyes. The fine lines in the iris...the sparkly catchlights. I studied closeups in magazines, my own reflection in the mirror, my friends, my dogs, my pony. My best resources were photographs and my own reflection, though....staring intently at friends and animals, I learned, can freak 'em out just a tad.
Here's a portion of a page, circa 1984. I'll resist the urge to critique it. How good or sucky it is, is not really the point. The point is that I loved it so much that time itself vanished. Four hours seemed like ten minutes. Poof.
I still get lost in time today, but never while sketching. Nowadays it's when I'm writing or exploring with my Nikon or immersed in a cool project at work or learning something new. Is it sad that I don't sketch anymore? When I moved on, was I listening to my heart or was fear keeping me from the pursuit? Did I run from my bliss or did I follow it?
Friday, March 25, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Peek 4
Me, announcing to my nearby cubemates: "Geeesh, I'm going blind working on this survey."
:: crickets ::
Me, considerably louder: "I didn't mean that I'm at my desk masturbating, by the way."
:: crickets ::
:: uncomfortable cough from the cube next door ::
:: crickets ::
Me, considerably louder: "I didn't mean that I'm at my desk masturbating, by the way."
:: crickets ::
:: uncomfortable cough from the cube next door ::
Monday, March 21, 2011
Peek 3
I just love a good collaboration with a fellow artist. Feel free to borrow this image if you need to illustrate a hermaphroditic runner suffering from penile elephantiasis. Who is permanently erect. And has accidentally superglued his hand to....er, himself. And is apparently quite elated about his situation.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Peek 2
An iPhone experiment gave my happy doodle a slightly angry, decidedly dark-n-mysterious mood. There's a toothy monster lurking just beyond the shadows.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Peek 1
So.
(Why do I love to start posts with the word 'so'? I'm on the verge of annoying myself. I'll bet 'real' writers and professors and other smart people gather on their verandas to sip expensive wines and laugh heartily at dimwitted bloggers who aren't capable of expressing themselves without using dull, ineloquent transitions. And I'm sure they badmouth the cretins who carelessly use apostrophes where there should be quotes. And start sentences with the word 'and.')
(Hrrrmpff. Damn wine-sippin' fuckers.)
Anyway.
(Yeah, so there's another unfortunate habit. Shut up, I don't care what you think.)
I'm going to start a little creative project. Verrrrry frequently -- my fear of commitment and general laziness won't quite allow me to say 'every day' -- I'm going to post a peek into my world. Maybe it's a fleeting thought. Maybe it's dialogue with a lunch bud. Perhaps a photo of a sparkly dogwood tree, a shockingly inappropriate drawing, or a page out of my non-virtual, actualrealworld journal. Let's see what happens.
Kickin' it off is something you will see stuck to my refrigerator should you be invited to visit my monkeylair. It lists five promises I made to myself around seven years ago. Five promises born of angst within situations and an environment that just wasn't compatible with ME. I'd allowed myself to become too influenced by what other people wanted of me, and I was fed up. I crafted these promises based on my own inner voice as well as inspired writings by Joseph Campbell and Bucky Fuller. I hung copies everywhere, and did the best I could to live by them.
Within months, my life had hung some exciting and promising curves, just like my roadhugging Mini on those fun mountain roads. In the process of shifting my stuff around, these simple black-and-white promises ended up packed in a box…. where they languished until late last year.
(I'm pausing while you stare in amazement at the implication of that last sentence. Yes, I hear your brain working on the math. Go ahead. Let the notion carry you to its logical conclusion. It is true. Last year…..I was cleaning.)
I display those personal promises again, this time on that special place o'honor in homes across America. Nowadays it serves as a warm reminder that I do have power to affect change, and -- more importantly -- as a guide to stay the motherdamnfuck on course.
(Why do I love to start posts with the word 'so'? I'm on the verge of annoying myself. I'll bet 'real' writers and professors and other smart people gather on their verandas to sip expensive wines and laugh heartily at dimwitted bloggers who aren't capable of expressing themselves without using dull, ineloquent transitions. And I'm sure they badmouth the cretins who carelessly use apostrophes where there should be quotes. And start sentences with the word 'and.')
(Hrrrmpff. Damn wine-sippin' fuckers.)
Anyway.
(Yeah, so there's another unfortunate habit. Shut up, I don't care what you think.)
I'm going to start a little creative project. Verrrrry frequently -- my fear of commitment and general laziness won't quite allow me to say 'every day' -- I'm going to post a peek into my world. Maybe it's a fleeting thought. Maybe it's dialogue with a lunch bud. Perhaps a photo of a sparkly dogwood tree, a shockingly inappropriate drawing, or a page out of my non-virtual, actualrealworld journal. Let's see what happens.
Kickin' it off is something you will see stuck to my refrigerator should you be invited to visit my monkeylair. It lists five promises I made to myself around seven years ago. Five promises born of angst within situations and an environment that just wasn't compatible with ME. I'd allowed myself to become too influenced by what other people wanted of me, and I was fed up. I crafted these promises based on my own inner voice as well as inspired writings by Joseph Campbell and Bucky Fuller. I hung copies everywhere, and did the best I could to live by them.
(I'm pausing while you stare in amazement at the implication of that last sentence. Yes, I hear your brain working on the math. Go ahead. Let the notion carry you to its logical conclusion. It is true. Last year…..I was cleaning.)
I display those personal promises again, this time on that special place o'honor in homes across America. Nowadays it serves as a warm reminder that I do have power to affect change, and -- more importantly -- as a guide to stay the motherdamnfuck on course.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Instant happiness!
I have prescribed myself at least three viewings per day. Crank it up and dance. :D
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
A lonnnng year of whaps
Geesh. I've started this post over at least five times now. Apparently my drunken pixie-muse has passed out again, abandoning me. He's visited quite a bit in the last few weeks, but he never stays long, and he comes at inopportune times -- like when I'm driving to work or spending a non-laptop weekend with family or being pleasure-serviced by my naked houseboyman Miguel. OK that last one was just a dream but I certainly didn't want to leave it to type on a damn computer.
So I'm just going to string together a series of potentially unrelated paragraphs, mmkay?
The OCD chatterdevils in my head want me to write some sort of transition post. They tell me that, since I only posted six times in 2009 and an uberpathetic *one* time in 2010, I probably need to address the "WTF?" questions bouncing in your heads. I keep arguing with them that they are being waaaay too presumptuous to assume these questions -- not to mention readers -- actually exist. But you know how OCD chatterdevils are.
Oh. You don't?
Ahem.
Anyway, they tell me I should write some sort of summary of the time that's passed, and, of course, it is essential that I put a positive spin on it (please imagine these words spoken in a sarcastic, snobbish, old-Southern-money drawl). Like a list of reasons why 2010 didn't suck stinkyass butt. Or a description of things for which I am grateful. Or a list of new and exciting perversions I've nurtured. The post should be a perfect balance of pensive reflection, humor, optimism, and OF COURSE irreverence.
Let's see if that happens.
Winter and spring rockalong pretty well
2010 started out FABulously. I was training with old runbud friends, out there in my VERY favorite running weather. There's nothing like a healthy, pumpin' heart 10 minutes into a 35-degree joggytrot. Lovelovelove freakinlove it. The group experienced some unfortunate interpersonal strife, but we came together on race day and completed Greenville's Reedy River 10K in early March. Invigorating!
Something else cool was that I dug deeper into my social media obsession. You know I'm not happy unless obsessed, right? Luckily, my interest coincided with some initiatives at work, so I raised my hand high and became able to integrate the fun into my workdays. Have been feeling the buzz ever since. And buzzing the feel. Which is way more satisfying than copping a feel, at least when comparing longterm benefits.
Nursed a small tinge in my foot for awhile, but I kept in shape enough to continue regular running with friends, and went on a hardcore hike or three. Nature really sets me 'right.' Some people sit in church. I take deep breaths of fresh air. Ran another 5K race in May, and right after that started training for a half marathon. I didn't really think I'd do well with that longer distance, but I gave myself permission to walk as much of the 13+ miles as necessary. About this time I also started an intensive strength training regimen, and in mid May, I bought a bike! Soooo excited to have a new type of challenge.
Whap, whap, whap, whap
Whap #1. Here's where the year started to s u u u c k. Only a few weeks after getting my new bike, I crashed it twice on the same day during a 26-mile ride up the Swamp Rabbit Trail & back. I'm considering changing my story to a 26-mile trail ride at Paris Mountain, though...that is soooo much more impressive than accidents on a flat paved trail, don't you think?
Hmmm. Yeah.
I thought I just had a deep bruise or two in my left upper arm and shoulder, but as the weeks and weeks went by and the pain didn't get better, I made an appointment with my superfave orthopaedist for late July.
Whap #2. Overlapping all the other midyear whaps was an ongoing bunch o'family stuff that I won't discuss in great detail now. Maybe later. The "stuff" was basically two-fold -- my mom's move from a two-bedroom apartment to a one-bedroom apartment in an independent living facility... and my sister's declining health. Planning, busywork, moving, and medical research and education blanketed nearly all of our free time during the summer.
Sadly, these were the last times the five of us would spend together.
Whap #3. Another ongoing annoyance was some weirdness in my own health. These topics are beyond dull -- just a few getting-older issues which, while temporarily draining me of time and energy, I've since gotten under control. Mostly. I will warn you right now, though, that the constant ringing in my ears will -- I repeat, WILL -- drive me to insanity one day. Hoping to plan ahead so that I snap in some sort of interesting or entertaining way. I'm open to any ideas.
Whap #4. So. The evening before my scheduled orthopaedist appointment in July, my ankle mysteriously gave way during a run in the park. Something twisted and crunched and I went down, grinding my knees hard against asphalt and into lots of gravelly debris. Ouch. I limped pathetically to a nearby stump and sat there, blood streaming down my calves, while runbud-angel K rushed to get her car. Several bikers and runners stopped to check on me while I was waiting....I imagine I made a pretty distressing sight. :)
Diagnoses, healing, and settling in
The next day at the doctor's office I made lots of jokes about old rickety women pretending they are still 25. They poked, prodded, and x-rayed all sorts of body parts and properly dressed my knee wounds. I left that day in a boot cast and with instructions to cease and desist physical activity until further notice. Within a couple weeks, I'd had an MRI, been diagnosed with a hard-to-heal tear in my shoulder, declined a recommendation to see a surgeon, and started what would turn out to be six months of physical therapy.
The sprained ankle healed relatively quickly, and the knees got OK eventually, but the shoulder....UGH. I honestly didn't think I would ever be able to do some common movements again, much less any serious upper body work. But I had an awesome therapist, and I refused to quit, bygollydammit. I started getting optimistic early-Octoberish, and nowadays I'm noticing gains in strength and flexibility almost every week. I've kept it up even since "graduating" from my therapist's care last month.
My mom got somewhat settled into her new place, absolutely fawning over the staff and facilities. We got everything out of the old apartment, unpacked into her new apartment, and began to help her get organized and truly settled in. We decided to take a bit of a break, though, so that my mom and sister could get some extended rest. Finally, my sister began to take steps toward managing her own health, seeing various sorts of specialists for advice and minor procedures. She, her son, and husband went on a nearly 4-week vacation to Florida. She returned in early October, happy to have had the time away, but utterly exhausted.
Should I mention here a brief li'l relationship o'my own? I don't really want to, but those damn chatterdevils won't leave me alone. I guess it's significant because for a couple months or so it created some blissful moments during a time when I really needed some respite. It also catalyzed an epiphany or two -- which is always, always, always a good thing.
An email to family, October 21
"Hi there, I hope everyone's doing well. I have some news about my sister -- please forward so everyone can keep her in their prayers.
"Dianna's husband Ray woke up about 3am Tuesday morning to find her unable to breathe well. She'd had chest pains (mild) on Mon evening and had been out of breath a lot for several days. They called EMS, who took her to Laurens County Hospital who very quickly sent her to Self Regional (Greenwood) for congestive heart failure. They slated her to go to the heart cath lab Wed morning for angioplasty at 7am, but on the way there she had a seizure. They gave her medicine to alleviate that, but then she threw up a significant amount of what they called "coffee grounds," i.e., dried blood. At that point they abandoned treating her heart condition temporarily to investigate the other stuff.
"It has been a roller coaster since then. Today she's had a constantly upset stomach, pain, dizziness, and three seizures since the first one this morning. The doc has ordered an EEG and a CT scan to try and determine the cause of the seizures. They are adjusting meds and doing everything they can to stabilize her enough to even get her downstairs to do the CT. Friday they hope to do another diagnostic stomach scope.
"The heart attack appears to be the result of one partial blockage in the left side of her heart. I am still a little unsure about the details of this. At first Ray was told that the heart muscle damage was only 2 percent, but this afternoon the doc had another chat with him (I was in town running an errand...just my luck) and implied more damage to the left side of her heart than had been originally communicated.
"Today Dianna has mostly been asleep, but has woken up now and then. Not feeling good at ALL. At one point she asked me 'What's going on? I feel like I'm dying.' It occurred to me that maybe people had been talking around her rather than to her and she might be really scared. I reassured her, and hoped she understood. She fell asleep very quickly before I could tell her any details. She is sleeping an extraordinary amount even though they aren't giving her anything to specifically make her sleep. Her nurse seems perplexed at that, but did say she'd received a lot of the seizure-relieving medicine. They are watching her very closely and I've been impressed with the staff's diligence.
"Mom is of course antsy, worried, and frustrated that she can't be at the hospital. But she is receiving a lot of support from the staff and residents at her new independent-living home. I'm going to do my best to visit with her this week and weekend, but she keeps telling me she'd rather me be with Dianna.
"Ray and Johnny are tough troupers, although the worry and stress really got to them both this afternoon. We all know Dianna is a rock of strength and stubborness, but it is very hard to see her like this.....sigh.....
"Dianna is in the CICU (Cardiac Intensive Care Unit). They are not currently putting calls through to her room, though, and won't until she is feeling well enough to receive them herself. I'm sure she'll be there at least through the weekend....probably into next week. They haven't even begun to treat the original heart problem yet.
"Thanks so much for forwarding to others in the family....as you know, Dianna believes in the power of prayer and I am sure she'll feel everyone's thoughts and well wishes around her."
The next day
My sister died. We all knew she was very sick, but I'm at a loss to describe how completely shocked we were. I watched the doctor's face closely as he told us, waiting for some sort of punch line or reassurance that "...she'll have a tough recovery, but with time she'll be herself again." I couldn't tear my gaze from his tired, sympathetic eyes as he did not speak these words. I wanted to urge him to go back in her hospital room and double check. I wanted to explain that he just doesn't know how tenacious she is. It couldn't be true.
Sigh....
I'm afraid I've dumped a whompin' huge load o'bummer bricks on my naughty little monkeyblog, so I'm going to abandon the story there. For now, anyway. I considered not posting this self-centered chronology at all, but in the end I thought it might provide a better frame of reference for you devoted mm readers. (Ahhh, the presumptuous ego of my little chatterdevils surfaces again!)
You see, I'm not exactly the same person I was eight months ago. And I'm pretty eager to meet the person I'll be eight months from now. 2011 is decidedly promising, full of good friends, family healing, healthy pursuits, and interesting insights.
Plus I have a brandnew, deep-redvelvet piece o'potential depravity in my fireplace room. Stay tuned.
So I'm just going to string together a series of potentially unrelated paragraphs, mmkay?
The OCD chatterdevils in my head want me to write some sort of transition post. They tell me that, since I only posted six times in 2009 and an uberpathetic *one* time in 2010, I probably need to address the "WTF?" questions bouncing in your heads. I keep arguing with them that they are being waaaay too presumptuous to assume these questions -- not to mention readers -- actually exist. But you know how OCD chatterdevils are.
Oh. You don't?
Ahem.
Anyway, they tell me I should write some sort of summary of the time that's passed, and, of course, it is essential that I put a positive spin on it (please imagine these words spoken in a sarcastic, snobbish, old-Southern-money drawl). Like a list of reasons why 2010 didn't suck stinkyass butt. Or a description of things for which I am grateful. Or a list of new and exciting perversions I've nurtured. The post should be a perfect balance of pensive reflection, humor, optimism, and OF COURSE irreverence.
Let's see if that happens.
Winter and spring rockalong pretty well
2010 started out FABulously. I was training with old runbud friends, out there in my VERY favorite running weather. There's nothing like a healthy, pumpin' heart 10 minutes into a 35-degree joggytrot. Lovelovelove freakinlove it. The group experienced some unfortunate interpersonal strife, but we came together on race day and completed Greenville's Reedy River 10K in early March. Invigorating!
Something else cool was that I dug deeper into my social media obsession. You know I'm not happy unless obsessed, right? Luckily, my interest coincided with some initiatives at work, so I raised my hand high and became able to integrate the fun into my workdays. Have been feeling the buzz ever since. And buzzing the feel. Which is way more satisfying than copping a feel, at least when comparing longterm benefits.
Nursed a small tinge in my foot for awhile, but I kept in shape enough to continue regular running with friends, and went on a hardcore hike or three. Nature really sets me 'right.' Some people sit in church. I take deep breaths of fresh air. Ran another 5K race in May, and right after that started training for a half marathon. I didn't really think I'd do well with that longer distance, but I gave myself permission to walk as much of the 13+ miles as necessary. About this time I also started an intensive strength training regimen, and in mid May, I bought a bike! Soooo excited to have a new type of challenge.
Whap, whap, whap, whap
Whap #1. Here's where the year started to s u u u c k. Only a few weeks after getting my new bike, I crashed it twice on the same day during a 26-mile ride up the Swamp Rabbit Trail & back. I'm considering changing my story to a 26-mile trail ride at Paris Mountain, though...that is soooo much more impressive than accidents on a flat paved trail, don't you think?
Hmmm. Yeah.
I thought I just had a deep bruise or two in my left upper arm and shoulder, but as the weeks and weeks went by and the pain didn't get better, I made an appointment with my superfave orthopaedist for late July.
Whap #2. Overlapping all the other midyear whaps was an ongoing bunch o'family stuff that I won't discuss in great detail now. Maybe later. The "stuff" was basically two-fold -- my mom's move from a two-bedroom apartment to a one-bedroom apartment in an independent living facility... and my sister's declining health. Planning, busywork, moving, and medical research and education blanketed nearly all of our free time during the summer.
Sadly, these were the last times the five of us would spend together.
Whap #3. Another ongoing annoyance was some weirdness in my own health. These topics are beyond dull -- just a few getting-older issues which, while temporarily draining me of time and energy, I've since gotten under control. Mostly. I will warn you right now, though, that the constant ringing in my ears will -- I repeat, WILL -- drive me to insanity one day. Hoping to plan ahead so that I snap in some sort of interesting or entertaining way. I'm open to any ideas.
Whap #4. So. The evening before my scheduled orthopaedist appointment in July, my ankle mysteriously gave way during a run in the park. Something twisted and crunched and I went down, grinding my knees hard against asphalt and into lots of gravelly debris. Ouch. I limped pathetically to a nearby stump and sat there, blood streaming down my calves, while runbud-angel K rushed to get her car. Several bikers and runners stopped to check on me while I was waiting....I imagine I made a pretty distressing sight. :)
Diagnoses, healing, and settling in
The next day at the doctor's office I made lots of jokes about old rickety women pretending they are still 25. They poked, prodded, and x-rayed all sorts of body parts and properly dressed my knee wounds. I left that day in a boot cast and with instructions to cease and desist physical activity until further notice. Within a couple weeks, I'd had an MRI, been diagnosed with a hard-to-heal tear in my shoulder, declined a recommendation to see a surgeon, and started what would turn out to be six months of physical therapy.
The sprained ankle healed relatively quickly, and the knees got OK eventually, but the shoulder....UGH. I honestly didn't think I would ever be able to do some common movements again, much less any serious upper body work. But I had an awesome therapist, and I refused to quit, bygollydammit. I started getting optimistic early-Octoberish, and nowadays I'm noticing gains in strength and flexibility almost every week. I've kept it up even since "graduating" from my therapist's care last month.
My mom got somewhat settled into her new place, absolutely fawning over the staff and facilities. We got everything out of the old apartment, unpacked into her new apartment, and began to help her get organized and truly settled in. We decided to take a bit of a break, though, so that my mom and sister could get some extended rest. Finally, my sister began to take steps toward managing her own health, seeing various sorts of specialists for advice and minor procedures. She, her son, and husband went on a nearly 4-week vacation to Florida. She returned in early October, happy to have had the time away, but utterly exhausted.
Should I mention here a brief li'l relationship o'my own? I don't really want to, but those damn chatterdevils won't leave me alone. I guess it's significant because for a couple months or so it created some blissful moments during a time when I really needed some respite. It also catalyzed an epiphany or two -- which is always, always, always a good thing.
An email to family, October 21
"Hi there, I hope everyone's doing well. I have some news about my sister -- please forward so everyone can keep her in their prayers.
"Dianna's husband Ray woke up about 3am Tuesday morning to find her unable to breathe well. She'd had chest pains (mild) on Mon evening and had been out of breath a lot for several days. They called EMS, who took her to Laurens County Hospital who very quickly sent her to Self Regional (Greenwood) for congestive heart failure. They slated her to go to the heart cath lab Wed morning for angioplasty at 7am, but on the way there she had a seizure. They gave her medicine to alleviate that, but then she threw up a significant amount of what they called "coffee grounds," i.e., dried blood. At that point they abandoned treating her heart condition temporarily to investigate the other stuff.
"It has been a roller coaster since then. Today she's had a constantly upset stomach, pain, dizziness, and three seizures since the first one this morning. The doc has ordered an EEG and a CT scan to try and determine the cause of the seizures. They are adjusting meds and doing everything they can to stabilize her enough to even get her downstairs to do the CT. Friday they hope to do another diagnostic stomach scope.
"The heart attack appears to be the result of one partial blockage in the left side of her heart. I am still a little unsure about the details of this. At first Ray was told that the heart muscle damage was only 2 percent, but this afternoon the doc had another chat with him (I was in town running an errand...just my luck) and implied more damage to the left side of her heart than had been originally communicated.
"Today Dianna has mostly been asleep, but has woken up now and then. Not feeling good at ALL. At one point she asked me 'What's going on? I feel like I'm dying.' It occurred to me that maybe people had been talking around her rather than to her and she might be really scared. I reassured her, and hoped she understood. She fell asleep very quickly before I could tell her any details. She is sleeping an extraordinary amount even though they aren't giving her anything to specifically make her sleep. Her nurse seems perplexed at that, but did say she'd received a lot of the seizure-relieving medicine. They are watching her very closely and I've been impressed with the staff's diligence.
"Mom is of course antsy, worried, and frustrated that she can't be at the hospital. But she is receiving a lot of support from the staff and residents at her new independent-living home. I'm going to do my best to visit with her this week and weekend, but she keeps telling me she'd rather me be with Dianna.
"Ray and Johnny are tough troupers, although the worry and stress really got to them both this afternoon. We all know Dianna is a rock of strength and stubborness, but it is very hard to see her like this.....sigh.....
"Dianna is in the CICU (Cardiac Intensive Care Unit). They are not currently putting calls through to her room, though, and won't until she is feeling well enough to receive them herself. I'm sure she'll be there at least through the weekend....probably into next week. They haven't even begun to treat the original heart problem yet.
"Thanks so much for forwarding to others in the family....as you know, Dianna believes in the power of prayer and I am sure she'll feel everyone's thoughts and well wishes around her."
The next day
My sister died. We all knew she was very sick, but I'm at a loss to describe how completely shocked we were. I watched the doctor's face closely as he told us, waiting for some sort of punch line or reassurance that "...she'll have a tough recovery, but with time she'll be herself again." I couldn't tear my gaze from his tired, sympathetic eyes as he did not speak these words. I wanted to urge him to go back in her hospital room and double check. I wanted to explain that he just doesn't know how tenacious she is. It couldn't be true.
Sigh....
I'm afraid I've dumped a whompin' huge load o'bummer bricks on my naughty little monkeyblog, so I'm going to abandon the story there. For now, anyway. I considered not posting this self-centered chronology at all, but in the end I thought it might provide a better frame of reference for you devoted mm readers. (Ahhh, the presumptuous ego of my little chatterdevils surfaces again!)
You see, I'm not exactly the same person I was eight months ago. And I'm pretty eager to meet the person I'll be eight months from now. 2011 is decidedly promising, full of good friends, family healing, healthy pursuits, and interesting insights.
Plus I have a brandnew, deep-redvelvet piece o'potential depravity in my fireplace room. Stay tuned.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Pondering and playing
Should I revive my li'l monkeyfriend? If so, should I bring him (or should she really be a 'her'...) out of the closet? I attempted to do mm on Twitter, but I hated the feeling of separateness from, well, ME. My consternation? All my other social media identities have a connection with my job.
Hmmm. Thoughts, my magical followers? Are you even still there?
Whilst pondering, I am playing with design. I'm not in love with the design tweaks I made this morning, but I like the bordello-inspired flavor. What do you think?
Hmmm. Thoughts, my magical followers? Are you even still there?
Whilst pondering, I am playing with design. I'm not in love with the design tweaks I made this morning, but I like the bordello-inspired flavor. What do you think?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
It's quite distressing....
....to see an 'inactive' message attached to magicalmonkey. Is it really over? Will this post make me active again?
Saturday, July 18, 2009
How do you feel today?
I found this e-mail chain while cleaning out my inbox this week. You might chuckle.
P: How do you feel today? It is only 11am, and I feel like I have been here all day!
Me: I feel like I am a basketweaver in a very small club of basketweavers who, as part of a grand sociological experiment conducted by the military, have been asked to produce ten thousand effective baskets per week while following the advice of electricians, ditch diggers, and dolphins. And the air that we breathe daily has been laced with sodium somethingorother, which causes us to forget that we are all inmates in a facility for bipedal arthropods. We are not arthropods, I know, but with the overflow....hey, what can you do except go where they send you? At least we live with other earthlings. My cats are actually in middle management, and have been placed in my house undercover. They are currently conducting side experiments on the effects of sleeplessness on basketweavers.
L1: And I thought I was losing it…
G1: I smell what you're steppin in.
P: Actually....you know what I feel like? I feel like I am on a carousel going very fast and all the images before me are just a blur – lost in the day-to-day, not being able to see how, where or when I should get off. I stay on because that is what I am supposed to do.
L2: I feel alive! That's good enough for me!
K: I just want to make everyone a nice sandwich and take a warm bath. Alone.
G2: I feel like a giant in a land of little people. There are other giants walking the area with me but the little people do not see the fact that we are indeed giants. The everyday struggle to prevent stepping on the little people is very tiring. Sometimes we giants step on the little people and then it takes a great amount of effort to scrape them off our feet and make things right again. Every day I rise early and teach and lead the little people, trying to gain some sort of normalcy in my life. The struggle is great and yet I carry on.
L2: Mmmmmm.....little people...
P: How do you feel today? It is only 11am, and I feel like I have been here all day!
Me: I feel like I am a basketweaver in a very small club of basketweavers who, as part of a grand sociological experiment conducted by the military, have been asked to produce ten thousand effective baskets per week while following the advice of electricians, ditch diggers, and dolphins. And the air that we breathe daily has been laced with sodium somethingorother, which causes us to forget that we are all inmates in a facility for bipedal arthropods. We are not arthropods, I know, but with the overflow....hey, what can you do except go where they send you? At least we live with other earthlings. My cats are actually in middle management, and have been placed in my house undercover. They are currently conducting side experiments on the effects of sleeplessness on basketweavers.
L1: And I thought I was losing it…
G1: I smell what you're steppin in.
P: Actually....you know what I feel like? I feel like I am on a carousel going very fast and all the images before me are just a blur – lost in the day-to-day, not being able to see how, where or when I should get off. I stay on because that is what I am supposed to do.
L2: I feel alive! That's good enough for me!
K: I just want to make everyone a nice sandwich and take a warm bath. Alone.
G2: I feel like a giant in a land of little people. There are other giants walking the area with me but the little people do not see the fact that we are indeed giants. The everyday struggle to prevent stepping on the little people is very tiring. Sometimes we giants step on the little people and then it takes a great amount of effort to scrape them off our feet and make things right again. Every day I rise early and teach and lead the little people, trying to gain some sort of normalcy in my life. The struggle is great and yet I carry on.
L2: Mmmmmm.....little people...
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Fairy tale
He rolled over to feel something warm and wet against his cheek. It felt good, inviting, and smelled....hmmmm, like sunshine. Slightly fruity. Malevolent.
Resentfully squinting through bleary eyes, he sensed rather than saw....what? Greenness? Yes. Greenness. A little sunlight played in the highlights, but what was that in the shadows? Focus. Concentrate. He wasn't used to the mental effort, and didn't like it at all. Where was the sweet easythink and cool inebriation? Clearheadedness was slowly coming to him, and it was uncomfortable and entirely too warm.
Blinking, he opened his eyes all the way. And what did he see?
Fuck.
How could this be happening again? Right next to him -- in fact, he was touching the reprehensibly vile thing -- was a bleeding lump of a giant dead fairy. He jerked violently when he realized his cheek was dripping with the creature's nectarine death-juices. UGH. A swift windglide transported him to the gardenpatch birdbath, and he submerged, furiously swimming laps to cleanse himself of whatever substances clung to his body.
Satisfied finally with his hygiene, he almost regretted the cleansing dip when he realized it had made him considerably more sober. Shit, and doubleshit. Slowly he climbed out of the water, dripping as he perched on the structure's concrete lip. His slight frame couldn't withstand much sun, even on a pleasant spring morning, but he would dry quickly, and then he'd retreat to a breezy shade.
Looking down, he couldn't remember whether he'd killed the damn creature himself, but he certainly hoped so. Its repulsive, skeletal wings were crushed, and its large otherworldly eyes, staring and startled, were milky. Its sentience was finished.
No matter how many freshly slain fairies he encountered, he repeatedly was amazed at how sweet their lifelessness smelled. Yeah. And tasted. But that was a longago incident which never really happened -- the characters in his lucid dreams told him so.
The dead thing below him right now appeared to be female and.... HOLY yankerhell, what was that noise? Jerking his tiny pixie head toward the faraway rustle, he listened intently to discern any additional movement. He heard nothing, but couldn't risk being spotted.
Soundlessly, he was gone.
Resentfully squinting through bleary eyes, he sensed rather than saw....what? Greenness? Yes. Greenness. A little sunlight played in the highlights, but what was that in the shadows? Focus. Concentrate. He wasn't used to the mental effort, and didn't like it at all. Where was the sweet easythink and cool inebriation? Clearheadedness was slowly coming to him, and it was uncomfortable and entirely too warm.
Blinking, he opened his eyes all the way. And what did he see?
Fuck.
How could this be happening again? Right next to him -- in fact, he was touching the reprehensibly vile thing -- was a bleeding lump of a giant dead fairy. He jerked violently when he realized his cheek was dripping with the creature's nectarine death-juices. UGH. A swift windglide transported him to the gardenpatch birdbath, and he submerged, furiously swimming laps to cleanse himself of whatever substances clung to his body.
Satisfied finally with his hygiene, he almost regretted the cleansing dip when he realized it had made him considerably more sober. Shit, and doubleshit. Slowly he climbed out of the water, dripping as he perched on the structure's concrete lip. His slight frame couldn't withstand much sun, even on a pleasant spring morning, but he would dry quickly, and then he'd retreat to a breezy shade.
Looking down, he couldn't remember whether he'd killed the damn creature himself, but he certainly hoped so. Its repulsive, skeletal wings were crushed, and its large otherworldly eyes, staring and startled, were milky. Its sentience was finished.
No matter how many freshly slain fairies he encountered, he repeatedly was amazed at how sweet their lifelessness smelled. Yeah. And tasted. But that was a longago incident which never really happened -- the characters in his lucid dreams told him so.
The dead thing below him right now appeared to be female and.... HOLY yankerhell, what was that noise? Jerking his tiny pixie head toward the faraway rustle, he listened intently to discern any additional movement. He heard nothing, but couldn't risk being spotted.
Soundlessly, he was gone.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Hoping this isn't a permanent state of affairs
Hi guys! Yep, it's been a sparse 2009 in magicalmonkey land. I hope inspiration will kick in again, but for now I've needed to let some things go in my life to make room for other things.
Neverdones: retired
No more, y'all! It was a great series and really spurred me to tackle new things in my life, but eventually my neverdones -- or, rather, writing about my neverdones -- became just another pressure. And trust me, additional pressure is something I don't need. :)
Another 5K
Yesterday I ran the GHS Swamp Rabbit 5K, my first race since November 2008 in which I busted the 30-minute barrier. An injury in January and flareups of a couple biomechanical issues have hampered my training this year.....which was reflected in this weekend's disappointing 34:19 time. I had to walk three times! Auuuuugh!! I must get hardcore on my own ass again.
Immediate future
MUST get work under control. NEED to spend more time with family. WANT to hang with friends more often. WILL kick up my workouts a notch. Those are the goals that are at the top of the list now -- yay, focus! :) I've finally signed up for and have learned to appreciate Facebook, so hop over there and look for me. The short-and-sweet blips are much more conducive to my schedule than blogging.
Later, ppl! Check back now and then in case I've had the time or inspiration to post.
Neverdones: retired
No more, y'all! It was a great series and really spurred me to tackle new things in my life, but eventually my neverdones -- or, rather, writing about my neverdones -- became just another pressure. And trust me, additional pressure is something I don't need. :)
Another 5K
Yesterday I ran the GHS Swamp Rabbit 5K, my first race since November 2008 in which I busted the 30-minute barrier. An injury in January and flareups of a couple biomechanical issues have hampered my training this year.....which was reflected in this weekend's disappointing 34:19 time. I had to walk three times! Auuuuugh!! I must get hardcore on my own ass again.
Immediate future
MUST get work under control. NEED to spend more time with family. WANT to hang with friends more often. WILL kick up my workouts a notch. Those are the goals that are at the top of the list now -- yay, focus! :) I've finally signed up for and have learned to appreciate Facebook, so hop over there and look for me. The short-and-sweet blips are much more conducive to my schedule than blogging.
Later, ppl! Check back now and then in case I've had the time or inspiration to post.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Neverdone #12 :: Asheville affluence
(Yeah, I know....those of you who hop over to mm regularly know that I'm posting this in the new year rather than the 31st. The OCD part of me just wouldn't allow my 12th neverdone of 2008 to be filed, wrongly and in perpetuity, with 2009. Forgive me, please.)
As close as I live to the famous historical landmark, I've never visited Biltmore Estates in Asheville. I always wanted to go, not so much because I thought I'd have a blast, but just to be able to say I'd been there. I sort of viewed it as something that senior women's church groups did to really blow out a load of fun. The most appealing thing to me was the wine tasting, and even that I viewed with a take-it-or-leave-it flavor.
Well, good buddy A recently said, "Let's go!!" So, on a fine fall day right before Christmas, I took a day off work to hightail it up the mountain with her.
The curvy drive to the big house was beautiful, with a well-manicured woodsy wildness characteristic, I remembered from my college architectural history classes, of the picturesque movement in architecture and landscape design. I always liked the naturalness of that particular theory and practice as compared with other schools of thought, but there still seemed to be something "off" about it. Untouched but pruned. Genuine but contained. Pure but processed.
We parked and took the shuttle to the house. Rounding a curve and entering a small gate, I caught my first glimpse of the structure....and was surprised that it was so small.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Small?? It certainly is not small. My friend said, "Wow. You must have a BIG imagination."
Jumping out of the warm, comfy van, I meandered my way along the facade, photographing the gargoyles and stone carvings. That sort of stuff just fascinates me. I found one little stone group of bad-attitude creatures just perfect for magicalmonkey -- the head-honcho gremlin in the center is naked and looks like he has an erect little wallywanger. Ha!
I could've stayed out there for two or three hours, but the main attraction was supposed to be the interior part, so we sauntered on in. I can't decide if the no-photography rule was frustrating or freeing. It certainly helped speed our visit along! Inside, most interesting to me were the architecture and architectural details. I enjoyed the period furniture, holiday decorations, and everyday-life items, but they didn't hold my attention for long.
As usual when I visit very old buildings pregnant with history, I found myself imagining the people from long ago who walked the halls of the place when it was just a big ol' summer party home. Did a young female servant ever squeeze in the little window cubbyhole across from her bedroom, wistfully watching wealthy guests arrive in carriages? What went through the Vanderbilts' minds as they hung out beside the massive window in their bedroom-suite family room, surveying the miles-long rolling hills of their backyard? Down the hall, were eccentric guests playing naked, perverted games in their own private suites, tossing clothes, bedcovers, and linens willy-nilly about the room?
Moving out to the gardens and greenhouses, I wielded my camera once again and went to that happy-creative place in my head. Statues and trees and plants, oh my! My very patient bud A had an awesome amount of tolerance -- anyone who indulges my Nikon and me for that long deserves a huge whompin' "Fabulous Friend" award. I'll post the better shots later, after I've had time to cull the 250 or so images.
Then on to the winery, where we greeted nightfall. During the free belly-standing-up-to-the-bar wine tasting, I discovered a couple yummy white wines. Now if I can just remember their names for future reference....
By the time we left, I'd scored a little holiday shopping as well as a brand spankin' new awesome-deal season pass.
Yep, I'm sold and I'm going back! Who's in?
As close as I live to the famous historical landmark, I've never visited Biltmore Estates in Asheville. I always wanted to go, not so much because I thought I'd have a blast, but just to be able to say I'd been there. I sort of viewed it as something that senior women's church groups did to really blow out a load of fun. The most appealing thing to me was the wine tasting, and even that I viewed with a take-it-or-leave-it flavor.
Well, good buddy A recently said, "Let's go!!" So, on a fine fall day right before Christmas, I took a day off work to hightail it up the mountain with her.
The curvy drive to the big house was beautiful, with a well-manicured woodsy wildness characteristic, I remembered from my college architectural history classes, of the picturesque movement in architecture and landscape design. I always liked the naturalness of that particular theory and practice as compared with other schools of thought, but there still seemed to be something "off" about it. Untouched but pruned. Genuine but contained. Pure but processed.
We parked and took the shuttle to the house. Rounding a curve and entering a small gate, I caught my first glimpse of the structure....and was surprised that it was so small.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Small?? It certainly is not small. My friend said, "Wow. You must have a BIG imagination."Jumping out of the warm, comfy van, I meandered my way along the facade, photographing the gargoyles and stone carvings. That sort of stuff just fascinates me. I found one little stone group of bad-attitude creatures just perfect for magicalmonkey -- the head-honcho gremlin in the center is naked and looks like he has an erect little wallywanger. Ha!
I could've stayed out there for two or three hours, but the main attraction was supposed to be the interior part, so we sauntered on in. I can't decide if the no-photography rule was frustrating or freeing. It certainly helped speed our visit along! Inside, most interesting to me were the architecture and architectural details. I enjoyed the period furniture, holiday decorations, and everyday-life items, but they didn't hold my attention for long.
As usual when I visit very old buildings pregnant with history, I found myself imagining the people from long ago who walked the halls of the place when it was just a big ol' summer party home. Did a young female servant ever squeeze in the little window cubbyhole across from her bedroom, wistfully watching wealthy guests arrive in carriages? What went through the Vanderbilts' minds as they hung out beside the massive window in their bedroom-suite family room, surveying the miles-long rolling hills of their backyard? Down the hall, were eccentric guests playing naked, perverted games in their own private suites, tossing clothes, bedcovers, and linens willy-nilly about the room?
Moving out to the gardens and greenhouses, I wielded my camera once again and went to that happy-creative place in my head. Statues and trees and plants, oh my! My very patient bud A had an awesome amount of tolerance -- anyone who indulges my Nikon and me for that long deserves a huge whompin' "Fabulous Friend" award. I'll post the better shots later, after I've had time to cull the 250 or so images.
Then on to the winery, where we greeted nightfall. During the free belly-standing-up-to-the-bar wine tasting, I discovered a couple yummy white wines. Now if I can just remember their names for future reference....
By the time we left, I'd scored a little holiday shopping as well as a brand spankin' new awesome-deal season pass.
Yep, I'm sold and I'm going back! Who's in?
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Pushup challenge, phase 2
[12.25.08] Progress -- bad. I don't think I was ready for boy pushups. Will need another plan in the new year.
[12.5.08] Boy pushups are grim, man....they are MILES harder than girl pushups. If they were a color, they'd be a bleak, monotonous, dull gunmetal grey. Yuk. I hate them. I can't do them correctly, either -- my floor bud tells me I need to go down another two inches. Grrrrrrrmph. I'm still at it, though. If for no other reason than to say I'm still at it. But here's something positive: While Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are dreaded pushup days, Tuesdays and Thursdays are now sunshine-happiness plank days. Yeah!
[11.26.08] I'm in the middle of Week 1, Level 2. My 12 pushups in the initial test actually earned my entrance to Level 3, but....yikes, that looks too hard! This morning I did the workout at home because of the Thanksgiving holiday, and for some reason it felt extra-hard -- in fact, I couldn't finish a couple of the sets. I'm wondering if the boy-pushup decision was a wise one. For about a year now, I've noticed an occasional, disconcerting "catch" in my right shoulder when doing some types of strength training moves. While this hasn't happened yet with the boy pushups, I get an odd, on-the-verge feeling.....
[11.17.08] OK, here I go. After three months of following the program outlined at hundredpushups.com -- and working up to 30+ girly-on-my-knees pushups -- I've decided to start over. This time, though, I'm going to do them boy-military-style. I mean, what's the point of ultimately being able to do 50 or 100 of the damn things if I have to include a disclaimer that I'm doing the EASY version? Nope. I'm going hard-core, baby. I only have one floor buddy left at work, but we've promised to keep each other on top of our goals. Today we did the initial test, and I made it to 12. I feel a little guilty that my form is not totally on point -- I just can't seem to make it ALL the way down to the floor -- but I'm hoping the proper form will come in time.
[12.5.08] Boy pushups are grim, man....they are MILES harder than girl pushups. If they were a color, they'd be a bleak, monotonous, dull gunmetal grey. Yuk. I hate them. I can't do them correctly, either -- my floor bud tells me I need to go down another two inches. Grrrrrrrmph. I'm still at it, though. If for no other reason than to say I'm still at it. But here's something positive: While Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are dreaded pushup days, Tuesdays and Thursdays are now sunshine-happiness plank days. Yeah!
[11.26.08] I'm in the middle of Week 1, Level 2. My 12 pushups in the initial test actually earned my entrance to Level 3, but....yikes, that looks too hard! This morning I did the workout at home because of the Thanksgiving holiday, and for some reason it felt extra-hard -- in fact, I couldn't finish a couple of the sets. I'm wondering if the boy-pushup decision was a wise one. For about a year now, I've noticed an occasional, disconcerting "catch" in my right shoulder when doing some types of strength training moves. While this hasn't happened yet with the boy pushups, I get an odd, on-the-verge feeling.....[11.17.08] OK, here I go. After three months of following the program outlined at hundredpushups.com -- and working up to 30+ girly-on-my-knees pushups -- I've decided to start over. This time, though, I'm going to do them boy-military-style. I mean, what's the point of ultimately being able to do 50 or 100 of the damn things if I have to include a disclaimer that I'm doing the EASY version? Nope. I'm going hard-core, baby. I only have one floor buddy left at work, but we've promised to keep each other on top of our goals. Today we did the initial test, and I made it to 12. I feel a little guilty that my form is not totally on point -- I just can't seem to make it ALL the way down to the floor -- but I'm hoping the proper form will come in time.
Nooooooooooooo!
Look what I missed. Damn.
This is where I first learned of the...um, special celebration. (What, there's something wrong with surfing the internet on Christmas morning?)
Actually, my damn-I-missed-it reaction was premature. Follow the "this" link in the previous paragraph to read....
Well. Alrighty then.
This is where I first learned of the...um, special celebration. (What, there's something wrong with surfing the internet on Christmas morning?)
Actually, my damn-I-missed-it reaction was premature. Follow the "this" link in the previous paragraph to read....
Ooooh fuckity fuck fuck fuck ... Are they actually going to ruin orgasms? ... I’m sorry, but there is no way I’m donating an O to world peace framed in this shit. I’m giving my orgasms to the terrorists and the war-machine just out of spite now. ... And let me also warn you, don’t cruise the site unless you want the sexy stolen from your life for a good while. I’m starting to wonder if the dude sauce can be some sort of antidote, like an anti-snakebite kit.
Well. Alrighty then.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Neverdone #11 :: Sharing my bodily fluids
For days and days afterward, I stayed all warm and fuzzy from this neverdone. Aglow with good tidings, I was! It also gave me an excuse -- no, wait, a directive -- to eat Twinkies and be lazy. How can you beat that?
Oh, and then there was that opportunity to be on TV. I turned it down for myself, but was thoroughly pleased to shove my neverdone-bud into the limelight instead. :)
I donated blood....yep, for the first time ever.
As I walked into Greenville's Blood Connection, I wasn't really nervous about the needles or the fact that someone was about to drain buckets of blood from my veins.
(Hey, before you complain about my choice of words, I didn't mean *gallon* buckets, for heaven's sake. I meant those tiny little decorative buckets you find at Michael's or Garden Ridge. They're small buckets, but they're still buckets.)
I think my neverdone partner -- let's call her P -- was a little nervous, though, because she hates, hates, hates needles. But she seemed calm as we completed the required paperwork, and pretty quickly I was called to begin my adventure.
A blonde, blue-eyed, cordial-but-quite-serious lab tech with a ponytail and perky gazoongas took me into a tiny little closet of a room with a desk and two chairs. It was one of four or five similar rooms all lined up in a row, I assume for the sake of privacy. But I could hear every word that was spoken in the room next to mine, so I think they should reassess the effectiveness of these little isolation areas.
She asked me question after question after question after question until she began to sound like a rapidfire auctioneer.....which made me laugh. And the questions got more and more ridiculous as she went on and on and on.....which also made me laugh. I wanted to explain to her why I was laughing, but she wouldn't stop with the questions. Finally, she had to take a breath and I said, "Wow, some of these questions are giving me the giggles...do you think I could get a copy of them? Some of them are funny."
She did smile at me briefly, but declined my request. "They won't let us make copies," she explained. "I'm not sure why."
Well, darn. I was hoping to share them with you. The best I can do is recite -- to the best of my recollection -- the question that sent me over the edge: "Have you ever been to Africa and acquired the oogaboogadoodoo virus?"
(Yeah, yeah, I *know* that wasn't its actual name. But it did have a singsongy sort of silly flavor to it, and she pronounced it soooo precisely.)
The nice little serious blonde chick guided me from the room to one of the dentist-chair blood-sucking stations and asked me to drink a carbonated beverage. I asked her if I had to, and she said yes. It was while I was sipping the diet cola -- yuk! -- that I started to pay attention to the young newscaster-dude and his video camera-toting buddy.
The behind-the-camera guy was filming the on-camera guy as he went through the donating process -- he, too, was doing it for the first time. I think it was first-timer day at the place....Besides P, me, and the on-camera guy, I'd heard a couple other donors confess that they were virginous.
(Can you believe "virginous" is not a word? It should be. I like it much better than "virginal.")
The behind-the-camera guy caught my eye, smiled a big I'm-about-to-ask-a-favor smile, and asked, "Would you mind if we interviewed you?"
I shook my head and smiled my bummer-but-there's-not-a-chance-in-hell smile. "Nope, sorry," I answered. "But I'll bet my friend would love to!" I pointed toward P, who was just being escorted out of her little closet-room.
He wasn't giving up. "Would you mind if I just got some footage of you?"
"Nahhh, I don't think so. Thanks, anyway."
I looked to my right, and the nice little serious blonde chick was poking me. "You've got great veins," she said, smiling warmly. Not many things in this girl's work world made her smile, but great veins was one of them.
So I sat there as my blood drained into a clear bag. I'd drank a ton of water that day because I'd been told I would bleed faster. Apparently it worked. After only about 5 minutes, the bag was engorged with my deep red life-fluid. I blew it a mental kiss goodbye, and hoped that it would help someone. The blonde chick told me to sit there a few minutes, finish my beverage, and move over to the snack table when I felt like it.
Looking around, P was in front of me talking to the camera. I couldn't hear what she was saying, though. To her right was a straggly-looking, blankfaced fella who either was coming down off of some sort of unpleasant high or was dead-to-the-whole-world tired. I wondered if he was here to donate blood for a friend or family member....he looked as if he'd been to hell and back. Or perhaps to the ER and back.
I heard a round of chuckles, and noticed that the newscaster dude, in the station to my left, was sitting up, looking around at everyone's faces. "What?" he asked. "Do I look really pale? I feel OK."
Yep, he looked pale, poor guy. I felt nothing. Just normal. So I decided to sit up, too, and made my way to the highly anticipated snack table. Once there, I looked for something healthy.....to no avail. Why would they not provide apples? Geesh, all they had were Little Debbie sugary crap-things. I considered the Twinkies, but, not being a huge chocolate fan, I opted for a cakelike square covered in vanilla icing. Yuuuuuuum! Crap-things can be so good.
I continued to feel fine the rest of the day, except for once -- I felt a nanosecond of dizziness after getting up too fast from my chair at work. I probably could've gone to the gym that evening, but I'd been told not to exert myself so soon after donating, so I had an excellent excuse to be lazy!
I loved this experience because it might have helped someone hang onto life a little better..... :) It makes my other neverdones seem trivial and self-absorbed. Egotistic.
Hmmmmm.
Oh, and then there was that opportunity to be on TV. I turned it down for myself, but was thoroughly pleased to shove my neverdone-bud into the limelight instead. :)
I donated blood....yep, for the first time ever.
As I walked into Greenville's Blood Connection, I wasn't really nervous about the needles or the fact that someone was about to drain buckets of blood from my veins.
(Hey, before you complain about my choice of words, I didn't mean *gallon* buckets, for heaven's sake. I meant those tiny little decorative buckets you find at Michael's or Garden Ridge. They're small buckets, but they're still buckets.)
I think my neverdone partner -- let's call her P -- was a little nervous, though, because she hates, hates, hates needles. But she seemed calm as we completed the required paperwork, and pretty quickly I was called to begin my adventure.
A blonde, blue-eyed, cordial-but-quite-serious lab tech with a ponytail and perky gazoongas took me into a tiny little closet of a room with a desk and two chairs. It was one of four or five similar rooms all lined up in a row, I assume for the sake of privacy. But I could hear every word that was spoken in the room next to mine, so I think they should reassess the effectiveness of these little isolation areas.
She asked me question after question after question after question until she began to sound like a rapidfire auctioneer.....which made me laugh. And the questions got more and more ridiculous as she went on and on and on.....which also made me laugh. I wanted to explain to her why I was laughing, but she wouldn't stop with the questions. Finally, she had to take a breath and I said, "Wow, some of these questions are giving me the giggles...do you think I could get a copy of them? Some of them are funny."
She did smile at me briefly, but declined my request. "They won't let us make copies," she explained. "I'm not sure why."
Well, darn. I was hoping to share them with you. The best I can do is recite -- to the best of my recollection -- the question that sent me over the edge: "Have you ever been to Africa and acquired the oogaboogadoodoo virus?"
(Yeah, yeah, I *know* that wasn't its actual name. But it did have a singsongy sort of silly flavor to it, and she pronounced it soooo precisely.)
The nice little serious blonde chick guided me from the room to one of the dentist-chair blood-sucking stations and asked me to drink a carbonated beverage. I asked her if I had to, and she said yes. It was while I was sipping the diet cola -- yuk! -- that I started to pay attention to the young newscaster-dude and his video camera-toting buddy.
The behind-the-camera guy was filming the on-camera guy as he went through the donating process -- he, too, was doing it for the first time. I think it was first-timer day at the place....Besides P, me, and the on-camera guy, I'd heard a couple other donors confess that they were virginous.
(Can you believe "virginous" is not a word? It should be. I like it much better than "virginal.")
The behind-the-camera guy caught my eye, smiled a big I'm-about-to-ask-a-favor smile, and asked, "Would you mind if we interviewed you?"
I shook my head and smiled my bummer-but-there's-not-a-chance-in-hell smile. "Nope, sorry," I answered. "But I'll bet my friend would love to!" I pointed toward P, who was just being escorted out of her little closet-room.
He wasn't giving up. "Would you mind if I just got some footage of you?"
"Nahhh, I don't think so. Thanks, anyway."
I looked to my right, and the nice little serious blonde chick was poking me. "You've got great veins," she said, smiling warmly. Not many things in this girl's work world made her smile, but great veins was one of them.
So I sat there as my blood drained into a clear bag. I'd drank a ton of water that day because I'd been told I would bleed faster. Apparently it worked. After only about 5 minutes, the bag was engorged with my deep red life-fluid. I blew it a mental kiss goodbye, and hoped that it would help someone. The blonde chick told me to sit there a few minutes, finish my beverage, and move over to the snack table when I felt like it.
Looking around, P was in front of me talking to the camera. I couldn't hear what she was saying, though. To her right was a straggly-looking, blankfaced fella who either was coming down off of some sort of unpleasant high or was dead-to-the-whole-world tired. I wondered if he was here to donate blood for a friend or family member....he looked as if he'd been to hell and back. Or perhaps to the ER and back.
I heard a round of chuckles, and noticed that the newscaster dude, in the station to my left, was sitting up, looking around at everyone's faces. "What?" he asked. "Do I look really pale? I feel OK."
Yep, he looked pale, poor guy. I felt nothing. Just normal. So I decided to sit up, too, and made my way to the highly anticipated snack table. Once there, I looked for something healthy.....to no avail. Why would they not provide apples? Geesh, all they had were Little Debbie sugary crap-things. I considered the Twinkies, but, not being a huge chocolate fan, I opted for a cakelike square covered in vanilla icing. Yuuuuuuum! Crap-things can be so good.
I continued to feel fine the rest of the day, except for once -- I felt a nanosecond of dizziness after getting up too fast from my chair at work. I probably could've gone to the gym that evening, but I'd been told not to exert myself so soon after donating, so I had an excellent excuse to be lazy!
I loved this experience because it might have helped someone hang onto life a little better..... :) It makes my other neverdones seem trivial and self-absorbed. Egotistic.
Hmmmmm.
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