These are my thoughts. They are not meant to make sense. They are my echo into the woods. I am the tree that falls, and it is here that I make a sound.
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The history of babble of the modern psychotic blonde

Warps to others, warped and otherwise
Sanity Optional
Thursday, June 30, 2005

Karla's Dilemma

This is major news for some people in Canada.

Do a google search on Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka. I won't do it. It upsets me too much to see the details. But this woman is dangerous. She is manipulative. Read the attached story very carefully: she took part in the rape and murder of her own younger sister. The tapes they mention show she was a willing participant, not victim of an abusive husband.

She is now attempting to get an injunction against any media reporting on her. Ever more. This would be her second attempt at this, since the first one the judge essentially said you made your bed as a murderess, now lie in it and face the Canadian public.

She said she fears for her life.

She should. I'm serious. I can see people being angry enough at the whole history of this and the deal she made to get a cheap sentence, someone just hauling off and killing her.

Years ago just after her trial, I got followed by a man while I was in downtown Toronto who swore at me and wondered how I'd escaped. He thought I was Karla Homolka. I was scared: I knew how angry people were and thought, holy crap what if this loony really is a vigilante and wants to serve justice to Canada by knocking her off, but killing me because he thinks I'm her.

I've told that story (about the misidentification) several times over the years and people swear I don't look like her. There's a vague resemblance: we're both blonde, female and about a year apart in age (I'm older).

But no matter where she goes, injunction or not, she won't be able to hide. She's made a name for herself, even if she changes it (it's legally now Karla Teale), and no matter where she goes she will be found out.

Murder is a relatively rare thing in Canada: we were 26th out of 63 industrialised nations (the US was 6th, Britain was 18th) . So when something as monstrous as the Bernardo murders happens, I think there's an anthropologically understandable response by our society to banish the perpetrators. And what better way to banish them than death? I'm not advocating her murder. But I won't be surprised when it happens.
Monday, June 27, 2005

On Edge

There are ants in the house.

Yesterday, Rob and I found a MOUND of dog food in between the crack of the sectional couch. The dog's been hiding it. And for each morsel of food, there must've been five ants. And the odd straggler throughout the main floor on the hardwood, rushing to catch up.

We cleaned like mad, Rob lifting up one end of the sectional at one point so I could vacuum under and inside it from the bottom and the dog food just rained down. I washed the floors all round where they were found after Rob did the vacuuming.

The ants weren't there in the morning.

I came from Adam's baseball tonight (I'd not stepped in the house since 7.45 am) and looked around. The ants were all along the baseboard further along in the house, away from the original site.

This freaks me out. I'm spraying bug spray on every possible surface where I see them.

It reminds me of my mom, when I was little, telling me what a dirty girl I was, (the term was dirty pig), what a fat kid I was (throwing a bed sheet at me once and telling me that's all that would fit me one day), these things all seem to roll together in my head into one incident, but of course they're not.

I'm not slovenly. Really. I'm not. I do clean on a regular basis. I don't know how the ants got in or if the dog food was even the trigger. I've been "off" since this happened yesterday evening and I'm finding it hard to get centred again.

The shadow of the dirty pig is long and dark. I can't seem to shake it.

And this invasion has triggered my latent paranoia. I'm literally walking around the house like a hunchback, taking wide but shallow steps, staring at the floor, watching for movement. I remember just before Greg (my ex) and I were engaged and he lived with a friend in a townhouse near my parents. The place was infested with cockroaches. I had never seen one in my life and I had a terrible fear of them touching me. Greg didn't seem to mind them. I was so scared to go down into the kitchen after dark: they'd be everywhere.

I know these are ants and not roaches but it gives me the same feeling of being filthy. I've been fighting tears off and on. This situation just seems beyond my control. Part of me is gearing up to manic mode. I can feel it straining at the bit. The medication is watering it down and the result is a horrible tension in me that leaves me finding it difficult to communicate with people. My boss asked me today why I'd been so quiet. I just shrugged, nodded or shook my head to whichever question he asked.

I'm on edge and I don't like it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Three Months

Went and saw Little Napoleon, my pdoc yesterday. Next appointment is in September, which is the longest break between appointments yet, to my faulty memory. That in itself is a positive.

When I first sat down he asked how things were and I told him they were fine. Then he said, "Didn't you just get a lithium level test done?" I just took a deep breath and said "I don't take lithium".

Am I the only person whose doctor can't even remember what medications he prescribes? I am still on the waiting list for a referral to a second opinion but it'll take a while. At least I know a change is in the wind, even if the wind is on another continent right now.

The results of my most recent blood tests weren't there. He's going to see if he can find them. Awfully nice of him. Oh, maybe I shouldn't be so hard on him. Nah, sure I should. It's fun.

From a different perspective:

In the doctor's office while I was waiting (he is NEVER on time), a young man (maybe early 20s) and his mother were there. They were arguing. Apparently he had opened her mail and brought some documents with him to show the doctor. The mother was furious, saying opening someone else's mail was illegal, which it is. She was very upset and rambled quite a bit. She wanted to know how he had the authority to open her mail and he said he was told to. She wanted to know by whom and the young man kept saying, "Mom, we'll talk about this with the doctor". He obviously didn't want the entire waiting room (me) knowing his family's current problems. But the mother kept going. He was trying to be so patient and my heart went out to him.

No matter how much difficulty I have some days, I honestly don't think I put Rob through that. I know I'm difficult some days, non-communicative or quite short tempered, but I will listen to him when he says hey, cool it a second, or please talk to me.

As the doctor asked me about my moods, my appetite, my sleep, my thought patterns etc, I told him that being bipolar I always have some fluctuations, but that nothing was unmanageable. "So nothing extreme?" he asked.

No.

My life is not extreme anymore. Like I said below in the post about my hockey game two weeks ago, I do miss some of the extreme sometimes, but thinking about that young man and his mom, I will gladly give up the extreme the way I have in order to keep my family together and happy.

UPDATE:
Rob and I went out for lunch today. I told him about the mother and son in the waiting room and said thank goodness I've never put him through anything like that. He looked at me over the top of his glasses and said, "Well, the specifics are different, but if you consider that the son was having trials and tribulations with his mother, then yes, there are definitely some trials and tribulations I have to deal with, with you." When I protested that I wasn't that bad, he very clearly said "What did I just say? I said the details are different but the trials and tribulations are there." When he dropped me off back at work, I said well, at least I'm not that BAD, anyway. And he said no, no you're not. So yes, I'm still bipolar. And I guess I do things I'm not aware of, after all. But I trust Rob and will do my best to minimize those distressing times for him.
Sunday, June 19, 2005

Sunday Funnies June 19th Edition

It's time for some news.

Anyone can cover war, famine and pestilence, but what about a chink in the evolutionary chain? I know o so many men who would love this little guy's problems. But guys, remember: it's not the tools that make the craftsman but the carpenter. Or, put this way: if Michelangelo worked with a paintbrush in both hands at the same time, he would have certainly finished the Cistine chapel sooner but the building would've been wondering "what the hell was that" while he rolled over and snoozed on the scaffolding.

And you thought your local government was sneaky?

Back to pets: I sense a theme. I think the dog would have a hard time with this cat: while he's got more running power, she can see more escape routes.

All I have to say is she's a greedy woman. After the first time, I wouldn't try again. I mean, really.

I just hope the pavement was smooth.

I wonder: do they ride bikes too? Maybe we should introduce them to the bike riders?

It never ceases to amaze me how strange the world can be. And they make US take medication.

That's a wrap for this week's news.
Thursday, June 16, 2005

A cigar can be a cigar

Hi. It's nice to have been thought of, thank you :-)

I've been well. Just busy.

Had a unique episode at hockey Sunday though. The team we were playing against is one I've played against in various incarnations off and on for three years. There are a core group of players on that team who play physical, on the dirty side. I don't have a problem with that, but some of the players on my team do. So, after two periods of being hacked and whacked and slashed and tripped (which the referees didn't call), I asked one girl on the other team (who I knew and who is a new addition to that team), to tell her teammates to please take the aggression down a notch or it's going to start coming back at them.

I guess she went back to her bench and repeated my request, and that was a signal to two of this core group of girls to not calm down but key it up. I play forward, meaning I'm on the offensive part of the team (offensive is probably appropriate on a number of levels if you've ever seen me play). So, I parked myself in front of their goalie, which is part of my job as a forward: assist my team in scoring. Blocking the goalie, distracting her, accomplishes that goal. Their goalie is a big girl. I mean she is a BIG girl: in her goalie equipment she is seriously more than half the width of the net. Which is an asset to their team because she doesn't move very fast and has to use her size as a method of keeping the puck out: we can't score if we're shooting the puck at the Great Wall of Goalie. But I digress.

I parked myself in front of her and knew that beside her was this defenseman who thinks she's hot shit. At the drop of the puck a few seconds earlier I could hear them whispering to each other. Then, my back to the goalie, the goalie promptly cross-checks me in the back (I was not in the crease, the goalie's sanctuary and a no-no to be in). A cross-check, for the uninitiated, is when someone takes their stick from the standard vertical, blade on the ice position, to a horizontal, holding it paralell to the ground, and shoving it into someone. I got that in the back. It's not fun. So I turned around and the two of them were grinning and chuckling. What did I do? I planted my feet and with all my strength (which is considerable), cross-checked her in the chest (she wears about twice the equipment that I do).

She FLIPPED. Started swearing at me and asking me "Do you wanna go?" (meaning do I want to fight). I just laughed. Their defenceman then made a comment to the effect of that what did I think I was doing, being a fat cow. I said "ME? I'M fat? What about your goalie?"

"I'm not talking about the goalie," she said, "I'm talking about you".

This quickly degenerated into a "conversation" where she would tell me how old and fat I am (I'm probably 10 years older than this model of decorum), and I called her a princess who should go home before she broke a nail. She also commented that I should try and lose some weight so I could keep up with the little girls.

That, during the intervening week, has been the one thing that has made me keep perspective on this exchange: I skate as fast as or faster than 80% of players on BOTH teams, so I knew she was just yanking my chain.

Anyway, I got the penalty, because no one saw the goalie hit me and EVERYONE saw me hit the goalie (who, I do take perverse pleasure in, staggered back and almost fell with my hit - I almost single handedly brought down the Great Wall of Goalie). While I was skating to the penalty box, their team was applauding and hooting that I was going. I turned, skating backwards to face them and did a deep theatrical bow. Then, during my 2 minutes in the box, was yelling at the top of my voice to the defenceman "HEY PRINCESS! DON'T MISS THE PUCK AGAIN! A-HA! SHE MISSES IT AGAIN! POOR PRINCESS!". Rob, my coach and dear long-suffering husband, was yelling at me from across the ice "WOULD YOU SHUT UP!" (because I could get more penalties for unsportsmanlike conduct).

But I was wound up and, honestly, I was having fun. Might sound strange to some, but I LOVED it.

Later on this week, I asked Rob how much he thought the episode was BP and how much was me.

He measured his response very well. He had seen Larry King interview Mariette Hartley, Jane Pauley etc talking openly about their bipolar disorder. He said there's been a lot in the media over the last few months talking about BP and other mental illness, including an advertisement on the local radio about CAMH (Centre for Addiction and Mental Health), a place to help people learn to cope.

He said, considering what he knows personally and things that have been said recently, he'd say 5% was BP and the rest was all me, baby. He said I had a gut reaction to an aggressive situation and reacted without thinking. He said that I reacted as a hockey player, not as a person with a mental illness. Sometimes the cigar is just a cigar. I can handle that. While I did enjoy the adrenaline rush of the situation, I am not necessarily proud of my behaviour. Wait. I have to be honest here. I am a little proud. I didn't take any crap and I didn't suck out. Was it something I'd condone in my son? Likely not. But it made sense to me at the time, an emotional time.

And finally, thinking about it, I think one of the reasons I love hockey so much, especially since the time of my diagnosis, is that it helps me get, in small, controlled doses, some of the rush and exhilaration of those manic times. I get to fly by the seat of my pants, and give vent to some of the aggression that used to surface during mania, within a framework of rules. I am penalised for overtly breaking those rules (getting two minutes for cross-checking the goalie being a prime example).

While hockey is not a gentle sport, I love it. I am not a princess, not a delicate flower, and it gives me an hour twice a week to taste that intoxicating rush that is now otherwise denied to me due to medication. Just got to remember to control the temper a little better so I don't penalise my team by losing a player. Safe, controlled, and adrenaline-filled, but still medicated. That's as good as I'll get for a long while and I am satisfied with that.
Friday, June 03, 2005

Tickety Boo

Just a quick note to let everyone know I've not fallen off the face of the earth. Things have been extremely busy on a number of fronts, 99% of which are positive.

I'll post more details once this very busy upcoming weekend is over.

Take care all.

Copyright © 2005 Blondzila (because no one else would own this).

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