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.
Most recent babblings

The history of babble of the modern psychotic blonde

Warps to others, warped and otherwise
Sanity Optional
Tuesday, August 30, 2005


Adam got his ear pierced last Monday (a week ago yesterday). He's actually been asking me since he was about 7 to get it done and his father finally agreed.

He's been taking care of it, cleaning and turning it when he's supposed to, without prompting.

Then he went to his father's on the weekend like normal.

A few weeks ago we talked about how's he's going to get to and from high school, which is about 1 1/2 miles, and he said roller blades. So we've been practicing almost every night (he's never bladed before). He's getting better and better.

During our skate last night, I asked him if he cleaned his earring at his dad's and he looked at me like "please, what kind of fool do you take me for" and said "yes, mom". Then I asked what his dad's longtime live in girlfriend said about it.

He said that rather than the fluffy cotton balls we have here at our house, she has the round flat cotton pads (good for taking off makeup and such, which she doesn't wear). So Saturday Adam uses three pads (he's to clean it three times a day) and Sunday he goes looking for the cotton. This twit of a girlfriend has taken the package, tied it up really tight and shoved it underneath the bathroom sink behind two boxes of feminine products.

Adam looks at me and says (and I love this!)

Mom, do you know how pathetic it is to be jealous of a fourteen year old kid using your cotton pads?

I laughed and asked if he had told his father (he keeps a lot of that kind of stuff from his dad because he doesn't want to stir the pot). He said he had told his dad, hey, look where I found the cotton swabs, dad, I wonder how they got there. And he said his dad looked at him, said, hmmm, I wonder too.

Then Adam said, I hope he then went and yelled at her (his dad's girlfriend).

This woman's been like this since my ex and her have been together, which I'd say is at least 7 or 8 years. She's jealous of the time my ex spends with Adam, to the point of telling both of them that my ex's planned family trip to Africa in a couple of years cannot include Adam. Additionally, she told Adam (and Adam's never told his dad this) that he better keep his room spotless because he's only a guest in their house.

Nice, eh?

It makes me so glad that Adam and Rob get along so well. At least he's got one home where he's universally welcome.
Monday, August 29, 2005


Rob and I had lunch together today, which is good. It's so nice working so close together (we're about a mile apart or less).

I was really nasty this morning. I lost my patience with one of our sales reps and banged the phone on my desk like a hammer. The other two women in the office looked at me a bit strange and I said "I have zero patience today, can you tell?" The other woman made a bit of a face and then said, uh yes. She probably thinks I'm nuts. Got news for her. I am.

I said to Rob at lunch today that sometimes I wonder if all the times in the past two years since diagnosis when things were relatively calm had jack shit to do with the efficacy of the medication and were just lulls in the bipolar spectrum, things not going *as* far. He said: "I've said it before a hundred times and I'll say it a hundred more: the whole thing is part of the cycle with you. "

I said "yes, but if the medication was doing its supposed job, I shouldn't be going like this".

He said "the medication keeps the swings further apart, it doesn't eliminate them. Wait and see what happens with this new doctor [who I see in a week]."

I didn't want to argue with him. I don't agree that the function of the medication is to keep the swings further apart. I take a fucking mood stabilizer. Therefore they should be stable. They aren't, or at least haven't been for the past month.


Throwing things

I had a really good weekend. I told Rob yesterday that this weekend is the first in a really long time that I felt almost "normal", not looking around and evaluating everything in terms of where it fits on a bipolar perspective.

This morning I come into work and I want to throw my computer across the room.


short temper
no patience
engine's revving again with nowhere to go
I'm on hold with a vendor who is telling me I have to pay a 25% restocking charge on something and I keep asking him ok, what is my ultimate cost, and he keeps saying it's 25%. JUST TELL ME THE DOLLARS SHITHEAD.
Saturday, August 27, 2005

I'm a dead president

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by
Friday, August 26, 2005


I don't know if my lack of concentration is medicinally induced or as a result of the disorder.

I have zero frigging patience today.

I also have a very short temper.

I also have these emotional breezes that wander through, quick and dirty, that make me feel like I want to cry, and then right on the heels of that is the short temper.

I am not depressed.

I don't know what I am. Not really happy about whatever it is.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005


a quickie

concentration still sucks but at least I don't feel like I'm thrumming like a high tension wire.

see how the rest of the day goes
Tuesday, August 23, 2005

A paraphrased synopsis of the key event today

Email from me to Rob:

"Thank you again for listening to me at lunch. It was really hard for me to talk to you like that and tell you those things. I don't mean to worry you but if I don't tell someone, if I don't let it out, then it sits inside me and starts to eat at me. If that makes sense.


As usual

Thanks for being there and for being you.

I'd be lost without you".

Rob's email response back to me:

"Hey, no problem, bud. We'll get lost together.

And just remember, if you hear sounds that no one else is hearing, it's all you, baby. And never be afraid to tell me things. I want to know.

Remember, I'm your bud."

And no, he wasn't joking about the sounds.

I read his email and almost cried.

Hoof in Mouth

Example of how much I've been talking about things I shouldn't:

The entire office now knows I have my navel pierced. Considering the weight I've gained, they all look at me like: "ewwwww. PLEASE don't show it". Trust me, it looked better three pant sizes ago.

I've had it for about 10 years (a bit ahead of the curve of all the cool people, which I guess makes me lukewarm).

My boss, (not the one I worked for years ago, the other one) has been saying about various people that he almost hired in years past, "I wanted to hire them because of x, y and how smart I believed them to be. But since then, a and b have happened to make me realise they aren't as smart as I thought they would be".

My boss, when he walked into the conversation I was having regarding the navel ring said "YOU have this done?". I said yup. I told him how long ago it was and he just looked at me and said "so you were old enough to know better".

So now I've got it in the back of my mind that he is thinking the same thing: she's not as smart as I thought she was (which bothers me intensely).

As well, last night I got a phone call from my cousin (who I call my aunt - she's my mom's first cousin and only a few years younger than my mom), asking if I was going to her daughter's wedding, the second weekend in September. I froze. I totally forgot to send in the reply card. Well, not totally. I've been debating about going but I'm so ashamed of my appearance that I cannot handle being with family. I've backed out of at least 4 family engagements this summer because of it. And it's a domino thing: hate the appearance, which heightens paranoia, which richochets through days following any such event. I don't want that instability, so I avoid them.

But after I hung up, I sat on the couch and cried for a few minutes. Out of the clear blue sky, the tears came, quietly. I was so sad that I've come to a point where I can't face my family. I debated sending this big long email to my cousin (her daughter, who is getting married), explaining about being bipolar and being in a not-so-good-for-social-events place right now, but I wish her all the best, and then I thought, no, she's going to read it and think, wtf??? and then I thought I'd send one to my other aunt, the sister of the first one, who knows I'm bipolar and explain it to her, and ask her to pass on the message, but then she's the kind of person who will then immediately phone me and want to talk, and I can't do that, talking on the phone I DON'T want to get into. But then I told Rob I was sad and why and he said, hey, you've been feeling so good, don't let that take you down, and I thought, true. And within 5 minutes, it was almost gone. Like it never happened. I still feel a bit sad about it now, as I type, but not like last night with the tears and feeling so pathetic.

And the final thing I forgot to say: I found myself telling the goalie of my Sunday night hockey team about being bipolar. Turns out she took lithium as a teen (she's in her mid-to-late 40s now). I told her that I couldnt' go to the Jack and Jill for another player and her fiance in September because it's late and I have to take medicine then that makes me pass out. She asked what meds they were and I said there were two, valproic acid and another one. She said oh so those two make you even? and I said well the one does and the other controls other things and it's very important that I take it. She asked what it was and I said it was an anti-psychotic (the Seroquel). She did a start and then said (subconsciously moving a bit away from me, I don't even think she realised she did it) "WELL! You better take that one alright!" I laughed and said yup, I need to.

Now....why am I telling her all this?


The heifer's got hoof in mouth disease.

And this is another thing that I DON'T want to do in the interview with the 2nd opinion doc in two weeks: I don't want to babble away.

I guess that I'm kind of hoping I can go in there under such control he's going to say that the entire diagnosis is incorrect and I'm just a busy person (rather than manic).

A girl can always hope.
Saturday, August 20, 2005


This blog entry is really me talking to myself. Sorry for the strangeness: I just needed to talk to myself for a bit in a way that I can remember what I've said (if that makes sense).

I've had some thoughts of late, cousins to the thoughts that just insert themselves into my head while driving and such, but these are not thoughts of harm or destruction or blood or anything the like.

I WILL NOT tell you what the thoughts are.

But they are strange enough, and I'm not sure whether I believe these thoughts or not. They're fairly innocuous, but strange enough that there's a small part of my broken brain that sits and says WTF was that? while the rest of my brain nods at the thought and says, hey, thanks for the tip.

I've also been thinking about my upcoming meeting with the new doctor for the second opinion. I've been play acting around the house today (I'm alone - Rob's at a course for sports first aid, but he's on his way home now), pantomiming and talking to the invisible doctor. And during one of these self-supporting skits, I tried to think of what I would say to the new doctor about the skits.

At the time, I told the new doctor who looked just like my face in the mirror, look, I'm only going to answer your questions SO honestly, because I'm smarter than that. I know what kind of stuff you're looking for and I'm not schizophrenic and I'm only a bit bipolar: I don't have raving rages that go for ages and I don't really get depressed and I only have small blips on the radar, and I'm pretty sure that my medicine isn't doing a damned bit of good, which it only would do good if I was severely bipolar and needed it badly. So I'm going to give you the answers you need and that's about it. I'm smarter than you think, far smarter and you're not going to catch me with your questions.

But then in my skit I thought that that wouldn't be the best approach to take because it might be perceived as belligerence and that in itself might be seen as a sign of something. Why the frig don't they just brand the scarlet letter on my forehead? Nothing I say will be taken normally. They all have hidden agendas, those doctors, and I have to be careful what I say. The last time I was interviewed by a new psychiatrist, I was in hospital in the G ward and unable to leave. I don't want to give him any ammunition to put me back there.

I also found that the last two nights, when my Seroquel started to kick in, I was getting really irritated. Not so much last night, more the night before. But both to some extent. And I was irritated because I am sick and tired of going to bed DRUGGED. I take it, half hour, forty five minutes later, I'm stoned out of my head and have to sleep. I want to feel the exhaustion of a good days hard work. I want to sleep because I'm ready to not because I'm so fried I can barely walk.


Enough of this.

Rob's home. Time to play nice.

Rinse then repeat

This morning, as every Saturday morning, Rob made pancakes. He normally then does the breakfast dishes. However, he's taking a course this weekend, 9 am - 6 pm both Saturday and Sunday, on sports first aid. It dovetails with his coaching certification.

So he asked me to do the dishes while he got dressed to go.

I said fine, just leave them on the counter.

So what does he do?

He throws his dish in the sink and washes it.

Sounds nice, doesn't it.


He doesn't rinse the plate and he doesn't put the excess bits of food in the garbage so when he throws the plate in the water, all the mushy little bits of pancake are floating about in the sink having a grand old swim.


My mom used to do that when I was a kid and it would bring me near tears of frustration to have to put my hand in that disgusting water. It just TOTALLY grosses me out.

Rob was upstairs at this point and I go to wash my plate and I can't even see to the bottom of the sink (the suds had died). Little mini pancakes were floating round and round. Then Adam's father phoned saying he'll pick Adam up today rather than have me deliver because he got called into work. Afterward, Adam asked what his dad said but I was fixated on this disgusting water and so I went off for a bit. Verbally that is.


Adam asked what was wrong and I told him how it grosses me out and if Rob wanted me to do this dishes he should just let me do them. I know I rambled for a bit, and I don't remember 100% of what I said but at one point Adam just said:

"Mom, let's change topics. What did my dad say?"

So I told him and then went off on the sink for a bit more and then did the dishes, complaining all the while.

Please tell me I'm not the only person in the world who has a thing about food floating in the dishwater....
Wednesday, August 17, 2005

The Difficulty of Being Conscious

I've been finding lately that I want to be manic. I've been riding pretty high for a while (can't remember how long - a few weeks at least) and every time I sense some fatigue, or some shadowy thoughts, I deliberately PUSH myself higher.

Would I have done that before my diagnosis? Obviously I wouldn't have known what to call it, but would I have deliberately pushed myself into maintaining the engine idle speed at high? I don't know.

Does all this sound strange?

I don't like being tired. It's a waste of time. So I'm not tired. It's been that kind of train of thought.

Yesterday was an interesting day. I remember having days on end like this, before diagnosis, and it's been SO FREAKIN' LONG since I've felt this way: it was beautiful.

I was making jokes, I was mimicking this older German couple that called in (they were so cute, reminded me of my inlaws, who are long since passed away, and I'm amazing with accents so the whole office was laughing), I had both my bosses laughing at different things at different times throughout the day, Rob and I went to lunch and I had him going with some of my tales, I was rolling on the high seas of humour, I was productive, writing good quotes (but two customers called back asking where information was that I had missed), I was talking a lot, it just felt so damned good.

Now, two years ago, I wouldn't have known that this might be indication of hypomania (I don't think I'm really full blown manic), I would've just enjoyed the day.

I am now conscious of my disease.

Does that change my course? I don't think so. It just feels so good to feel so good, I think I would've done what I could to keep it.

that's a poem, or better yet, a song...dunno, maybe a Creed kinda thing without the Bible innuendo

(sung against a background of a soft acoustic guitar)
It just feels
So good
To feel
So good
I would
have done
What I could
To keep things
the Saaaaammmmmeeee (long stretched out word)

So, what do you think? Like mah song? I'm gonna make a mint....

But I do think that my book that I'm writing could do well. I keep meaning to transcribe some into my other blog that I have, that sits blank right now, but I think you guys would love it. It's got love, politics, crime and the power of one woman's love of her family to surpass all roadblocks.

Hey, that could be the back of the jacket. I'll be my own publicist.

HAHAHAHAAHAH (laughing my ass off).

Let's get it written first.

ANYway, I'm at work. Time to do something other than talk about myself.

Enough about me, what do YOU think of me....

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Cool Ad

This is pretty good! Had me laughing anyway. Think it's quite clever.

Hat tip to disso for this
Saturday, August 13, 2005


Sansanity talks about lying.

I just froze when I read her post. She was typing from inside my head.

I remember being young, 8, 9, 10, and having friends want to come over on the weekend. I'd lie and say that we were going to an aunt's house. It was so easy, no forethought, just out it would come. I'd keep friends away from my house for the most part, the school friends anyway, because then they didn't have to see my family. (Like the few that I invited to my eighth birthday party, who wanted to put me through the Paddy-Whack machine - where they stood with legs wide apart and you crawled through it while they gave you birthday paddy-whacks on the bum. I didn't want to play that and my mom started calling me names and what a suck I was and she sent me to my room with a spanking and all the kids got sent home. Yep. I'd really try hard to keep kids from school away from seeing my family). The kids I played with on the street had already grown up with my mom, so I couldn't hide her from them. So them, I found I was telling them stories about things I'd done at school, things that made them laugh, that made them talk to me, that made them like me.

I found I lied so much sometimes I wouldn't know I was lying until I was caught deep in it, unable to back out. It's kind of a scary feeling, looking around and realising that your "truth" is just a flimsy piece of gauze put up with thumb tacks and rips and falls on you like a net, smothering you.

I still lie.

I do it well.

I remember the interview at the hospital when I went in to emerg in September 2003. I told him what I had tried to do and the social worker kept asking me these questions in a soft monotone. Was I telling him the truth? Was I embellishing? Did I really feel that way?

That's part of the problem. What is it that I feel?

A lie helps shape my self into something recognisable. I can make me be like the people around me rather than the fucked-up me that I've always known myself to be. (hey, that rhymes, I was a poet and didn't know it, but my poems suck so who gives a fuck).

I remember the hypomania (or was it full fledged mania) I lived for years in my late teens and early twenties. Sleeping around was so easy because (1) I could lie to the guy I'd let pick me up, letting him make me out to be whatever flipped his flapjacks, and (2) I was such a prolific and talented liar that I never got caught. Only once was close and that's because FAR too much alcohol was involved and I was getting close to the end of my patience with my first marriage anyway, I think I was on some level almost wanting to be caught.

Lying, embellishment, telling tales.

I try to be honest here, blog-o-mine. I really do. Now, you're not going to believe me because I've just finished telling you what a good liar I am. But it's the truth. As far as I can remember, everything I've written in this blog has been truthful. And if I can't remember and I've stretched the truth a little, well, I hope it made both me and you feel better at the time.

Switching gears:

I'm still on the upswing. But this morning, driving Adam to his father's for the weekend, I was feeling fine and I'd have those lovely freeze frame slow motion car wrecks go through my mind as I was driving. Such as:

Driving along, happy as a clam (how happy are clams anyway....seems like a shitty life to me, but who am I to talk), and come round a country road curve. Car's coming towards me. Without thinking consciously about it, I can see the frame by frame picture of the head on crash. Coldly wondering how much it would hurt. Wondering how long it would take the air ambulance to get way the hell up there (my ex lives 45 minutes NW of Toronto, in a little town of about 2000 people, no highway access for 1/2 hr in any direction). It happened more than once on the drive home. Perfectly content driving home and these thoughts would insert themselves like PopTarts in a toaster. MMMMM Poptarts.

Then, another part of my mind says, hmmmm, thinking this way probably is an indication of something not being right.

Gee, ya think?

So, I got back into the city, drove to the car dealer's to get my oil changed (waaayy overdue), went for a 45 minute walk to kill some time, picked up the car (watching myself in the mirror behind the service clerk, thinkin' I look damn fahn this mohnin' -- it's phonetic, sound it out), drove home, mowed the lawn, made myself some homemade macaroni and cheese for lunch, Rob came home (he'd gone into work for a few hours), Rob had some kinky ideas in mind, we put them into action, now he's sleeping and I'm sitting in a bathrobe waiting for the load of laundry I've done to be finished so I can get dressed. I'm thinking of then going roller blading a bit. See how things go. But I would say that I'm definitely still on an upswing.


Up and down the driveway. Yeah.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Still Running on High Octane

Well, since I can't fill up with the high test (bloody stuff's near $1.00 a litre now) it's a good thing that my body is running on its own high grade fuel.

Mind's still sharp, attention's been good, I've closed some deals at work that a few weeks back when I was grim I was terrified to even pick up the phone, I've also found I'm talking far too much but I can't help it. My old boss that hired me is on two weeks vacation and I find he's a centring/grounding force at work the way Rob is at home. But things are still fun and I'm enjoying the time.

Adam's baseball team got knocked out of the playoffs tonight. His coach is a woman and a complete moron. Adam's been at summer day camp all week, a prerequisite for the counsellor in training he wants to do next summer, which in itself is a prerequisite for getting a summer job there as a counsellor. So he's been out in the hot weather all day at camp, then has to walk home to meet me to change quick and I swing by on the way home from work and drive him across the city to the game, gulping down a sandwich or something along the way. His bus drops him off from camp at 5:15 and it's a mile from home, and the game is at 6 pm sharp on the other side of the city. It's so difficult to make it. Plus, he's exhausted. So he asked the coach tonight when we'd play next if we won tonight. She said same field, same time, tomorrow. Adam said, well, you do realise that I have camp again tomorrow. And she said If you don't want to come, don't come. What a great motivational thing for a coach to say.

The playoff format is double knockout: you lose two games and you're gone. They lost their first game but won the subsequent two. Tonight was the third game in four days and because the coach wouldn't let anyone other than two specific boys pitch, their arms were sore and the wheels fell off the game in the last inning because the boy just didn't have anything left. It's not his fault. So no more baseball. I told Adam that if he wanted to sign up next year that'd be fine but I'd request specifically not to have that coaching team (her husband is an assistant because they can't stand him as the real coach, he's so brutal to the kids). He said he loves baseball but these doofuses (peckerheads he called them) have soured it for him. Now that's sad.

Truth be told, Adam's glad it's over. He said next year he'd rather play football. He's better suited for that, honestly, given his size. But let's see what happens. He starts high school in four weeks and that opens up a WHOLE new world.

I played in my Wednesday night hockey league tonight. We're in the playoffs as well. We won and are 4-0, so are guaranteed a spot in the finals. There was a time where I was feeling a little paranoid about things that happened on the bench, but then one of the players told me I was doing a good job and I was all bright and sunny. What a pavolovian twit I am sometimes. Adam and Rob were there for the last part of it (a bit of overlap from Adam's baseball game to my hockey game) and both said that I was skating really fast (for me, that is). I actually felt a bit slow tonight so that shows you perception differences. Maybe the hypomania is making me want to be faster and I'm faster but don't realise it. Oh, whatever. I'm just having fun with the game tonight.

Rob's in bed wondering where I am. I'm not tired yet. Another sign of the hypomania, but I'm having fun so don't deny me my fun!!!!!!

Good night.
Sunday, August 07, 2005

Prolific Period Placement

I've been writing a lot - both here and in the "journal" I have. The journal is actually turning out to be a novel, and I'm going to post snippets of it on the other blog I have linked to this profile. Nothing there yet but soon I'll post some.

The other thing is that I've been doing a lot of reading about bipolar disorder again, thanks in part due to a link Michele sent me:

I've also, parallel to this, picked up a few of my old university text books and am reading a few of them at the same time (one I read while I'm on the stationary bike in the basement. It's a treatise on the legal definition and treatment of sexual assault in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century England. Gripping stuff.) The other text is a "layman's" explanation of the theory of evolution and how it is no longer what Darwin envisaged it to be. It's interesting reading because I was in university more years ago than I would like to admit (started in 1987) and the science of DNA analysis has come SO far in the near twenty years that a lot of this book that extrapolates ideas as theory have now become proven standard practice.

All this is leading to my current train of thought:

Stay with me on this one. It's logical (at least to me).

Evolution is a change or adaptation of life according to ecological and environmental niches. I'm at the part in the book right now that is explaining about the Galapogos tortoises. There are two main types. The first has short legs and neck and, not so coincidentally, feeds on plants that grows close to the ground because of the island's dry climate. The plants branch out low to the ground as an adaptation to survive, getting and retaining as much ground moisture as possible. The other tortoise lives on islands with a wetter climate, whose plants grow taller and as a result, the tortoise has both longer legs and a longer neck, with a shell with a peaked roof to allow the neck to extend further to reach the upper plants if necessary. Ideal examples of life filling specific niches.

I am starting to believe that bipolar disorder is a change in human evolution. We are statistically more creative, more productive, more intuitive, more reactive to life around us. Some of us do not survive. It doesn't make them worse people or even better people. They have simply found themselves in a situation that they couldn't see beyond. No one said that evolution was without pain. Without discomfort. It takes time to change to surroundings. It is no longer a world where the man with the biggest muscles who can hunt the largest game gets the women in the clan. It is no longer a world where the woman with the broadest hips gets chosen because of the implicit success in childbearing. It is now a world where we have to become creative to convince others to buy our goods, to give us that mortgage, to vote for us, to choose our politics/lifestyle/religion/advertising campaign/insert imagery here. People with bipolar disorder are able to come to the fore with the political strength of a Winston Churchill, the impact of an Ernest Hemingway, the ruthless empire building of a Ted Turner (yes we need people like that too). We suffer through the growing pains of the species. We will take humanity in baby steps away from its primal core and move towards a future of more cerebral strengths.

I see that this is more than a pathology. It is a step forward. I am damned if I'm going to let myself be one of those who don't make the evolutionary cut.
Saturday, August 06, 2005

Not for me

Days are still good. Energy is high, mind is sharp. Now, for two separate points.

1) My blog has been active for a year now. August 3 2004 I started this mess to vent and ease some of the burden I put on Rob by blurting out the venom and infected ooze that sometimes runs amok in my mind. It's done its job many-a-time: he's never had to know how truly deep I've become embroiled. Other times it's let me vent enough so that when I do talk to Rob, I've already had a chance to put thought in some sort of coherent order so that Rob gets the message without the ramble. Finally, it's let me connect with some truly wonderful people and I'm glad to know every one of you. Thanks for being there.

Now, for point 2 - Warning: this gets religious and if you're of devout faith, don't take offence. Usually on this topic (below) I stay pretty politically correct because I know how important faith is to most people and I don't deny them their faith. For once, I'm going to say what I mean. If you don't like it don't read it.

2) Surfing blogs and following links, a daily habit, I found a blog belonging to a woman who's introduction to it stated:

"One Christian woman’s journey from disobedient housewife to submissive wife and teacher of other women - and along the road also finding she is a better mother, daughter, sister and friend as a result.....To read more on biblical womanhood please visit {she names the website} - a resource for Christian women dedicated to teaching and helping women be women as God intended through the teachings of His word. "

Oh my goodness. (I'm trying to not use profanity).

I try hard to be understanding of various religions and sects. Christian or otherwise. I studied religion in university (not as a major but as a theme running through several of my courses as a history major). I understand the functions of most religions as teachers of morality, uniters of culture, codifiers and enforcers of societal laws. While I don't go to any church and have my own personal reasons for not believing in a higher power, I never deny the right or beliefs of others.

But this woman has me really irritated for some reason.

I read a great deal of what this woman had to publish on her ministry website. She wants all us women to put our husbands before ourselves and our children. You have that toddler tugging on your pant leg looking for a hug and your husband in front of you looking for dinner? Dinner first. The child must learn to wait. Husband is looking for some "cuddle time"? Send the children outside and tell them to play quietly while Mommy and Daddy "cuddle" on the couch. She says that women are incapable of directing all of their love at more than one target at a time, and by looking after our children's immediate needs before those of our husband's, our husband "becomes not even a poor second or third".

If that were true, why have children at all? Or if we do, never have more than one: we'll never be able to love and care for all of them equally, being capable of only an apparent laser beam of love, focused narrowly on one target at a time.

Additionally, I have trouble with the "biblical wife".

The Bible is a book written by men in a time of extreme patriarchy. It is the codified word of God. We discussed this in one of my classes in university and the Tower of Babel effect comes in to play. Assuming God is the omniscient presence, it is highly unlikely that he transmits his messages in colloquial English. Therefore, the interpretation of the message must be filtered through the minds of those who hear it. Each of us has their own filter, shaped and moulded by our experiences in life. It is in that case impossible to transmit the message exactly as it was originally sent: as soon as pen is put to paper, as soon as words are chosen to convey a message never sent in words, the message becomes coloured by the writer and changes its original course. I don't care how "chosen" the writer was. He (because they were all male) cannot help but put his own experiences into his transcription.

It is for this reason that we have so many sects of each of the major religions: everyone has their own interpretation.

I don't deny that each person has their own RIGHT to interpret things as they see fit.

What I DO FREAK and PEAK at is the implication that someone is out there implying that the way I live my life as wife and mother is anything but ok. Because I ACTUALLY take time for myself sometimes, because sometimes I ACTUALLY make Rob WAIT while I sit and play a game with Adam for a while, because I am NOT SUBMISSIVE TO MY HUSBAND (!!!!! WHAT FRIGGING CENTURY ARE WE IN!!!!!) that I am somehow less of a wife, mother, woman, person.

I don't deny this woman the right and choice to live her life that way. What I do feel is wrong is her judgment on mine. How is that different than the hardline Islamic judgments of the western world as infidels? Because I don't follow the Koran, and especially don't follow it to a point where I am dressed in the traditional conservative muslim women's aba, I would be judged as an infidel whose lives her life full of sin. How is that judgment different than that of this woman? Hers is simply phrased in softer language.

The judgment is the same.

"Judge not, lest ye be judged".MATTHEW 7:1-5

I live my life as a good wife, mother and person. NO ONE has the right to imply otherwise. NO ONE.

Man this pisses me off. I'm getting the impression somewhere in the back of my mind that I might be a bit overreacting but I don't care. I am tired of having people like this woman, or some of the people I see on American TV, imply that because I don't follow their conservative religion, that I am bound for their Hell.

LEAVE ME ALONE. Clean up your own houses before you come to mine.

Rant over.
Thursday, August 04, 2005

Killer Quote

I found this quote as a header for a blog I stumbled across.

"I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires." ~ Susan B. Anthony

Amen, sista.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005

I can't do no log

I've been keeping track the past week and a half of my moods by a few words of entry into my daytimer in my purse, just a little pocket calendar. I've tried in the past these intricate moods charts and frankly I never seem to have the concentration to keep it up for long.

As for the war between mind and body today...

drum roll

The mind is winning!


No fatigue.

Rob and I had gone out to lunch to Quizno's where I made some lame joke with the guy in line in front of us who didn't find it funny. So then I sat there making faces behind his back and laughing. Rob just gave me the eye and told me silently to settle down. Lunch helps keep me grounded somewhat - just because I get to spend time with Rob. The days we can't eat lunch together I really notice the difference in my mood and stability.

The heat today has been just awful, 42 C or 108 F with the humidity factored in. But me, at lunch, was sitting outside writing in my journal in the sun. No shade for me!!! I'm writing a story about a time in the not so far future where politics has swung to the extreme and religion has become the state. During this framework, a woman's daughter goes missing and she has to work within and fight against this structure to find her. So at lunch I am more often than not writing in there if I've got time to myself. Everyone else was complaining about how draining the heat was. I found it invigorating. I'm also quite pleased with myself today. In how I look. Feeling kinda sexy :-) and damn it all if it doesn't give off vibes to the men around me :-). I see 'em lookin' :-)

Then tonight was both Adam's first baseball playoff game and my third hockey playoff game. So I stayed at Adam's till the bottom of the fifth inning (they play 7), then went to my game. I scored my first goal of the season, helping our team to a 3-0 win. Adam's team lost 10-8 unfortunately, so, if they lose Friday, they're done for the season.

I'm not tired yet - I took my Seroquel a bit late because of hockey. Rob's already in bed wondering where I am. I should go. I'll be staring at the ceiling in a short while - Rob's too tired to attack tonight.

So - long story short (too late) - in the war of mind vs body, mind is winning. The body has been convinced it is energetic and dead sexy. WOOHOO!


My body is tired.

My mind is not.

We are at war.

Work today should be interesting.

Let's see who launches the first salvo, mind or body.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Plane Crash

An Air France plane crashed 5 miles, as the crow flies, from my house today. It carried over 300 people, 290+ passengers and then the crew. We are in the midst of another humid heat wave, which grows unstable thunderstorms like mushrooms in the dark. It was in one of these torrential downpours, lightning warnings on all the radios, that this plane simply skidded 200 metres off the runway and into a 30 m deep ravine.

And no fatalities.

Testimonies are starting to arise at how quick the emergency response was. Within 90 seconds was one report.

The plane crashed along a runway that runs parallel to a sixteen lane highway, the busiest in Canada (I live a mile and a half, two kilometers, south of that highway, about another five minutes west of the airport. I live directly in the flight path). People were pulling off the side of the road and helping passengers who had struggled up the ravine where the plane had come to rest, fleeing the burning wreckage, driving them to nearby triage centres.

And no fatalities.

The most recent report is 14 people with minor injuries.

And as I drove on the detour around the site (I usually drive right past that spot on my way home every day), there was a beautiful rainbow.

Normally I would be sticking my finger in my throat at just how cute and prosaic the imagery is.

But it's true. A beautiful rainbow, and no fatalities.
Monday, August 01, 2005

Let my people go

Poor Rob.

The pendulum has swung the other way.

On the way to a barbeque at my sister's , I told him how great I felt and he said he thought I was in the opposite place I was a few days ago. I went off on a tangent for a while, basically asking what was wrong with feeling so good, why can't I just enjoy it, what's wrong with that.

He responded that he always watches me and makes mental notes and while he knows it's a swing, he's much more comfortable with me on this end of the pendulum than the other, that much more can go wrong when things are the other way. And personally, between you and me, I think another reason he enjoys things this way, this far along, is that I'm more like the person I was when we met: energetic, adventurous, no-holds-barred. And there are some definite fringe benefits for him that way.

But the poor man.

The man has got NO rest. Every time he's laid for a rest, I end up needing to wake him up.

Last night he just said "I don't think things are going to happen tonight." I think I killed it :-). I mean, how much can one appendage stand?

I also did something I've not done since I was diagnosed - I went back to a particular website that is quite adult and involves cameras. I used to frequent it very often when I was in moods like this one. I even remember someone sending me film they had captured of me. It's out there somewhere. Well, someone may have just added to their collection yesterday. Yeah yeah I know. But I had FUN. When was the last time I had such FUN!

At the barbeque at my sister's, my mother reminded everyone that her brother is coming into Toronto at the beginning of September from Newfoundland, and that she's having a barbeque at her place when he does.

As we were leaving the barbeque, I told my brother and two sisters that I wasn't going to my mom's for the barbeque. My brother told me that Mom has already told them inside the house (we were in the backyard). It irritated me that my mother felt she had to bring that up when I wasn't around.

Now why, you ask, wouldn't I go to a barbeque for my mother's brother who lives 2000 km away?

Because he's an arrogant prick who, if I had to spend time with him, would have me shouting and physically hurting him.

My mother has a younger brother and sister. Both are adopted (the brother being the asshole). The brother always knew he was adopted. The sister didn't. She is deaf. My grandmother (who I sincerely believe was bipolar), felt that my aunt had a hard enough time in life without having the "burden" of being adopted, being made to feel like she had been abandoned, etc. So NO ONE was allowed to tell her while my grandmother was alive.

My grandmother died while I was 8 months pregnant with Adam, so, 14 years ago. My mom's brother, a few years later, decided enough was enough, and came into Toronto from Newfoundland for the weekend, told my aunt she was adopted, and promptly took a plane back to the Maritimes. He destroyed my aunt's world.

I am NOT saying she didn't deserve to know. Rather, I am saying that, if he really felt a part of our family and had my aunt's best interests at heart, he would have let us know that he was going to tell her and we could have told her as a family, letting her know why my grandmother (rightly or wrongly) did what she did in not telling her, and being there for my aunt as a group, rather than leaving her to deal with it on her own.

When I found out at the time, I phoned his house in Newfoundland, and was so furious I was bawling my eyes out (I hate when that happens). I called him every profane name in the book and said he was just doing this because he is an arrogant son of a bitch who thinks he knows better than everyone, and never ever really considered himself part of this family, and this proves it so as far as I was concerned, I no longer had an uncle David. He called my mother back yelling at her for my profanity, saying his young son could have heard that. My mother just said hey, blondie's my daughter and she doesn't pull any punches.

Since then, my aunt has fallen apart. It's a very long story but she really did just disintegrate and is now living off of social assistance. My sisters are the only ones who really take care of her, acting as intermediaries with various government agencies when translators arent' available. And where's my mom's brother been during all this? In his cosy fucking house 2000 km away, spoiling his little son.

To this day, 14 years later, I refer to him as my mom's brother, not my uncle. So, I know it bothers my mother that I'm not coming. I told my father yesterday that I wasn't going and he said not to worry and I responded immediately and curtly, Oh trust me, I'm not worried.

I know my mom's going to lie to him and say I have an alternate engagement, that's why I won't be at the barbeque. EVERYONE else will be there - my deaf aunt, my mom's other brother and all his kids, all my siblings and their kids, my mom's deceased brother's wife and daughter (my favourite cousin in the world). Everyone except me. I hope I'm conspicuous in my absence, or that someone has the balls to tell him I didn't go because I hate him.


That's enough of that.

Today is a holiday here and I'm so enjoying the extra day weekend. Rob and I are going to take our bikes down to Lake Ontario and ride along the waterfront. Maybe I can find a place where I can continue the attack on the good ship Rob ;-). WOOHOO!

Let's all give thanks to the pendulum swing!

Now....where's Rob?

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

Powered by Blogger

Powered for Blogger by Blogger templates