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, September 27, 2005

And then there was one

Rob quit his job today.

No he doesn't have another one yet. But he was having chest pains (his father had his first heart attack at Rob's age), he's been throwing up in the morning before work (and not telling me), he can't sleep, he's not eating right.

I tried to get him to wait until the end of the week (he's positive he was getting fired), but he can't. And I can't make him stay somewhere he's literally getting sick. But by leaving like this, he gets no severance or anything. He's been there 20 yrs so his package would've been substantial.

I'm scared about the money, but Rob feels like there's a 1000 lb weight gone and he said he'll take temp jobs driving lift trucks if he has to. He's already (before quit) got two companies that are interested in him - one is checking his references - so I hope something comes together fairly quickly. We cannot survive - not even close - on my salary alone.

But I have to trust Rob's judgment. I've never doubted him before and he's always been there for me. It's a wonderful coincidence that my meds seemed to have got me in a healthy place because if I wasn't, I don't know how I could deal with this. Perhaps that's what Rob's been waiting for, for me to be healthy again.

And for some reason, one thing that keeps going through my head is "what's my mom going to say?" I don't want her to think any less of Rob. But my father was hospitalised with a nervous breakdown when I was ten. He was in there 6 weeks. So hopefully she can understand both the fact that he's no less of a person for looking after himself this way and she can also understand the position I'm in. Why do I care so much about what she thinks? I guess because she's my mom and it's hard wired in me to seek her approval. I don't like it much but I can't seem to change it. But she really likes Rob. Hopefully she'll see his side of things.

Life, to say the least, will be interesting for the next little while.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
I got this from just tenured. It's an interesting exercise in how things change, or perhaps don't.

1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

Which ends up to be, for me:

"Why am I going to get fired?"

I read the whole post and I was extremely paranoid and stressed about the job. It is the job that I left in March of this year. Now there is one person who reads this blog who was actually a customer of mine at that job and I don't think he really knows what it's like to work there. I know that at one point my boss, the president, had offered him a job, and when he told me that, I gave him some non-committal response because I couldn't tell him what a constant powder keg the place was like.

Reviewing that post creates a pictures that juxtaposes itself against my current work environment, highlighting how much more healthy this new job is for me, as well as highlighting how much healthier I have become. Yes, the new meds are making a big difference, but there was a desperation, a terrible fear showing in the other post, one that I remember well.

There was NO room for error at the other job. If something was shipped in error: a trip to the president's office. When I was late on a quote for a customer, a trip to the president's office behind closed doors, given a lecture, and being told to go home that night and write a list of reasons why this "failure" occurred, and what steps I would take to never let it happen again. Constantly walking on a tightrope, fearing to misstep at all. No wonder I was afraid of being fired.

Now, the sad thing is, I've found myself a great place to work and am much happier for it, but at the same time, Rob's job has been restructured some and he is now in a similar position to that I had been in the described post. The stress is wearing him badly and I'm worried constantly for him. I don't want to say much more about it because you never know who's reading your posts. But I wish I could wave a magic wand and take all his worries away.

Maybe if I do this exercise, reviewing posts from long ago, in a few months time, this post will seem as detached from Rob's future reality as this one is from the past. I can hope.
Sunday, September 18, 2005

Toilet Wars

Hockey season's back. I know that I played in the summer, you say. But for some, hockey's not hockey if there's leaves on the trees.

Those faithful few readers will remember that in addition to playing a couple of times a week myself, I'm the time keeper for my husband Rob's league. Their first game of the season was today. 7.40 AM on a Sunday and my ass's in a fucking freezing arena. I had the intravenous coffee going and would sit on my hands whenever possible (I tried working the time clock with my nose but it didn't work).

Again, those faithful few might remember the disagreement I had with the toilets in this particular arena.

Well, the ceasefire is over. The war is ON!

The toilets in this newly refurbished arena are those stupid sensor toilets, the ones that flush automatically when you get up. In theory.

Here's the problem:

When a guy goes pee, he gives his equipment a couple of shakes (three if he's lonely) and then he's pretty clean and dry and can zip up. I ain't built that way. To put it quite indelicately: I gotta wipe. And to do so, there's necessarily involved a bit of a shift in weight on the toilet seat.

This particular toilet is SO eager to do its job, its sensor is so freakin' sensitive, that as soon as I even think of shifting weight, it flushes itself. There's then this vortex of water below my most private of parts, causing a vacuum in a place that shouldn't be hoovered (well, not in that way, anyway....but what goes on between consenting adults is our business....anyway, I digress). It's a yucky feeling.

So then I have to finish my job of making sure that yes, Viriginia, she is clean and dry, and then the freakin toilet flushes again. ARGH.

I have to come up with a plan that will allow me to deke the sensor, like Mario Lemieux coming down on some hapless goalie (I'd pick Domenic Hasek).

But this is war.

Oh, yeah. And Rob tied his game and played well and everyone was happy.

The end.
Friday, September 16, 2005

Where ya bin

I bought the CSI PC game last weekend.

I have therefore spent many hours...MANY long FREAKIN hours, listening to Catherine Willows be snarky with me when I ask her for a hint because I can't find another clue and Jim Brass is a dick head.

It's good that my new meds are working otherwise I would start thinking the game really was getting personal with me. I'd have to punch the monitor to get Catherine to shut up. But hey, meds are working much better now (giggling maniacally).

So if I'm not on for a bit, you know I'm trying to pretend I'm the cop I always wanted to be but failed the psych test for (aced the IQ, failed the psych...imagine that).

Oh yeah

And my boss said today "Have I told you lately what a great job you're doing?".

What a way to go into the weekend.
Saturday, September 10, 2005

Thought I'd share this

Shannin had mentioned in a comment to my last post that she didn't realise that thought insertion was a psychotic feature. I hadn't actually either: it was my pdoc who said so during my last visit on Tuesday, which was strangely enough the most productive and least overall stressful appointment I have EVER had with him in the two years I've known him.

I thought, hey, maybe there's other things we don't all know, or we thought things were worse than they are or better or what have you.

Here are two links:

Now, the thought insertion: I've had some thoughts just descend out of the blue and have wondered where the f*ck they've come from. And sometimes I do remember having a sense of no control over these thoughts, that they are coming faster and more insistent than I can overcome: pay attention to me, they say, do what I say, or at least obsess on me for a good long while.

The ideas of reference: I have had this happen not a lot but often enough in my life, especially when REALLY not feeling well. The past month I've had this happen in odd situations and is usually dovetailed with the paranoia. Example: I hear a noise that no one else hears. I'm sitting in a Quizno's (yes this really happened, about three weeks ago). The noise is getting louder and I'm trying to block it out. It makes it harder to hear anything else. Then three men come in, separately, one after the other. The noise doubles. Each one turns to look at me, one at a time, in the same sequence and time difference as their entry. I feel they are both knowing that the noise is trying to send me a message of warning and that they are sent to ensure I focus on it and are monitoring me to see that I accept the message and heed the warning.

Emotional changes: I definitely withdrew. In fact, I still am. But that's improving.

See why I was saying I was pretty screwed up recently?

When I went to my old pdoc Tuesday and we talked, and I made him listen, he told me that I should be taking part of my Seroquel, an antipsychotic, in the morning. I've been taking the whole 400 mg dose at night because of its highly sedating effects. He said that he is obliged to tell me that part should be taken in the morning.

We still have the issue of the valproic acid and my liver and how it is or not related to the weight gain and medication. But my pdoc said I've been lucky: I've had two years of relative stability. But we need to catch this current cycle right f8cking now before I end up back in the hospital. Hence the increase in the AP (antipsychotic) and the advice to take it not just at the right dose but at the right time.

So I finally agreed. I have been taking the increase (currently an extra 100 mg) first thing in the morning. There's a few hours of feeling slightly stoned, a bit unsteady, but when that clears....OMFG. I don't remember the last time the static in my head, the whispers telling me to be careful of this person or that thing or this event, I don't remember the last time the volume in my head was so low. For those who don't have the symptom, paranoia - real honest paranoia - is a really unpleasant thing. So its drastic reduction is a double pleasure: I don't feel the manic sense of superhuman intelligence and all-knowing power; what I feel is a clarity of thought I haven't felt in a long time.

For once I think my pdoc was right.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Depression vs paranoia

I really appreciate your input, you two. Your comments mean more to me than you might think.

But I still don't think you 100% understand.

If I had written the post that I did, but instead of saying that I was paranoid, thinking everyone was talking about me, and I had instead written that I was depressed and couldn't get out of bed, would you have told me to buck up and things'll get better, sunshine and roses and all that?

I went to the second opinion doctor today. And then a few hours later saw my own doctor. It's a bit of a long story, the brunt of which says that I am NOT changing doctors and that was no one's intention, just wanted to have a second opinion on my MEDICATION apparently. You might say that I've had a stressful and emotional day, full of anger, anticipation, huge let down and, once I got into my own doctor's office, some venting.

We actually talked about the one thing that's been hanging over our relationship since day one when he had me committed two years ago: the fact that he took 36 hours to see me in a 72 hour forced incarceration and the fact that he made me stay an extra week "voluntarily" because if I didn't "volunteer" to stay he was going to put in my chart that I had discharged myself AMA (against medical advice) and that that fact would mean that no psychiatrist in this city of nearly 700,000 people would ever see me.

We cleared the air on that and a couple of other things. And because of that I actually began to hear a couple of things he was telling me.

And I tried to explain it to Rob later on. When I used the term "part of the disease" (a term the doctor used) Rob made a face. When I asked why, he said he's never heard it called a disease before. I don't believe that, but hey, what can I say. So I calmly said, if I was hearing the television and was positive it was sending me secret messages, and I was schizophrenic, would you agree that that was a disease. "I guess so", he said. And if I was diabetic and my pancreas wasn't functioning properly, wouldn't you say that was a disease? "Yes," he said. "well, bipolar disorder is being proven as an organic brain disorder, one that is capable of deterioration through lack of treatment, just as diabetes would. It is an organic physical disease of the brain".

So then I said I need you to understand that when I'm paranoid, telling me not to worry about it is asking me to do something that my brain just does on autopilot. Can I learn not to? Yes, I'm sure I can, once I've got the symptoms under control. And what I've been trying to explain is that I don't think these particular symptoms have been under control. My mind has been a scary place lately.

My paranoia:

It's no different than someone's bout of depression. It is not rational and within my control. I can't just necessarily reason it away.

Apparently I have a version of bipolar that has a good dose of psychotic symptoms. I guess it's the trade off for not really ever getting that depressed. Instead, I have almost constant paranoia, have the occasional auditory hallucination, have delusions of persecution occasionally and have regular bouts of thought insertion. You know, when thoughts just descend from the clouds and find rest in your brain, thoughts on a clear sunny day where you feel great and then out of the blue something comes in and says gee, I wonder how bad it would hurt if I just jumped off that bridge. All psychotic symptoms. And since they've been happening more and more lately...

he's adjusting my medicine.


He is not adjusting it to what the second opinion suggested.

He is upping my antipsychotic (the Seroquel), titrating in two week increments over a month up another 200 mg to 600. We've also made a possible connection to increasing stress at work and the recurrence of these symptoms. I go back in a month to discuss both the changes in the medications (how they did or did not work) and any symptom recurrence.

He said something about upping the other if the moods showed more fluctuation, but that the Seroquel is being studied as a monotherapy for bipolar, so that the Seroquel adjustment alone might also help smooth the changes in mood (heading towards mania as I was for the past few weeks).

Anyway - it's well past 10 and I'm back at work tomorrow. Time for bed.
Monday, September 05, 2005

Whispers about me

This is an extremely honest post. I'm trying to give voice to what's inside me, without having to worry about judgment. But I'm positive that you'll read this and think, wtf, that girl's nuts. But I can't help it. This is what it's like in my head right now.
I talked to Rob about this, the previous post that is, and he said it's my paranoia, that he knows my family and he highly doubts they talked about me the way I think.

But sansanity - I love your approach.
And Michele - there may be some truth to what you say.

But I explained to it to Rob as:
I keep thinking about it not because I can't let go of the issue of his behaviour but because I'm positive they were talking about me. And because they were talking about me and how crazy I am, I get this defensive conversation going on in my head, kind of like "oh yeah? well, you're ugly", a response to the talking rather than a preemptive attack.

I was also contacted twice in the past week from people at You know, the database where you can hook up with people from high school etc. Neither of these women are people I had been particularly close to. One in fact I haven't really spoken to since about grade 6, except for one chance encounter in a mall when Adam was about 4. Both of them are asking to get together. I am afraid to. I am so socially inept right now that they'd know in a moment how unbalanced I am. Plus my appearance: I am so ashamed of how I look right now that I couldn't bear to be seen by them.

Another thing that's been sitting on my mind is the appointment with the second opinion doctor. It's tomorrow.

Originally it was at 2 pm. I have taken an extra days holiday to work it in to schedule without too much running around. Then they called me and asked if I would change it to 5 pm, because someone can't make it and they're desperate for the time. So I agreed. Then they called me on Friday and asked if I could change it again to 11 am. I had already made plans to go out to lunch with a friend who I haven't seen in at least 2 years and we were to meet at 11:10.

I asked the woman on the phone how long the appointment is and she said an hour, that I'd be out in time for my lunch date. I thought, hey, you guys can't even keep the time straight for more than two days in a row, how do I trust you to keep the appointment on time. And besides, who has ever been to a doctor who sticks to schedule. She then said, well, as you know Dr. Doyle is a great doctor. I said , actually, no I don't know that. She was silent a minute and said well he is, everyone speaks highly of him, but don't say that to him, his head will swell (I got the impression he was standing there listening to her). I told her that I was coming to him as a second opinion and I was rather jaded about the doctors so, yes I would change appointments again but I made her swear that this was the last time. She did.

It concerns me that the appointment is an hour. With the doctor I have now, appointments are never that long. It's a maybe 10 minute "have you been manic" interview, I say no to everything, he writes me a prescription refill and I go on my merry way. The last time I had an interview anywhere near approaching an hour is when I spoke to the social worker in the emergency room at the hospital two years ago. In fact, I would say we are probably within two weeks of my "internment" anniversary. I'm afraid of what is going to come out of this interview. I can't be overly honest because I'm afraid he's going to look at me and put me in the hsopital again. I mean, when I was interviewed by the social worker, I had NO FUCKING CLUE that he was going to talk to someone who would then make me stay. I went to the emergency room, unburdened myself of some of the thoughts I'd had, felt better and then wanted to go home. And as I walked out of the interview room, I was met by the social worker who told me no, you can't go. And I felt, this is the god's honest truth, I felt like the floor literally fell away from me, like I was falling from a very high place. It was an awful sensation. I can't let that happen again. So while I'm very happy that I've got a place to start for a second opinion, it concerns me very much about the length of the appointment. I'm afraid they're going to trick me the way the social worker did, that they're going to back me into a corner and I'm going to end up on the ward again, and then what will happen to my job??? Things there are hinky as it is.

One more thing: at work I've screwed up. It's a long story, but the brunt of it is a $10K order that was destined for receipt in New Brunswick, on Canada's far east cost, ended up in part being shipped to Victoria, BC. These couldn't be further apart geographically. The error was my fault. Then, another part of the order was made incorrectly at the factory, again, partly my fault (I ordered it wrong). So these two issues I've been trying to get resolved at work, but they were still outstanding when I left for holiday at the end of business Monday. I've had to leave the entire problem file on my boss' desk and I'm positive that when I return Wednesday coming that I will be reprimanded for my stupidity, perhaps put on notice to straighten out. I am seriously concerned about that. In fact, while I'm away, I'm positive that my head boss has spoken to my other boss, for whom I worked several years ago, and the head boss is asking the other boss for justification as to why I should keep my job. I mean, a $10K screw up is a big deal. I can almost hear the conversations if I concentrate (not like I'm hearing voices, but I can project into the sense of it).

I then was positive, and part of me still is, that the change of the appointments is part of a test, to see how I will react. And although there is a rational mind in there somewhere that says that this is just a hiccough in life, another part, the same part that is positive that my family was plotting against me at the barbeque, the same part that finds it more than coincidental that two women with whom I was hardly close have contacted me within a week apart via I think classmates is either choosing names randomly and is trying to get me to part with money and then I'll send an email to these women in return who will then see the email and say wtf? why would I want to contact blondzila again? Or that these women are just wanting to see what will happen so they can ignore me and make me feel like a fool.

What I'm trying to get across right now, and I don't know that I'm succeeding in conveying it, is that everywhere I turn right now, people are focusing on me: talking about me, plotting to make me look foolish, to exclude me, to include me and set me up for a fall, to make me angry, so angry that I show them the rage that I keep deep inside and then I get arrested.

It's funny really. Not a laugh riot, just interesting. I'm not stressed. I've been off work on holidays since the end of business Wednesday. I was off Thursday Friday and don't go back until Wednesday morning. I don't feel really anxious. I don't feel anything physically other than an almost-calm, not quite 100% but close. It is my mind that is on edge. It's not an emotional thing the way that I can see it, not a thing of mood. It is a thought process, or rather a series of them. This is an intellectual certainty, this on-guard posture against those who are against me. But as I type this, as I try to analyse what it is exactly that is going on in my mind and body, I can feel my heart rate increase a bit, I can sense my ears tuning in to the noises of the children playing outside. I know that they will be trying to walk across my lawn and I have to be ready to get them off. I mean, a small part of me says how sensible is that. They're kids for chrissake. But the larger part of my mind is not the one that recognises some strangeness in my thought process. I honestly feel right now that my thinking is in the right direction, that I have to be on guard against all those around me right now.

The only one that I let my guard down with is Rob, and even he got the brunt of some of this last night. I tried to explain to him how I was certain they were all talking about me at the barbeque and he let some of his frustration show. And for a while I was positive that he just didn't understand, that he couldn't see the plans within plans that were going on, that he was too far removed from the years-old family dynamic to understand that they've always tried to keep me on edge, to keep me on my toes as I parry their attempts to get to me.

I need someone to understand that this isn't a mood thing and that this isn't just about dealing with my mother's brother. It's a certainty of the colour of the sky around me, and knowing that it is darkening with the weight of all their stares, their whispers.

I need someone to understand that right now, there are few people I can trust, few people to whom I can show my true face, because those I do show will claw it off and stab me in the back as I try to defend myself.

I ask myself right now, where has this certainty come from. And the answer that comes back from within is that the certainty has always been there, it is just now that I am strong enough to be aware of the breadth of their deception, to be able to protect myself best now that I know its scope.
Sunday, September 04, 2005


I can't get off the fact that I'm positive that during the barbeque yesterday, that they were talking about me, about my condition, the fact that I'm a diseased person, that fact that I'm genuinely crazy, not the "oh she's crazy for going out barefoot in the snow" crazy, but the "she's crazy and belongs locked up in a mental ward" cuckoo.

I can't shake the certainty that they were talking about me.

My mom was on MSN this morning and asked what I did yesterday (instead of going to the barbeque). I told her the truth: we played 9 holes of golf at the course that opened just across the street from us, did groceries, baked a cake, had a nice dinner. She said things went well (I didn't ask, she just told) but that her other brother, my Uncle John, who was supposed to go, didn't. She said she wasn't surprised (they don't get along). Then I started thinking that they would start comparing me and my uncle John. Both avoid social functions, both everyone talks about in a bad way.

I asked my mom if my deaf aunt had been there. She said simply "no". I didn't ask why because that would have opened up the whole can of worms but I can't believe that she wasn't there. I don't know if she didn't go because she was depressed again (she's been fighting it off and on the past ten years, since my uncle turned her world inside out), or if they didn't tell her to avoid the awkwardness of the situation.

But I cannot get rid of this feeling that they were talking about me, still are talking about me.

I try to focus on other things and it's kind of like this:

time to do laundry
let's read some blogs
they were all calling me crazy and were talking about all the things I've done and how I should be locked up and that there's always something wrong with me and that maybe this diagnosis I'd told them about was just another ploy for attention
read some more blogs
whisper of paranoia
go do more laundry
fold laundry
You know that in the crazy ward if you're that bad they take your belt and shoe laces away. I wonder if she was like that when they locked her up

This is what it's like to be in my mind right now.

Fun, eh?
Saturday, September 03, 2005


My parents are having a barbeque today for my mother's brother. I don't say my uncle because as far as I'm concerned, he's not. I think I mentioned this in a prior post, but it's a bit of a long story.

My grandparents took in foster kids. They eventually adopted two, and there's a good age gap between them and my mother and her two other brothers. The first was a boy. He was always told he was adopted. The second was a girl. She was NEVER told, because my grandmother figured she had enough on her plate trying to cope with the fact that she was born deaf, never mind that she was given up for adoption. So no one ever told her, for fear of engaging my grandmother's wrath (sidebar: I'm positive my grandmother was bipolar. I've heard of some of her rages, and witness some pretty bizarre behaviour myself. She died of Alzheimer's when I was 8 months pregnant with Adam). About four years after my grandmother died, my mom's adopted brother decided it was time my aunt knew. So, he flew in from his home in Newfoundland, told her she was adopted (alone, no one knew he was doing it), then flew back to Newfoundland. My aunt was devastated. At the age of (I think) 42, she found out that EVERYONE in her life had lied to her for her entire life.

She is still trying to pick up the pieces, and not very successful.

When I found out what my mom's brother did, I flipped.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not arguing with the fact that she deserved to know. Not at all. She should have been told 42 years earlier. But my argument is with his selfish unilateral decision. My two sisters are near fluent in sign and are the only ones in the family who are. My mother and her two other brothers (one of which has since died) never learned. I know some, but am not fluent. She and I can and do certainly talk with little difficulty. My point in the whole thing is that we should have ALL been there, and told her as a family, letting her understand that even though Gramma held this iron fist on this secret for so long, that we still loved her and considered her family just as if she'd been born of Gramma's womb. She was still the same zany and funny aunt I knew all my life.

Do you know I hardly see her laugh any more? That just occurred to me now.

Well, when I found out, I flipped. I phoned his house in Newfoundland and just ranted and swore and called him every name in the book and told him because of his selfish act I had no more uncle. He was dead to me and could rot in hell and I hoped that he did.

Today, about ten years later, he's up at my mom's at a barbeque. His son is starting a work placement for engineering school at the GM plant in Oshawa, just east of Toronto. So, he asked my mom to get the family together at her place so we could all see each other again. What does he think we'll do? All hold hangs and sing fucking Kumbaya?? Prick.


Everyone's there but me.

I'm apparently the only one who thinks it's hippocritical to go and pretend to be nice to someone I couldn't care less about.

And I've been sitting here today, having this growing certainty that they're there, talking about me.

The conversations start with him wondering where I am. My father, who called yesterday, said he would tell my mom's brother I was playing hockey. I said Dad, why don't you try telling him the truth? But they won't. I know it. So he'll ask, since I'm the only one not going to be there. And they'll say something. And then someone will bring up, eventually, why I'm still angry and then someone will bring up my diagnosis. The knowing nods will start: you know she's unbalanced, don't you? Never mind her, she can't help herself, poor dear. She's a little crazy.

My paranoia's well fed, thank you very much.

I've had this HUGE urge to pick up the phone and start a fight.

But I can't. Rob won't let me.


be back in a bit
Friday, September 02, 2005


My heart really goes out to all those people living the disaster that is the Gulf Coast, particularly New Orleans. I can't imagine the fear and desperation.


For those who have been shooting at police
For those who have been shooting at rescue workers
For those who have formed gangs and are prohibiting others from leaving the Convention Centre, raping and brutally dealing with their neighbours
For those who have been ransacking stores of electronics equipment when you haven't a home nor electricity to use it
For those who use this time to not show how selfless you can be in helping your neighbours but let it show how truly callous and selfish you are


When 911 happened, the people of New York didn't pummel each other in an effort to escape the disaster. They picked up the strangers beside them who fell running away and helped them up, helped them to safety.

Why is this different? I know it's only a small portion of the population, but they are getting a disproportionate amount of coverage. And in the 21st century, more so than ever, the media is the message.

Is this different because you've no one to blame? There's no ominous shadowy figure dressed in a white robe and carrying a gun toward which you can focus your anger?

I have this awful feeling that there is an extremist somewhere, watching some TV, say, Al Jezeerah, and watching the conflict of man vs man in New Orleans, watching the anarchy descend. And this extremist points to the television and says: See. We knew it. They act just like the animals we said they were. Killing them is not killing a man, it is killing animals.

You're giving them a twisted justification for the murders they plan against you.

I know it's easy for me to sit here in a different country and voice my opinion. But I'm just telling you what it looks like from the other side of the neighbour's fence that we share.

I hope that order is restored soon. And not just because an extra 20,000 National Guard arrive. I hope that this small group realises that they are hurting more than their immediate neighbours, that this is a window that the whole world is peeking through. It'd be a shame to have come through 911 with bravery and compassion to fall apart now.

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

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