so is a week of this

But it's ok. Really. Despite sucking.

Merry etc.

Fourteen is bullshit

And again. Denial is not working. I know, I've tried.

19 - 5 = 14.

If it isn't one thing, it's another.

Gushing and congested, oh, joy. Flu, probably, and seeping. Snotty and bloody.

Joy.

The Neverending story

Kinda, sorta? Probably really for certain tomorrow. Only 3 1/2 weeks start to start.

Don't know why I bother, it'll never end.

A bigger gap.

Five and a half weeks, which is pretty good. I knew this morning it was likely. And, indeed.

Still, different.

Count from 11/12.

Smell the Glove

I smell different. After 3+weeks of hot flashes. I can only hope.

But it does mean old age.

The heat trickles away

Finally slept really well, woke well. Hot waves down to ripples, and not as many. Actually felt chilly all day.

Huge relief.

We are all popes here

The more reasonable catholics are fine, it's the CHURCH. Not like I'm going to convert to the other THE CHURCH, either. There are excellent reasons government should never be a theocracy.

Popes have never really understood that concept.

Confirmed, but denied.

In the aftermath, the damn Catholics are still trying to force feed the world their hatred of women and anything not ostensibly celibate, or at least heterosexually, male. Even the Mormons are being more civil and compassionate, not one of their stronger traits. Glad I escaped the Roman clutches as soon as I had my own volition.

Still flashing hotly, although I got sufficient sleep last night.

Fever, all through the night.

Hot flashes since last Sunday night. Thursday night the worst yet, shallow cycles of naps punctuated with heat. Weirdness, mostly.

If only I could sleep through, it wouldn't bother me.

Good to the last drop

If only it would dry up a bit sooner. No, not talking about the rain. It can keep on raining.

Rain is wonderful.

Onto the breach

Perhaps why I've been in more pain, clumsy. Beer is a comfort. Three and a half weeks, it should have been more.

Bugger, as per.

Bravery of oblivion

In some ways, I prefer the literal believers, if only because I know where they stand. The bible is exactly factual, and I'm going to hell. They pity me, hate me, fear me, because I don't believe in their concrete god.

It's the other ones, who say they believe, who think less of me because I don't, even though they seem to think underneath I really do believe what they do. If asked to define their god, they demur. No need to take their comfort away from them, but leave me out of the argument. Cowards.

A god either needs propitiation, a personal sort of god who dispenses justice or punishment in an ineffable way. Or god is a distant abstract in need of no worship.

Either way, I'm not buying it. We care, so we are the embodiment of life, not separate from it. Droplets of water sprayed above a cresting wave, looking back on the ocean in awe. Why does there have to be more? Why does anyone want another life with these exact thoughts and feelings? Just because we weren't paying enough attention the first time? Too bad. Next time it will be different, we will be different.

Give us alcohol, drugs, a hard hit on the head, a disease that affects the brain, and we are no longer who we were, no longer seeing the world the same way. Why would we think our personality would survive the death of our brain and body?

I don't need the pity of those too afraid to let go of the idea of a divine mind taking care of us. I'm fine with the idea of attending to every moment, savoring or wasting it doesn't matter, still all I get as "I". Pass the torch, drop back down, or evaporate up, become the sea again.

I won't be bullied.

Ended a contact that was boring me, but it's an old one, reestablished after a long break, so I kept up some minimal effort. Until she took a light, joking comment of mine, would not accept it, but kept dismissing it, as I foolishly insisted on the point. Usually I let her have the last word, knowing how much this matters to her, but this bugged me.

When I realized she is still trying to bully me after all this time, I cut off contact, again, as I'd done 30 years ago, for the same reason.


I don't need bullies in my life. Raised by two of them, so, fuck that shit. Last email from her with the title "have it your own way" deleted without reading. If it had been titled, "I apologize, I was wrong" I'd have read it. A non-apology apology is not an apology, it's more blame, more bullying. She is blacklisted, without a qualm or regret of any sort.

Long ago when I was 20 and she was 35 or so, she took me under her wing as a sort of self appointed mentor. I never accepted this, as such, but I knew I had a lot to learn, and I was lonely, so I played along to an extent. Worked with her, so this was easiest. Not the first time someone thought I was more involved than I really was. I let her think what she wanted, not like I'd have convinced her otherwise. And I did learn from her, no question. Not always what she thought she was teaching me.

In the middle of finals, she dismissed my concerns, undermined my efforts that had nothing to do with her, and I snapped. She sent a long, long letter - I threw it away without reading it. Which infuriated her. A simple, honest apology beyond her comprehension. I knew an excuse when I saw the thick envelope.

And I thought of another acquaintance, who ended the connection due to a severe misunderstanding. She not long ago contacted me, with an unreserved apology, which I met with the same. We are now friendly acquaintances, without the exaggerated expectations of before, which was part of the problem. I consider her family, always welcome to my kindness and compassion, but without more intimacy than either of us is capable of.

Some friendships need more space than others, people who are too different to be very close, but still like and admire each other.

Not-my-mentor will never get this message that she was going to have to sometimes respect and admire me, and occasionally let me get in the last word. I knew she never would, but I'd been giving it a test. We can all grow. She didn't. Still saw herself as my superior. Rather like my brothers saw themselves as my OLDER brothers, betters, at everything. Even if true, I'm not playing with people who just assume that.

Can't clearly imply someone is stupid and expect to maintain a friendship.

Take Ten

Short break, there. Couldn't I get at least 15? No, no apparently not.

Endurance.

Bloody hell

Yesterday, today, tomorrow. At least it's not early this time. Curl up in a ball time.

Mark.

Bloody buggery

Once more with feeling. Just another damn thing. Off early, good to be home when I'm like this.

Bugger.

When the name echoes

Eve of our move-in anniversary. We think, 22 years, but we've never been much for counting. We just celebrate Canada Day for our own reasons.

Sent for a sherpani bag, because it's good, but the name resonated with the PTSD training imagery.

Dropping as the rain from heaven

Echoes of ancient shouting, far away, nothing to do with me anymore. No need to poke at it, though. Staying away from sites extolling fathers.

Probable last day, although down to the last drops.

Giving up on it ever being over.

Another day off, a vacation, away from home, and so it begins. Very uncomfortable drive home, could be worse. Spotting on the way out the day before.

Last real vacation ruined, in part, this way.

Until nearly 8

Dreamed of D having problems. And a leak in the roof pouring down near the front door. And something else I can't remember.

Eleanor snuggled in, to make sure I slept.

Could be food from the festival.

Clean and dry, but ill. Dizzy, gassy, but odd. Slightly photophobic.

Strange light, pressure.

And the seep goes on

Still. Another one. Big ole mess.

Dammit.

Just teasing me

Had a few days off, then two days bleeding. A day or two with a spot or two, now started again. Headache, rosacea flare, cold sore, at least the thumb has improved from whole hand burning radiating achy weakness, to mere sore thumb.


Damn, it's gotten weird.

Hope I'm done before I retire.

Calling it. Feeling rashed, sore, worn. Achy.

But I do have a cream for the rash.

Focus, people. Focus.

New charting, "You can do anything with it!" Or, "You can go anywhere, just draw your own map!" I just want to get from A to B without getting lost, gimme the damn triptik.

I want to take care of my patient, run the room, charting is what gets in the way of that.

Bidding red

It's only been nine days. I was utterly in denial. Could not deal.

But then I dealt.

Saintly my three asses!

If one believes in saints and miracles, god speaking to us, then why isn't this being taken seriously as a message of holy disapproval? How much clearer can a deity be? It ain't just art criticism.

"No, those guys aren't here, man. Dante knew what he was talking about."

Long, long, long

Six full days of that crap. I think it's done for this time. This reminds me of the first year.

But I'm resigned to this going on for years yet, just to save my sanity

Awake at 5

How convenient. At least I get proper notice, these days. Well, sometimes at least.

Four weeks roundtrip.

Oh, for cripes...

Well, serves me right. BIL named son my ex-husband's name. Ugh.

Still, long ago, not really a sore spot, more proof of poor taste.

Getting underneath it all

Slipped out of work early, wanting only to be home. With permission, but not entirely fairly. I'm sure I'll be giving recompense. After the abbreviated weekend, I can deal with this.

So, I rested, had tea, then dug the garden.

Why I dislike these names

Question about my distaste for certain names. First, this is where I put my carping, so I don't need to justify at all. But to start with, names have cultural implications. Let's start with Christine.

Or Chris. Or Christopher. Implies religious, Christian, devotion. On a baby. Who may grow up to be Buddhist, agnostic or pagan, but will always be stuck with that name. Of course it really means, Anointed One. The Messiah. So, for anyone thoughtful, it's manipulative. For the thoughtless everyone else, it's trite and lazy. If it weren't so common as dirt, it might not be quite so flabby, but it is, and it's dull.

Heather is a bit more recent, but a flower name, without the prettiness of a flower name. Pretty flower, sure. But not a name with any flow, nor any punch. Rhymes with feather, leather, weather. Not unlike say, Gretchen. Which, with a nice German accent, has a kind of charm. But in English, it's harsh and flat, with unfortunate implications of all the negative stereotypes of Germanic women. Heather is also too mushy to say, try calling a dog Heather, and you will realize it is not a name to grab attention shouted across a playground.

Jacqueline. I knew a Jacqueline who insisted on being called Jack. Which suited her. In English, it's difficult to spell, pretentious, and too long. Like Tiffany, it has the air of a stripper name. I've never liked women's names that are over-feminized, or awkwardly feminized male names. Simply appropriating a masculine name is one thing, Frenchified feminized names are innately sexist, condescending.

My nieces carry the first two names, a former friend's daughter got the last. Other names are no doubt as bad, but these are the ones I've had to deal with.

And names do matter, do shape us, all through our lives. Parents should not be the final say in any child's name. They should change during our lives, as needed. Since they don't, parents need to be more thoughtful, more careful, and provide alternate middle names. Some events can't be helped, tv show characters names when the kid is a teenager that provoke bullying, for instance.


Extraordinarily weird names are bad. Abusive names are worse. These three are examples of numbness.

It's never over, ever.

And Monday was exactly as bad I as knew it would be. The rest of the week had similar charms. Called it on Friday.


Ollie, ollie...

Sometimes, I hate my job.

Just another day. Starting. Knowing I'll be scrubbed in all damn day tomorrow.

Precautions in place.

Why I don't respect some parents

I hate the name Christine. And Heather. And Jacqueline.

But I don't hold the Chris-es or the Heathers or Jacquelines responsible, but the foolish parents.

It's not going the way you think, if you are evil enough.

When some people die, they leave behind loss and joy. Others a legacy exactly the opposite of their hatred. Advancing love themselves, or repulsing even those who normally would agree.

Let the strong remember, love will conquer.

But not Steve or Dave.

Sometimes being scrubbed in is awful, like today. When I needed to be able to run to the john hourly. Had to ask Mike for a pad between long cases, but he's a pro, so that was ok.

Bloody irritated mess.

Damn it all.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

Butter, not margarine.

Count from here. As for me, I would not be that muscled slim self again, honestly. Gave me no pleasure.

I'll be soft, and spread.

Again

Resigned. Not surprized. Raw.

Bah.

One shouldn't read anyone's diary, but.

When we moved into the House, I found an old diary. I'm not kindly disposed to the former owners. I'm reading it with great disdain, they were idiots.

Really.

Anniversary in advances

Aaaaaand, stop. Does it matter? Or do I just want to know when to start celebrating?

Once it's over for a year, that is.

Mark start

And it begins again. Seepingly, but persistently. 3&1/2 weeks.

Ah, well, so it goes.