Well, I was never a part of that insane 2004 Con, and I’m not really well-informed about anything the least bit techie-related — if they ever actually get into any of that. But what the hell. I’m going to take Jeneane up on her offer to join the PhoneCon 2.0 gathering — not because I have anything to contribute or have any opinions about what’s going on among all of the techie ingroups, but because it’s there.
I’ve got my badge.
Now all I have to do is get out of bed at a reasonable hour. What the hell, I can put the phone on speaker and leave my weary head on the pillow. Ah, the wonders of the telephone.
Monthly Archives: September 2006
help b!X walk for AIDS
He’s half way to his goal and has five days left to reach it. Go here and give him some monetary support.
Stress
I feel it across the middle of my back when I bend down to pick up her trail of used kleenex. It radiates around to my front, where it constricts around my lungs. I feel it in my knees when I bend down to tie her shoelaces. I feel it in my skull as the day stumbles along its well-worn track of miscommunication.
I sit and take deep breaths and Nexium. I raise my arms, stretch, bend over and let the weight of it all drain out my fingertips. I take Excedrin.
The leaves are starting to turn on the mountain, reminding me how quickly time is passing about me, without me. I am contained, constrained, remaindered.
new virus
It’s called the Lorena Bobbitt Virus. It turns your hard drive into a 3 1/2 inch floppy.
That’s a line from this weeks’s Eureka.
It’s Harper’s Tuesday
But, instead of Harper’s, today, I’m doing the harping. If I don’t get out of here for a couple of days, my head is going to implode, explode or do something equally damaging to this place on the mountain. So I’m going to my daughter’s tomorrow — just for one overnight, but at least it’s not being here.
So, while I’m gone, if you haven’t heard Keith Olbermann’s rant on MSNBC on 9/11, please go here. Read it if that’s all you can do, but if you can, LISTEN.!
To spur your interest, here’s how Olbermann ends his piece, using a quote from a Rod Serling “Twilight Zone” episode “The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street.”
And then, in perhaps his finest piece of writing, Rod Serling sums it up with words of remarkable prescience, given where we find ourselves tonight: “The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices, to be found only in the minds of men.
“For the record, prejudices can kill and suspicion can destroy, and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own — for the children, and the children yet unborn.”
When those who dissent are told time and time again — as we will be, if not tonight by the President, then tomorrow by his portable public chorus — that he is preserving our freedom, but that if we use any of it, we are somehow un-American…When we are scolded, that if we merely question, we have “forgotten the lessons of 9/11″… look into this empty space behind me and the bi-partisanship upon which this administration also did not build, and tell me:
Who has left this hole in the ground?
We have not forgotten, Mr. President.
You have.
We need to do a lot more harping on that issue.
frog in the garage; magnets in the mail
At first I thought it was a leaf, but then I saw it hop under some assorted pieces of wood my brother has stored in the garage. He’s going to have a fit because he’s told me a million times to make sure I close and lock the side door to the garage. I was out working in the garden the other day, which I access through that door and I forgot to lock it. It blew open in the storm yesterday, and I’ll bet that’s when the frog got in. Anyone know how to get a frog out of a garage?
I’ve got an idea about how to give my mother something to do that will engage her interest. I’ve ordered two magnet boards and a bunch of magnetic pages that are supposed to work with an inkjet printer. I’m going to make a geneological magnets for her, with photos of her relatives (and their names) on magnetic paper, and she can practice putting them in the correct family order. It’s taking me forever to crop out faces from scanned in photos, but it will be worth it if having the whole set will entertain her. It will also help her remember the names of her children and grandchildren. Heh.
Storm Large
Turn on your speakers. Get ready for your toes to curl.
I dedicate this post to Michaela, Pam, Joan, Susan, and Penny.
She’s my idol.
Bigger than life.
A survivor.
My kinda woman.
just thinking
Got an email today– you know, the kind lthat’s forwarded with an attachment that you have to open four or five other forwarded emails to get to — the kind that includes the email addresses of everyone on the list of recipients for each of those four or five forwarded emails. If I have to open more than one email to get to an attachment, I usually just delete it all and never bother reading what has been so eagerly forwarded by some friend.
Why don’t people forward the very first permutation of the original email (eliminating the need to open and open and open) and, before they do that, why don’t they delete the addresses of the original recipients. As it goes now, what a great way to collect email addresses to spam!
Having said all of that, nevertheless I did the open, open, open, open thing and finally got to this, which I actually think is worth sharing (in case you haven’t seen it elsewhere):
It started out innocently enough. I began to think at cocktail parties. Now and then — just to loosen up. Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker. I began to think alone — “to relax,” I told myself — but I knew it wasn’t true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time. That was when things began to sour at home. One evening I turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother’s. I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don’t mix, but I couldn’t stop myself. I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, “What exactly is it that we are doing here?”
One day the boss called me in to his office. He said, “Listen, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don’t stop thinking on the job, you’ll have to find employment elsewhere.” This gave me a lot to think about. I came home early after my conversation with the boss. “Honey,” I confessed, “I’ve been thinking …” “I know you’ve been thinking,” she said, “and I want a divorce!” “But honey, surely it’s not that serious.”
“It is serious,” she said, lower lip aquiver. “You think as much as college professors, and college professors don’t make any money, so if you keep on thinking, we won’t have any money!” “That’s a faulty syllogism,” I said impatiently. She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama. “I’m going to the library,” I snarled as I stomped out the door. I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors… They didn’t open. The library was closed.
To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night. As I sank to the ground, clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. “*Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?”* it asked.
You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker’s Anonymous poster. Which is why I am what I am today: a Recovering Thinker.
I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was “Porky’s.” Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting. I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed…easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking. I believe the road to recovery is nearly complete for me.
Today, I registered to vote as a Republican.
the ten-minute respite
Somehow, somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, I found myself without my mother at my side. She had wandered over to my brother’s space, and he was showing her his computer set-up — not that she understood any of it, but it was a distraction for her.
For ten minutes, I was able to sit, drink a glass of iced tea, munch on a tomato sandwich, and read.
What I began reading is a novel recommended by my Ex. (He still has the best eye when it comes to picking out what I would enjoy reading.)
For ten minutes, I read Adriana Trigiani’s Milk Glass Moon. I was entranced by the rhythm and cadence of her writing. When my mother returned at the end of those ten minutes, I found myself thinking my thoughts in Trigiani’s style, it was that compelling to me.
I hated to have to put the book down; yet I was glad at the same time because I didn’t want to finish it too quickly. I have a habit, when I start reading a novel I really like, of sitting down and not stopping until I’ve read to the last page. And then it’s over too soon.
Of course, I really don’t have the luxury of doing that kind of marathon read these days anyway.
Toward evening, it seemed as though my mother’s old “shingles” site was bothering her. Five years ago or so, she had a severe bout of shingles on her forehead and around one eye that could have blinded her in that eye. For years after that I made sure she took L-Lysine, which kept the residual effects of the shingles under control. I forgot all about giving it to her since we moved her a year ago. My bad.
She’s back on it as of tonight.
And now maybe I take another read/respite. More than ten minutes this time. I just hope that I don’t wind up staying up all night reading. Can’t deal with her tomorrow if I get no sleep tonight.
no rest for the wicked
My favorite tv shows are back for a new season. I can’t watch them while I’m sitting with my mother in the evenings because she gets upset by anything that looks like blood or a hospital or dead bodies. So I have to tape them and stay up late to watch them.
On Nip/Tuck (which repeats at midnight and so I can watch it then) last night, Brooke Shields took on a dark and serious role as a therapist, and she pulled it off quite nicely. It took me a few minutes to finally recognize that it was Shields. I think her character is supposed to get even darker as the series progresses. Nice challenge for someone who has always been considered a lightweight in the acting department.
And then there’s House and Bones, and Lost will be starting up again soon. b!X is a Lost addict as well, even more than I am.
And, of course, there’s the bizarre Desperate Housewives. I started watching Three Moons Over Milford. I really miss Kyle XY, which won’t be back until next summer. Yup, I’m a tv addict.
But I never just sit and watch tv. I’m also always knitting or crocheting or fixing clothes — both mine and my mom’s (she’s shrinking fast).
We have an electric eye set up to beep both my sib and me when my mom gets out of bed. When I went over to her room this morning to check her out, she was standing in the middle of the room in bare feet, clutching the bottom of her nightgown. She looked at me and said, “I forgot how to get up.” I think what she meant is that she forgot how to get dressed. This is what is happening more and more. The forgetting.
In the morning, before I’ve had to deal with her all day, I can be very nurturing. I hug her, do a few dance steps to songs I make up on the spot (this always makes her smile and makes her forget what she was upset about forgetting), and coax her along on starting her day. My personal day ends when hers begins and vice versa. Her needs and her fears are all consuming, and when she “sundowns” about seven each evening, I don’t have much left to give her, and my sib usually has to take over for an hour or so while I take care of myself. He gets up at night with her; I take the day. We’re both pretty stressed out with the whole thing.
I’ve always wondered whether the saying was “no rest for the wicked” or “no rest for the weary.” Now I know.