"... handing tickets out for God"

I started writing (one day last week) about the Jesus Freaks who stopped by with their version of the "Good News" and somehow wandered way off topic and started going on and on about how I used to be a Jesus Freak myself, and therefore I don't mean the term in any offensive way, but more in the way former band geeks talk about current band geeks or ex-goths talk about emo kids: You've been there, so you know, and almost feel a sort of kinship, but you're really glad you're not there anymore. I don't think there's anything worse for a believer than a former-believer: all of my sarcasm and surety that I was made a fool for so many years is always right there, and I'm sorry if sometimes it slips out. I try not to be patronizing - I really am glad for you that you still believe - but when they start trying to convince me, all bets are usually off.

So that's the way the post was going, and then I realized that I'd written that post before - multiple times. Yes: the Catholic Church and I used to be BFFs and yes; I could probably write another 17 posts about that, but that wasn't the post I sat down to write, so it wound up in the draft folder (like a million other posts: seriously - my draft folder is a scary place). And now I'm back, attempting to tell you what it was about the Jesus Freaks that pissed me off .

It took me a while to put my finger on it myself, but eventually it boils down to this: It is the sense of judgment I feel when they're telling me how easy it is to fix who I am.

Here's the thing: Remember in the fall, how when I was living at Grandmother's house, helping her with her post-stroke recovery, things here at home were progressing on the 'build a ramp so NTE can get into the house more easily' front? Well, now we have this beautiful ramp that's slippery as hell in the winter, and takes up our entire front yard but makes my life about 200 times easier. And yet: it is a beacon for the 'people of the Lord.'

While we were building it, a woman walked by and asked my dad what the final product was going to be. When he explained that it was going to be a wheelchair ramp, she said "I'm so sorry," then returned a few days later to drop off some rosary beads and a scapula she thought I might like. I found them on my bed when I came home for a shower that week, and my dad didn't understand why I didn't think it was the 'sweetest neighborly' thing for her to do.

Twice (that I know of) since then, we've had various forms of preachers come to the door: The first time, the guy was Mega-pushy, and I felt no compunction about not letting him in the house or giving him a chance to speak: I kept him on the porch, while he started his spiel about 'those who turn to Jesus will find a way with him,' and how 'putting my feet on the path would help them walk again.' I know that you all know me well enough that I can admit I was sorely tempted to just walk out onto the porch just to see the look on his face, no matter that I would've fallen down eventually, or that it would've hurt like hell: I still am kinda sad that I didn't, because the "OMG: I AM TOTALLY WITNESSING A MIRACLE" moment would have changed one of our lives forever. ( I know, I am damned to hell, so I might as well enjoy it, right?)

This latest preacher though, was a very nice gentleman (and he came with a silent friend), and he specifically said "I don't want you to let us in, I'd just like to tell you some things, if that's alright with you. " Well now, I'm not a heartless bitch, so I opened the screen door and gave him the ok, give me your best lines, preacher-man, and I promise not to laugh. (Again: I'm good with you believing, but once you're trying to get me to believe, I can't promise that I'm going to be able to hide my skepticism.) So he starts off pretty swell, talking about God's willingness to help people, and how it was his job to try to find those that most need God's help and bring them his Word.

And then this well meaning fellow, with his quiet and (I could honestly tell) earnest sense of caring starts talking about miracles, and Jesus making the blind see and the lame walk, and I'll tell you. it took everything in me not to slam the door in his face. I just - can't hear it. I just... I don't even know how to explain how badly that makes me feel, how irritated it makes me just to hear it.

Just to have that experience of - once again - being a person, going about their normal day...I was making breakfast when the doorbell rang, playing with my 1 yr-old nephew and chatting with my sister... when all of the sudden someone interrupts your life to tell you how you are just not right, just not good enough the way you are, just not the way a person should be. I am not saying that that is what he said , because, again, he was kind of a sweet guy, but that is the way he made me feel. I had to sit there and be irritated and frustrated and ashamed, all because - in society's eyes, and I guess in 'God's' eyes too - there was something about me that was just wrong. Something that called for miracles and saving and the power of God.

That me, just being me, requires the intercession of God on my behalf, in order for me to be fixed? Pisses me the fuck off, I gotta tell you. Of course I wouldn't thumb my nose at a miraculous healing, should one decide to take place, but you know what? I'm not broken right now, or maybe I am, but not in the ways that you think I am. And if I am it's none of your damn business... I'm not asking to be saved just by virtue of living as who I am. Just by having improved my house to the point that I can finally get in and out of it on my own, I'm not giving you the right to comment on my life.

It's something I get a lot of, in a lot of random ways: people who see me 'walk' the steps to my chair and tell me I'm not sick enough to the handicapped parking placard, or strangers who tell me they'll pray for me when I'm out in public. When you're visibly disabled, everybody's got the right to comment suddenly. I didn't ask you for your opinion on what I'm eating - the fact that I'm having a cheeseburger is not in fact the reason I'm in this chair, but thanks for telling me all about how you stopped eating meat and your rash went away. I don't have to justify my applying for aid to some arsehole cousin who thinks that all social welfare programs are tools of the Communist Party, and I'm lucky that I get to spend his "tax money" on my "frivolities."

All I am trying to do here is live my life, and as nice as that preacher was, when he left behind a scripture for me to read and "think over with your heart", I was all too glad to close the door behind him. I appreciate his belief that I could use some blessings (because, holy hell, yes, I could use some blessings), but I don't like the assumptions he made about who I am, or the life I live, in order for me to earn his blessings. It feels like pity. It feels like ableism. It makes me feel like less than.

So I know I won't be opening the door to any more preachers, because their blessings tend to feel like curses, and I have enough of those. I'll take all the prayers and warm thoughts and fairy dust you want to send me, but don't assume that I need them because I'm in this chair... I'd much rather have a family that was kind to each other than a body that worked correctly. Or a baby that I knew I could provide for. Or an understanding of how to be happy, regardless.

I'd like to be healthy, sure: but I'm living my life the way it is, and that's not sad, or in need of fixing, or less than anybody elses, so don't make me feel like it is.

33 days post op,

and I am starting to finally feel like I might actually be a human-type person again. I'm not springing into cartwheels, or feeling the magical special cure that I had, deep down, obviously, been hoping for, but I no longer feel as if someone decided to whack me in the face with a mallet, while at the same time letting some sort of giant lizard claw its way down my throat. You can imagine that this is a bit of a relief.

I managed to catch, in these 33 days, at least one sinus infection (either inadequately quashed the first time and capable of rebounding, or a party-bug who invited a friend over; impossible to tell) and a case of thrush that made me want to rip my tongue out and use sandpaper on it. Thankfully, the thrush has cleared up, and the infection(s) are on their way out as well. (She says, trying not to jinx herself this time.)

So I'm going to talk a little bit about a couple of things now, and I'm going to warn you that the very first thing I'm going to talk about is exceedingly gross. As in "Are you really about to tell the internet that...?" level gross. But here is where I talk about things that I can't discuss in real life/make my family understand, and so, you lovelies have a bit of forewarning that you might want to skip item #1.

Item #1: Every week since my surgery (and twice the first week immediately following the surgery), I have had to go to the ENT surgeon for a check in. During these check ins, he pokes at my face a little bit, looks up my nose, down my throat and in my ears - in short, all the things you expect the ENT to do. And then things take a dramatic turn for the worse, and I break out in the kind of flop sweat usually only experienced when the dentist turns around with that huge needle in his hand. Luckily, the ENT does not start poking me with needles, but, rather unluckily, he instead decides that now is the time to insert things up my nose.

UP my NOSE, people. My very tender, and much abused nose. First, he sprays a little numbing stuff, which is about as useful as tap water would be, and then he uses a long thin strip of cotton ball, doused in decongestants, and his looooooong metal pliers, and he stuffs the cotton ball up my nostrils. He leaves it there for a minute and disappears behind me, while the medicinal tasting decongestant drips out of my nose and down the back of my throat.

The first time this happened, I was a little bit shocked: I assumed that when he said he was going to use a decongestant, that he meant a nasal spray. And that was going to be bad enough, because my nose was already swollen and sore, and now he was going to spray stuff up there? Bah. So I was sitting there all shocked and drippy, waiting for him to take this gross stuff out of my nose when, all of the sudden, there's an unexpected noise behind me. A mechanical noise, a little hum that is entirely out of place. And then things go way downhill, way too fast.

Because the mechanical humming noise is coming from some sort of vacuum, not unlike an elongated, metal version of the doohickey that the dentist uses to suck spit out of your mouth during a cleaning, and the ENT is telling me that this damn thing is going up my nose to "clean out what's left."

Are you freaking kidding me??? This was not mentioned during the numerous pre-op discussions we had about surgery and aftercare; This was not mentioned in my aftercare instructions; This was not mentioned anytime during the previous 15 minutes I've been sitting here talking to you: NOW you are telling me, as you approach me with that goddamn thing, that you're going to suck stuff out of my sinuses? I am so not on board with this.

But, what choice did I have, really, since this is part of the after care - I'm going to go through all the pain of the surgery, and then have it be a waste because I didn't do the necessary follow up? I don't think so. How bad can it be, really?

Oh, it can be really, really bad. *I should put a disclaimer here that this was my experience, and the whole sucking out of sinuses might not be a big deal for other people: I can't really say. Except for another guy who was having the same surgery/procedure done on my first post-op visit who yelled really loudly from inside the room while I was waiting for my appointment, so he obviously didn't enjoy it either (if only I had known why he was yelling before I went in...). I can only say, that for me? It was a gigantic deal. Not just because I was already in a lot of pain, although I was, but because, to me, it feels like drowning.

The sensation of not being able to breathe through your noise is bad enough, but you add in the forced pressure of that little vacuum, and the fact that you can feel it not just in your sinuses and nose, but in the back of your throat? And it adds up to a completely overwhelming and painful experience. I cried, the first time, and (Mum told me later) was also, from the waiting room, quite audible in my distress. I cried the second and third times too, and I'm not even the tiniest bit embarrassed by that fact. (It was a little bit less traumatic the last two times, thankfully.)

It hurt, and I am already hurting enough.

But it was the panic that it caused me that was most distressing... the doctor actually told me to "breathe through your mouth" (as if I had any other options) "or you're going to have a panic attack". That is because you are cutting off my air supply, and my body, for some reason thinks this is a bad idea. He also appeared shocked that I would find this so upsetting, only adding to my impression of him as completely out of touch with reality ("7-10 days and you'll be good as new!"; "No patient has ever had a sinus infection so soon, post-op: are you sure that's what it is?"; "You should chew more gum to help stretch those muscles, did I forget to tell you that?").

The only good news is that I now don't have to go back for another month, baring additional issues, and that time, he may not even have to use the vacuum. Fingers crossed! End of totally disgusting and barbaric Item #1.

Item #2 - I have missed out on a lot of things in the course of the 33 days: a cousin's wedding (which apparently included much celebrating), my birthday, a college reunion I wasn't going to go to anyways (but I would've liked to make the my-girls dinner pre-party), Lil Girl's end of school celebration, No Longer Youngest Nephew's school report (which I have never been invited to before :( ), and more than a bit of family drama that I'm still trying to catch up with. Everybody in my family had issues during this period, and I feel like I am a page or two behind on the stories, which is a feeling I truly hate. I also feel like this lag in my understanding of things has caused new drama, which I have to figure out how to fix, but can't till my brain is back at full power, which sucks. This is one of the things I tried to factor into my decision to have the surgery - knowing I would be so far behind/out of the loop, and trying to make it be ok, but I absolutely hate not being there for people when they need me (and we can talk about why I don't expect people to show up for me when I need them some other time, thank you very much). It has been hard, playing catch up, apologizing for the gaps and lapses, the gaffs and digs I've delivered unknowingly. Or trying to, at least.

But at the same time, I'm trying to be realistic about this - I had the right to do something that, hopefully, is going to lead to a real improvement in my health. It wasn't selfish to do this, even if I don't get the outcome I wanted. Or, if it is selfish, only in a good way. This is one of the things I have decided to work on, about myself - that I don't cut myself enough slack about important things. Yes, it is vital to be someone that my family and friends can depend on, and it stinks when my health issues get in the way of that. But that doesn't mean it's not something that people should try to understand, and that doesn't mean it's something I should feel badly for (at least, not excessively so). So, I'm working on that. It is much harder done than said.

Item #3 I would just like to state, for the record, that I am through thinking about my weight. Because I ate nothing but soup broth and mashed potatoes, slush, bananas, and jello for, let's say 27 days, discounting the first two days (when I could only eat slush), and the last four (when I've been expanding into other, actually needs to be chewed types of food). And I think I gained weight, to be honest with you. So if I can't lose weight on three weeks of vegetarian, non-chewable mush, then I'm just not going to lose weight. So I better figure out how to like the size I am right now.

I think that's about it for now, before this post turns into a novel. I'll be back pretty soon (certainly more frequently now), and we'll talk about something completely different, won't that be nice? Please also know that I am, slowly but surely, catching up with my Google Reader (yay: The Collective is back in my Google Reader!), but it's taking me a while. If you have clicked through a new comment of mine on an older post of yours, welcome! Sorry to be so late to the party! I'm getting there.

Some random thoughts

and quotes, just to give you a sense of how my weekend's going.

"I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it."

Sex and the City.

via Quotebook

:Sigh: Not having the easiest time finding a dress that fits me in a reasonable way, and having found one that I think works, I now have to search for shoes. Wicked excited about that, if you couldn't tell. Am focusing on how happy my friend is, how wonderful it will be to see her get married, and how, really, ain't nobody going to be paying attention to me.

"If you're going to find out who you'll become, you need space in your life for who you are, rather than storing reminders of who you thought you were going to be." Dr. Wende

I'm finding that unpacking and moving in are not just physical actions, there's a lot of mental work involved as well. Giving up some things, holding on to others, deciding which is which is difficult work, and so I spend a lot of time thinking "I should be doing X" and instead checking my Google Reader. Which isn't to say I haven't accomplished somethings:

Going through my pharmacological supply and realizing that I've taken over 100 kinds of pills that have done zero, zip, nada for me? Hard. Throwing them away? Easy.

Seeing some of the stuff I've set aside in my hope chest (which was never really about getting married for me, but more about having a family), and realizing that I'm still hoping? Still on hold when it comes to those dreams? Hard. So, so hard. Still imagining the little bald babies (in my family, there are only bald babies) that might someday be wearing these things? Very, very easy.

Realizing that things I played with, or wore, or that we had around the house when I was a kid are now considered 'vintage'? Not exactly hard, but kind of ridiculous feeling, just the same. Realizing that I can take advantage of this and label things as 'vintage' when we list them on e-bay, etsy or craigslist? Awesome.

"It does not take much strength to do things, but it requires great strength to decide on what to do." Elbert Hubbard

I am also, as always, caught up in the middle of various family issues. A baby shower and who should plan it. Parents who need to quit smoking, but just can't seem to. (And, my inability to just FORCE them to, which shows me just how much of a control freak I can be.) A sister who doesn't understand that texting and driving (or drinking "so long as I'm not drunk" and driving. or 3 in the morning combined with either or both of these things and driving) is not just stupid and dangerous, but hypocritical of her. (This is one of those things I "just don't understand" because I don't drive or drink - she "knows her limits and isn't stupid enough to drive if she's too tired/drunk/distracted." Seriously? I tried to explain that NOBODY thinks they're too drunk/tired/distracted, and yet people are still dying/killing other people. I had to leave the room before one of us wound up punching the other.) A nephew who needs his parents to pay attention to him, and can't seem to get their attention in any positive way. A brother who's blind to all he's got, reckless with his own life, & careless with the lives of those he's supposed to be caring for. A grandmother who's isolated again, now that I'm not there, and UJ is painting their porch, but doesn't want to come over because "it's such a bother" to us. (Head -> desk. NOT A BOTHER! Also, it's Grandparent's Day, and you are my one surviving grandparent... please let me be bothered!)

All of that stuff is buzzing around, and there's so much of it that I often feel like a radio that can't tune into just one station - there's too much static, too much fuzz, and there's always some other faint voice playing over the specific thing you're trying to hear. And then there's how I feel which can not just cover up the sounds I'm listening for, but break in with it's on emergency alert tone if that's what it takes to get me to listen to it. It makes for a muddle, sometimes.

I keep practicing my breathing, though, in the hopes that I can sometimes settle on just the one thing: the hard part is figuring out which is the right thing. And not feeling horrible at the million or so other things that get left out, hoping that you're getting to the stuff that really matters, and that the stuff you're letting go can figure itself out without your help.

(And that makes it seem like I think I am the center of the universe, which I really don't. I just find it hard to figure out where to put my energy sometimes, and find it impossible to just not worry about the things I don't get to.)

Anyways...

Have a nice, deep breathing picture to help you through your day... I hope you all are doing well today.
via MissWallFlower

A small freak out, which you can feel free to skip, followed by more bad news

So we do in fact have a preliminary buyer for our house: there's still an inspection to get through, but the house is damn old and we already told them that, so hopefully it won't turn up anything too surprising.

And while this is good, this is a good, good thing, it is also horrifying and panic inducing. I'm freaking out a little bit, and there's this ball of tension in my belly that's amped waaaaaaaaay up, mostly because, pending inspection, we're expected to clear out by February the 23rd. Which is basically, two months and two weeks from today.

We do not have anyplace to go once we leave here, and that, my friends, is a terrifying thought. I'm afraid of how fast my parents are going to burn through that money: if we find a permanent place to live right away, I'm worried about how much a mortgage is going to cost and how my parents haven't paid rent, let alone a mortgage in over 25 years, and how they're totally not being realistic about how much we're going to be spending now just to live somewhere. And about how my less than $500 a month isn't really going to help out all that much there.

If we don't find a permanent place right away (and we haven't in the nearly a year we've been looking, since there's so many constraints on what we need, let alone what we'd like), then how quickly are we going to go through our money renting some place accommodating enough for us (ok - me), and how will we ever be able to make that money back?

I'm really working very, very hard at not freaking out about those things, because they are, in very large part, beyond my control: we're looking, we'll have to go someplace, it's just that there's so many unanswered things right now and I HATE THAT.

I read a lot about people who can look at these sort of things - these challenges and changes - as adventures, and these sort of people - even the real life people whose blogs I read - take things as they come and don't really worry excessively and somehow it all turns out alright. I would give anything to be one of those people, but I'm just not.

I'm trying to see this as optimistically as possible, but there's also the reality of what's happening, and that is this: in two months and two weeks, unless we do some very hard work very soon, we will have nowhere to live.

Nowhere to live.

If that isn't scary to you, then I don't understand how your brain works. (Obviously).

Now, granted, I don't think it's possible that we'd wind up living in our van (which, also, sadly is deciding it should fall apart little piece by little piece, lately), but it's like my parents are living on a cloud of denial where our dream house is going to be A) affordable, B) immediately available, and C) Right next door! and so I feel like the less they are able to face reality, the more I have to think about it.

Not that thinking about it is doing me any good, because honestly, what good is worrying about it here going to do? I just need to get it all out of my head for a little bit, just put it here and LEAVE IT HERE for a while.

We are working hard - looking at houses and more houses and more houses, farther away than we want, really, but maybe our best option at this point. We're looking at two families to own and one families to rent; we're looking at long range hotel rooms and another storage container. (Confidentially, I've even looked into independent housing for myself, even though I know I'm not up to it health wise, but all of the housing for people with disabilities around here just isn't appropriate for me: I don't need most services, don't qualify for some I could use, and can't live in a group environment where someone else is making the rules about smells and chemicals and whatnot.) We're doing the work, but the answers haven't presented themselves yet, and I'm just not a "leave it to the universe" type of person.

The universe has screwed me on more than one occasion, you might recall, so I'm not exactly sure it's looking out for our best interests.


So, with all of that in my head, I sure am glad I have this place to just spew, and also ----

And also, as I was just finishing up this lovely little rant, a cousin calls to tell me that my great aunt - who I was not close to and really only knew through special occasions and the fact that she was our family kleptomaniac ("Is Irene coming? Make sure the Waterford crystal is not on the sidebar!) has passed away and I will be required to attend yet another funeral early next week.


It's like I said a few weeks ago: what I wake up worrying about is never the stuff I wind up worrying about at the end of the day, so why do I even bother?

2008 has been a sucky, sucky year, and if 2009 isn't better I might have to punch it in the face.

My idea of fancy lately

Lil Girl put this on my finger first thing this morning, and then refused to let me take it off all day long. It's probably a sign of how sad my life is that it sort of made me feel weird. I don't even own rings that fit anymore. (And wouldn't wear them if I did), but having something on my finger just made me move my hand differently. Cuz I'm special like that.

Hello Peoples

... would you like to guess what I am? If you guessed 'sick' (and if you've been here more than once, why wouldn't you guess that?), then you are correct. It's the tonsils again. I do believe I would rip them out of my own throat at this point. It's feeling like a reasonable option today, where one tonsil - who apparently felt lonely - decided to triple in size in order to meet the other one on his side of my throat. Again. Me and my tonsils, we are fighting.
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In other news, the new med continues to make me dizzy (but definitely less than the first day), and I have to call Zack tomorrow because there has been no improvement in pain and he only gave me a week's worth of this stuff, so I don't know what I'm supposed to do next: keep taking it and wait or just knock it off? I think you know what my vote is.

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Yesterday I went to the mall. Because I AM AN IDIOT thought it would be good to spend time with my sisters. Unfortunately, the sister whose plan it was didn't actually have a plan. So there was a lot of random wandering of the mall, and texting tag ("In Hallmark: Meet at Sears?"), and although there were some nice/funny moments (like when SisterCh tried to shove me in the car that I was falling out of and said "But your BUTT can't hurt!" really loudly; or how SisterK put the wheelchair in the backseat and left herself no room for, you know, sitting; or how SisterJ was totally with me on the whole "this store is loud and annoying and we're just going to walk right back out" deal) I shouldn't have gone because, honestly, I was already getting pretty sick. And I knew it. But I felt bad about having to cancel so often, so I went. And... it was too long of a day for me and now I am paying for it. But, oh well, because still: I made the decision, I left the house, I got to hang with 3/5 sisters... we'll call it even.

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I meant to have a picture up for MBSM today, but that just ain't happening. I'm going to have to try for tomorrow, at which point, it will just be a random picture, but you're not going to complain, I don't think.

So... that's my update for today, I'll try to check out what you are up to soon!

A few yeses, a few nos

No, just... no.

And on the other hand a big fat yes.

Also no; and awesomely yes.

A pretty good line up.

Monday is a good night for television (and an even better night with TiVo, who, in case I haven't mentioned it is either my very good friend or my total nemesis: we're still deciding), so I'm putting down Eclipse in order to watch a few of my favorite shows.

Big Bang Theory is both hilarious and sadly true: if you are a geek, or have geeks in your life, you know that people actually do have conversations that revolve around Shroedinger's cat or Hobbits. You'd be surprised how often George Lucas or William Shatner could come up in a conversation.

How I Met Your Mother has some of the best characters ever. Specifically: Barney - It's gonna be legend-... wait for it... and I hope you're not lactose intolerant because the second half of that word is DAIRY! - Stinson.

Chuck is on at the same time, but thanks to TV I can watch it later. It's a well written show, and has the added benefit of having Jayne, with a gun (although it's not Vera).

Heroes is not living up to its past seasons or potential, IMO, and if it doesn't improve, I'll probably move it off my Season Pass list.

I won't mention Two and a Half Men, which I think is unbelievably dumb and can't believe is still on; Worst Week which is just lame and will probably not make it through to the end of the season; or CSI: Miami which is a show about sunglasses. I know they're on, but I avoid them. At 10, I generally watch Boston Legal which vacillates between being fully annoying and fully amusing.

And then Jon Stewart & Steve Colbert team up to keep me happy & sane. They certainly have their work cut out for them.

Hope your week is going OK, everybody.

It's that time of year again

and I know you're all wicked excited! No, I'm not talking about back to school, or even the fabulous transition from summer to fall, but, of course, the fact that we're coming up on Heating Pad Weather!

See, I knew you were as excited as I am. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not as if I've ever stopped using the heating pads - that would be foolish and crazy! It's just that using a heating pad in the warmer (and hot as hell) weather makes you feel like... well, like a crazy fool. If it's the only thing that helps with your pain, you suffer through it, but there's nothing more uncomfortable to the rest of your damn self than sweating outrageously because your neck won't stop aching.

I do tend to do a lot more of the icing in the summer, and the heating in the winter. This is only logical, and contrary to popular opinion, getting my Master's Degree didn't educate all the common sense right outta me. But what works best for the worst pain, generally, is heat. A lot of it, I mean HOURS of it, as at high a temperature as possible. So that, I'm nice and numbed up (and my sensitive skin a veeery pink/red color) are the signs that optimal pain "relief" has been accomplished. And it's virtually impossible to accomplish those things when it's 85 degrees out.

So there's a lot of things about fall that I look forward to: the crispness in the air, the lack of flowery smells, the Halloween costumes yet undiscovered, but right now? I'm just glad I can reclaim my heating pads.


And, yes, I have a million things still to talk about, a million things going on here and IRL that I should say... something about, but in the meantime, and because if I don't write something, then I might not ever write anything, and I'm not ok with that.

Right Now...

Right now, I am sitting in my air conditioned room, watching the wind ruffle the trees across the street, waiting for the promised storm to finally let loose and cool us all down.

Right now, I'm loving how half of the sky is gray and the other half looks almost painted on, it's so blended and pastel-y. (Totally made that word up, I'm pretty sure.)

Right now, I'm taking deep breaths for the first time in many, many days (short story long? Stupid PUS. Ants. Ant spray. Am finally back in my own room.), and hoping that I'll be able to open the window to take a deep breath before the night is over.

Right now I've shut the TV off, pulled the blind up as far as it can go, and turned the A/C down as low as it can go.

Right now I feel like all I've been doing lately is waiting - waiting for better days, waiting to feel happy, waiting till we know where we're going and when we're going. And I hate waiting. For me, that first, slow climb up to the top of the roller coaster was always the worst part: the clicking of the wheels on the track was echoed in my stomach, suddenly an empty cavernous hole. Panic would set in and every inch forward just proved to me that I was too stupid to be allowed to make choices for myself, that I should never have gotten on this ride in the first place, that everything I knew about ride safety and physics was wrong, that I would, of course, be that one person whose grisly tale would be retold on the evening news.

In a lot of ways, waiting isn't really the hardest part: I'd rather be waiting to find out something bad had happened than to be sure of it. I'd wait forever if it meant I would never get some pieces of news; I'll wait till I day before I let someone tell me I'm never going to get any healthier.

But even knowing that I could be doing worse things than waiting, it doesn't make it any easier to wait, I'm afraid.

So right now, as I'm watching the clouds rip open and the sky light up, I'm thinking of how good it would be to just know something. To just have something to be sure of... instead of waiting.

I hate electrical equipment...

and it seems to feel similarly towards me.

I bought my laptop - this laptop right here - three years ago. February of '05. Immediately after purchasing it, it did this thing were, if you moved it too quickly, it shut down. I thought, for a while, that laptops did that. A few months later, SisterJ purchased her laptop and I noticed "wow, you can move it without treating it like it is plutonium and it still works!" So I asked my HP people what was wrong with the puter and they said "Send it to us, it sounds broken." I did, and it was. The motherboard was 'compromised' and had to be replaced. That sucked, since it was a new laptop and then I was without it for a few weeks - about a month, I think.

About 6 months later, one of my 3 USB ports (the quickest one) stopped working. Just wouldn't even show up on my manage devices list. It kinda sucked, but I dealt with it. A few weeks later, another one stopped working. (To figure this out I had to buy a new cord for my printer, as I had assumed it was the cord that was broken. It wasn't.) Less than 3 months later, the final remaining USB port refused to show up. Nice. Went to the HP people again, and they were all "You must have done something, I wonder why that would happen if you didn't uninstall them" (As if I were purposely removing the posibility of my computer being able to communicate with other devices. "Send it to us," they said, acting as if I needed to be reported to Social Services for laptop abuse. I packed it up and sent it off AGAIN and it as gone for a month and a half. When it came back, they grudgingly admitted that the computer had done it on its own, acting out with the sort of antisocial behavior you expect from 3 year olds.

This year, as we have discussed, I had to send the pretty computer away because the fan was overheating and then full on stopped working. Again: not my fault; Again, at least 3 weeks with no laptop.

The same time I bought my laptop, I bought a printer with it - an Epson. It was an color, copier, printer, and it was free with rebate. I love free. I love rebates. I thought I was veeery lucky. Sometime between the first time I had to send the computer back and the second time I had to send it back, the printer stopped working. Totally. The ink cartridge had somehow leaked into the inside of the machine, and was producing large black splotches on ... everything. The printer refused to print anything, and then got to the point where it wouldn't even turn on anymore. Nice. So I called up Epson, and they were all "really? How'd that happen? Oh wait, that's a known issue with this model. Send it back to us and we'll send you a new one. A better one! You're a lucky lucky girl!"

Yes, I totally felt lucky, as I'm sure you can imagine.

That printer lasted about 2 years, until, last fall, right when my family troubles were exploding, it decided to start eating the paper. It would start to load a page to print out on, and instead of going through, it would crumple it up and then flash red lights at me. "error! error! Error!" it would yell. As if I couldn't tell from the whole gobbling up the paper thing. The warranty had, of course, expired by this point, and this would've been my 3rd try with the Epsons anyway, plus I had been thinking about getting an all in one that you can fax with (because of my timesheets for the PCA program that have to be in every two weeks and sending Mum to Staples every other Monday seemed pretty low on the list of priorities when you're dealing with famiy emergencies).

So to make things easier on myself (and everybody else), I went ahead and bought a brand new printer/copier/scanner/fax. It's a Canon, and I have loved it for all of the 5 months that I have been using it. It printed out SisterJ's save the dates, her wedding invitations, the games we played at the shower. I've completed about 25 of SisterCh's scrapbook pages on the thing, in the past week. It and I have copied a gazillion magazine pages, crochet directions, and recipes.

And then, there came today. When I tried to copy Youngest Nephew's Report Card (he did awesome, watch out 3rd Grade!), the printer started making this scary noise, lights started flashing, paper stopped rolling in. The piece of paper ripped somewhere inside the machine. And there, it got lost. A little piece of paper is sitting in there, making everything else NOT WORK. So I called Canon, and yippee, you guessed it "Please sent it to us, we'll send you a new one to replace it. There's no way you can fix it yourself."

UGH. Just Ugh. I mean, seriously, why do electronic things hate me so much? I am a good owner. I don't misuse them or eat food and drop it into them. I use that spray duster thing regularly, and I've only dropped my poor laptop once, and then, it was because I was dropping as well. (We haven't talked about that: it was the week leading up to the wedding, the computer and I took a tumble ... a serious tumble. My back was WAAY messed up and I was really glad you couldn't see it under my dress. And the puter was ok except for some dead pixels in the lower right corner. Which bothered me a lot at first, but now I realize all it means is that I have to look somewhere else to see what time it is. I think I can deal.) I am not cruel to things with plugs, but they must have heard horror stories, because there is some sort of computer/printer conspiracy when it comes to me.

So, if you have anything that needs copying, you - and I - will have to wait 7-10 days. Sorry about that.

Clean-slating it...

Oh internets, I know I am still waaaaaaaaaaay behind on all of the pictures I have promised you, all of the stories I must tell. To that I say: it'll come when it comes.

I've been trying really hard to catch up, I've been trying all year, since Nana and all of that drama, to just catch up to where I'm supposed to be. And you know what? It's not going to happen... all of the things I was supposed be doing at some predetermined and arbitrary schedule? Yeah, that's so not happening.

Yesterday was my birthday. I am 29 now. It feels very, very strange. There's a lot of things I wanted to have happen in my life, a lot of things I always assumed I'd have or be or be doing by now. And those things? They're not happening either.

It's a lot to deal with, but it's also a lot like taking a big deep breath and letting it out. There's a lot to be said for letting things go.

I have a lot of things I need to let go of, a lot of expectations that I need to reexamine and readjust. And I'm starting to get to the point where I think I have the psychic energy, the emotional strength, to actually do it. I'm not all the way there yet, but it feels like I'm getting there. Getting to the point of being able to say "I'm sorry all of the things you assumed would happen in your twenties just didn't happen for you. It wasn't fair, or right, but it's what happened. You're here now, and you're (mostly) ok. You're (mostly) happy. You're lucky to have come this far, really. So you need to just take those deep breaths and let it go."

It's certainly not an easy thing to do, but it's starting to feel like the only thing to do. It's starting to feel like if I don't do that, if I don't try to let go of some of the things that have been hurting me for so long, I won't be able to make it. And that's not an option for me.

So I have to stop pretending that I've been ok with all of this, with the fact that my body has betrayed me so cruelly. I'm not ok with it... but I can deal with it. It's ok for me to be mad about the opportunities I've missed out on, to be disappointed that I so often feel like a spectator instead of a player. It's not an easy role to have. But if it's my role - if it's going to keep being my role - then I really have to embrace it.

This is one of those posts that I keep not posting because I think it doesn't make sense to anybody but me. But you all often surprise me, so I'm going to let it go this time, say it and put it out there.

Basically what I'm saying is that I'm trying to move forward in a way that is more than just making it through the day. I want to find a way to be living in my skin - my painful, achy, worn out body - and really be happy in the spot that I am in. Even if there's things I don't like about it.

It's so tricky, cuz I often think I'm accomplishing that, but I know right now I am not, I know right now it's been impossible to get past how much I hurt. But I'm going to keep making the effort anyways.

So... next deep breath, and moving on!

Well, Long Time No See

Here I am... alive and... well, not well, but alive! So that's always a plus!

Actually I am much improved: A very short story version of the time that has passed since I was here last is this: The wedding was fantastic, wonderful, fabulous, stressful, awesome, beautiful, powerful, great, and I am thoroughly embracing my role in the creation and enabling of that day and the real blessing that it was. I am also a big fat idiot. Because, as usual, I am unable to not just see the warning signals that my body is sending me, but also HEED them.

The intensity of the past, oh 8 months, combined with the hard push of the last let's say 5 weeks (Christening, 1st Communion, Shower, Bachelorette party, Rehearsal Dinner, Wedding plus planning and crafty times): Honestly, there were times in there that I was really congratulating myself on how far I had come, in the past three years or so, in order to be able to accomplish all that. And then there were other times when I knew I was going way to far and should have put the brakes on.

Like when I couldn't shake this stupid sinus infection that I've had since January. Oh, it went into hiding for a week or two here and there, but it hasn't been killed yet. It just decided to be sly for a bit, try to fool me.

Or the fact that I've had a rash since November that should've been cleared up with a few applications of a certain medicine. That's still here 9 months and 4 tubes of medication later.

Or the migraines that have been more frequent, or the fact that my pain level, even on the medication that slightly helps, was bumping up a notch or two from normal.

The sad part is that, for the most part, I expect to pay these prices: higher pain for more activities, less energy because I've used it all up, more headaches because I'm out in the world around all of the smells and sounds that cause the headaches. These are the consequences I am used to, ready for, and willing to put up with in order to do the things that are important to me. It's just a part of living with chronic illnesses that you have to accept: if you want to do things, you have to pay the price.

Well, the price was slightly higher this week than I had expected to pay, as I manged to downplay a pretty serious infection for the better part of a week, thinking it was just a typical post-party flare up. Flare up of pain, an increase in fevers, a sore throat that wouldn't quit. And, that's how I wound up in Urgent Care on Friday, and barely talked my way out of being hospitalized.

Because I just can't read my own body: It lies. Everything it tells me is misleading, and it's impossible to form conclusions based on past experiences.

Flare up of pain & exhaustion: yes, totally expected after all the heavy duty excursions in the past month. Dialing the pain up from a 8 to a 12... not exactly what I'd hoped for, but still: not totally unexpected. (And so, another warning sign missed.) Because...

Higher than normal temps: Also expected - inflammation makes my temps higher and my pain worse. PLUS I was around all those people, and all those people were kind enough to share their germs with me and my 'can't fight off invader cells' immune system was trying to work overtime to help me out. Not unexpected either (and yet... you've got an abnormally low temperature, normally... so if the thermometer is reading over 100 degrees... you're kind of in trouble. Stop pretending that you're not... that's like 102 for normal people)...

And a sore throat? Run of the mill, for me. Can't remember a pain free day, or a soothed throat, anymore. 14 years later, it's hard to recall that there used to be times you could wake up and not have to think about all the reasons you should keep on going in spite of how much it hurts. (But wait... do you realize that you're wheezing? More than a little? And that you have been unable to swallow food for like.. days now? Soup broth ain't cutting it, sister... Call the doctor)

And so I did, as my fever climbed higher and my tonsils decided to once again meet in the middle (I am an evil spirit, apparently, keeping those two destined soul-mates from their true loves) and my pain became so great that I was forced to wish it was just a normal 8 or 9 day for me. And guess what: Surprise surprise, I have a huge freaking infection! In my tonsils! And my chest! And my sinuses! And am seriously dehydrated! And dangerously feverish! Fabulous! And also... insane for having waited this long.

But here's the thing: when you're expecting to suffer, it's hard to know when you've crossed the line. At least for me. Suffering is part of my world, I keep it tabulated in my everyday columns: trying to figure out a balance I can live with. So when something like this happens, it's hard to say "oh, well... this is more than I thought it would be, it could be something different." Because the prices? They're subject to change without warning or notification, and this is certainly not the first time I've had to pay more than my fair share.

But I am doing MUCH better now: got myself hooked up to some strong antibiotics and fabulous drugs (ok, not fabulous drugs - steroids and lidocaine for my throat, which don't exactly suck, and some opioid for the pain which are laughingly slight, but I'll take what I can get) and the thermometer no longer does that obnoxious "You're on fire" beeping, as evidenced by the fact that I can string words together in fairly cohesive sentences (mostly). (I'm even back under normal: take that stupid germs!) My tonsils are still doing their best impression of Siamese twins, but we're working on that.

And still? If I knew then what I know now: that I'd have to pay this price in order to be there for my family at all those important times? I'd do the same thing, I suppose. (Although maybe a little bit smarter next time? Hopefully? Please???)

So, that's the long story (supposedly made short), and I'll end just by saying that the wedding was really wonderful and I had a great time, and I'm going to get pictures posted here ASAP. Because I refuse to think about my tonsils anymore, and because I want to share the happiness with all of you. (Or... anybody that's still here anyways - blog posts were definitely one of the first victims in the "I have absolutely no more energy for anything extra" run up to the wedding. But I'm hoping to have more to say and things to share for a while now. Yay!)

Randomosity

10 days is still not two weeks... and I forgot that they meant 'business days' when they said weeks... So I am still laptop-less - It was indeed the fan that had stopped working: it will indeed cost me about $200 to fix it. I have indeed paid them and am waiting oh so patiently to get it back. End of laptop update.

Medically, things are taking unexpected turns. Well, unexpected for anybody else... just normal "oh my sweet Jesus what now" turns for me. Yesterday's appointment with Zach included blood tests for West Nile Virus, an appointment to have the ENT use a 'vacuum like apparatus' on my sinuses (oh joy), and the discovery of some lymph node issues that, because Zach likes to use a totally different dictionary than the rest of the normal world, he called 'compelling and possibly key.' In English, though, they were potentially troubling spots that need to be followed up with yet another CT scan and a PET scan. So next week filled up with appointments rather quickly as well, which isn't exactly awesome because I've got other stuff that needs to get accomplished. But we do what we have to, I suppose.

Some of the other stuff I have to get accomplished this week include my last bridesmaid's dress fitting (Tuesday), actually coming up with something for the bachelorette party, probably a lot of cursing at the rest of the bridal party for not actually, you know... helping, and various other wedding related things. Also, the twins are being christened this Sunday, so there's that. And I needed to shop for something, but it's lost in the recesses of my mind at present. OH: and Thursday is Blogging Against Disabilism Day, and I have pledged a post. (And will have to make time to wander the rest of the posts in the days that follow). Then next Saturday is Youngest Nephew's First Communion, as well as his 8th birthday party. Yup: Starting Sunday, the train of days moves quickly for us here at NTE's house ~ in a echo to the clumping phenomenon of the fall & winter, May seems to be jam packed with things this year.

And they're all a little bittersweet, each new milestone or happy occasion that we're observing without Nana. It's tough, but we're hanging in. I'm hanging in. Yesterday's appointment with Zach was difficult, because it was the first time we'd been back to the office since she'd died, and everyone wanted to pass along their condolences, to talk about how nice she was to them, or how much they appreciated my letters after her death. I found myself having to look away from people's eyes, to keep myself from crying. It's been a couple of weeks (since the shower) since I had to do that, which I suppose is a good sign. I just know these next few weeks will be tough, a bunch of firsts and familiars, and yet they'll all be different this time. Hmmm... not what we expected.

But life never is, is it?

So: that's a post chock full of information & random topics... to make up for the past few weeks of nearly nothing. And, if you're lucky, I'll post some pictures later, show you some of the stuff we've been working on for the wedding.

Happy Thursday, all... Miss you!

My Transparent Niece

I know everybody's going to have their Easter pix up today, but my camera is in another room, and the card with the pictures on it is in it. (Imagine that!) I'll try to get a few of those up later in the week. I hope everybody had a wonderful weekend, no matter how they spent it.

In the meantime, take a gander at this one:

My Transparent Niece
Originally uploaded by bbackprple

I promise you that this is straight out of the camera. I have no idea how it happened: I was playing with F-stops and exposures and .. well, everything, but I was quite surprised to see the resulting photo. Any of you photographically inclined people got any ideas on how this happened? Anyways, it's My Best Shot Monday!

I know there are times that I have felt less like posting, but I must be blocking them out, because they were so horrid.

In point of fact, I have missed you all, but when you have the walking pneumonia, the tonsils the size of baby turtles, the sinus infection that will. not. die. And you add all of those things onto the fact that I was in exile because of the PUS and therefore not at least miserable and at home, well, you might say that I just didn't quite get around to saying all the things I've had to say.

Or, that I said them, but because they were covered in mucus, I thought it best not to share them with all of you.

You're welcome.

I am much improved (well, much improved for me anyways), and my nearly three weeks of exile has come to a semi-end. I am home again, just stuck in our own parlor, as the painting that was supposed to take place on the porch (above and behind my bedroom) actually wound up taking place in the hallway (directly above my bedroom) and my room still smells like paint.

You can just imagine, I am sure, the cheery, happy, mucus-covered thoughts I have been directing towards the PUS. Ahhh... if only thoughts could kill. Or maim. I'd settle for maiming.

Our couch, at the very least, is in closer proximity to my millions of lists of things that still need to get done. Not that I am really accomplishing any of them (certain blog friends who have birthdays this week may want to wait awhile before checking the mail for their cards, for example), but I'm physically closer to them, and that's a start.

Isn't it?

Meanwhile, I have been catching up with all of you... and if any of you are catching up here: Hallo! It is the middle of March! Already! And there's a wedding shower I'm supposed to throw in three weeks! Would you kindly tell me why nobody knows what RSVP means anymore????

Wasn't that a nice welcome back?

:)

Some laughing links to share:

If I have to explain to you why this is one of the funniest things ever, then I'm not really sure how you got here: God, how I hate that stupid Castle Toad! It's not just about the toad, though: Heather! Anne! nails all 5 as she reminds us all that sometimes being alone on a deserted island is preferable.

Also, you should head on over to Jennie's! place, and see how many times you can say "That's what she said" while you're reading.

Cuz anything that makes me laugh today, is worth it's weight in gold. Or finger sandwiches. Or meat. Either way.

Also, if you're into that kind of thing (which I usually am not), may I suggest you head on over to YouTube and see what Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman, Matt Damon & Ben Affleck are up to? Crude, senseless, totally shouldn't be funny. But I laughed. A lot. Out loud at one point. If you want, go see if it makes you chuckle too.

Last week

I had to pick up some prescriptions, and went on the search for the least smelly dandruff shampoo I could find. (My scalp is out of control, people. But I can't use those tar things they used to tell me to use, because of the smells... it's a pickle.)

Anyways... I came across this:




Yes, that's right: anti-sponge shampoo. I honestly could not figure out what they heck they were talking about, and since the back of the bottle was in spanish, I was left totally confused.

The website says it's to combat hair that 'absorbs water and magnifies in size'... So... poofy? Poofy hair is what we're working against here? Except they also have an Anti Poof shampoo, so it must be different somehow. And they also have a volumizing shampoo. So there's sponges, bad poof and good poof.

No wonder I don't get this kind of stuff...

Things I don't get that other girls do...

(Part 1... of probably 1 billion.)

Valentine's Day.

I just ... don't get it.

I mean, I am a Card Person. Capital C, Capital P.

I know the location of 3 local Hallmark Stores. I know two of the salespeople at one store as more than nodding acquaintances (I may or may not know the names of their children).

I can, very easily, spend upwards of $50 (and 50 minutes) on choosing cards alone. I usually have a multistep approach to buying cards...
- Step 1: Pick up cards that I like, have a need for, may someday have a need for, or just plain want.
- Step 2: Try to keep a running tally in my mind of an approximate cost for the cards I am gathering.
- Step 3: About 45 minutes later, after having gone through each aisle of the store at least once, realize I now have enough cards to wallpaper my room with, and no freaking idea of how much they cost.
- Step 4: Realize that I cannot rob a bank in the next 15 minutes, which requires cutting the pile of cards in my lap down by about 75%.
- Step 5: Still spend about double what I had set out to spend, but walk away happy just the same.

If those steps get screwed with -- if I have an urgent need for just 1 card, for example, I feel disappointed that I did not get to loiter in the store for hours on end.

So I love cards. Hallmark commercials make me cry, I am sappy and sentimental and have a gooey chocolatey center. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and Grandparents' Day, and even sent a Friendship Day card one year (albeit totally by accident.

In short, I am the sort of person that seems tailor made for Valentine's Day Fever.

And yet, I have none.

I know what some of you may be thinking, but I am also not a Valentine's hater: a cynic, heartbroken at having spent her entire 28 years on earth Valentine free, set lose to terrorize the 'lucky few' out of their moonlit dinners and conversation hearts. (Well, I doubt that any of you are thinking that, but let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I ever heard that theory...)

No, I'm all for you having a great time if it means something to you... I just don't get it.

I like Valentine's Day parties in classrooms ... as you are reading this, children everywhere are sneaking business card-sized envelopes into the specially decorated desks of their classmates, eating cupcakes bedecked in pink sprinkles, or wondering at who could have possibly signed their card with a question mark. (And their teachers are shaking their heads at their naive belief that they might have actually accomplished any work today.) And, when you're teaching, any excuse for a party is welcomed ... but I don't get it: It isn't as if there are extensive curriculums set up that delve into the philosophy of love and it's many representations, or that there's a historical imperative to learn more about this wonderful patron saint of fainting, the plague, bee keepers and lovers (wow, I love being a Catholic!)... It's just, "Hello, it is February, and this is what we do in February."

I don't get buying roses when they're 3 times as expensive as they might be on any other random Thursday. Or heartshaped boxes of chocolates that are irresponsibly unlabeled (I hate those orange creme ones: why are they even in there??)

I don't get why single people have to feel lonelier on the 14th of this month than they would on any other mid-month (especially since, any other 14th day would not find them feeling particularly lonely at all). Or why couples should have to feel the pressure of adding a perfect night to their weekly routines. I don't get imposed happiness any more than I get imposed unhappiness.

I don't get how guys forget Valentine's Day, when it starts being everywhere right after Christmas, but I also don't get why it's so important that they should have to remember it.

It's just one of those things that I missed out on, like the need to buy shoes that cost more than a good camera.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm going to try to get back into posting: I've been missing it, and all of you.
My days are still very difficult: knowing the right thing to do for other people who are grieving, particularly my mum, is a hard, hard thing. Knowing what to do for myself is proving pretty difficult as well.

But I think we're all doing ok, and I'm going to keep thanking you all for all your help, just so you know how much I appreciate it. For now, I need to write again ... it helps me remember that there are other things going on -- in my life, and in the world -- and helps me feel more like myself. And I can use all of that that I can get.

Hola chicas!

(I can't think of any male readers I've got, off the top of my head, but just in case: Hola chicos!)

Things are creeping along, hopefully in a positive manner, with my Nana: her feeding tube is working well, and she's being moved out of the ICU into a regular room. They've got four major concerns: 1) When will she be able to restart the radiation, because that tumor is ridiculously large and prohibitive to, you know, breathing normally, eating, & sometimes talking (plus, you know, it's fatal if left to its own devices, which is a very big deal). 2)Is it the tumor that is causing her 'episodes' (they think it is), and how do we prevent them during her treatment?
3)She's got a tiny bit of fluid in her lung right now, and they're not sure why, but they're pretty confident that sitting up, inhalers and nebulizers will help to clear that up & 4)Her liver levels are "off" which may be from not eating for over a week, so they're keeping their eyes on it to see what's happening with it.

Overall, I will take any positive thing: any little step forward is NOT a step back, so I'll take it. Thank you all for your kind words, wishes, and support.

In other news, I've been distracting myself from the hell that has been our house these past few days (oh, the PUS and their sanctimonious "She wouldn't want any tubes!" "I'm here to take care of you!" "Let me remind you of when your father died, or when your sister died, and make vague accusations that you don't care about your mother!" "Let me weep and cry at the idea of this woman's death, in public, even though I have been abusing/neglecting/hating her for at least 20 years!"), I've been following/catching up on the Cassie Edwards controversy.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest you pretend you never saw what I just wrote, and instead just stop reading right her. Because, trust me, you will get sucked in! If you're still sticking around, I'll give you my very abbreviated summary of what the hell is going on:

Cassie Edwards plagiarized. A lot. As in, I can't actually see that more than 25% of any given book of hers was actually written by her. She plagiarized from research materials, from Pulitzer Prize winning novels, from the classics. (This will open a PDF of the evidence against her, if you're interested. It is long, and detailed, and painful.)

The plagiarism was uncovered by, and then outed by, writers and readers over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, which is one of my most favorite websites. The Smart Bitches are wonderful writers, have strong opinions stated in entertaining (and often hilarious) ways, and run a site with some of the smartest commenters I've come across. Because of this situation, they've been condemned by many as "meanies" ... and much worse. The idea that bringing this situation to light could be construed as vindictive, unfair or any of the other things I've seen battered around in the past couple of days is, in my point of view, ludicrous. They did us all a favor, and have taken a lot of heat because of it. I'm grateful to them, to the readers who continue to Google search (what I consider) poorly written books, & to everybody who's seen this and gone "WTH??? This is so wrong!"

Including, my favoritest romance author, Nora Roberts, who's had some experience on the wrong side of this issue (her work was plagiarized by 'author' Janet Dailey back in the late 1990's), and who, rightly, made a statement denouncing Edwards' plagiarism. Note: she didn't denounce Edwards - she merely stated that this is plagiarism, and that it's wrong & should be dealt with.

This has been, of course, seen as an attack on an elderly woman (Edwards is 71) by some people...who have been labeled the excessive "fann gurls", but as an excessive Nora fan gurl myself, I might take offense at the idea that I would support my favorite author should she blatantly steal her words from other people. As much as I love La Nora, should I find that her books are largely made up of someone else's words? I would be horrified. Then I'd be pissed. And you better believe I'd tell her (and probably anybody else who'd listen) how outrageous that is. And I'd want my money back, which I would then distribute to all the other people who actually did that work I enjoyed so much.

Anyways, there's this whole brouhaha (as there seems to be anytime anything happens on the Internet), but it really boils down to this:

You can't call yourself a writer if your book is made up of another writer's words. All you are? Is a pretty good copier. Who sometimes adds characters, commas, or stunted dialogue to whatever you are copying from. This does not make you a writer, and the fact that you've been able to last this long in this business is a disgrace.

The End.

(But thanks for the distraction, Smart Bitches! You can click on any of the Cassie Edwards posts over at SB by clicking on their link on my sidebar, and if you want to read a hilarious take on this whole thing, may I recommend Gennita Low's post over at A Low Profile?)