Reporting from County

This from the 3rd floor room whose window should have bars because I'm about to jump out...

Dude if I had any hair I would be pulling it out by the roots right now. Lou's had this blog for over two years and I've posted more in the last ten days than in the previous 26 months. But let me make an important announcement, listen up.

1) I WILL NEVER COMMIT A CRIME THAT COULD LAND ME IN JAIL.
2) I WILL ALWAYS BE AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE FROM OTHER PEOPLE COMMITTING CRIMES THAT COULD LAND THEM AND, BY ASSOCIATION, ME IN JAIL.
3) IF I EVER END UP IN JAIL, IT WILL FEEL LIKE THIS POEM:

The eternal, infernal three weeks

Stuck stuck stuck in jail.
Stinky snorer at my side.
Physically assaulted, poked, prodded.
Days are long, nights longer.
Oh when will sweet parole come?

Nothing to do, nowhere to go.
Not welcome out there.
Scrutinized, measured, rated.
Close the door, close the window.
Oh when will gentle furlough arrive?

The Perch Revolts

The following advice comes straight from the perch:

If you see a big lump in the bed, hidden under layers of bedding, it's not necessarily your nightshirt and stocking cap stuck under there. It could be Sir Lou Reese (form of White Fang) (shape of Arfur) preparing to attack. That is, of course, if he has enough brain cells left to get the job done.

Ok, so maybe I was a torturer in a past life and that's why I have such bad karma, but did I really deserve a cat in this life with almost as many psychological problems as I have myself? Is that fair, Ganesh? Shouldn't a house guest be able to rest her weary head without The Wrath of the Badderson Line descending upon her? I ask you.

I remember

Yesterday I had a little impromptu gmail chat with Rach, prompted by my sister wanting to know how old her mom was. I generally (actually, as a rule) avoid chatting people when I see they're logged on-- I feel like I'm invading their few minutes of internet time they have to check their mail. Anyway, yesterday we ended up having a nice little exchange and I reminded her of this saying she had told me, like a philosophy, which has been one of the tenets of my life and that I use to reflect on my behaviour and way of looking at myself in relation to other people (!!!), I mean one of the top ten, and she was like, 'oh, I said that? hmm...'

SO IT GOT ME THINKING (more, because this is something I sorta think about a lot) about how we perceive each other and how our memories of other people and ourselves are different from theirs of them and us, and sometimes somebody from our past can say, this is who you were for/to me, and it's different from what you remember, and it can make you feel good or bad. And sometimes when we tell our friends what we remember (this is perhaps more 'eventful' for me because I live far away from my old friends and am one of the world's very worst correspondents and I have a very bad memory, so I'm not always reminiscing and kaffeeklatsching (sp) with everybody) we can give them new perspective by reminding them of the old.

Somebody on Oprah (Dr Oz?) said that our basic personalities are formed by the age of six. So people I knew in grade school are the same people I knew in grade school, with just more layers of sophistication or responsibilities or baby spit-up. And even though I say I have a bad memory, I may remember that a certain friend was a person who took charge of her life at a young age, figured out what she wanted, and is one of the very few people I know that is pursuing what she loves today, professionally and personally. So when her spunky daughter is being a bucking billy goat, she should take heart in the fact that at the very least she is an excellent role model, a living example, and shouldn't be so hard on herself.

You probably don't know that one of my favorite movies is The Kid, that Disney movie with Bruce Willis and Spencer Breslin, where a forty-ish guy somehow meets his 12-year-old (?) self from the past and they deal with their (self-) loathing and learn to love themselves/each other. It's not that hokey. What does it mean to live up to your own dreams and ideals? Should you try to live up to dreams you had for yourself when you were younger? What does it mean to let yourself down? Have your ideals simply changed or have you failed yourself? There's this line where Breslin says, "I'm forty and I don't have a dog?!?! I'm a LOSER!" which particularly resonates. I often wonder what my 15-year-old self would think of me now. I don't mean about being sick, she'd be freaked. But would she be impressed and excited that she moved away and was managing to live in a different place and had had my experiences, or would she see a good deal of these 20 years as wasted, her dreams as squandered? Just wondering...

Getting penic

I know, right? tee hee hee

So for the past several days cutie doc walks in and says, "you're not penic yet." And, of course, getting penic has nothing to do with getting some, but with tanking blood levels, so neutropenia, leukopenia, lymphopenia, etc. Oh, well. So that's all I'm up to, waiting to tank, waiting to be waited on while my stem cells get down to some hard work. Roomie is doing great, so if she's any indication, things won't probably be that bad. But no action of the other kind foreseen in the ospedale this time...

A study in contrasts

This is the view I should be enjoying (the new hibiscus on my balcony whose color I didn't even know until K brought me a picture off her mobile. Instead, and I know this is WRONG in every way imaginable, I'm in a place where it's more common to see this: (Believe me it is WRONG.) There is this horrible museum that you have to walk through to get to the snack bar (!) with specimens whose formaldehyde mostly evaporated (!) decades ago and which are unidentifiable, even if you wanted to know what they are, which trust me you don't. Do not even ask me or yourself what this is:

irrelevant

Rereading my posts has helped me realize the extent to which I dwelled on the open sewer on the ground floor so I should probably mark the closure of that chapter in the life of the rat's nest by saying that it did eventually get closed up sometime in the spring. Now they are about to tile over the whole mess, so hopefully when I get back home it'll be but a distant memory. I never did take a picture, but just take my word for it: it was nasty. We have a new super so hopefully the rat's nest building is on to bigger and better things.

BLUE FUNK

This from the sickie ward:

Speaking of funk, cutie doc just walked in and said it's gonna get real funky in here because we're going to have to keep it 100% sealed pretty soon. I think I've mentioned that my roommate can get a bit ripe. But I guess it's like the Nastoul Phenomenon. When you're in the room and grow with the stink, it doesn't smell to you, just to the people who walk in from the fresh air. Serves 'em right for being healthy.

So you read the title of the post and prepared yourself for one of my usual curmudgeonly diatribes. No need, for I plan to do some askhseis epi xartou (so to speak) and plan ahead to a year of being healthy. I will make one life goal for each of the next twelve months after I'm out of quarantine. Some of the goals are smaller and some are more involved. In no particular order:

1) Make a specific plan to move to the countryside.
2) Realise my dream of getting a dog.
3) File all my American back taxes for the last ten years. (No need to worry, I haven't made enough money to be taxed!!! The joys of poverty.)
4) YOGA YOGA YOGA
5) Remodel the bathroom of the rat's nest.
6) Remodel the kitchen of the rat's nest.
7) Travel to Chicago.
8) Apply to grad school or stop dreaming about it.
9) Learn how to drive stick. This is a big one.
10)
11)
12)

I'll keep working on it.

HACKNEYED,

c'est moi. Cancer chic(k?) writing from the hospital during chemeo (sic). No insights, but there are plenty of other blogs where you can get those. Actually, I have one insight. Having blood taken out of an artery in your wrist to measure the amount of oxygen is extremely painful. I don't recommend it. So aqui (imagine accent mark) je sit, on Day -7, tired but wired. I just want to get this over with and get back to my life if possible.

In the past few years I keep getting hit over the head with the idea that most people are really unclear on the concept. They place so much value on stuff that doesn't mean shit (eg money*) and don't respect or love people, animals or the natural world. I guess the old fart still amassing money after age 80 really does think he can take it with him. Now y'all know I'm not a believer, not a person "of faith", but if I believed in heaven and hell, no way would you catch me exploiting people and the environment in a zillion ways for a few million bucks. All I'd be able to think about would be those flames licking my ankles and rising upward. *Do not get me wrong about the money thing. I have been quite poor at times in my life and would probably still be considered poor by many people I know. When I say money doesn't mean much, obviously I'm not talking about putting a roof over your family's head and a meal in their guts, paying the bills, etc.

If you're healthy, you have the energy and physical ability, the clear mind to make things happen. You can find ways to change your life and realize your aims. All the cash money in the world isn't doing any good when your scans come back positive, man. And you might be able to pay for the best doctors, but even they may not be able to help you. And then it's just you and your conscience. And if your conscience is telling you that you could have fed some village for a year for less than you pay for your mani/pedis in the same amount of time, then heaven help you.

Sta be for now. good enou'.

still bad, after all these years

This from the Priests' Hole:

A poem of sorts is taking shape in my head. Maybe I'll figure out how to write it down and do so here. Until then, I will publish these two previously only narrowly-known gems, written over twenty years ago, for a bet with Mr Oetter the English teacher, which I won.

Greeting the kitchen wallpaper
I see you every day
But you never say hello.

Greeting the kitchen wallpaper II
I see you every day
But you never shake my hand.