Are you one of THOSE guys?

All righty boys...DISCLAIMER...

You all know by now that when you take a chance and venture into my site that you are open for anything that may lash out at you while here...but I really do need to post the disclaimer before typing any more of this. Here is the disclaimer that I've come up with:

"Information obtained or absorbed as part of venturing into the SSB domain at my own risk may damage me for life, open my eyes wider than they've ever been, or enlighten me beyond comprehension and I absolve SSB from any risk or responsibility from or for my own actions frome thereof."

Wow... are you scared?

uh oh...gonna take another blog to get this one done

An Insignificant Piece of Floor

Did you ever stare at a section of your floor for longer than three minutes? And, if you did, did you think for a moment that it was something that could turn out to be temporary?

How many of us, how many times in our lives....encounter an insignificant anything....which turns out to be PROFOUND in the most significant way???

Think about it.

Seismic Vibrations? You be the judge

All righty then. The image above is what a "normal" EKG looks like...yours probably. What a blessing it must be to lie on the table with all of those leads scattered about, feeding the machine information for what seems to be all of thirty seconds...and poof! Look at that marvel of human engineering!

Now, you've heard of the phrase "I'll show you mine if you show me yours..." Well, for all intense and purposes, yours is already there. So here is mine...

Brace yourself.


No really, brace yourself.


Are you feeling like you're reading one of those crazy, creepy, scrolling emails yet?


Really.


BRACE YOURSELF!

Here goes..............................................

I've always been a bit dramatic.....

I know it's a bit fuzzy, but could you see the difference??? Yeah...that's how my heart beats on a regular, ho-hum-drum day with nothing going on. Imagine what it must be like when I exercise, or when I get excited about something. And, hell...I'm even on medication that IMPROVES the situation.

Boys and girls...before you ever address me about challenges, please think about what it must feel like to feel your heart beating in your chest irregularly, every waking moment, while you go on about your days, life in general - happiness, sadness, stress, quiet, love, hate, triumphs, tribulations, arousal, sedation, anger, joy, peace...for over 20 years.

I'll show you mine if you show me yours..... Bet you'll think twice before you utter that phrase again, eh?

Here, have another hit

A couple of nights ago, there was a program on one of the cerebral channels – Discovery Channel or the History Channel I’m sure. I cannot remember the name of it, but I had seen parts of it before during another airing. It was about drug addicts, mostly those addicted to heroin, but other drugs were noted as well. The show followed a few people who were certainly at the lowest of the junkie scale and we watched them live in their day-to-day downward spiral. Another person on the show was lucky, and I would say strong, to have made it out alive and with minimal brain damage – to once again function as a contributing member of society. As if the subject matter itself were not disturbing enough, the images themselves were enough to evoke dramatic emotions.

Normally I feel a sense of empathy for “these people” … meaning those who are addicted to drugs of varying kinds. I also have somewhat of an addictive personality, having struggled with cigarettes for most of my life. I understand how easy it is to allow yourself to be romanced by a drug, how easy it can become your “friend” and how quickly it can take over your life before you snap out of self-defeating denial rituals and realize what has happened. I understand how an attitude of blatant and indiscriminate selfishness, rather, self absorbance paves the way for the drugs to get in.

HOWEVER, as time goes on and I become older, wiser, stronger (if those who know me can even imagine that’s possible), and more focused on preserving my health – my empathy becomes mired by resentment. I find myself more and more resentful as the addicted community is profiled and often sensationalized. We get to watch them over and over again, committing crimes against each other and themselves just to get to the next fix. We get to watch them over and over again – snorting, smoking, shooting – dangerous substances with the power to kill present in even the most miniscule amounts. We get to watch them over and over again – continuing to live. So what’s my problem with that?

I’ve spent my life staring death in the face. From the time I was born to present day, I have continually experienced health concerns that might have proved fatal if not for diligent attention. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, was not trying to hide from my life or run from my problems. On the contrary, I was trying to LIVE. And, today I am still trying to live and live well. I watch everything I eat (literally writing it down, for 3 years now), I gave up the cigarettes for what I hope is the last time in my life, and I exercise – cherishing my walks. The healthier I get, the more troubling the news. This past November, I was told by my cardiologist that I would be on medication for the rest of my life for my arrhythmia. Moreover, as I step up the intensity of my exercise, the palpitations come more frequently and with greater intensity as well. I’m trying to live and live well, not just for myself, but for the people around me and those who love me. I don’t want to miss a thing about life, and I don’t want them to have to do without me. My attitude and approach toward living is amazingly selfless for a Leo girl, and for where I’ve been.

That’s the problem I have with this – I have to walk on eggshells to make sure I get to see another day for me, my family, my friends – while they continue to blatantly disregard life and character and keep on rolling like the Energizer Bunny. Oh, and of course, somewhere along the way my tax dollars are paying for their drugs – I guarantee that. How ironic…that the eradication of the Taliban in Afghanistan immediately resulted in the resurgence of unprecedented volumes of heroin production there….coming here….wasn't just about the oil, folks.

Care to join me in some more US government controversy?

DEATH

Rarely does such a word enter my repertoire, and rarely yet does it ever warrant all caps. I have experienced my fair share of death ... family, oh my family....friends, acquaintances, even reflections on my dearly departed "Six Feet Under". I faintly recall a high school play, "Death Takes a Holiday", and think to myself - BULLSHIT.

Great - the high school kids gave a great performance, but what does that have to do with real life and death?

On Saturday, I attended a funeral. As funerals go, it was the usual...a "stock Christian Bible Thumper" type of guy talking to the population. Thankfully, he wasn't one of those guys who use the death of a cherished loved one to try to "SAVE" everyone. He was more genuine than most, but still annoying in a way, to me....the ever-skeptical evangelical CATHOLIC... :) The poor guy actually seemed at times to be lost in the Bible verses, so much so that precious moments passed between his recitation of the verse location and actual recitation of the message itself. I absolutely HATE to evaluate funerals for this, but life experience has taught me over and over again that not every funeral is about the celebration of the life of the deceased, but the conquest of the bereaved. Likewise, I ABSOLUTELY refuse to succumb to the conquest of the bereaved.

This funeral, unlike so many that I have attended, let alone been intimately involved in, was for a 21-year-old young man....my son's best friend. When I gave birth, now 20 1/2 years ago, I could have never imagined that my son would experience DEATH in the way that he has. It is unimaginable, incomprehensible, unwarranted, and unintelligible. First he lost a cousin to a freak accident when he was about 12; then another friend to a violent crime around the age of 14; then just before he turned 16 his stepbrother committed suicide. Now this...his best friend, confidante, alter ego at times, and always a brother...taken without warning, without warrant, without reason...health-natural causes - at the tender age of 21. Watching my son endure his first stint as a pall bearer felt cruel in ways that most parents never experience. Watching him endure this for his best friend, someone bearly older than he, at this tender age - was far more cruel and unbearable than anything he will likely experience for years to come.

This was the single most agonizing funeral I have ever witnessed. I am a person, who, by no recognizable means, feels .... channels perhaps, the pain of people in my midst. This makes funerals particularly moving and memorable to me. Of all ceremonial gatherings in my life, funerals take precedence because of how they affect...and direct...me. I felt immeasurable pain just a year ago when my best friend's husband was killed, but THIS surpassed even that searing heat. I stood with Taylor, hands clasped, gazing at RJ. My tears were evident and open, my words expressing nothing more eloquent than a simple, "this is wrong, so terribly wrong". Taylor's arm was around my shoulder as if to comfort ME...tears streaming down his face for this young soul that called me "Mom" at times. His life had been forever changed...altered...and he still tried to find a way to console his mom....even though he was so much closer to RJ than I ever could have been. It was almost as if he understood in a small way...what pain it is to lose a child.

I watched other young men, people Taylor's age, people older - maybe a few younger... walk up to the casket and literally fall to their knees, requiring the assistance of women...or those close to them. Tears were shed in ways I had not been acccustomed to witnessing, and loudly at that. I've seen very, very, moving funerals...but I have never witnessed anything of this magnitude.

God bless you, RJ ... you changed my son's life forever. You left your mark on my life as a parent. I could always see your heart...into your heart...and it's the reason I never bucked like I would with Taylor's other friends. I knew you were only, always...looking for life. Rest easy, and relish in this newfound knowledge of the love that follows you wherever you go. :)

Unbeknownst to most, I watched my son hoist his portion of the weight of his trusted friend in death along the saddened path to the hearse. His solemn face, along with the solemnity of his bretheren, displayed all that I could bear. I ached and cried for my firstborn, my ONLYborn. I hated that I could not protect him from this. I hated that he had to endure yet another DEATH in his young life. I further hated, but accepted, that he sat for more than an hour afterward, watching the cemetary personnel lower the vault and forever cover his best friend with the earth that exists beneath us all. I asked him why he felt he needed to do that...he simply said, "he was part of my life..."

In ways, I wonder if these continuing experiences with death have a message for him that he has yet to grasp. Do these continuing experiences with death have a message for me to grasp? I'm not getting any younger...none of us are. Perhaps it's time I start living vicariously through he, whom to I gave life....is that what we're all supposed to do at some point? Where does that begin...what is the definition?

Feeling Unique

Can you believe it? I'm blogging - for a time it seemed that I bled blogs....say that three times fast. These last few months have been so packed; so much to do associated with the sale and purchase of multiple homes. It has left little time for adequate sleep, much less blogging. I have been lax in taking the time to observe things, places, people, and situations with the keen eye that normally takes over. The other night, though, I finally found that little piece of me and "whaddya know"... a blog is born.



We stopped for a few drinks at Infusion, a great restaurant that is within walking distance of our house - which might come in handy one night! This place is abundant with atmosphere, from the low lighting to the live jazz. The restaurant is littered with "the beautiful people" - a scattering of Geist area people who appeared strangely sad to me. And everyone it seemed was smoking - like chimneys, all of them. A couple of the ladies actually looked like they had smoked for years, but most did not, at all. I silently reasoned that it is because they all have their plastic surgeons on-call for the slightest procedure - which includes eradicating those awful smoke-induced wrinkles! As I observed a little further, my uniqueness screamed as if trying to drown out the sound of the music. I've always felt a certain uniqueness in any crowd, but don't recall a time where it was so apparent as here. Over each shoulder, around every corner, behind or in front of every guy, was a sculpted, bleach blonde woman. I've never seen so much collagen, or so many identical noses in one room. Don't get me wrong - I fully support each person's desire or disdain with regard to plastic surgery - I am most certain I'll be getting a face lift one day myself. However, what I witnessed were examples of full-body reconstruction as if none of these women ever appreciated or embraced their unique features. They sold out and became different people on the outside. Obviously it didn't change anything on the inside...which is why everyone still appeared so sad to me. Perhaps sad isn't the word - empty might be a better description of what I saw.



I sat there at the bar with the love of my life, enjoying my wine and loving myself and my life - and the fact that one could tell immediately whether he/she was looking at me or someone else. I didn't need the collagen, the bitsy nose, or the hair extensions to feel good, or to feel unique. I WAS the most unique person there!

Changes

Damn...it's been forever since I have blogged about anything - real, unreal, or completely unfounded. I feel a sense of discombobulation for leaving the blog fans hanging...for leaving my feelings and perceptions out there in deep space unconnected to anything...connected to everything that defies expression.

So colorful has this summer been to-date. I've been living in a complete state of "la-la land", experiencing things that I never thought would happen or transpire; experiencing things that I never thought would be real...things that long fluttered throughout my thoughts and dreams - even nightmares at times...things that transcend all reality...things that are not me at all...things that are all of me exploding forward with the intensity of the most lucid dream state mired in the fear of the most unexpected...

I've spent countless hours on the back of a motorcycle - sucking up my fears and taking them on the road. Feeling the heat under my thighs as the heat from the exhaust pipes filters upward on a sunny day, or dewy dream-laden evening under the stars; feeling the heat sear through one leg, across to the other, leaving a trail of glistening sweat under my legs on the leather beneath me. Days have mounted to hours on the boat, floating on the water in admiration and appreciation of the minutes and hours witnessed, experienced...life and feelings shared - memories created. An uncertain summer as a single soul making its way through the world has become a summer of family memories with Todd, Brittani, and Logan ... laughing, giggling, sharing movies, meals, and incredible beauty. The kids are hugging me now at the end of the weekend when it is time to go home. The neighbors are all whispering about that Cadillac that sits in the driveway day after day, night after night. Not my neighbors... they all wonder why they don't see me anymore. And it's okay - I don't lament at the loss my neighbors might feel - only for the time between those hugs from the kids and the next time we're all together. Last weekend was precious - painting each other's chins for the upside-down conversations on video.

Changes ... they're on my doorstep. Larger than life - at least larger than I expected for my life in this calendar year. I spent the last week and this weekend playing realtor - not the commercial realtor that I am by day...but the residential realtor that I have the option to be when called. It started out so innocent - showing Todd new houses...but it became more than innocent. He made the suggestion Friday that I move in with him, and while I tried to play it off as calmly as possible, I was squealing inside like a little girl. I thought it was alcohol-influenced, largely, but as the weekend progressed learned that it was genuine regardless of influence. He is serious. So am I ... but fearful. I come with baggage - dogs and cats in tow - all of my stuff. How serious do I get? Do I sell my house and pack it all up? What constitutes the perfect reason to abandon all that I have worked for?

To keep a measure of realism in all of this I think that sure - I can do this - but shouldn't I just rent my house and put my stuff in storage for a time to see how it all goes? But what does that say about commitment? My heart is indeed willing to pack it up and go - jumping in with both feet and not looking back, but my head still says to be cautious and protect my interests. Fear...fear of change...that's what it boils down to - ultimately. I love him - with everything I've got, and I have for a very long time. We are today, as we should be - and I know this. His steps over the next week or so are large - particularly for him. The steps for me are smaller, at least for a little while, and that is good I suppose. Regardless, changes are here, beckoning me to embrace them as I have long beckoned him.

My first step tomorrow - disconnect my cable. Changes....