A gay couple in Malawi were sentenced to 14 years in prison because they had an engagement ceremony. Fourteen years in prison for "gross indecency and unnatural acts."

Now, I realize that the culture in Malawi is different that the culture in America, but it still makes me sad. It makes me sad on so many levels.

I've been thinking about sexuality a lot lately. I saw some little tidbit tucked away on some website about another country music star coming out and honestly, all I could think was, "So?" And I don't mean that in a "don't ask, don't tell" kind of a way. I mean it in a "it makes absolutely no difference to me who you are sleeping with" kind of a way. If I liked your music before, I'm not going to like it less now that I know you're gay. If I hated your music before, I'm not going to suddenly decide to like it now that I know you're gay. Who you are sleeping with does not influence my opinion of you. AT ALL. I'm sorry, but it doesn't. So why do we all make such a big deal out of who everyone else is screwing?

Right now, I'm not sleeping with anyone, but if I was, do you think I'd be running around all over the place yelling, "I'm sleeping with David Tennant!" Well, okay, if it was David Tennant, I probably would just because, you know, David Tennant. But I think you get my point. Sex is an intimate thing, between two people, and it is nobody else's business. Yes, there are those who prefer it when there are more than two people involved, but for the most part, it's a one-on-one activity, and when the two people involved are in love with one another and committed to one another and are both old enough to know what they are consenting to, I think it's beautiful (and none of my business). I don't think it is any less beautiful (or any more my business) if the two people are of the same gender as one another. If you're lucky enough to find someone with whom you connect on that level, hold onto that! I don't care if that person is a different race than you or different religion than you or different gender than you - it's a rare and beautiful thing and you should allow yourself to experience that. And anyone who tells you it is unnatural or gross or indecent (or their business) should take a look at some of the practices in his or her own life and I'm sure, he or she will find plenty of unnatural indecencies there. Fake tans. Plastic surgery. Banana hammocks. Repression. Spousal abuse. Child abuse. Animal abuse. Religious persecution. War. People do so many things to harm one another, but are able to find justifications why it is okay to act so cruelly. Yet two men who love each other and are committed to loving each other for the rest of their lives are sent to jail for fourteen years, simply for bringing more love into the world. How does that make sense? I don't get it.

It makes me sad, too, that there are still so many people who find homosexuality abhorrent. And I know that if I ask them why they disapprove, most of the answers have a religious tinge to them - "it's against God" or "it's against nature" or "the [insert holy text here] says it's wrong." I wonder if we took all of that out of it and just looked at it as two people, two best friends, who have committed themselves to loving one another, if it would still look so wrong. Because to me, that's what it is. Two people who get to share something wonderful. I cry at gay weddings the same way I cried at my brother's. To me, it makes no difference who your partner is, as long as they are a good, kind, loving person who treats you well.

I dunno. I realize that parts of this post are offensive to some and parts seem heartless to each other. I wish we didn't have to define ourselves by who we are sleeping with. I don't care who you're sleeping with and I don't know why anybody else should care either. Personally, I'd like to subscribe to the 51st Century type of sexuality - travel the stars, meet new life, and dance with it.

Okay, so those of you who know me or at least have been reading for a while know I love my cat. He drives me crazy sometimes, but most of the time, he is the reason I get up in the morning and not just because he's meowing at my bedroom door for me to feed him. It melts my heart when he curls up in my lap to sleep. I love his little voice and how he sits on the bathroom counter while I'm getting ready in the morning like it's time for his eye make-up, too. He's just...I love my cat.

Lately, he has gotten into the habit of lying between my pillow and the edge of the bed at about 4:30 in the morning, right by my face. I don't know if he does this because it is warm there or because he's already thinking about breakfast and knows that him lying there wakes me up, but the end result is that I can put my arm around him and, essentially, spoon with my cat, my face buried in his back. It just may be my absolute favorite thing to do. It's just this really sweet, innocent, loving moment where I get to hug him and he lets me. Of course, he gets a little squirmy and he pushes his head into my face and then has to roll over onto his back so I could scritch his tummy if I was a bit more coherent and since it is 4:30 in the morning, I am still wanting to get some sleep, so inevitably, I kind of psyche him out into getting up and walking to the kitchen and I close my bedroom door and go back to sleep. This morning, he wasn't going to be fooled so easily. When I sat up like I might go feed him, he rolled over onto his side like, "But mom, I'm not done being snuggly yet." So I went back to being snuggly. For about five more minutes until I really needed to get back to sleep at which point I gently carried him out of my room.

But the long and short of it is that I love my cat. He is very sweet and he knows exactly how to get me to do what he wants. And if what he wants is some snuggly time, I'm all for obliging.

So I was thinking not too long ago that I'd like to win something. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of wonderful things in my life and wonderful things do happen to me. But usually, I have to work my butt off for those things and pour in a lot of time and energy and blood and sweat and tears. For example, the children's musical I wrote and directed was well received. But I wrote and directed it. The plays that I have gotten into have been lots of fun, but there's the audition process and the rehearsal process and all of that stuff. When it comes to randomly getting picked for something amazing, that never happens to me. I never win the lottery. I never win the contests I enter that involve randomly picking a name out of a hat. And man, I could use that kind of luck right about now.

Things at work are...weird at the moment. Weird and mind-bogglingly frustrating. I can't go into too much detail but it really is a world of suck at the moment. Which means I would really, really, really, really like to be the person who wins a trip to London, or a million dollars, or a new car or something. A spa retreat. A year's supply of lovely lovely vegan baked goods. A date with David Tennant. Something, you know? Something that I didn't have to work for, but that I can feel like all of the hard work I put in just in general, on a daily basis, is finally being rewarded with just an extra little something. A thank you. A karmic pat on the back. I would, just once, like something really nice to happen that I didn't have to lift a finger for.

A girl can dream, right?

Hi,

Thank you for coming by yesterday to work on my bathtub drain. It kind of drained this morning. The bathtub was, at least, empty by the time I left my apartment this morning. It still collects a lot of water during the course of a shower, though, and I don't take particularly long showers. Anyway. It's better than it was, thank you.

I am a little bit curious, though, regarding why it was necessary to remove my cat's litter box and the bathmat from the bathroom and leave them in the hallway. Was it that you didn't want to step on them? I'm guessing it wasn't a cleanliness thing, judging by the dirty shoe-prints left in the tub and on the floor. I'm just wondering. And also wondering if you couldn't have, I don't know, put them back before you left. Or at least positioned the litter box with the opening facing away from the wall so if my cat needed to use it, he would be able to do so. I know, I know, I'm being nit-picky.

I'm also a little curious regarding what in the drain-clearing process made the backsplash behind the sink chip, crack, and break so that it required new caulking. I'm guessing you moved all of the stuff off of my counter so as to not get cover it in caulk as you were fixing the backsplash, and I appreciate that. I also like how it was all put back exactly where it wasn't before. That was fun.

Anyhow, thank you for fixing my bathtub (sort of) and for motivating me to thoroughly mop the bathroom floor and wash all of my towels. The simple surface cleaning of the whole room, scrubbing of the bathtub, and sweeping/Swiffing of the floor that I did over the weekend just didn't do the trick.

Yours,
Kitty

I'm having one of those days wherein the future cannot come soon enough.

So I'm now three episodes into the new season of Doctor Who and I have to say, I'm not thrilled. I found myself wishing that Martha Jones would make an appearance so that the show would get a little bump of energy. And I have a theory as to what's going on.

Doctor Who has been sort of a cult hit for decades. It was a sort of low budget sci-fi show that certain people knew and loved, and was considered (in some circles) to be dorky. Which is great. But then Russell T. Davies came in and took over and wrote these wonderful scripts and bumped up the design elements and you get this show that now appeals to a much broader audience. Which is also excellent. I have to congratulate them on their successes, and I'm thrilled because their successes make it easier for me to get my hands on the new stuff. But now we have this new production team coming in, riding the high of the Davies era, and it feels like they're going to change everything just because they can. It's like they have money now, so they might as well do all of these nifty things and oh, maybe let's write a script that gives us an excuse to do some nifty things.

I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so negative. There have been moments in this new season that I have enjoyed and the new companion is growing on me a bit. There was a moment with a star whale that nearly brought a tear to my eye. But the show is not what it was. I know shows are supposed to evolve and that particularly the character of the Doctor is supposed to change with each new actor, but there's something missing and it occurred to me yesterday what it is.

Oomph.

Do you ever watch America's Next Top Model? Tyra Banks will sometimes get on a model for not "bringing it" in her photographs. She'll say something like, "Even when you frown, you have to be fierce. You're giving me this..." and she gets all droopy, "...and what you should be doing is this..." and she makes the frown FIERCE. She gives it oomph. Doctor Who is currently seriously lacking in the oomph department. The Doctor can stand looking over his shoulder at the Daleks while they reveal their plan, or he can STAND LOOKING OVER HIS SHOULDER AT THE DALEKS WHILE THEY REVEAL THEIR PLAN, and currently, he's doing the former.

I know that Matt Smith is a young guy. I know Doctor Who is cool now. But the Doctor's coolness doesn't come from the current hipster cool place of ennui. It doesn't come from not caring. The Doctor's coolness comes from exactly how much he does care. About everything! Every situation he is in is the most important situation in the entire universe! You can't just saunter into that. You have to run.

In actor terminology, everybody needs to raise the stakes.

In two episodes so far, the Doctor has said this is the hardest decision he has to make, but I just don't buy it. I don't see him torn apart by the decision. I don't see his anger or his frustration or his pain. I don't see him weighing the options against one another. I see him bummed out. And granted, in real life, we'd all probably be bummed out in those situations, but Doctor Who is not real life. Doctor Who is bigger than real life, so the reactions to certain things need to be bigger than real life. Like Amy Pond's eyes are bigger than real life.

I should go back and watch some of the Davies episodes again, because I found myself even bored with the performances of the extras in this current season's episodes. First of all, it's sad that I'm paying attention to the extras as much as the stars. But I found myself hearing the directorial tidbits to the extras going something like, "When I say action, push the pieces around on the table, but don't move them too far because we'll have to put them back for the next shot." Or, "When the Dalek shoots you, put your arms in the air because it really hurts and then fall to the ground because you're dead." Whereas I get the feeling that the direction from the Davies era for those same extras would have been more like, "You're strategizing your next move and it's okay to move the pieces around to experiment with different layouts. But keep in mind that the next attack is coming in four minutes and you need to be ready to take the hit and you have to have a plan for how to counterattack," and "And then he shoots you! Zap! And it's like being electrocuted with 10,000 volts so you just kind of melt into a puddle that was once a human being." They both get the same point across, but one is infused with energy and urgency, while the other just gives the people something to do physically. I don't know if the lackluster performances by the background are because they used to have better extras or because the director just wasn't paying attention to them.

Which brings me to the scripts themselves. I've already talked about the wasted time on the new Doctor's food preferences, but in general, they're not as clever as they were. They seem more linear, and the big secret thing that you know is going to be important in the season finale (think "bad wolf") is already being shoved down our throats so it will come as no surprise when something happens with it later. Unless they do something shocking with it. But we all know where the shock is coming from.

Anyway. I don't mean to be a negative nelly. I love Doctor Who, and I think it is because I love the franchise of Doctor Who that I feel it necessary to kind of whip it into shape. Actors need to care more and when they don't, the director needs to call them out on it. And just because you can make rainbow colored plastic looking Daleks doesn't mean you should. Though I do like the new eye-stalks. Those look pretty groovy. I'm still not totally sold on the new TARDIS and am realizing they haven't spent much time in it. Maybe they're not sold, either. Anyway. Here's hoping the season picks up. Or, if it doesn't, that I somehow get to work on the show so I can bring the oomph back myself.

Tee hee.

Starting today, I pledge to lose 10% of my current body weight.
Starting today, I promise to take better care of myself.
Starting today, I will create my meals so that they include protein, grains, and vegetables.
Starting today, I will get back to cooking.
Starting today, I will stop beating myself up for my appearance.
Starting today, "I just don't want to" is no longer a good enough reason to skip working out.
Starting today, I will cut back the amount of sugary junk food that I eat.
Starting today, I will strive for the body I want to have instead of the one I feel I'm stuck with.
Starting today, I will know I deserve it.
Starting today, I will start loving myself again.

So the Cubs aren't doing very well. They followed up a four game winning streak with a four game losing streak. Or maybe it's just three games. In any case, they have just about undone all of the good they did last weekend. And it's frustrating. Kind of like me undoing all of the hard dieting work I did not so long ago. I need to get back into that. I've started with the workouts again (somewhat), I just find that I'm always hungry and I don't stop eating until I feel stuffed. I need to adjust that.

I find I'm thinking about a lot of things lately and I'm also having a lot of dreams. I remember two of them from last night. One involved a lovely conversation (which of course, I don't remember now, I just remember really enjoying it) with a man who was a hybrid of the man I have a crush on and a friend from college and then meeting my mom in this tiny quilt shop which, I think, was in Ireland. I wish I remembered some of the projects they were working on in the quilt shop because I remember them as being beautiful. I wish I could recreate them. I think at least one of them had something to do with stained glass, too. Anyway, it was cool. And my other dream from last night involved me selling my car to my brother, but then my brother died and I couldn't get to his wake because I didn't have a car anymore. That dream just left me with an overwhelming sense of irony, or I would have woken up and called my brother to make sure he is okay. I had another dream the night before last that I was sitting in the backyard of the house I grew up in (which doesn't exist anymore), chatting with my sister in law and it was such a nice conversation! Again, I don't remember what we talked about, except I think there was talk of manicures and lilacs. Anyway.

Tomorrow is May. I can't believe it is May already, even though I know that this past February and March were quite possibly the longest months of my life. But the weather is turning nicer and the farmer's markets will start up again and I'll be able to leave my windows open all day. Maybe I'll try to get in the habit of walking to the theater when I have classes, in large part just to remind myself to get outside and enjoy the summer. I have a class starting tomorrow morning that includes two-person scenes and I'm keeping my fingers crossed really tightly that I get to work with one person in particular who I haven't gotten to work with in a very long time. He's going off to grad school in the fall and I'd like to work with him again before he leaves. And he's the sort of actor that will call me out on my crap and not let me get away with half-assing anything, and I like that in a scene partner. I'll enjoy whoever I end up working with, but I really hope it's him. Or another woman who would bring the same sort of energy and passion. She's the only woman I would let smack me upside the head for being dumb and she has. Thrice.

Anyway. Sorry I'm sort of rambly and random. That's kind of where my brain is these days. It'll get more linear soon, I think. Maybe? Or maybe it's a good thing if it doesn't.

Be well.

Oh! And I almost forgot! The new Doctor Who!

Most of you know by now (though some of you may not) that I am in love with Doctor Who. I was flipping through the channels one night and I saw this rather cute man standing in a doorway in outer space next to a woman in a wedding dress and she finds out that he's an alien and I found out that the show was "Doctor Who" (the episode being "The Runaway Bride") and he mentioned a friend he had (Rose) who he lost and I, of course, then had to go back and start watching the show from the beginning (the Russell T. Davies beginning, anyway, starting with Christopher Eccleston as The Doctor) to find out who this Rose person was and what happened to her and well, I found my new favorite TV show. I have seen every episode since the show's resurrection, up to and including the first episode with the Eleventh Doctor (Matt Smith), and I have gone back (I love Netflix) and watched some of the old episodes with Tom Baker, John Pertwee, and William Hartnell as The Doctor. And I have to say, I love this show. I love the character of the Doctor, no matter what actor is playing him. He has this age and wisdom and love for all forms of life that is really...lovely. And just the whole concept is great - a guy traveling through time and space having wacky adventures in a blue police box, usually with a companion or two in tow. But particularly since the show's rebirth in 2005, it's been great. The special effects are top notch and the writing has shown marked improvement. And, Donna was named one of the greatest sci-fi characters of the decade because she didn't fall in love with the Doctor. Brilliant. And her story was so tragic! Anyway.

So David Tennant left the show and regenerated into Matt Smith around Christmas time, and my best friend and I have been chomping at the bit, waiting to see the first episode with the new Doctor (also with a new production staff), and finally, last Saturday night, it happened. We even bought British beer to enjoy while watching the show, such dorks are we.

There will be spoilers here, so if you don't want to know what happened, stop reading now.

I don't like the new sonic screwdriver. Of all the things to redesign, why redesign the screwdriver?

I'm not sure I like the new TARDIS. In the special features for the Ninth Doctor season, they said they redesigned the TARDIS to make it feel more organic that it had been with, say, Tom Baker's Doctor. And I loved the "more organic" TARDIS. This new one for the Eleventh Doctor feels modern and cold. Granted, I didn't get to see it very long, but it feels like all of the organic elements were removed in favor of a sleek, modern-looking machine (with a staircase leading up? What's up with that?). I liked the idea that the TARDIS was a living thing, and I liked being able to see that in the design. The six seconds I saw of the new one didn't feel alive.

Even more than that, though, I really didn't like that the episode started out with him hanging out of the TARDIS, holding on for dear life. The previous episode didn't end that way, and the TARDIS has a protective bubble kind of thing so if you open the door in space, you don't get sucked out into the vacuum. How did he fall out the door? You could argue that the TARDIS was damaged so that's what happened, but still. That bothered me.

I thought they spent WAY too much time trying to figure out the new Doctor's eating habits. Comedy happens in threes, not in fives or sevens or eights. "Three is the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be three. Five is right out." Thus spake Monty Python, thus is law. So yeah, the food bit was too long. And who didn't know that he was sitting there talking to Amy? We all know his new companion is played buy a cute redhead and he's awful with punctuality. I don't know. It was like "The Girl in the Fireplace," but I like Madame du Pompodour better.

Prisoner Zero was...meh. It was creepy as the woman with two kids, but as a monster it was...meh. I kind of wanted to know what it was hanging onto from above whenever it showed up as the eel-looking thing - how long is the rest of it's body? It felt a bit like an afterthought. "We can get away with only showing it's head. Nobody will care."

The jury is still out for me on the new title sequence/revamped title music. It could just be that I am so used to the old stuff that I just need to give this stuff time.

I'm pretty sure David Tennant's tie didn't have swirlies on it at the end of The End of Time, or at any point in his tenure as the Doctor, so it was unnerving that Matt Smith's tie had swirlies on it for the first forty-five minutes of the episode. The new costume...meh. I'm glad they had an explanation, though, for what kind of cop wears mini-skirts and seamed stockings. Though her shoe choice was a bit of a head scratcher. Practical for running about with the Doctor, not so much for Kiss-O-Gram parties.

I spent Saturday afternoon watching the last three episodes of Season 4 and then the five specials (season 4.5?) and I will admit, it amounted to an afternoon of me crying. I cried a lot. The characters are rich and their situations heartbreaking. Granted, this new episode with the new Doctor is the first of a new season so they're not going to have the Universe collapsing in on itself just yet, but still. I didn't find Amy compelling. I didn't find the new Doctor as charming or charismatic or ancient as he used to be. I didn't cry. I barely laughed. I walked away from it neither loving the episode, nor hating it. There are a couple of episodes that I have seen that I didn't like very much ("Fear Her" and the one with the Wire), and this kind of felt like one of those. Not so horrible that I'm going to stop watching, but it's going to be a little while before I fall in love with the New Doctor.

That being said, I am open to falling in love with the New Doctor. I remember thinking, when David Tennant first appeared at the end of Season 1, "Who is this skinny rat-looking guy and why didn't Christoper stick around a little longer?" But I grew to love David Tennant as the Doctor, just as I had loved Christopher Eccleston. Maybe it will just take some time to love Matt Smith, too. I've heard murmurs about the "new Daleks," though, and that kind of scares me.

I know that every time a new actor comes in to play the Doctor who is younger than the last guy, people get all up in arms about how he's too young to play the part. One thing I liked about David Tennant is that while he looks young, he can also look very old. He was good at carrying the weight of the Universe on his shoulders, and carrying the weight of the Time War and all of the pain he caused his companions and all of the people he lost. Which made it that much lovelier when he would see a new species or a different planet with child-like enthusiasm (i.e. "You are beautiful!" when he sees the werewolf, right before running out of the room to get away from it). I haven't seen that age or weight of the Universe in Matt Smith yet. Granted, it's the first episode so the Universe isn't imploding yet, but even when he was telling off the giant eyeball, he wasn't as threatening as David Tennant used to be. Anyway. I'm picking nits here. I liked the episode. I love the show. I will continue to love the show and I will continue to wish that there really was a Doctor who would show up someday and rescue me from some evil only to invite me to travel with him through the Universe (I'd go in a HEARTBEAT!) and/or I will continue to hope that I get to be on the show someday (I'd make a great first female Doctor - and I'm ginger to boot!). I can see that they need some time to develop and to bring their own whatever to their characters and to the Universe of Doctor Who. And I'm looking forward to watching them do it.

I just really hope they don't make the Doctor/Amy relationship a romantic one. We did that already, just a couple of years ago. Her name was Rose and it was tragic (in the beautiful kind of way). Let's do something else with Amy.

It's been a really long time since I posted. Sorry about that. Thing is, when you're really upset about something and waiting for things to change, you can only write, "I'm really upset and waiting for things to change" so many times before you start to even bore yourself, and I think I was trying to spare both of us, so that's why I was silent for a while there.

Things have changed.

I can't go into too much detail, though some of you already know what I'm talking about. I have a plan again, and a focus and a goal. It's weird, though, because it doesn't quite feel real yet. I'm making progress and taking steps, but I'm still kind of in the blahs, for lack of a better word. And I'm feeling the need to make lists, so here we go with some lists.

I need to cut my fingernails because they are WAY too long for my liking. I remember in high school, I used to try to grow them really long 'cuz I liked the way long nails looked. I still do. They look pretty. But they make playing the guitar really difficult, and even get in the way when doing things like typing. Now my preferred fingernail length is no-white-showing. But every now and again, when my nails have an eighth of an inch of white showing, I look at my hands and think they are really pretty and feminine and I like to just sit in that for a little while before I cut them off again to be practical. Sometimes I'll just file them down a bit so I still feel a bit girlie but I can play. I think it's time to cut them off, though. I have a show in a couple of weeks that I need to get ready for.

Speaking of things to get ready for, classes are going to be starting up again soon. I'm trying to figure out if my long-term plans will allow me to take two classes this session (from a financial standpoint). I think I can. I just need to give myself permission to do so. My mom's partner has this theory about money that it just kind of comes and goes so you shouldn't get too hung up on it. I'm a smart person with many talents; if I need more money in the future, I'm sure I can find a way to get it (legally). In the short term, I'd like to take these two classes. I think they could present some fun challenges.

I have a lot of things I want to do this summer. I want to order pizza from my favorite pizza place. I want to eat at my favorite vegan restaurants again. I want to see the Swell Season at Ravinia. I want to enjoy my favorite beer gardens. I want to go to street fairs. I have tickets for four more Cubs games. I want to get my hair cut. I want to buy another pair of jeans from the store that knows how to make clothing for real-shaped women. I want to play at my favorite music venue again. And I want to lose the weight that I had lost but have recently put back on while I've been hanging out in the blahs. I started running in my living room again last night, and I'm going to do some strength training tonight while I watch the Cubs game. Maybe throw in some time on my exercise bike, too. I'm torn about doing strength training that focuses on my lower body - my lower body is really strong. I have strong thighs and calves and as much as I'd like to shrink my rear end, I don't want to end up building it up more by doing 8,000 squats. Maybe I'll stick with leg lifts and things like that.

I also need to clean some things out this summer, get rid of excess. Figure out what of the stuff I currently have I need to hold on to, and what is ready to move on to its next owner. I'd have a garage sale if I had a garage. Maybe I should talk to someone I know who has a garage and see if I could bring a bunch of my stuff out to them to sell it there. Just a thought.

I have research and planning to do this summer, too. It's going to be a busy one, but I think it will also be good. My niece turns one this summer - I can't believe she's almost a year old already! She is such a sweetheart; she melts me every time I see her.

My plan scares me a little. I think that is what makes it a good plan, but I'm still scared. I hope at some point this summer, the scared goes away for a little while and I can be excited. Because it really is a good thing that could lead to other good things. I think it will help when all of the logistics are sorted out.

So yeah, lots going on. Sorry I'm kind of cryptic - I'll tell you more when I can. In the meantime, lots to do. I hope you are doing well!

Rabbit rabbit! Happy April and all that rot.

See, the thing is this. One of the most important things I've heard in the last couple of months is that if you want to do something, if you want to accomplish something, or if you want to be involved in something, you have to make it happen (or you have to do it yourself). This is something I have found to be true again and again and again and again. And while it makes a lot of sense and can feel very empowering and all of that, it is also IMMENSELY frustrating because if you dream big (like I do), you always get to the point in these grandiose projects where you do need help and input from someone else. For example, if I wanted to start my own theater company right now, I could. But it's not much of a company with just me in it - I'd need other actors and directors and designers and whatnot and I'm sure I could find people interested in joining me for a project, but one show does not a theater company make and I'd have to start probably all over again for the next show, with maybe a carry-over of one or two people and so on and so forth. Or, if I want to launch my acting career, I can go out there and get more headshots and pound on agency doors until I get representation and I can go audition for everything under the sun, but until someone casts me in something, I'm not going to get very far.

I am just about at the point where I think I could make something happen on my own. Just about. I have ideas. I have a couple of scripts percolating. I have a big, silly project idea. And I can get started on them at any time. I think what I need to do, though, is figure out how far I need them to go. If I write a script and it never gets produced, am I okay with that? If I start my silly little project and only a dozen people ever see it, am I okay with that? At what point do I stop looking for help from people who just can't give it and move on to the next thing, or do I keep holding onto one dream forever and ever and ever even if it kills me?

I don't know.

In the meantime, I have a lot of work to do that I don't want to do but that I probably should get on. Because if I am going to launch any of these new plans of attack, I'm going to need some sort of funding for them at some point and being out of a job would really suck. Really.

So I've been feeling for a little while now like I need something good in my life. In large part because I'm currently parked in limbo, waiting to hear back about a few things and I hate sitting in limbo. I like to be able to make plans and move forward, and while I'm waiting to hear how something is going to go, I can't make those plans. And you know how when you hear a word somewhere for the first time, you start to then hear it everywhere? Life is the same way. When you're sitting waiting for something to happen, all you can see are the other things not happening in your life and it starts to get really depressing. So I've been feeling like I need something good in my life for a little while now, but I'm not seeing it.

And I know that's a really unfair statement because I have a lot of good in my life. I have an amazing family and brilliant friends and this wonderful support system. I have enough money. I am physically in good shape. My cat brings me almost unspeakable joy. My apartment (currently) is warm enough (knock on wood). I am smart and talented and not too painful to look at. I have a lot of good in my life. I feel selfish wanting more, but I do. I'm sorry, but I do. The two or three things in my life that make me unhappy are really making me unhappy and I would like to be able to formulate a plan to change them but while I'm stuck in limbo, I can't really do that.

The good news is that limbo will end this month. I don't know if I'll come out on the heaven side or the hell side, but limbo will end this month. Please keep your fingers crossed for me that it comes out on the heaven side. Or if it doesn't, please keep your fingers crossed that I then take that and turn it into something good. Because whether the good thing I'm looking for comes from within me or from elsewhere, I need something good to happen this month and I am determined to make it happen.

Happy March, everybody.

So I'm not in a good head place. I haven't been in a good head place for a couple of weeks now. And I think the worst thing I have done is to try to force myself into a good head place just so I can seem normal or okay or something. Truth is, I'm not okay right now. I put a lot of work into something that may turn out to be all for naught, something I placed a lot of importance on. Something that if it had gone the way I wanted it to had the potential to change the big three annoyances in my life all in one fell swoop. And to have it not go the way I wanted (I think. I still have about six weeks until I know all of the results) feels awful. It means I have to find other ways to deal with the big three. I've thought about some options in the past couple of weeks as part of my "trying to be okay" thing, but none of those options is a very good one - they'll all lead to more annoyance later. They are band-aids on the problems, not curatives.

So I'm not in a good head place. And trying to force myself into one is not at all helpful. I'm getting angrier at myself when I don't stay in my calorie goals or when I take a day off from working out. I bought a different brand of deodorant that doesn't smell as good so I feel stinky all the time. And I played a really difficult scene in class on Monday that proved that I have the ability to do this, but emotionally had me feeling like crap for a couple of days. And then I got angry at myself for feeling like crap. And none of this is productive!

So I'm taking the weekend off. I'm not tracking calories. I'm going to eat what I want when I want until I'm satisfied. I might work out; I might not. I may even splurge and have a beer. I'm not going to try to make myself feel good. I am going to allow myself to be in whatever head place I need to be in for a couple of days. If I just ignore the icky feelings, they'll never really go away. If I sit in them, acknowledge them, and deal with them, they will go away. Or at least become manageable.

And the funny thing is, as soon as I gave myself permission to feel awful for a few days, I started to feel better. I ate pizza and cake for dinner last night and went to bed at 8:30. I lounged around for a bit this morning (because what else is there to do when you wake up at 5:30 on a Saturday morning), did my dishes, and walked to the grocery store. I bought myself the deodorant I like so I smell like me again. I still don't feel great (my sinuses are staging a coup today, too), but I think allowing myself to take a break from trying to be healthy is the healthiest thing I could do right now. So here's to taking the weekend off!

Rabbit, rabbit.

I'm nervous and scared and excited and relieved and I feel like I should be freaking out more than I am but I'm not. I'm ready for this. I've been working on this for about eight months and it's finally here. And part of me really can't believe that it's here and part of me is relieved that the day has finally come. It is the end of the first phase of a project, which means it is the beginning of the second phase which is really exciting. Really exciting. And if phase two goes as planned...

So I'm nervous and scared and excited and relieved and I'm kind of freaking out but kind of not. I need to remember the humor. I need to remember the energy. I need to remember to take my time and make my points. I need to remember my subjects and I need to go in there with David-Tennant-like energy. And most importantly, I can do this. I know what I'm doing. I'm prepared. I'm good at this. I'm likable. I'm flexible. I listen. And they all want me to do well. You all want me to do well. I am blanketed in love and support and positive energy and it makes me want to weep with joy. Which is kind of what this is all about in the first place.

But it's here. Today is finally here. I will be brilliant. I'm so excited for the next stage!

I've needed a little bit of support lately and I've gotten it. Just about every day, I'm getting an email from a family member or friend who I may not have talked to in a long time, just offering kind words of encouragement and support. I can't even begin to tell you how good that feels. It's like my own blanket of fleecy angels descending on me and holding me and keeping me safe and warm and loved.

I feel very blessed right now. Thank you to my wonderful, beautiful family and friends for being there when I need you.

In my ongoing attempts to learn to love my body, I worked out last night in my underwear and a tank top. Granted, they are what the kids call "boy shorts," so they look like I'm wearing hot pants, but still. And don't worry - I worked out in the privacy of my own living room, away from the windows so I'm pretty sure nobody saw me, but it was a big deal for me. I don't normally show that much leg. And it's weird - yesterday was lower body conditioning and I got to watch my muscles work since they were, you know, exposed. I learned a couple of very important things about myself from doing this:

1) I have AMAZING quads. Seriously. My quads are huge. I could probably lift a truck with these puppies. I keep doing squats in the hopes they will help shape my rear end, but I'm really seeing the benefits in my quads. They are something to be proud of.

2) I really like it when my apartment is warm enough for me to just wear underwear and a tank top.

3) If I ever decide to wear shorts again, they should be of the short-short variety because I have great legs and any other length cuts them off funny.

4) If I ever have to play a hooker or an escort or a call girl, they should have me wear boy shorts for any scenes involving lingerie. Boy shorts actually make my butt look cute and pert. I never thought I'd have a pert butt, but in boy shorts, I do.

Please join us again next week for part two in this ongoing series, "What I Learned By Hanging Out in a Belly Shirt For an Afternoon."

I know what my life is supposed to be. It is supposed to be passion and love and fury and anger and fire and tears and laughter so loud it shakes the mountains. It is supposed to be glory and heartache and triumph and turmoil and beauty as far as the eye can see. It is supposed to be magnificent.

But those things don't often happen in the real world. At least not for me. The closest I get is a laugh so loud it disturbs dogs in a three-mile radius. The real world is censored and muted and safe. There's nothing wrong with that. It is censored and muted and safe for a reason - so that we can all function in it and carry on the usual business of being alive. Nobody would be able to do their jobs if they felt the anguish of Hamlet every time someone did them wrong. Nobody would eat if they felt the passion of Juliet as she drank the vial of poison. The world would cease to function if everyone walked around experiencing the world as intensely as characters in books and plays and movies do.

But I want to. I want to feel everything that intensely. I want to live that fully. I want to experience every aspect of the human condition the way they experience it on stage and screen. I don't like to do things halfway. I don't like to be missing out. And in so many ways, I'm missing out already. I'll never marry my high school sweetheart because I didn't have one. I'll never have the four day Vegas marriage because I'm too smart for that now. I'll never even know what it's like to grow up in another country because I only get the one childhood. I'm tired of missing out. I'm tired of capped emotions. I want to live the life that the characters on the screen do.

I know, I sound like a crackpot. I know I can't live that way all of the time. But if I am one of the characters on the stage, I can live that way for a very short time. I can scream and weep and leap for joy boil with rage and love with my whole heart until my body aches. I can experience...everything.

I know what my life is supposed to be. I know what my life is supposed to be and it is not supposed to be this. I know what my life is supposed to be. Please, oh please, oh please let me get there one day.

I know I've probably said it before, but I feel the need to say it again. I love cooking. I really love cooking. I love having warm, healthy, nurturing food in my house. I love working with different textures and spices and flavors and styles. It's fun. I wish I had someone to cook for more often, though, because as much fun as it is to make a big batch of chili, it would probably be more fun if I wasn't the only one eating it for a week and a half.

Today, I made Chile sin Carne al Mole (or something like that - it's chili that uses molasses, cocoa powder, seitan, and pinto beans) from "Vegan with a Vengeance" and I made braised curried tofu with peas from an iPhone app cookbook I found. So tasty. SO tasty. It was the first time I cooked with coconut milk (the curried tofu) and the first time I cooked with seitan (the chili). And my house smells good and things are warm and it's just the kind of food that makes you feel like you're doing your body a favor by eating it.

I also feel the need to give a little shout-out to my sister-in-law. She is an amazing cook, and she cooks with no fear. It doesn't matter how complicated the recipe is, or what kinds of things are in it, she'll give it a shot if it sounds tasty. And it always turns out beautifully. I think, in a strange way, I started cooking more interesting things because of her. And, she and my brother have been instrumental in my cultivation of the cooking habit because they have supplied me with many a lovely gadget to make things easier, and one of the greatest cookbooks ever written (the Veganomicon). So thank you for inspiring me to cook and giving me the confidence to make things like braised curried tofu with peas. I don't think I would have even looked at the recipe twice a few years ago, but now - it's super crazy easy, super crazy tasty, and probably something I would make again. So thanks for that.

Yay good food!

So I'm doing this exercise boot camp thing through this website and on paper, it doesn't sound that hard. There is a workout video every day that is ten minutes long - maximum - and you're supposed to get 30 minutes of cardio exercise in five days a week. So far, I have kept up with all of the exercising. The eating bit has kind of gone down the tubes, in large part because I haven't shopped in a long time. But the exercising is surprisingly kicking my ass. Then again, I'm also doing the 100 push-up, 200 sit-up and 200 squats challenges. And I can see my "saddlebags" going away. My butt is actually taking on a really nice shape. It's still larger than your average starlet, but it's taking on a nice shape. And my arms - I'm getting some nice arm definition. I'm not saying I'm turning into a gym monkey or a female body builder or anything, but I'm starting to get a really nice body. I've got really solid legs, too.

But right now, after biking for 30 minutes at 14 miles per hour, and doing the 5-minute upper body video twice, I'm exhausted. I'm sore and tired and really thirsty, so I should probably put the computer down and go get some water. Being in good shape takes a lot of work.

Three days into 2010 and my heat isn't working properly. Woo hoo!

I feel like I should look back on the last decade and take stock and make resolutions and all that kind of stuff like so many people are doing, but I also have a feeling it would make me sad. I wanted something major to happen in the aughts so that I could say, "We got married in aught-six and had our first child in aught-eight," or something like that. But I didn't get married and I didn't have a child. I did buy a car. I moved into an apartment by myself. I got (was given) a cat who I fell completely in love with (over time). I fell completely in love with my niece. I made two friends that I don't know what I would do without them. I changed jobs. I became a musician and then became not a musician. I joined and left a theater company. I shaved my head. I became vegan. I cried a lot. I laughed a lot. I was an extra in two major motion pictures. I went to Europe.

I was thinking last night that I'm ready to start really living. REALLY living. And I don't think that sitting behind a desk all day, five days a week, is really living. I hope that some of the events of the coming year will start to push me along the path to really living. That is my resolution for 2010 - to start really living every day the best I can, even if it means turning off the phone and the computer and doing what I want to do for an entire day. I did a lot of things in the last decade, but I also missed out on a lot of things. I want to make sure that in this next decade, I take every opportunity I can get my hands on, even if it means taking chances that might just be me making a fool of myself.

I also want to grow a bit of an ego this year, just in respect to my performance abilities. I tend to think that I'm decent. I want to get to a place where I think I'm great.

But first things first. I need to eat breakfast and clean my house and do laundry and start on day one of my January bootcamp. Simple, easy attainable goals. It's the best way to get things done.

Happy New Year, everybody!

I find myself getting very angry and very annoyed about the stupidest things lately. This is stuff that should just roll off my back because in the grand scheme of things, it's really not that big of a deal. I just get angry, though, and want to fight. Like I get angry with having to consistently clean up messes at work that aren't mine. I get angry that there are only two of us in the office who empty the dishwasher with any sort of regularity even though everybody uses it. I get angry that my old cell phone company billed me for a month of service they didn't provide and when I called to straighten it out, they bounced me around to five different people and hung up on me once before I got somebody who could kind of understand the situation, but she said I owe money for one day of service. And then (let's just double check our math, here) she informed me that one day of service equals nine dollars and change. When a whole month of service is $73.44. On what planet is nine dollars one-thirtieth of $73.44? And I'm pissed about it! I shouldn't be pissed about it. I shouldn't say nasty things to the accounting person at the cell phone company, but I did. I know it wasn't nice and I'm sorry for that, but she couldn't see how ridiculous it was to charge me nine dollars for their mistake instead of just taking the whole charge off of my bill. Especially considering that I canceled my service with them at about noon, so technically, I should be billed for 12 hours of service. Hey, if they're going to quibble about days, I'm going to quibble about hours.

When did I become the person who quibbles about hours and says nasty things to customer service representatives? I don't want to be the person who quibbles about hours and says nasty things to customer service representatives. I'm really a nice person. I'm a good person. I'm a helpful person. I think I'm just tired of being taken advantage of so I'm starting to lash out at anyone who has less clout than me. I can't tell the president of my company that it is his turn to empty the dishwasher, so I get angry at guy who made some big catastrophe that has been going on for a week and a half my problem all of a sudden. I'm misplacing my anger and I'm sorry about that. I really am. Cell phone accounting lady, I'm sorry I yelled at you. In my defense, you guys screwed up first and your math skills are atrocious, but I shouldn't have yelled at you. I apologize for that.

I don't want to be an angry person who gets annoyed at the drop of a hat. Maybe that's what I should work on as my new year's resolution - I need to lighten up again. I think I know what will lighten me up and I'm working on it, but I can't really talk about it yet. Not here, anyway. Just know that it is potentially amazing and keep your fingers crossed for me!

I had to come in to work today to help out with a training. Yay. Be at work at 7:30am on a Saturday. I think things are going well so far, though. Running smoothly and a bit ahead of schedule, which is okay by me. Smile, nod, be polite and accommodating and then leave to go to class at about noon.

I've also had a house guest for a couple of days and it has been really nice. In part because she is a really lovely house guest. She's flexible and easy going and independent, so it's kind of like having a temporary roommate whose company you actually enjoy. Perhaps, if I did find a partner who I liked and who liked me, living with him might not be so bad. It is kind of nice to have someone to ask, "So how was your day?" when you get home and to have them ask a similar thing of you. It's very...friendly and warm. I dig that.

Anyway. Other than having to come into work on a Saturday, things are going pretty well. Just have to make it to noon...

I'm going to sound like a crackpot in this entry. Just so you know. I assure you, I'm fine.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you can feel your ribcage open up and all of the light that lives inside you just comes flooding out and fills the whole room? That was the Swell Season concert for me the other night. Amazing. Just...amazing. I found myself thinking, "That's my life happening up there, but I'm really happy that they got it." Which I know makes no sense. My life is supposed to be art and performance and joy and making other people feel wonderful things, and I do get jealous of some people who get to live that life who I don't think necessarily deserve it (i.e. the Britney Spears type), but the Swell Season deserves it. The guys have been playing for over 20 years and Marketa is adorable and talented and humbled and completely appreciative of every single moment of her life. They deserve it. They love it. I'm so glad they get to do this, and it made me so happy at the show I wanted to cry. I actually did cry when he played "Say It To Me Now" partially because of the story he told beforehand about a woman in a blue coat, and partially because he came to the front of the stage and played it with no amplification or microphone and he filled that space as completely as the opera singers fill the Lyric. That's amazing and brilliant and beautiful and all I could do was cry. Which also made me really happy because I was freely following my impulses, public forum be damned, you know? Anyway.

I sometimes feel like my body is a shell, housing this brilliant yellow/gold light. And I have to be careful when this light gets to shine because not everyone can handle it. I don't want to overwhelm anyone or blind anyone, so sometimes I have to keep it under wraps, so to speak. But every once in a while, I can open my heart completely and let the light just shoot out and I can't even begin to tell you how good that feels. I was thinking about that after the concert and I realized that I want to do that in a relationship. I'm looking for a guy who can handle it and who deserves to be bathed in it. I think there are a lot of men out there who can see it - when I think back on things, as much as I would like to try to convince myself that I'm not the sort of woman men are attracted to in that way, that's just not true. There have been a lot of men who can see this light inside me and they want to be near it. I haven't always trusted them with it, though, or trusted that they can handle it because it's really bright. Really bright. And a lot to take in. And I think it needs to shine on someone who has his own really bright light, too, because if it shines one someone who has no light (or a weak-ish light), I'm going to be completely drained and that's not really fair to me, now is it? But if it's a mutual light exchange...that could be brilliant.

I know that sounds crazy. You can swap out "light" for "love" if you want and it sounds a little more sane.

I had a dream about Christian Bale last night. For some reason, he was in the house I grew up in - I think they were filming something there - and my room was his dressing room. I had to get something out of there at one point and he and I started talking and kind of became friends. There was nothing romantic about it - we talked about his wife and his work and my artistic aspirations and stuff. I think at one point, I even tried to sell him on Doctor Who and told him that David Tennant was really cute because of his accent (maybe I was trying to get Christan Bale to speak in his real voice?). We ended up going to one of those sort of kitchy stores where they sell cheese and processed meats and kitchen accessories shaped like barnyard animals and stuff like that and I bought this giant slice of coffee cake with blueberry crumble on top of it (think about three feet square giant) to bring back home to I don't even know who (the film crew maybe?). It was a really nice dream and he came off as much more normal than he is painted in the media (what with the outburst on the Terminator set and whatnot) and even somewhat unsure. It was nice.

Anyway. I warned you I was going to sound like a crackpot. I've been meaning to blog for two days (since the concert) and now since I just woke up, it's all coming out in a mush. Sorry about that. Hope you are well.

I've gotten a lot done this weekend. I have to wait until January 1 for the next part, but I still got a lot done this weekend.

I put the plastic up on my windows. This year I thought ahead and measured my windows and got the super jumbo size stuff so it was a lot easier than it has been in the past. And I used an extension cord with my hair dryer that was long enough that I was able to effectively shrink-wrap the windows in a decent amount of time. Now I just have to wait for the heat to come back on so my apartment actually gets a little warmer. I think they have you use a blow dryer so you start out with a blast of warm air in the room, but I could use more than a blast. It's not icy (yet), but it is teetering on the 66-67 degree mark which is just shy of what the temperature is legally supposed to be. I'm hoping with the plastic, I might get those extra two degrees, and maybe a bonus two degrees or so.

But I'm feeling good. I got a lot done. Movement. Progress. And believe it or not, it's only Saturday. I get one more entire day after this to do even more. Maybe cook. Maybe clean. Maybe take the day off, sit on my butt, and watch TV all day. Who knows. But it feels good to have gotten a lot done.

And the medical bills just keep coming in. I got another bill today for the pregnancy test they performed on me when I was in the emergency room that I had no idea they performed and did not give them my permission to perform, along with a bunch of other lab work that I can only assume was necessary, though whether or not it was is open for debate. However, I do remember telling them several times that there would have to be Divine Intervention in order for me to be pregnant, so the fact that they are now billing me for a test they didn't have to do, when they already billed me for x-rays on my knees that they didn't have to do...I'm pissed.

I called my insurance too, because I got another explanation of benefits saying I owe money for surgery performed on me by some doctor I never met. They don't have a record of a doctor with a name I recognize performing any procedures on me. But surgery? If my lumbar puncture is/was to be coded as "surgery," I should have gotten more than a Band-Aid out of the deal. And I certainly don't think it is right for this doctor who did not perform the procedure to be able to bill me for it. That's fucked up. Pardon my language, but that's fucked up. According to my insurance company, it happens all the time. It is "the norm" for random doctors who you never meet to bill you for things they didn't do. If that is the case, I think it should be "the norm" to not pay for shit that didn't happen. And my insurance company couldn't tell me when it's going to end. It sounds like I could just keep getting bills for some indefinite period of time, as long as Doctor Whatsit didn't make his numbers and decides that the fact that he was standing near the nurse who sat on his ass for three hours while I had needles in both arms waiting for results that weren't coming, he should be able to bill me for a lobotomy. Because that's obviously what they did to me if they think I'm going to pay for doctors I never met to perform procedures that they didn't do.

Healthcare in this country is fucked. Pardon the language, but I can't think of a better term to describe the state of things. Healthcare in this country is fucked up.

I'm thankful for a lot. I'm thankful for my family and my friends and my cat and my health and the fact that I have a job and an apartment and several guitars and I'm thankful for all of the amazing things that my brain and body allow me to do. I'm thankful for the 15-ish pounds that I have lost and the fact that I now feel closer to living in the body I'm supposed to be in. I'm thankful that I got to spend time with my niece today because honestly, that kid melts me like nothing else ever has. I'm thankful that I wasn't the only vegan at my family gathering today. I'm thankful that relatives came today that haven't been to this family gathering in years and that I got to spend some quality time talking to them - maybe more than I ever have before. And I'm thankful that at least so far, I'm entering the holiday season in a positive mood. I think it made a world of difference, at least for me, that I felt friendly and talkative and happy at the gathering today instead of dreading the prospect of having to talk to people. It allowed me to have some really lovely conversations.

So yeah, most things are going pretty well at the moment. And I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for you.

I'm feeling the need to write about some happy things today.

Warm water. I'm really a big fan of warm water. Warm showers are particularly nice, but even just washing your hands in warm water (after, say, using the restroom) can feel really indulgent from time to time. I've even taking to drinking hot water when I'm at work and I've already had my tea. It helps make sure I'm drinking enough water, and it helps keep me warm. I'm sure people think I'm silly drinking cups of hot water, but that's okay. People think I'm silly for lots of reasons and I kind of like it.

I've lost fifteen pounds since July and I finally bought myself a pair of trousers that fit. It makes me feel really odd to wear the ones that are way too big, now that I know just how big they are, and it makes me feel good to wear the ones that actually fit. I also like that I can see muscle definition in my arms and my legs. I have some pretty great legs, I must say.

Class has started again. I didn't have a great exercise last night, but it wasn't awful and I didn't die, so it's all good. It was great to see my friends again and I love that feeling of trying something new and giving it a shot and, I dunno, just seeing what happens. I like to try new stuff and I got to try new stuff last night.

I may have found someone else to help me in a spot I hadn't even thought to look.

It's Thursday. Which is almost Friday. And it's only a three day work week next week. I think I'm at a place in my major work projects where I need to wait for stuff (need to wait for product to arrive, etc), which means today shouldn't be as crazy as the rest of the week was, which is good. I could use a sort of mellow day.

I dunno. I'm just feeling kind of good today. I still hate certain things about my life and my station therein, but I feel kind of good today. Like things are coming together and like maybe I'll make it through the holidays without a major meltdown. Here's to Thursday.

I'm grumpy.

I got the explanation of benefits for my emergency room visit today, in addition to the first bill from the radiology people. All told, it is going to cost over $3,100 for me to waste nine hours of my life finding out there was nothing wrong with me and being made to feel worse in the process. And that's with insurance. That's with the deductible met on my insurance. Thirty-one hundred dollars. I don't know about you, but I don't have that lying around to hand over at the moment. Even paying it off over time, if I pay it off over a year, that's still $258 a month. That's a car payment. But I'm not getting a car out of it. I got holes in my arms and my spine and I got treated like I really didn't matter. Yay.

And I went dancing tonight and got a parking ticket. I got there about 9:30pm and left by eleven, and somehow, at 10:22pm, I got a parking ticket for an expired meter/overstay. I hadn't even been there an hour - how could it be an overstay? And what meters in the city require that you pay after 9pm? Really? And why didn't any of the other surrounding cars have tickets on them? What the hell is it with cops and ticketing my car? Don't they know I just got slapped with $3,100 worth of medical bills?

I'm tempted to call my doctor and ask her to pay for it. Or call the hospital and make them pay at the very least for the completely unnecessary knee x-rays. I shudder to think what additional charges they would have slapped me with had they actually given me some sort of medication for the headaches that I went in for in the first place.

And I'm hungry. I've been hungry all day. I went over my calorie limit and was then kind of bored at the dance tonight so I didn't get as much exercise as I was hoping for and I really want a snack now but it's almost midnight and I really should just go to bed and I've already had too much to eat today but I'm hungry. This is not good.

And I haven't gotten any sort of confirmation that my class is starting on Wednesday. I like to know these things more than an hour in advance. Especially since I'm going to be stuck in a meeting at work all day Wednesday that I'd rather not be in because I have enough other things going on at the moment.

So I'm grumpy. I think I have a right to be grumpy. I know it will go away, but right now, I'm grumpy.

I can feel my shoulder muscles. When I cross my arms, I can feel where my shoulder muscle stops and my tricep starts. I think it is because of the working out I've been doing, and the weight loss - I think my body fat percentage has changed and that I have built up some muscle mass to the point where I can feel my shoulder muscles. It's weird. It's really weird. All of a sudden, I'm finding myself occupying the body I've always wanted to occupy. I'm small. I haven't totally embraced the size of my ass, but I don't feel like there is this giant eyesore following me around anymore. When I try to puff out my stomach to look pregnant, I look only four or five months at best. And I'm using this new shampoo that has given me exactly the hair I've wanted for years - it's soft and straight and just friggin' gorgeous. And this new facial cream...I've always had bad skin, but it looks so nice now. And now I can feel my shoulder muscles. How strange it is to not want to complain about the way I look anymore. To be truly content in my own skin. I'm really diggin' this.

And despite all of that, today, I'm really scared. I have a big project to tackle at work tomorrow, the sort of thing that could make me or break me, and I'm terrified that it's going to break me. That I'm going to forget something or it's all going to go wrong or I won't have enough time. And I keep telling myself that normally, when people do this, they have help. At least one other person to help. But I'm doing it almost completely by myself. All of the organization, all of the execution, all of the clean up is going to be my responsibility and my responsibility alone. If I can pull this off, there is literally nothing I can't do. But I'm afraid I won't be able to pull it off. And the one little glimmer that my boss doesn't think I'm a waste of space will go away. (I know he doesn't think I'm a waste of space, but he's not real good with the whole pat-on-the-back thing.) I know I should try to get some sleep because I have a lot to do tomorrow, but my brain is going too fast for me to be able to fall asleep yet. Hence the disjointed blog entry.

So I'll watch another episode of Doctor Who. I'm all caught up, except for a couple of the most recent specials. I've seen all of the last four years - the most recent incarnation(s) of the Doctor, and I have to say, I love the Doctor. And, out of all of the characters on the show, I think I relate to him the most. A man to whom it never occurs that he might fall in love. A man who travels all over having these amazing adventures. A man surrounded by absolutely brilliant friends who would do anything for him, yet who is tragic and whose heart aches and who is perpetually alone. He has these moments of humanity that are absolutely heartbreaking, and as much as he tries not to feel for his companions, he falls in love with each and every one of them in a heartbeat. He is open and guarded at the same time, curious and vulnerable, wonderful and horrible and terrifying and comforting and brilliant. And in all of the madness going on in my life right now, a little open guarded curious vulnerable wonderful horrible terrifying comforting brilliance is really nice. Plus, they have accents.

So yeah. I'm scared and stressed and wishing I was a time lord. How are you?

She put the needles in and turned off the lights, put the heat lamp over my feet, and closed the door. Instantly, I felt my heart beating stronger. Not stronger in an I've-been-working-out-so-my-heart-is-pumping kind of a way, but in a pumping-good-strong-powerful-healthy-energy-through-my-entire-body kind of a way. And then I felt some twitching in my right foot, kind of between my first two toes. And then I met my very own green fairy. Such a beautiful shade of green, just kind of drifting in and out and dancing in front of me on the ceiling. She went away after a bit, and my stomach gurgled. Yellow smoke rings of bad energy left my body with each breath, floating up to the ceiling and disappearing into the distance. And everything went blue. A beautiful, vibrant, calming blue horizon stretched out before me, inviting me in and letting me know that everything was brilliant. I wanted to jump up and go conquer the world, smiling the whole way. And my lip started twitching, and my leg started to feel a bit odd. And all I saw was black. Something black and toxic taking over where the pretty pretty blue had been. I was a little bit afraid of it, but my little green fairy came back to dance a while longer. But my eye hurt and my left arm got really cold and the black came back, followed by an intense pain right under my ribcage on the right-hand side. Both the bone and the organs underneath hurt with every breath. I tried to breathe good energy into it and blow the bad energy out, but blowing the bad energy out just cleared my field of vision so that the pain was all I could focus on.

And then the acupuncturist came back to take out the needles. I told her some of my experiences and asked if it was normal to feel phantom needles. Apparently everything I experienced was pretty normal, and the pain in my ribs was the result of activating my Chinese liver. A little pressure and a few deep breaths, and it mostly dissipated.

I got up to put my shoes back on and I feel taller. I feel lighter. I feel acutely aware of everything. The outside of my left hand really hurts, but the rest of me feels absolutely fantastic. I think I have better posture. I'm relaxed and energized at the same time. I feel like I'm ready to take on anything, and like my body is one giant receiver, prepped to fully experience everything that might happen by. I'm kind of looking forward to going to class feeling like this and seeing what it does to my exercises. But I have to say, other than the pain in my hand, I have not felt this good in I don't even know how long. Physically and spiritually, I feel fantastic.

I just might have to go get acupuncture again.

I'm not a Cardinals fan. I'm not a Dodgers fan. But they both made it to the post season and given my love of Mark DeRosa, I cared how the games turned out. I wanted Mark DeRosa to have a good series, but ultimately, I could not bring myself to cheer for either team. And the Cardinals were swept in three games. DeRosa did have a good series - the commentators said in the third game that DeRo had been one of the best offensive producers for the Cardinals in the series, given that Pujols and Holliday did very little. So yay for Mark for having a good series. And yeah, I'm glad they got swept. Largely because now when Cardinal fans try to give Cub fans crap for getting knocked out of the post season by the Dodgers in three straight games...well, really we can only bring up the conversation between the pot and the kettle.

Now we just need the Dodgers to get swept in the championship series.

I honestly think that yesterday was one of the best days I have had in a very long time. I had a bit of a lazy morning, followed by breakfast with my mom. It's always great to see her. Then a leisurely lunch at home and a bit of a nap with my cat on my stomach. He melts me when he does that. I know he's just trying to be warm, but still. I love the time spent with him. Then off to class where the teacher said I was just "on." I had two good exercises, the first of which included some breakthrough type work, so that was good. Then a quick dinner and off to see They Might Be Giants.

I remember my first exposure to They Might Be Giants - it was an episode of "Tiny Toons" wherein they did some music videos. Two of the songs were TMBG. I thought they were fake, or made up for the show. But sitting in math class a couple of days later, I found out that the cute boy I had had a crush on forever knew that they were real songs by this band called They Might Be Giants and shortly thereafter, I went out and bought "Flood" on cassette tape. When people talk about desert island albums, I always forget about "Flood," but I think it might have to be on my list. It's one of those albums where you automatically think of "Birdhouse in Your Soul" and "Istanbul (Not Constantinople,)" but when you actually get listening to it, you remember that out of the 18 tracks on the album, you love probably 16 of them. LOVE them. Can't stop listening to them, love to sing along with them love them. When I was in San Francisco earlier this year, I picked up a copy of "Flood" on CD at Amoeba Records and have recently re-fallen in love with it. Almost twenty years later and it still holds up. So there I am at the Vic in Chicago (which has to be one of my favorite concert venues anyway because it's big enough to hold a rowdy crowd, but small enough to feel like you're really part of the show with the performer), right up in the front leaning on the stage, and first these two adorable little Irish guys come out and sing a few songs. They started and finished with ukulele songs. They were funny and sweet and their music was really good. But then They Might Be Giants came out. So funny. Just a couple of dorky guys who somehow manage to write Grammy winning songs. And they don't look at all like they've let the success go to their heads. They're goofy. They're charming. When one John would screw up lyrics, he would give this kind of embarrassed smile and the other John would look at him like, "Really, dude?" They had sock puppets (the Avatars) singing "Shoehorn with Teeth." They fired off confetti canons three times in their set. They rocked the accordion. There were clarinets involved. They gave away free bumper stickers after the show. It was just...I can't describe it. It was a concert I needed to see, but I didn't know how badly until I saw it and I enjoyed every single second of that show. Every second. So much so that I was surprised when it was over. How could the album be over already? It just started.

On the way out, I picked up a CD by the opening band - Gugenheim Grotto - and had them sign it. Very nice men. One of them pulled a piece of confetti out of my hair for me.

Thank you to They Might Be Giants for giving me exactly what I needed last night. And thank you to everyone else involved in my yesterday for making it one of the best all-around days I have had in a long time. My heart feels very good and very full. Thank you.

My pants are too big. I like it that my pants are too big, but I don't like the idea of having to buy all new pants. I like some of the pants that I have. I could probably tailor them. That would also take some work.

Oh, and the reason they are too big is that I have lost 13 pounds. That I like very much.

My Trip to the Emergency Room, A Story in G-flat Minor (A Study in Run-On Sentences), by Kitty Mortland

On the insistence of my doctor, I went to the emergency room last night to get checked out because I had passed out/blacked out/fainted on Friday night and very possibly hit my head on the way down. See, I come from hearty stock - we don't pass out. I don't know if you have ever passed out, but it's really disconcerting. Especially if you live by yourself. We live in such a technological era - I wanted to be able to watch a replay of the fainting to see what happened, but I had, of course, neglected to set up a video camera to capture the fall. And I don't know if you've ever passed out from being tired or being drunk, but it's totally different. Usually, in that case, if you think hard enough, you can piece together how you got home and who took your shoes off for you. But when you pass out/black out/faint for unknown reasons, you can't think hard enough to piece it back together. There is no memory. No recollection. Absolutely no way to figure out what happened. And since I still had (have) a headache a few days later, I called my doctor to see if she could tell me what was up, or what action I should take. The triage nurse was mortified that I hadn't instantly called 9-1-1. In my defense, they don't teach "post-fainting protocol" in high school health classes - it's not something that a person automatically knows how to handle. Especially when said person might have just hit his/her head on who knows what while free-falling to the floor. She talked to my doctor for all of three minutes, and my doctor insisted I get to the emergency room as soon as possible to get checked out. When I told them I would have to go after work, they told me to talk to my boss and try to get away early. This was URGENT. I needed to be CHECKED to make sure I was OKAY and hadn't suffered an ANEURYSM.

I waited until after work to go to the emergency room. Got there at 5pm. Signed in. Told them my doctor was insistent that I go. They told me to have a seat. A minute or so later, the triage nurse called me over so I could tell her my story. She kind of listened, kind of asked questions that I was already in the middle of answering. And she told me there would be "a bit of a wait," but that I should hang out and a doctor would see me soon.

At about quarter after seven, in the middle of the waiting room, a nurse shouted at me, asking if they had gotten my urine sample yet. I replied no, she gave me a cup, and sent me off to the ladies' room. This wouldn't have been a big deal except that (other than suffering the embarrassment of being told in front of a room full of strangers that you need to go pee in a cup) at about ten after seven, I made my own trip to the ladies' room, partially out of a desperate need to go, and partially to stave off the boredom of sitting in the waiting room for two hours with crying babies, annoying cell phones, and small children ungraciously kicking me until I relinquished my seat because god knows, it's easier for me to move across the room than for them to find empty two empty seats next to each other in the first place (from amongst the array of two-and-three seat groupings sitting unoccupied at the other end of the room). I know that emergency room wait times are notoriously bad. I know this. And please, please, please help the guy with a neck brace and a half-pound of bloody gauze stuck to his face before you help me. He needs help. I might (but probably don't) have a burst aneurysm, but I've been okay (aside from feeling disconnected from my body) for a couple of days. I understand triage. I get it. And they did help him first. But to wait two hours to be told five minutes after a trip to the bathroom that they need a sample...well, I thought to myself, "This is off to a rousing start." I went and tried to go. Got about a teaspoon out. Apparently, it was enough. And I was instructed to wait some more.

At quarter to eight, they took me back and stuck me in room 2, rather unceremoniously telling me to get "fully undressed," an interesting oxymoron when you think about it. I disrobed and re-robed in the lovely hospital gown provided. A minute or so later, a male nurse (very nice, very friendly) came in to put about twenty stickers of various sorts on various parts of my body, most of which required the removal (or partial removal) of the lovely hospital gown I had just been fighting with a minute earlier, trying to figure out how to tie it on. But I got hooked up to all kinds of lovely fun wires and things while they did an EKG to rule out possible cardiovascular causes for my fainting. The doctor came in a minute later and asked me all the same questions that the triage nurse had, except she asked them two or three times. I don't mean to be rude - I liked this doctor. She was friendly and informative and helpful. And I know she was doing her job and being thorough by asking so many questions, but it kind of felt like she either wasn't listening all that well, or she was trying to catch me in a lie. Like the third time she asks if I had blurry vision, all of a sudden, a new symptom would appear. Anyway. With my almost complete lack of symptoms, other than passing out followed by the most god-awful headache I have ever experienced, she decides to go with "headaches" as the symptom she's going to figure out where they're coming from. She orders a CT scan.

In the meantime, the nurse has hooked me up to a pulse monitor (sticky thing on my finger), respiratory monitor (sticky things on my chest), and some other random monitor (more sticky things on my chest and abdomen). He has put a blood pressure cuff on my arm that takes my blood pressure automatically every 15 minutes. He has taken blood from my right arm and when he determined that the vein was not really a good IV candidate, he puts the IV thingy in my left arm on the off chance I might need an IV at some later point in the evening. It is now about 8:30 pm, I have holes in both arms, a needle in my left arm, sticky stuff all over my body, I know my heart is okay, and my gown is now providing a bit of modesty, though anyone who looks at me can tell I'm not wearing a bra.

And then the cute transport guy comes in. Can't tell if he's thinking, "Cute girl, I wish the gown would slip," or "Cute girl, but potentially really sick so nevermind." He asks my name and hears it as "Kate Cortland," which is how he introduces me to the CT people, who look a little confused. The CT tech was also really cute. I mean, really cute. And probably all of about 19 years old. I think he snuck a peak at my wristband so he could make sure he was working on the right patient. He told me that the CT takes about 5 minutes and I should make sure to keep my head very still. I do. I remember the last time I had a CT here - it took about a half an hour and I had to wait a week for the results. I guess when you're in the emergency room, they do things faster. The test took about five minutes, they told me we'd have results in 30-45 minutes, and the cute transport guy takes me back to my own private sick-bay, room 2 in the ER. He kind of flirted on the way back up, or at least I think he wanted to, though he may have been freaked out by flirting with some chick with the potential for SERIOUS HEAD TRAUMA. In fact, I think he was so flustered by the whole thing that when he hooked me back up to the pretty beeping monitors and told me I'd have results in 30-45 minutes, that he forgot to give me the remote control for the TV.

An hour later, the doctor came in and told me that my CT scan showed "no change from a previous CT." Meaning they saw that I still have a tumor on my head and were probably a little weirded out by it until they realized it's been there a while, it's not doing anything, it's benign, and I already know about it. But they do think it would be a good idea to x-ray my knees because if you have an osteochondroma on your head, chances are you have similar calcium deposits on your knees. But that's another conversation all together. She says that since my CT was (essentially) clear, that the next step is to do a lumbar puncture to make sure that I didn't have an aneurysm so small that it didn't show up on the CT, but is, instead, bleeding into my spinal fluid, which could be life threatening. She then leaves the room so I can...discuss this with the wall? I'm there by myself! How is the doctor leaving going to help me decide if I think this procedure is medically necessary? She's the one with the info and she leaves the room so I can make up my mind. She comes back a few minutes later, asking, "Did I give you sufficient time?" I tell her I feel silly for being there in the first place, so the thought of a lumbar puncture seems...excessive? She echoes my regular doctor's concern that I waited two days to come get checked out. She tells me that lumbar punctures aren't as bad as they are made out to be on shows like "House" and "Grey's Anatomy." She explains the whole thing and tells me it is to rule out the existence of blood in my spinal fluid which would be bad. She tells me that it should be pretty easy because I'm so skinny. (It's odd the remarks you remember the doctors and nurses making about you while you're in the ER - "And you're so skinny, it should go pretty smoothly." "Your legs look pretty straight to me." "It looked like a good vein...") Not knowing what else to do, I say, "Sure, why not?" In retrospect, she seemed really happy with my decision. Really happy. Like maybe it was a dull night, but if she could get a lumbar puncture in before she left, she'd feel like she accomplished something. She bounded out of my room to ask the nurse to get all of the necessary sterile supplies for the procedure. I sat in my room feeling a bit like a tool.

Enter the very nice x-ray technician who informs me that she's here to take me to x-ray. What? X-rays? I thought I was getting a lumbar puncture. Like, now. Exasperated, she goes off to check with the doctor. She comes back and says the doctor would prefer we x-ray my knees now, due to the recovery period needed following the lumber puncture and she wheels me off. Now, I'm trying to figure out why it matters whether or not I have calcium deposits in my knees - is that what made me pass out? The one in my head is not problematic, other than it makes headbands and glasses annoying sometimes. So who cares what's going on in my knees? I remember that my great grandmother had her kneecaps removed later in life and start to wonder if I'm headed down the path of my namesake. The x-ray tech is bribing her friend with French fries to stay and help. They take about eight pictures of my "pretty straight" legs and wheel me back to my own private sick-bay, room 2 in the ER. On the whole, while it was probably completely unnecessary, I liked the x-ray tech. I told her to encourage her daughter to stick with the acoustic guitar a little longer before switching to electric. It'll make her a better player in the long run.

So it's now about quarter after ten, and the doctor comes bouncing back in to do the lumbar puncture. Have you ever had a lumbar puncture? No? Well, let me tell you what happens. The doctor has you sit kind of hunched over, back exposed. She then realizes that the nurse brought all the wrong equipment in and she has to track someone down to get her a sterile gown, mask, and hair net. In lieu of a nurse, she goes to get one herself. She comes back with hair net and mask, and the cute transport guy comes back a minute later with the gown. You can tell he wants to look at your almost completely exposed backside, but he's trying to be professional, so he stares at the doctor's gown very intently as he ties it on her. He then leaves, and she sterilizes your back not once, not twice, but thrice to make sure nothing icky follows the needle into your spine. She puts a sticky sterile drape cloth on your back and measures out her spot. Two shots of Novocain (or something similar) to numb the layers of skin separating her from your lovely, lovely spinal fluid. That is, she says, probably the worst part because you can feel the needles. It's like being at the dentist - you can feel pressure like there's something going on down there, but it doesn't really hurt. And then the actual needle goes in and she has to adjust a bit to find the right spot to get fluid and sometimes she hits bone which is a very strange sort of pressure-pain right in your lower back (at the lumbar curve - hence the name). And she asks you to adjust a bit, and curve your back a bit more (like a cat!) to encourage the fluid to flow more freely. And after about five minutes, when she's filled up four little vials, it's all over. Rip off the sterile drape cloth (read: giant band-aid), wash off the sterilizing iodine type stuff, and put a band-aid over the hole. Now, here's an interesting side note: when the nurse decided that my blood-giving vein was not a good IV vein, he took out the needle, put a bit of gauze there, and covered it with what is, essentially, a strange hybrid of cellophane, band-aids, and super-sticky Post-It Notes. Stickier than a band-aid, about the size of a Post-It, but clear like cellophane. And let me tell you, for the record, if you don't like ripping off normal band-aids, pray you never come into contact with one of these puppies - they hurt like a bitch. But the interesting bit is that for my blood-giving vein, I got gauze and Super Awesome Sticky Clear Bandage, whereas for the lumbar puncture, I got your standard every-day run of the mill band-aid. I'd think you might want a bit more protection around a hole leading into your spine, wouldn't you? Anyway. Let's not pick nits here.

And just like that, the lumbar puncture is over. I found myself hoping that on an upcoming episode of "House" or "Grey's Anatomy," someone has to get one and the scene ends with the patient howling in pain as the needle enters their spine so I can yell, "Vicious, vicious liar!" at the screen. It really didn't hurt that bad. The doctor kept asking me how I was doing - I did fine. I asked how things were going on her end. She chuckled. She asked if there was pain. I told her it was "an interesting pressure." She chuckled again and remarked that I have an interesting way of describing things. Kitty Mortland's Super Vocabulary strikes again.

She had me lie down flat on my back in an attempt to ward off potential headaches caused by the lumbar puncture. That is when I decided that I really don't like lumbar punctures. My entire lower back was sore, yet I was forced to lie on it. There is no comfortable position in which to lie while one has a needle hole in one's lower back, an IV needle (now hooked up to saline solution, in an attempt to ward of potential headaches caused by the lumbar puncture) in one arm, a pulse monitor and blood pressure cuff on the other arm. You just can't get comfortable. But I was told the results would be back in about an hour and if everything came back negative, they'd give me something for the pain an send me on my merry way. This time, they remembered to give me the remote for the TV. It was 10:30pm.

At about quarter after eleven, the doctor came in to tell me that I could sit up a bit, and she said my results should be back soon, but that she was leaving now. She was leaving me in the very capable hands of some other doctor I'd not yet met. It felt a little like a waitress cashing out for the night and asking me to settle up and give her a tip before she left. Fortunately for me, I was hooked up to so much crap and in enough general discomfort that I couldn't reach my wallet. She went home for the night.

At 12:30am, having not heard anything from anyone in over an hour, I buzzed the nurse. At which point, I heard him pick up the phone and call down to see about my lab results. Then he came in and said they would be done in five minutes - I should just be patient.

At 1:15, I buzzed the nurse again, at which point I heard him pick up the phone and call down to see about my lab results. He came in and I'm sorry, but I got all kinds of cranky on his ass. I expressed my displeasure with the fact that I was told results would be available around 11:30pm, and here it was two hours later with no word. I expressed my displeasure with having been there since 5pm, with waiting for almost three hours before being seen, with all of my test results taking longer than they were supposed to, with the IV needle in my arm which was really hurting by now, with the discomfort in my back and my inability to find any sort of comfortable position in which to sit or recline on the bed, with the fact that I'd not eaten or had anything to drink since 3pm, and with the fact that despite my inability to fill the cup earlier, I really really had to pee. He unhooked me so I could go to the bathroom, but told me he didn't want to take the IV needle out yet, just in case they needed to give me antibiotics. I apologized for being cranky. He said he understood the frustration. I called him a liar in my head.

At 1:45am, the new mystery doctor came in to tell me that everything came back negative and I could go home. They let me pull all the sticky crap off of me by myself. They told me that I should check in with my doctor in a few days and maybe come back for a neuro consult at some point. If I have more symptoms, I should come back. I can take Tylenol or ibuprofen, not Aspirin. They had me sign something saying they treated my headaches and syncope and sent me on my way (sans the pain meds they promised earlier).

On the way out, I had to stop again at the registration desk to make sure they have the correct insurance information for me. The registration woman had come into my room at about 9pm with forms for my old insurance provider (oh, how I miss my old insurance provider). I told her I had new info. She never came back for it. So I had to stop at the desk and give them my new info. There was a guy checking in, using the phone at the desk to explain (I believe) to his friend (or loved one) that he was checking himself into rehab because his alcoholism was completely out of control. And the lady asked me for my social security number. I felt like pointing out that this was probably a pretty severe HIPPA violation, but I was tired and hungry and cranky and my back hurt and my elbows hurt and I just wanted to go home because I had already been there for NINE FRIGGING HOURS, so I gave it to her and left. On the way out of the parking garage, I had to pay $8.00, even with validation, because I had been there longer than six hours.

So what did we learn from all of this?
1) My heart is fine.
2) My brain is fine.
3) I do not have calcium deposits in my knees.
4) Nobody knows why I passed out.
5) Lumbar punctures are more painful in the recovery period.
6) Emergency room visits SUCK.

I know there is a lot of discussion in the media at the moment regarding the state of health care in America. It needs to change. The way things are is not okay. I wasted nine hours of my life to find out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, and I can't wait to get the bill to find out what it cost to find out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. Granted, it's nice to know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, though it still does make it a little odd that I passed out on Friday night, and I can't help but wonder if there isn't a more time-efficient way of figuring out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. For example, taking the random knee x-rays out of the equation and focusing on the actual problem. Or actually getting test results in the amount of time you tell the patient its going to take. I left that place last night feeling worse than I did when I went in, both physically and mentally. It was a mind-numbing, spirit-crushing experience. I can imagine people healing themselves through sheer will-power as they sit in the waiting room, waiting for someone to deem their ailment severe enough to merit treatment. And I hope to never ever ever ever ever have to go to the emergency room again. Unless I am bleeding out of every orifice or I have suddenly become separated from one of my limbs, I don't want to go. And I'm not going to. I will adopt the "walk it off" curative method, or seek out medical caregivers who...I dunno...care. All of the people who worked with me were very nice and friendly, but I did kind of feel like I was just a body, and the more they could do to me, the more money they would get out of me. I thought about asking if the delay in getting my test results was because if I stayed past midnight, they could bill it as a two-day thing.

And as a lovely added bonus to this delightful story, I called my insurance provider today. See, when I had an MRI done in April, I was covered by my old insurance provider (oh, how I miss my old insurance provider). I have paid my out-of-pocket expense from that MRI - a nice chunk of change. And I would like my new insurance provider to recognize that I have already paid over half of my ginormous deductible out of pocket this year, so I called my old provider to get documentation and called the new provider to find out where to send it and the new provider told me they don't think I can do that. Or, if it can be done, it has to be done by someone who is not me. I asked our HR contact at work - she doesn't know who that person could be or how the process works, so she has to ask someone else if it's possible. So I may end up paying what amounts to 1.5 times what my deductible should be because my employer decided to switch carriers in the middle of the year. No wonder people are going bankrupt left and right. We pay through the nose for insurance that doesn't cover anything until you're already in the gutter.

Sorry. A bit dramatic, but I think you get the point. Healthcare in America needs help. Now. I'm a ridiculously healthy person and it's screwing me over. Imagine the boat you would be in if you were actually sick.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, post-fainting protocol, particularly in the case of a headache that feels like your brain is on fire, is to call 911 and/or go to the Emergency Room. Just in case you were wondering.

So the Cubs season is over. Not as good a year as anyone hoped, but we still finished in second place. Which, considering the year we had, isn't too shabby.

Thank you, boys, for going out there every day and playing hard. Thank you for entertaining us. Thank you for the great moments. Let's try to limit the crappy ones for next season, yes?

And to the Rickets family, my suggestions for next year are to get Mark DeRosa back, and to let me bring my cat to a game. He'll hate it, but we'll do it in the name of breaking the curse if that's what it will take. Just an idea.

Thank you, Cubbies, and Pat and Ron and Len and Bob and everyone who makes watching/attending Cubs games the highlight of my summer. I'll see you guys in February!

So I wrote some pretty heavy stuff after class last night in my acting blog, and to sort of counteract a lot of that (the negative feelings, anyway), I feel like I need to list a few positive things about me over here today.

I am a kind person.
I am a generous person.
I am extraordinarily intelligent.
I make people laugh.
I have (as my mother says) one of the all-time great heads of hair.
I have amazing eyes that have the power to heal other people's wounds.
I listen to other people's wounds and try to comfort them.
I give really great hugs.
I am a good dancer.
I am fun to be around.
I am unique.
I have an amazing body that is really turning out to be a lovely shape.
I am a good friend.
I am strong.
I am independent.

And I am feeling silly about this post, but I think I need to post it anyway. A little positive reinforcement is a good thing.