sun
moon
silence
whisper
shout
wonder
doubt
bonfire
mirror
illusion
penetrate
actor
hesitate
pray
howl
midwinter
reborn
baptized
Bonus:
perspective
Had the much feared allergic reaction to my allergy shots.
#$@%^%$#!!!!!!!
Hello, hives. I hate you. You can suck it. You and your friend, Epinephrine.
Today marks the last day of 8-shot allergist visits. By the end of the day, I'll have completed the rough equivalent of three months of allergy shots, all since last Wednesday. And I'll get to slow down to the more modest pace of four shots a week for the next month.
All I'm really trying to say is this better work. Because if I'm going to walk around with a dozen bruises the size of needle punctures on my arms, I better see some results, dammit.
I should also mention that my appointment last Friday went exceedingly well, but I was so completely out of it that evening that I was stumbling around having really slow conversations with the Husband formerly known as Handsome, but not really finishing any of my sentences. He says is was pathetic. And hilarious. I don't really remember much.
Anyway, I blame it on the shots. And the Benadryl I took afterward.
"A drumset is a time machine, literally speaking—a machine for keeping time—though a drummer has to be the clockwork device to subdivide rhythm—to bring the time. In those days, I was not that drummer." (Neil Peart, News, Weather, and Sports)
And the time machine sitting in my living room transports me to another world, one where sweating is a joy and mistakes a chance for a do-over. Where nothing I do is wrong and the clockwork device holding the sticks is having more fun than anyone else in the room. It's sheer unadulterated, childlike joy, simple and incomprehensible.
"So today, think about what it is you need and were too embarrassed to ask for. And then go fucking do it. Wear a ball gown to the grocery store. Invite the neighbors to have a picnic on the front lawn. Get that novel out of your sock drawer and publish it yourself. Stand on a bus stop bench and belt out a song for the waiting strangers. Find a playground swing and remember how it felt to fly. Find your red dress. And wear the hell out of it." (Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess)
I found my red dress. And I'm beating the hell out of it. Your turn.
First set of allergy shots completed. And the Husband formerly known as Handsome surprised me with dinner on the grill and a big glass of wine, just for being brave.
me. brave.
That's a hard thought to comprehend. Because I'm not brave. I'm afraid of the worst-case-scenario, and having been there, I know it is a very real possibility.
The memory of that incident induced stomach-churning, heart-racing anxiety that grew to nearly debilitating as the moment of truth approached. In the afternoon, I drove to the clinic and submitted to four sets of shots, two in each arm, over the course of several hours. I came equipped with books, iPod, water, Diet Coke, power bar, and anything else I could think of to keep my mind off The Big Scary Thing.
And it worked. I got those shots and had no allergic reaction to them. And the fear and anxiety abated, at least for a little while. Hopefully, forever. Because I get to do this all again tomorrow.
(verb) to anticipate with great apprehension or fear.
Yep. That's the feeling.
Scheduled my first allergy shots for tomorrow.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010, 1:30 PM.
Send love, prayers, and courage.
Ok, I don't know if I can really call tomatoes and herbs a kitchen garden. Especially not when they're in pots on the patio. But, for the sake of progress on The List, I'm going to count these five little plants as a garden.
I'm officially growing cherry tomatoes, sweet basil, parsley, and rosemary - the things I use most frequently in my kitchen. So there.
Pictures forthcoming.
There's this:
"The federal Minerals Management Service gave permission to BP and dozens of other oil companies to drill in the Gulf of Mexico without first getting required permits from another agency that assesses threats to endangered species - and despite strong warnings from that agency about the impact the drilling was likely to have on the gulf.
Those approvals, federal records show, include one for the well drilled by the Deepwater Horizon rig, which exploded on April 20, killing 11 workers and resulting in thousands of barrels of oil spilling into the gulf each day."
Read the whole article.
11 families lost loved ones, thousands of families' livelihoods and businesses are threatened, and untold environmental damage has been inflicted resulting in loss of wildlife and habitats, not to mention the lost tourist dollars and the pollution of our beautiful beaches, all because some arrogant bureaucrat saw fit to approve this well (and others) without the required permits and without consideration of "strong warnings" against the projects.
This makes my blood boil!
According to this study, technology makes women happy. So there you have it: my happiness (and yours!) depends upon technology.
And there's more! "Social networking and gathering information online can help women to successfully juggle and manage all the different roles that fill their lives." And: "Anything that increases the sense of personal control in our lives, such as IT, will reduce anxiety and stress and keep us mentally well. ... IT can increase feelings of security, personal freedom and power, which can give us greater life satisfaction."
See how I helped you justify your next purchase? You're welcome.
Actual notes I took during a recent meeting:
Crocs are unattractive. Even with bows on them. Especially with bows on them.
Reading your slides to me insults my intelligence. I think less of you when you do this. Seriously. It makes me stabby. And sleepy.
Death by powerpoint is a slow way to go.
OMFG! I know how to fill out a form and navigate a web page. You must think I'm an idiot. I know I think you are.
Note to self: perfect the art of avoiding meetings. Always bring a sacrificial prop and feign a bathroom emergency.
Know what I really love? More rules and regulations!
Know what I really hate? Meetings!
angles
crescent
circle
luminescence
beacon
jewel
evening
reflection
facsimile
direction
starlit
grace
hand
eyes
reach
dream
Bonus:
joy
I've got my noise-dampening, iPod-connected headphones wrapped around my noggin protecting my sensitive little ears, beating the hell out of my set of drums as I play along to a favorite tune.
Handsome walks in. "Hey. HEY!" Flips light switch a couple times.
Removes headphones. "Hi!" Grins like idiot.
Handsome. "Hey, you were playing Lump! Not bad!"
*blink* "Actually, I was playing Day Tripper."
Handsome. "Oh." Shifts uncomfortably.
Me. "Well. At least I kinda sound like what I'm playing is a real song!" Grins like idiot.
Went to the rink for the first time in, oh I don't know, 20-ish years? Yeah, 20-ish years. . . that's already more than I'm willing to admit.
Anyway, strapped on the skates, remained upright, make several slow and precarious circuits around the room.
Did NOT fall on my ass. Did NOT get mocked or jeered.
WIN
It doesn't seem possible for a child of the 80s to have missed this basic life skill, but I did. So, I'm going out with some girlfriends tomorrow night to figure this thing out.
I expect to spend the entire night clinging to the wall with one hand and my friend Sharon with the other. Or on my butt on the floor.
Pray for me.
So, yeah. Turns out several years of dance instruction, competition and stage performance DOES NOT prepare you to play the drums. I mean, they are somewhat similar in that you are organizing all four limbs to move in coordinated rhythm, each limb doing something different.
And that's where the similarities end. Because playing the drums? Each appendage is doing something completely and entirely different from every other appendage. Often to the distraction of the brain to which said appendages are actually attached.
What I'm trying to say is this: drumming is a ton of fun, and once you figure out a rhythm you can go for a bit all jamming out and stuff. Then you're brain misfires and it all goes to hell.
So you start over. From the top.
Just like dance.
