MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Forty Miles of Hell and No End in Sight

"We will have peace with the Arabs when they love
their children more than they hate us."

- Golda Meir, Founder and Former Prime Minister of Israel


Dear Golda,
Hello from 2006. It has been 28 years since
you left this planet, left your beloved Israel.
Oh don't worry, it's still here...indeed, not much
has changed I'm sorry to report.

I always loved the above quote - you were indeed
a wise, wise leader in many ways. I've always wondered
though...in your heart of hearts...in the deepest, darkest
hours of any doubts you may have had...did you ever
dare harbour the thought that perhaps this idea, this great
sentiment went both ways? That you, Israel, would have
peace with the Arabs when YOU loved your children more than you
hated the Arabs?

I am not a Jew, nor an Arab, so what do I know about
these things. I am a human being though, and what I know
is that in the year of your death, 1978, Lebanon existed in
a state of civil war for 12 years. Since your death there have
been more bombings, more killings, more terrorist acts, and
we are a much sadder world for all of it. What I do know is the history
of your people. Perhaps not as well as you, but I am somewhat
a student of history and I know, I know. Why the Jews? Did you
ever wonder that? Because they are the chosen ones? Why have
the Jews been persecuted since the dawn of time? The place you called
home is still rife with tanks and missiles. It was once a defenceless
desert, a land the Greeks called Mesopotamia, the land between two rivers.
The Cradle of Civilization. The place once thought to be the Garden
of Eden. Oh but if it was ever paradise between the Tigris and
Euphrates, it has become the very antithesis of that now. I know
about the cruelty of Nebuchadnezzar and the destruction of the Temple.
I know about Emperor Titus and the bringing of the spoils of
Jerusalem back to Rome. The Crusades have been burned into
my mind and of course, the story of Moses and Pharaoh. And the one man who
took all of humanity's ills upon himself, a Jew, who died on the cross
for what we did, what we will not do, what we held, what we let go,
what we found, what we've lost.

Your people wandered the vast desert, this I know. Lost, tired and hungry.
And then, the horror of all horrors, the Holocaust. Six million
Jews. We have seen it, we have read of it, we have been taught
to never, ever forget. And yet I know we cannot really know
what the nightmare was really like. I can stare at the gaunt,
haunted faces at Auschwitz, with dead eyes and skeletal frames,
and I know I can never even begin to imagine that kind of Hell.
I do not know what it is like to be persecuted for being who I am.
For my religion, for my ethnicity, for the colour of my skin, for
who I am. I do not know.

I do not know what it is like to not have a country, a home.
For as much as I despise what my government is doing now,
I was born into a country that not only existed, but exists still
as some kind of bizarre superpower. I have always had a home,
a geographical and psychological idenity of sorts. I am an American,
whatever that means, for better or worse. It has little to do with
ethnicity or background or religion. It is more a state of mind, an idea.
But I know who I am, I know where I've come from, where my people came from and I know I have a place called home. I never had to suffer the
wretched indignity of being displaced from my home; I never had to
wear a mark on my clothing identifying myself. I was never torn from
my mother's arms and forced on a sweltering train bound for Hell.
I was never raped, starved, beaten, separated from all whom I loved
dearly. I was never torn asunder from the only home I ever knew.
I was never forced to work in the icy snow until my hands bled, to
sleep on hard, cold wood with lice and vermin and the stench of death
my most familiar companions. I was never forced to stand and fear
for my life on a daily basis; to beg God for mercy, to deny God, to curse
God, to have numbers burned into my skin until the day my earthly
body shut down and my soul crept off this mortal coil.

I know that your people never really did have a home. I don't
pretend to understand why that is. This tragedy in the Middle East has
perplexed me for 39 years; I suppose I could live to be 100
years old and still not understand all of its complexities and
contradictions. It is a battleground that has perhaps seen more
blood than any other place on earth. For I know that once upon
a time, a people called the Sumerians created what we call
civilization between those two rivers. And they created words,
and wheels, and ships and monarchies and societies and cities and
yet they fell to another group of people, the Akkadians. And like
dominoes the land would see the rise and fall of so many peoples;
the Akkadians giving way to the great Babylonian Empire, and
Hammurabi with his ingenius law code. Even Babylon fell to the
cruel and paranoid Assyrians, who lusted for power that took them
so long to obtain. But despite their citadels and defences, the Babylonians
rose again. The Tigris and Euphrates must have run red; rivers
running blood red with the deaths of so many innocents...for what?
Land. Resources. Dominance. Power. Lust. Greed. Religion.
Unable to overcome their lizard brains, they slaughtered each other
and your people too with blades of copper and silver and drank toasts
in cups of repousse gold. They built great cities out of azure blue bricks
and gateways of grandeur; hanging gardens for homesick wives and
towers so high they crumbled under the weight of men's pride.

After the war, the mantra. Never again. Never again.
The work camps, the gas chambers, the destroyed cities
and homes and decimated families...the piles of broken bones
and stench of the crematorium. Never again. The world understood.
It turned away for far too long but in its shame and regret, it
whispered as well, "Never again will these people suffer this
nightmare, this hell."

And three years after the end of the war, Israel was born.
But it was a cruel birth; it was necessary but it was more than the
birth of one nation. It was also the death of another. The story of
Solomon and the two women who both claimed to be the mother
of one baby, had a somewhat happy ending. Threatening to cut
the baby in half, Solomon discovered the real mother, who stepped
forward to save her child. The baby was spared; it wasn't divided in
two. For if it was, what then? Both women would suffer, and moreso
the real mother.

That is how I see the birth of Israel. Israel came about in 1948 by
splitting the land of the Palestinians in two. And death has been the
result of that birth ever since. Death and destruction. The Palestinians
were forced from their homes, stripped of their possessions, or forced
to leave with whatever they could carry with them. These people had
lives, and families, and a history there. And yet one day, it was decided
by other governments, that they should leave. I cannot imagine that
horror. And so the war began. The Palestinians would not give up
their land, their history, their pride easily. Never. Never. Never.
It is a familiar word, no? The Israelis were more powerful. So many
Palestinians reduced to nothing; so many dead, so many ending up
living in refugee camps. Why? What for? A displaced people. This was
their holocaust. Did you ever wonder what that must have felt like?
Does the story sound familiar?

Out of the horror, grief. Unimaginable grief. What are these people
fighting for? Land. Resources. Religion. Pride. Dignity. What is
rightfully theirs. But who is right? And so, some years, a battle of
inches. And some a battle of miles. Some, as in 1967, a battle of days.
And mothers buried their children in graves dug from the same soil.
And children wept over dead parents with the same salty tears.
Out of the bitterness and the rage grew hatred. Hatred so strong, so
unbelievable, so insane it became terrorism. All conscience has been
lost. All reason, disappeared. Now there is nothing left but the fervent
desire of the annihilation of your beloved country.

Do you see it? Do you Golda? Can you see what has happened?
The very thing that happened to the Jews....Israel and the world
was guilty of doing to the Palestinians. There is more than one tragic
story to be told here. Israel's fully justified mantra of "Never again" has
turned however, into a war mentality. The fear has been replaced
by hatred as powerful as that of the Arabs. And now, here we are
in the year 2006, and the hatred continues to grow.

Please, let me update you on the current situation. This week,
Israel has begun what might turn out to be the worst conflict
the Middle East has ever seen. The terrorist group Hezbollah
supposedly kidnapped two Israeli soldiers; a terrible act to be
sure. Hezbollah is a terrorist organisation, I know. I do not
support terrorist organisations. Israel's response was swift
and merciless. Hezebollah, which plays a role in Lebanon's
government, would not get away with this. And so Israel rolled
out the tanks, the war planes, the long-range missiles. Instruments
of death my country no doubt helped to procure for them, if
they were not given to them by America outright.

And war has all but been declared on not only Hezbollah but
on Lebanon, and sadly, its innocent citizens. Airports runways
have been blown up. Naval blockades have formed. Fuel depots
burn in the night. Defence Ministries explode. The Beirut-Damascus
highway burns with hellfire. It's only 40 miles. It's a small
geographical conflict. For now. Israel accused Hezbollah of sending
missiles into its country. Missiles hit Haifa - the farthest missiles
have gone yet. Are you impressed? Missiles are going
places never dreamt of in your lifetime! Suburbs in Lebanon are
being targeted; but to be fair, Israeli planes dropped leaflets and
told people to get out. To leave their homes, their lives behind.
And so we see them. In cars, on foot, carrying children and all
they can in old suitcases. And we see the ambulances. And hear the
sirens. And see rivers of blood running through the streets.

Television pundits are bantering the words World War III
around with nary a care. Because you see, we've got a few other
problems. Iran wants to make nuclear weapons. North Korea is
shooting off missiles into the Sea of Japan. I wouldn't even begin
to know how to explain September 11th to you.

I am not a Jew. I am not an Arab. I am a human being who sees
hatred so fierce that I fear no peace will ever truly exist in your
country, or the countries around Israel. Golda, neither the Jews
nor the Arabs love their children enough. You have all chosen hatred
of each other over love of your children, and of a future for those
children. You have condemned them, and perhaps all of us in the end
to a Hell that mere words cannot describe. Never foret, never forget.
What was it Golda, that we are never to forget? Hatred? For the cycle
has been born and when it dies, I fear we will all die with it.

So the world goes round as it always has and the lesson of the day
seems clear: love is not strong enough; hatred reigns supreme.
This is what is, in 2006. And what will come, remains to be seen.

Photo Credit: CNN - Fuel tanks burn at Beirut International Airport

We Are All The Children of Stardust

Yesterday was a sad day. I spent all of it inside
both my house and my head. I slept, and desperately
tried to memorise mathematical formulas in order
to jump through the next hoop that will be placed
before me.

In the news, the announcment that Syd Barrett died. What a life.
To have influenced so many; I wondered where did he go?
Did he know he was going? And where is he now?
Floating amongst the asteroids and comets and supernovas?

Terrorists blew up commuter trains in Mumbai, India.
Almost 200 people died and it is virtually incomprehensible
to imagine the horror and the nightmare of the scene
when you are thousands of miles away, living in another
country, another city, another place inside your head.

I do not know this world anymore and yet I thought once
I did. We cursed the Cold War, but as many have said now,
at least we knew the rules. It was an imperfect insanity,
marked by futile wars and thousands of deaths. Yet there
were perimeters, even alongside the blight of communism and
the bitter sadness of Vietnam, the heavy threat of mutually
assured destruction and Star Wars. Little did we know that
mutually assured destruction was indeed our saving grace.
The USSR did not want to be obliterated anymore than we did.
And so we lived. And down came the wall, in 1989, in Berlin,
and we all witnessed what we thought then was a glorious
moment in history. When did it end? Did it ever really begin?
Have we merely traded one set of fears for another? What
is the sum of all fears? Is this my life now, and for all the years
to come?

My heart is heavy, and I am scared. It is not as if terrorism
is new; indeed I can recall terrorist acts from my childhood in
the 1970's. But the rules of the game have changed. The USSR
disappeared and with it, some frail cobweb of connection that
held the misery and fear together. Internal wars and rebels and
grievances have turned Russia into a frightening, failing democracy.

It seems as well we can look back and fool ourselves into believing
everything was OK before September 11th. Intellectually we know
it wasn't. Europe and other continents and countries had been living
with the hideous blight of terrorism for decades. It was the shock
and scale and magnitude of the attacks on - gasp - American soil
that shook us awake from our dreams of immunity, our fantasies and
necessary illusions of safety. And we woke up, some of us literally and
figuratively, and we knew: there was never any safe place. There is
nowhere to run and hide. The boogeymen are not on the other side
of the world; they are here, they are there - they are everywhere.
None of us will probably ever forget where we were when we heard
the news - my mother woke me very early that Tuesday morning;
in time to see the Twin Towers fall, collapse into ash, dust, and vapourized
nothingness.

My mother, the queen of hyperbole, for once was not exaggerating
when she said our country was under attack. I knew, as sure as I'd
known anything in my entire existence, that the world had irrevocably
changed that beautiful Indian summer day. And then, the carefully
constructed nightmares of Afghanistan and Iraq. The mind cannot
fully fathom the grief, the agony, the lives destroyed forever by such
futile and senseless self-serving political strategies. The rules of
engagement no longer apply. The soldiers, over three years in, are going slightly
mad. They are living in a constant state of hypervigilance which
has pushed many to allegedly commit horrific crimes - rape and murder
and torture. If you are around madness long enough, you become
the madness. If you are living with monsters, one day you will
become the monster.

July 11, 2006, Mumbai, India. How many lives were destroyed on
those trains? March of 2004, Madrid. July of 2005, London. Mind
the gap. Mind the men and women who do care a whit about life;
who seem to long for death in their sick, twisted war. A war on....
what exactly? Ah, there's the rub. Tis there where the rules have
changed, and the players as well. They are everywhere now. They
are sitting in our junior colleges. They are sitting in caves in the
Middle East. They are insurgents in the deserts, hiding bewteen the
Tigris and Euphrates. They are walking amongst the businessmen
of Mumbai, and the commuters of London. My friend Catz and I
spoke today of what they want. What indeed? The Palestinians want
their homeland back. Can we blame them? The Israelis want a home
and for the world to never forget what happened to them. Yes, it
is understandable. The others - they all want something different,
and in the end, it's probably all the same. Some of them, like the
President of Iran, want the absolute annihilation of Israel. Osama
wants the annihilation of the West. al-Zarqawi didn't even discriminate
anymore - everyone and everything was a target. Men, women,
children. Christians, Jews and Muslims. He beheaded human beings
as if they were tiny ants he stepped on with glee. He is gone now,
but what does it matter in the end? A million others will take his
place. The madness has no end. It cannot be contained.

North Korea is hell-bent on obtaining nuclear technology. Kim
Jong Il taunts the world by firing off impotent missiles. Perhaps
now they will all fall and sink to the bottom of the sea, but he
knows the psychological effect it will have on the world. The board
game positions shift. We send a missile destroyer to Japan. There
doesn't seem to be any diplomacy, for how do you appease a
madman whose country and government remain a mystery?
India fires off wayward missiles; India and Pakistan live on the
precarious bit of peace gained over two long years, and now, and
now...Mumbai.

Ireland, Indonesia, England, India, Spain, Russia, America,
Iraq, Afghanistan, Italy, Scotland, Africa, the Philippines...is there
any continent or country that will not be touched by terrorism?
And the wall came down, but alas, it was not freedom that
was born, but a world unknown to us as before. The Cold War years
were a comfort zone and we didn't even know it.

I am in a way, glad I do not have children. Yes, the world has
always been a place where control is a mere illusion. My mother
was born two weeks before World War II. I was born during the
heaviest battles of the Vietnam war. But there has been a sea
change, and it is an ominous one at that. The tides have turned,
the waters are pitch black, still at some times, wildly turbulent
at others. There are no predictable tides, the man on the moon
smiles wanly down at us, as if to say, "I'm so sorry, I cannot control
any of this anymore."

We live on edge, on bizarre terror alerts, we live at the edge of
a beautiful spiral disk called the Milky Way, and we know we also
live on the edge of a steep precipice. Will we fall? How long and far
do we go with our lives before the terror starts encroaching upon
our freedoms? Last fall I insisted on riding the Tube. I would not
be undone in London by hate-filled terrorists. We road the shaky,
old rails, and it was like some kind of victory. We survived.
In New York I insist on riding the subways; a day after I arrived
in 2004 NYC was put on a high terror alert. I would not be dismayed
or discouraged. Fuck them, I said. Fuck their insanity, their threats,
their madness. It is easy to say when you still feel that invisible and
yet slightly comforting illusion; the cloak of comfort that envelops
you and tells you 'oh yes it is happening but certainly it could not
happen again, so soon.'

But it is happening. Over and over and over. And it will happen again.
And my fear, our fear, the collective fear that lives inside all of us,
whether we want to admit it or not, is that someday, one day, something
is going to happen that is going to make September 11, 2001 look
like child's play. What then? Will will even be here to contemplate
it? I never thought this would happen in my lifetime. I never thought
I'd live in a world so hopelessly caught in a tangled web of torture and terror.
There are no rules, the culprits are everywhere, hiding in the very
threads of this loosely woven fabric of madness; and they are nowhere -
they are ghosts, corpses among the corpses, voices and images on
shaky recorders and video cameras and they will never, ever be
easily be caught, killed or deterred. When death itself does not
deter a man or woman from his or her quest to kill and destroy,
what alternatives do those we seek peace have? When men are not
afraid to plow themselves into buildings in jets at 500 miles an hour....what then?

So we live with our fears, and we try to keep them at bay, and
we make macabre jokes, and we know, we finally know that
the laughing sadness that now owns our souls is not going away.

Photo: Our home, the Milky Way, in all its sad beauty.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

It's All Good

Isn't it? I mean, as long as we're all still alive
and healthy and kicking and breathing? Yes my
dear fans and fiends, ha!, kidding. I mean my dear
friends, all 2 or 3 of you ; )....I have my head on
straight again. I went a bit over the bend on the weekend
but I've reeled myself back in. No test is worth the
#1 thing to me, and that's my health, which is currently
in the toilet. I've been sleeping poorly, dreaming of
babies made out of vegetables (only Eek will truly, truly
understand this), eating sporadically and not well,
not taking my vitamins and haven't done a yoga pose
in weeks. So...I'm tired beyond description and in lots
o' pain. Bad, bad, me. So I'm listening to my body now,
and letting it do what it needs to do, whether that be sleep,
eat or what. My body wanted orange juice today, which to me,
was my body screaming, "For God's sake woman, eat something
that has some nutritional value!" I must ignore my body when
it wants to go buy more manuka honey though - that stuff is
loco expensive, and I've taken a real liking to it now. Addictive!

My tutor came today - he's only coming one more time.
He's so optimistic, I find him funny. I think he thinks I may
pass this test, and who knows - maybe I will! I'll study the best
I can, and I will let it go. I've got a LOT to do at the end of this week
and beginning of next week for the shows, and that has to take
precedence. Here's how I'm letting go - I'm not sure I spelled
that word right - precedence - but I'm not even going to use
spell-check or the dictionary. Let a word sit there spelled wrong.
And the world will still spin on its axis, which is, I might add,
tilted 23 degrees to the perpendicular, which is why we have
seasons! Isn't it lovely? Now due to the Coriolis effect, the winds
blow right in the Northern Hemisphere, where I live, under a high
pressure system, and they blow left in the Southern Hemisphere,
where SK and Sue C live (and a few others!), under a low pressure system.

So next time you're enjoying the fall colours on the trees,
or wondering how long this bloody summer heat will last,
or freezing your little tush off in the snow, remember, it's all
due to 23 degrees, and naturally it all depends on where you
live as to what season we're in. I still think people in Australia
live backwards, season-wise. Have they always thought
that about us? Hee. Which is why I find it fascinating that SK blogs about his
freezing kitchen, whilst I blast the A/C with the 100 degree
temperatures here. See, I've learned some science. Just don't
get me started on isotopes.

So I turn on CNN today and I hear India's shootin'
missiles off. INDIA? I can't keep up. I thought it was North
Korea that was shooting wayward (thank God) missiles off
right and left and right. The Sea of Japan thanks you, Kim
Jong Il-Fucking Maniac, for polluting it with your impotent
missiles. And yet thank god they don't have the technology.
So what in Pete's sake is India doing? What is it, National Shoot
Off Your Missile Month? Can't these guys go back to jerking
off the old-fashioned way? (all pardons to my more sensitive
readers).

Seriousy, it's kind of scary when the US sends a missile destroyer
for permanent deployment to Japan. We laugh...until we don't.
Or as my mom said, "Life goes on...until Kim Il-Jong decides it
doesn't." And China! Well, they're going nuclear too - you know, running
out of fuel and all that. So we must enjoy each moment, I suppose
because we do not know what the future will bring. It is becoming
an exceedingly frightening time to be alive. Who the hell decided
to split that first atom in the first place? Ugh!

I also apologize to my humble readers for the amount of times
I used the "F" word in my last blog. No, not Marty's 'f' word - that
would be 'fun' and I'm wasn't having too much of that. The
shall we say, traditional 'f' word. Joycie and my own mum aren't
even reading my blog, but a girl shouldn't end up sounding like
she's in a Quentin Tarantino film.

And now....the most important news for last.
Keith Richards has announced he's ready to tour.
Did anyone ever doubt it for a minute? My grandma and
Keith Richards: two immortal human beings.
At least my grandma isn't climbing trees.

Only a bit over a week until....THE CHURCH!!!!!

Photo: The boys of summer (well, our summer)

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Breakdown

Well, I'm not even sure this is going to post correctly
as apparently something is fucked up with my blog. I
thought it might have to do with something in regards to
the last blog, so I deleted it. I don't know how my blog looks
now to other people. It looks fine to me, but obviously
something's wrong.

I think I finally cracked today. I'd been studying science so
long and so hard my brain literally hurt. Even though I know
your brain can't hurt; I swear mine did. I promised my tutor
Mike I'd take a practice CSET math test and I did this morning
and fucked it up in more ways than I can count. Granted I was
tired (what else is new), anxious, totally froze up when I realized
I didn't even know how to go about the first question. I blew so
many - I would've failed and the test is less than two weeks away.

There's a lot riding on this test - mainly my ability to student
teach in January. I need to do that to continue forward and make
money. I don't have endless amounts of money. I just paid a bunch
of medical bills, my tuition, credit cards, cell phone...Jesus it adds
up. I've never been so frazzled and out of it. I am really scared.
This is not like me. I am usually very organized, on top of everything,
I remember everything, and conduct my life in a pretty
responsible manner.

I've always prided myself on being on top of EVERYTHING.
I am nothing if not organized, responsible and conscientious.
Yes, I am a perfectionist and over the years I've learned to let that
go, but it's hard. Even with FMS I am a type A personality.

I realized, with complete horror and shock (I am a bit of a drama
queen) that I completely forgot to pay my estimated taxes in June.
I pay taxes four times a year on the interest I get from the modest
inheritance I received from my father. The week the taxes were due
was the week my friend had surgery, the week I went to meet Anderson Cooper, the week my kids graduated, and the last day of school. In ten years, I have NEVER forgotten to pay my taxes.
I know it's not the end of the world - hell, I'm sure the penalty
won't be that huge, but it was like an indictment of how disorganized
and scrambled my brain has become. I couldn't even blame that
goof on the test.

I had a miserable day today. Gena took me out, we had lunch
and I know I was a lousy companion. I'd just essentially failed my
math test and I've spent hundreds of dollars on this tutor. I am NOT
a stupid person. I have a master's degree, I had almost a 4.0 in
grad school, I have a fairly decent IQ. I just cannot comprehend
math. And apparently I'm missing science questions I should be
getting too. The problem with these fucking tests is that they
expect you to study and know EVERYTHING - and it's impossible.
I have an excellent memory and I have an amazing amount of
knowledge in my head, but it never seems to be enough.

I've been very emotional, crying at the drop of a hat. I've noticed
when I type letters my words are screwed up. My spelling is totally
off. I can't seem to form sentences when I speak. My house is a mess.
I started stuttering last night talking to my mom - I've never
stutterd in my life. I'm tired constantly. I'm in pain all the time -
I'm sure it's do to the mental stress I'm under.

I know this isn't a life or death situation; it just would be so
easier for me if I pass this now, rather than have to take it again
in September when school is started and I have four classes to go
to.

The thing that scared me the most, is I am so preoccupied,
I almost caused an accident driving with my friend in the car.
She said she was going to drive until my test was over. It's fine
with me. I am struggling with myself to just let go of this - all
I ever wanted to do was matter a little bit in this world - to make
the world a better place. I love teaching. Why is it so hard? I've
proven I'm a good college teacher and I'm excellent with little
kids. They're screaming for good teachers - here I am you fuckers!

Tonight G and I saw Pirates - wow. I'm exhausted from seeing it.
It was fun,and Johnny Depp was naturally delicious - but there was
SO much action in it that I think it was a bit much. It ended exactly
as if there is a sequel coming...and of course we know there is.

Today G and went to Whole Foods. I shelled out and bought some
Manuka Honey. Damn, that IS expensive. I tasted it tonight. I am so
used to the clover honey I get that the manuka honey tasted slightly
bitter to me...but I think it's good and it'll grow on me. I've got to
make it last, haha. Whole Foods is introducing a huge new line of
vegan foods - they looked good. I know I couldn't go vegan. But I was
reading one of their vegetarian magazines and I am seriously
considering going vegetarian. Long before I listend to Steve Kilbey
ramble on about the horrors of meat, I have been conflicted when
eating meat. I might start to gradually phase meat out of my life and see how I do. Its' funny, G was busy buying something and I stood in
front of all the beers looking at the. I don't normally drink beer but
I somehow wanted to get really plastered. The guy at Whole Foods
said, "Can I help you?" and I said, "Yeah, I wanna get drunk." I
don't think he knew what to make of that! He kind of laughed. He
said "Well if I can help you with any specific brands, let me know."
Yeah, how about something herbal?

Steve, lovely soul that he is, actually answered many of our questions,including mine. I loved his answer. He is a good guy -
learning to be nice. Funny, I've been so nice my whole life I
think I've let people run right over me. I don't need to learn
to be nice. But we're all here for different lessons. I need to learn
to let go and let God.

I absolutely refuse to have my Church week ruined by this test.
By next Monday, I want the bulk of my studying done. I will not study on Friday, the day before the test. Sadly I might
have to leave that show early - it figures the show is in
Anaheim and I'm in Simi Valley. I need a few
hours of sleep before the test.

This is an introduction to all my new blogger friends to how
anal retentive and perfectionistic I am, haha. I just want to give
myself a break. I feel so much pressure, and all, the pressure
is coming from within me. It's been this way my whole life. It's
a miserable way to live. I haven't pursued a new goal for so long
that I haven't had to feel any pressure. I was in a comfort zone
and I've pushed myself out of that zone. It's a bitch.

Tomorrow I plan to study math, slowly, and learn what I screwed
up on. Monday Mike is coming and then he is not coming until the
Thursday before the test. I figure at that point, I'll either sink or
swim as they say.

I can't believe I just spent $3000 on bills, tuition, parking passes, etc.

I'm praying to the Gods, whatever might be up there, to let me
get my head on straight. A stupid test isn't worth my health, it
isn't worth getting my friend and I killed in the car. I look forward
to next Monday, when I plan to essentially let it go and concentrate
on the Church activities. I feel like I deserve to enjoy myself and have a good time.

Life is short, this shit isn't worth it. Mostly I think I am worried about finances. I NEED to go back to work and start bringing in
money again, instead of all money going OUT.

Time for bed. Bless those poor souls in that Russian air crash.
I am well aware that my problems really don't amount to a hill
of beans in this crazy world. I hope the crash doesn't scare Steve.
I swear once, I spent years flying and every single time I would fly,
I kid you not, right before I flew there would be a major air disaster.
That did not help my fear of flying, to say the least.

So much pain, and grief and sorrow. Usually I am really good
at getting perspective on things. Hopefully I will be better.
And hopefully this blog looks normal. If not, please tell me.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

It Ain't a Party Until Somebody Cries

Well yesterday was OK
not too bad actually;
the pool was heavenly - deliciously
cool water on a sunny, hot, perfect
Southern California Fourth of July.

I played with my cousin's little kids
in the pool and didn't eat too much;
the day flew by so quickly. It was strange.
At the end , I thought, "That went so
fast. It's over already?" And I thought
I could live to be 100 and that will be
what life is like. It was over before it
began.

The kids are all adorable, especially
Carson, who wanted to be thrown up
in the air and into the water repeatedly.
He is 2 1/2 and just said, "Again" so many
times. Then Kevin, who is 4, started crying,
and hey, that's when things really began swinging.

My grandma and grandpa, those people
who I call The Immortals, are still going
strong physically. What I find really ironic
is that I watched one Twilight Zone episode
at their house yesterday and it was about
a man who'd found the secret to immortality
and was over 2,000 years old. He was truly
immortal. But he didn't enjoy it like he thought
he would. He was tired. He'd watched everyone
around him die, and die, and die again and again.
In the end, he was killed, and it seemed a relief
to him. He said, although he feared death, he realized
that death is what gives life its true meaning.
My grandparents do not have the ability for such
introspection and clarity of thought. I love them, but
they are the simplest of people. I do not think my
grandmother has ever questioned anything in her life,
especially death.
I know she is afraid though.

My grandma's
mental state is not good. She called me about
four names before she remembered mine.
She knows who you are; she just has to go
through the entire family tree before she
gets to you. She's getting bad with her sense
of time and numbers. I wondered if a
certain part of her brain was deteriorating on
its own. She told me, "Next month I'm going to
be 23."

It was hard not to laugh. I said, "No, you're
going to be 93." I think she had herself at
64, and a few other ages too. She talks about
her work at the hospital as if the people she
worked with were all still alive. Will I be this
way? What is going to happen to me? I have
no children; I doubt I will. Where will I end up?
Or will I, with the way the world is going.
No use worrying about it. My father always told
me the things you worried about never seemed
to materialize and the things you never worried about
often happened. It's true for me. For him. Perhaps
a shark will eat me. Or I will be run down by a bull
in Pamplona. Because you see, I never worry about
those things. I am deathly afraid of sharks, and rarely
go into the ocean (thank you Steven Spielberg). And
I think running with the bulls is one of the stupidest
events on earth. I think anyone who does that deserves
to get gored in the ass. Poor bulls.
So yes, expect the unexpected. More cliches to come.
A dollar a cliche. They'll be on sale til midnight.

My grandfather is more amazing. Too bad I'm
not related to him; technically he's my step-
grandfather, but the only grandfather I've ever
really had. He is almost 93 as well - he's got
genes that are even more stunning than my
grandma's. A few years ago he fell and broke a
hip. At his age, that usually would've been it for
someone. Not him. He recovered; he's even got
disintegrating vertabrae and just keeps plugging
along. He does have a cane now, and he hasn't
driven in years so he has a scooter - actually two.
I said, "Oh a two-scooter garage!" He shops
and scoots around, deaf as a post. It's a miracle
he isn't killed in traffic.

But what's truly amazing, and I wish you could
all see this - is that the man doesn't eat anymore.
I mean, his caloric intake daily must be under 500
calories. He is literally, literally a skeleton. And yet
he drags this skeleton around - how? HOW? My mom
and I think they are both alive on sheer will.
I don't know why he doesn't eat. I guess he's not hungry
for some reason.

He bar-b-qued the steaks yesterday. I felt sorry for
the cows. Not only were they slaughtered for their meat,
but he burned those steaks so that they were like pieces
of charcoal. Needless to say, I didn't have any steak. I'm
not much of a beef eater anyway.

My grandma did get me laughing when she
started talking about the neighbour down the street.
Some woman who's 102 years old. My grandma was
saying, "I wouldn't mind getting really old, as long as
I have my mind." It was so strange; first, she said it like
she wasn't old yet. I'm thinking, lady, you're old. Perhaps
we never think of ourselves as old. I mentall still feel
about 25, but thanks to fibro, the gift that just keeps
on giving, I physically often feel like I'm 105. Anyway, I
inadvertantly burst out laughing and had to stop myself
because she pretty much HAS lost her mind. She doesn't
have Alzheimer's so much as your garden-variety senile
dementia. Her caretaker, Delia, just looked at me and smiled.
Delia is a saint. I mean really, forget beatifying the late Pope.
Delia needs to get in line ahead of him.

I told my mom, "She thinks she has her mind, but
she doesn't." Maybe that's like me. "She thinks she has a soul
but she doesn't." We're just a mass of chemicals and neurons
and dendrites and fibers and one hard blow will make
us disappear....where?

It's all absurd lately.
North Korea is launching missiles into
the Sea of Japan. It appears they may not
have the technology yet to hit us, but they
will get it. I hate that fat little North Korean
communist dictator. Kim Il Whatever. Normally
I do not call anyone fat. But I will call him fat and ugly
and worrisome, because we have our own maniacs
in our own government to worry about. We don't need
anymore maniacs interacting with maniacs.
And to think, as a child, all they
pounded into us, at school, was fear of the big, bad
USSR. Get under your desks! Drop and cover!
As the brilliant comedian Lewis Black says, these
are the adults. ADULTS. In charge of children. And
they are telling us to essentially get under a pile of
wood, of kindling, while an atomic bomb goes off.
And if we survive the blast, it's a sure bet, as he says,
we'll walk outside and our nose will be melting onto
our shoe.

I believe there will be a nuclear
'incident' of some kind in my lifetime...
if I have a lifetime akin to a normal lifespan.
It is frightening. Am I a pessimist for saying this?
I don't know. Everyone started talking about it in
the pool yesterday. My cousin said she would rather
just be hit directly rather than suffer the effects of the
aftermath. I started yelling "Nice holiday conversation!"
I just wanted a few minutes in the pool, in the sun,
without thinking about these things.

Ken Lay, of the Enron disaster, died from
an apparent heart attack. His 'pastor' said,
"His heart just gave out."
I said, "What fucking heart?"
In a way, I am angry. The bastard won't see
the inside of a prison; he escaped his earthly
punishment. How convenient. I can only imagine how
those directly affected by his massive arrogance
and greed feel. I can also only hope there is
some kind of judgment after this life, although
I suppose it isn't mine to dole out, or even wish
on a person.

I'll never forget seeing his wife crying on TV,
crying because they were going to have to sell off
some of their 5 or 6 homes. I have no words. Well,
I do, but they're really pretty bad, so I'll refrain.
I'll pretend that my mom Carole, and Steven's mom
Joycie, are reading my blog. Apparently they both
freak out at the mere mention of the mention of
swearing.

My sleep schedule has been screwed up and I need
to get on a correct one soon. The last two and half
weeks of studying are before me...as are a few Church
concerts. I need energy to get through it all and energy
does not come to me so easily anymore.

My dreams are getting more and more surreal. And I
mean surreal. Salvador Dali would be proud. Even I'm
getting scared of my own dreams.

No photo. Too tired to even find one.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons
Happy Birthday America

Oh yay!!! I got home from the fireworks
extravaganda at the Bowl and one of the best
Twilight Zone episodes is on. It's the one where
the plane keeps flying around and gets lost in
time. They keep trying to get back to New York
but they've gone back in time and cannot get
back to the correct year; they're stuck in
1939 now - the year my mom was born.
At least they're not in outer space. I swear every single
marathon they always show every single space episode.
Now the pilot is telling the passengers they've flown
backwards in time. And I thought turbulence was
scary. Rod Serling was a fucking genius. If only he'd
figured out how bad cigarettes were for you.

The Hollywood Bowl was a lot more fun than I
thought it would be. I have that problem though.
I tend to dread all social events, but 9 times out
of 10, I end up having a good time. It's never as
good as I'd hoped...or as bad as I'd feared, to quote some moody
bastard. They've re-done the front of the Bowl...I don't think anyone's
seen the gorgeous art deco statue there
since the place opened in 1922. It really is
a spectacular venue; a gorgeous place to listen to
music outdoors. It was unbelievably warm tonight.
My fruit tarts melted into piles o' goo. So no fruit
tarts.

The show was the usual patriotic mishmash
with - get this - Kenny Loggins as the special
guest. Ok, when Jill told me this I was like,
Kenny Loggins? All I remembered about him
was that he did that song "Danger Zone" for Top
Gun. I thought he had disappeared. What a goof.

Not so! I actually knew SO many of his songs
it is scary! Hey, what about "Danny's Song"?
I love that sappy tune! It was really quite lovely;
Kenny stuck the microphone out and we all sang
"And even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with ya honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes,
And tell me everything is gonna be alright. "

It was so beautiful, hearing all the soft, lovely voices
echoing against the dark hills surrounding the iconic shell
on the stage. I'd totally forgotten he also did the song "I'm All
Right" which begins one of the funniest freakin' golf movies
ever - Caddyshack. That's some funny shit.

Ok, but here's the really scary part. I thought Kenny
looked really hot. Super sexy. I love his hands. I love
men's hands in general. But his are great hands. Long
fingers. Tan. I love to watch men do things with their
hands....yeah, like play guitar. What a cliche! I just sat
there and thought, I'd like to have some hot monkey sex
with Kenny. Obviously, I am more disturbed than anyone
previously thought.

Anyway, I have NO idea how old Kenny is;
he's got to be in his mid 50's at least. I mean
the man put out his first stuff when I was about
3 years old. But he's lookin' good and geez does
he have some serious fans! Mostly female of course
and they were cracking my friend Jill and I up so hard.
This one woman was truly 'dancing like no one was
watching' and I am not making fun - good for her,
but damn, it was a riot.

The night ended with truly incredible fireworks;
the orchestra played all sorts of patriotic tunes
and we ooooohed and aaaaahed and sang America
the Beautiful.

Now I am home and need to go finish my word
problems before I go to my grandma's house
for swimming and a bar-b-que tomorrow.
I was thinking of these women getting so
into Kenny, and I thought well hell woman,
in a few weeks that's gonna be you at the
Church concert - unless Steve has some kind
of nervous breakdown or something. Because
he seriously seems to have something going on.
I could be wrong, but right now, this does not
seem like a happy man.

And yet once upon a time, I looked at
those guys and thought "Oh they have it all."
I thought their lives were magical or
something. Especially Marty. I swear when
he put out his Art Attack CD, I used to listen
to it every night when I lived in Brentwood.
Every night around 7pm I went for a walk.
I lived in a really crappy apartment in a
very beautiful neighborhood. The voyeur
in me loved to walk at dusk, and peek into
the warm yellow glow of stranger's windows.
Not to see anything risque; on the contrary -
it was the ordinariness of stranger's lives
that fascinated me. The myriad events of the day,
collapsing gently into the arms of night,
the sounds of glasses clinking and silverware
and dishes and dinner conversations....the
different, often delicious scents of various
meals wafting out open windows....the cats
that sat in windowsills, the leaves swaying
in the summer breeze as I walked down
the sidewalks...Art Attack was the soundtrack
to that time in my life. I honestly thought
Marty lived with Ann in some kind
of gingerbread house in Sweden; he
sat by the fire with the cuckoo clock ticking
away, a modern day Dorian Grey. I think
I thought fuckin' fairies visited him and
he was so perfect with his shiny long hair
and his gorgeous bone structure and that
Ann, what a bitch she was! I thought surely
they just traveled the world, looking like
The Beautiful People, wearing fashionable
clothes and nothing bad or stupid or real
ever touched them.

I was 21. Naive isn't the word for it.
I had pixie dust in my eyes.
I've seen The Wizard of Oz.
You'd think I'd know that the
Wizard was just a small, frightened man
behind a big curtain.

Photo: The Hollywood Bowl Fourth of July Fireworks show

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Fuck It

I have nothing profound to write.
I am in a pissy mood. What should be a nice,
relaxing time - fourth of July and all - has
turned into one of the most stressful times
I've had in a while.
The tutor came today. I fucked up on my
exponents and screwed up my homework.

He seems to be living in some fantasyland,
either lying to me, or actually believing I'm going
to pass this test. I've been studying science non-stop
for days. Chemistry is the only thing kicking my ass.
Everything else, I am good with.
Although Newton can kiss mine, with all his laws.
Didn't he have anything better to do than sit around
and figure out the fuckin' laws of motion?

Going to the Hollywood Bowl tonight with my friend
and her family. They have great seats up front because
her grandma is handicapped. They had great seats before
because her mom had MS. A really shitty reason to have
great seats. Her mom died three years ago. It's weird to
go to the Bowl without her. I know they'll have fireworks
tonight; I've been there before around the 4th and they
really are spectacular. Maybe that will put me in a better mood.

My mother and I got into a bad one - she finally confessed
she's been angry about some real estate we sold in 1999.
For 7 years she's blamed ME for selling off too soon. Like I
knew what was going to happen with the goddamned real
estate market. It was a decision made by the whole family
after my dad died. I take the hit for everything with her.
I never lived with "What could have been." She's been living
that way for the last 7 years. I just figured, as Maya A. says,
"You did the best you could at the time with what you had."

Jesus. I'm sure a lot of people would've called in sick on
September 11, 2001 if they'd known they'd be taking a
leap off the 103rd floor of their building before their
10:00am coffee break. I can't live anymore with what could
have been. It's hard enough to live with what is.

I have a ton of math homework but am expected to be
at a family bar-b-que tomorrow. Why don't they just put me
on the grill. At least the Twilight Zone marathon is on.
Somehow, that always comforts me. Insane, isn't it?
I registered for four classes this morning. Still need to pay my
tuition. I'm going to try and sub during the day.
I'm freaked out. I've never gone to school full time,
and worked, esp. with the limited energy I have.
I have no choice. But I'm still scared.

Something about Steve Kilbey's last blog really,
really upset me. I swear I could't tell if he was kidding or not.
His fans piss me off even more.
I'm supposed to be excited about going to see The Church.
There's something really disconcerting though when Steve
starts to announce he needs his ego stroked.
He pisses me off and breaks my heart. What can I do?
I want to save him, make his life better. I can't even do
that for myself. I gave up the salvation complex after my
dad. Didn't work out too well on that one.
I like commenting on his blog; I've probably made hundreds
lose their lunch with the constant gag reflex.

As my blog says today, fuck it.
Maybe North Korea will make good on its threat
and blow us all to hell
and none of this will be a worry at all.

Photo Credit: CNN - North Koreans make their feelings known.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Freedom's Just Another Word for Nothing Left to Burn

I wasn't going to go here, but this is an issue that seriously
gets me really fired up, pun completely intended.
With nothing better to do - I mean, besides watch the body
count rise in Iraq, watch the oil companies rape America
and laugh, ignore the immigration problem and watch
Israel pound the shit out of the Palestinians, Congress got bored
and decided to bring out the old "let's ban flag burning" amendment.

Thankfully, it did not pass. But this time it almost did. It was close.
Too close. Frankly, I'm surprised it didn't pass, what with this
myopic Congress full of ignorant, jingoistic, nationalistic, uber-patriotic
pussies who have already betrayed the United States Constitution in
ways our Founding Fathers could never have imagined.

I have already felt so massively betrayed by this government,
I don't know how I could feel any worse. However, amending the
Constitution to ban flag burning is akin to simply announcing
"You now live in a dictatorship. The United States is taking away
yet another of your freedoms, one that is ironically protected in
Amendent One of the Constitution. This is tyranny. Welcome to
your worst nightmare."

I really do love my mother, dearly. But this is an issue we
argue over again and again. Like Congress, I just don't think
she can see the finer points of the argument. And really, it's not
that complicated.

Burning the American flag is something I have never done,
and hopefully will never do. Frankly, I've got too much other crap
to do to just survive and try to enjoy life instead of burning
flags. When I see the American flag burning on television, it is
not a sight I particularly enjoy, although it has become so common
now, I am fairly immune to it. I have never thought of myself as
particularly patriotic. Sure, I pledged my allegiance to the flag
in elementary school, because I was young and that's what we did.
I stand up at baseball games and sing the National Anthem. I even
get teary-eyed sometimes. Certainly I do not equate this emotion,
this warmness in my heart with the evil, murderous government
of this country. Perhaps I am just fond of the idea of what America
could be. Perhaps I am dreaming of what the Founding Fathers
had in mind for the country. Perhaps I just love the vast and wonderful
geography of this beautiful country. Perhaps I am just grateful for
what freedoms we do have here. Perhaps I'm idealistic enough and naive
enough to believe that most people in this country are good. Although
the fact that Bush was voted President in the last election has convinced
me that there are a lot of stupid people in this country as well. Or
perhaps I should say, not completely informed. Narrow-minded?

The day that this government sees fit to pass an amendment to the
Constitution banning flag burning, I will go and buy an American flag,
stand in the street, and set it on fire.

Why? Not because I want to, and I certainly won't enjoy it. In fact
I will probably cry while doing it. And not because I am burning a piece
of material with stars and stripes on it. I will cry because one more
freedom will have been taken away from this country.

From the American Revolution, when men and women
died for freedom from king and crown, to World War II
when men and women died for freedom from the hideous
tyranny of Hitler and those who propped him up politically,
these two wars, as abhorrent as wars are, have been about just that:
FREEDOM.

Now I wish I could be as idealistic and peaceful as
Mr. Kilbey. I abhor war as much as he does, and wish to God
there'd never been one war on this planet. But the fact is, there
have been wars and sometimes diplomacy fails - sometimes
everything fails and men start brutally killing each other. It isn't right
and it isn't just, it just is. Indeed there are probably never any real
'just' wars - there has got to be corruption in
everything...perhaps, despite Neville Chamberlain's appeasement of Hitler
it was all going to go down the way it did anyway. I believe since the days
Homo sapien sapiens (oddly enough, we are called 'wise wise men')
learned to pick up a rock and throw it, and shoot a spear at something, there
were gonna be wars. It's the worst part of human nature, but it seems to
be human nature all the same. I believe the people fighting in the American
Revolution believed strongly they were fighting for their very lives, and
for freedom to live those lives the way they wanted to, and I believe
the "Greatest Generation" believed they were fighting for freedom from
the tyranny of madmen. Whether or not those wars were just, or right,
I cannot say. From a pacifist's standpoint, no. From a realist's standpoint, shit
happens, and so do wars. But back to the those folks in the American
Revolution and WWII who were no doubt fighting for what they believed to
be...

...Freedom to govern oneself, freedom to represent oneself fairly,
freedom to be oneself, whether Jew or German or Japanese.
The American flag is a SYMBOL of that freedom. It is NOT THE
FREEDOM ITSELF. The flag, in all its glory, is material, whether cotton
or nylon, natural or synthetic; it is colors and stars, it is matter
and atoms. It is NOT the IDEAL of FREEDOM, nor the IDEA of
FREEDOM that these men and women died for.

The American flag represents freedom - including the freedom
to burn the American flag. That is what thousands of young boys
died for on the beaches of Normandy. That is what the ideal of America
is about: FREEDOM. Freedom of expression, of ideas, of politics and
religion. I believe burning the American flag amounts to expression,
speech, even political statement. It is not a criminal act, nor should it
be treated as such.

What is Congress thinking? You cannot desecrate the ideal of freedom.
It remains, as long as you do not take it away from the people. That would
be the true desecration of the symbol of the flag.
I could burn a million American flags, and yet freedom will still reign.
If I cannot burn one flag, freedom has been taken away, and our country
is worse off for it.

Why is it so hard for some people to see what is essentially so simple?
Allowing me, and others, to choose to burn the American flag, if we so
desire, is to honour all those who fought, were injured and even died so
that we could RETAIN this freedom. These men and women did not die
so that the government could, little by little, start taking our freedoms
away from us.

I hope I never have to burn an American flag. But if I do,
I will see it as an act of freedom - the very freedom the flag
SYMBOLIZES. For you can desecrate and destroy matter and material,
but you cannot ever, ever, ever destroy the idea of freedom by
burning the very thing that symbolizes freedom.

You cannot destroy the idea of freedom, the symbol
of freedom, and that is what the flag ultimately is: an idea, a symbol.
The flag, in its symbolic nature, gives me the right to burn it.
Long live freedom, and my ability to express that freedom.

Photo: Old Glory, long may she keep freedom alive.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Blah Blah Blippity Blah

Or as the great Holly J would say
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!
Yep, that about sums up my Tuesday.
Today was supposed to be a day of
hardcore science studying...

...and speaking of cores, did you hear the one
about the core of the earth? It's supposed to be
10,000 degrees in there. I say, well how do you
know? Has anyone actually ever been to the core
of the earth? I thought not.

Science is more interesting than math, but
not by much. I've entered the extremely dry
world of organic chemistry today. Yawn.
Had an argument with my mother, whom I'm
convinced has been abducted by space aliens.
Ever see the movie "Invasion of the Body Snatchers"?
Seriously. I'm like, woman, who are you?
Bring back my mother, and then we'll talk.

I haven't gotten out of my pajamas all day.
I'm sorry to frighten all my blog readers this way.
But what's the point? Between science and another
flare- up of PMS (I told ya it started earlier and would
haunt me for days) I see no reason to get dressed.
I see no reason to live.
Haha!

I have my registration appointment to register
for classes for the Fall. I just need my tuition money.
Money, money, money. It's always about fucking money.

Zoe must be as bored and full of ennui as I am,
for earlier she was on the living room carpet,
literally twirling her plump little body in circles, chasing her tail.
I said, "Oh Zoe, are you doing an imitation of mommy?"
I broke down and took an Ultracet. I feel like I'll
be shooting heroin by 10:00pm tonight.
Next I'll be featured on that "Intervention" show.
Except when I walk into the room, only the cameramen
will be there.

Ba da-dum. Oh yes! I do self-pity too! And well!
Seriously folks, I'll be here all week.
Pop in any time for a possible shot of
me on the proverbial pity-pot.

I have it really good, but right now
my brain says, "Poor you."
Poor me. Why is everything such a struggle.
Why am I in pain, why am I alone, why do I have to
take these fucking inane tests!!!!!!
Oh! I am Sisyphus, pushing that rock up the
damned hill again.
I am nothing, if not dramatic. I wanted to be an actress
when I was in Drama in high school
but my parents nixed that idea. My audition for Drama
was a scene from The Diary of Anne Frank.
Even then, I was a serious little chick. Yeah well, I'm
still an actress...I just don't get paid for it. And ya still can't
take the drama and trauma out of me yet!
Running all this week: Camille!

My poor sister-in-law slipped on her porch stairs
in Atlanta and broke her ankle. So she and my brother
aren't coming out tomorrow. They were coming to visit for a week.
I'm bummed. Earlier in the summer I was thinking of
going to visit them; I'd still like to go....of course I could
always time it around the Church show, haha.
Yeah, there's always an ulterior motive, isn't there.
The plane fares are nuts though. Money again!

I got my hair done yesterday people.
It looks awesome. I'm just so sorry you can't
see how truly awesome my hair looks. I have
more hair than about 4 people combined. Really,
if I had a dime for every time a stylist said,
"You have SO much hair" I wouldn't be bitching
about money. It's a hassle, really. But my stylist
is a goddess who manages to straighten it, tame it, and
highlight it until it just looks well, awesome.
So here I am, dragging around the house, my face a wreck
(SK said no make-up - and this is what you get - would he
want to see THIS every day? Methinks not), my will to live
waning with each passing hour, trying to accept the fact my
mother's brain has been hijacked by aliens, my great fear of
running outside in my pajamas trying to score some crank
because I took an Ultracet...
but I have really frackin' awesome hair.
If you see me on Cops, thrashing about, swearing, in a yellow
floral nightgown, trying to bite a cop's hand, yelling and screaming
"I had no idea that place was a meth lab!" make sure and note
my totally awesome hair.

I am now considering eating the entire planet
as I am that hungry.
And so, these are the days of my sad little life
right now.
Someone knocked on my door, but eerily, no one was there.
I'm not making this up. I mean they used the knocker, and knocked
really loudly and I was at the door within 10 seconds and nothing
and no one was there.
Maybe it was my dad. He blew out the bulb next to my bed the
other night. Maybe he's discovered a new way to say "Hi!"
Hi ho, from the Other Side. Knock knock knockin' on D's door...

Is that fucking World Cup STILL going on?

Photo Credit: Hitlercats.com - Yes, someone had to do it. Find cats that look like Hitler. It shouldn't be funny, but damn it is REALLY funny.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles del Rio de Porciuncula
(Town of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels by the River of Porciuncula)

The great expanse and glittering hills
the low valleys, and concrete jungles - no,
it was never meant to be called "The
City of Angels" - indeed this place was named after
the Virgin Mary herself.
The irony is inescapable in this hedonistic
paradise; are there any virgins left?

To this day, having lived 39 years,
2 months and 28 days in this geography
I have yet to see a river; the Los Angeles River,
or any other. I imagine it's on a backlot somewhere.
Maybe over at Warner Brothers or Paramount
and I've taken the wrong tour.

Suburbia is sound asleep; all good
citizens tucked away in warmly lit
tin box heavens. Zoe and Fletcher have
turned in for the night; their excitement
at seeing mommy come home early
faded and they are curled up like
little cotton balls, dreaming of
only things cats can dream of.


I left the glaring neon lights of the city behind;
my foray into temporary insanity always
leaves me weary, stunned, sad, and
full of strange regrets.
Last night, Hollywood, or Hollywoodland
as it was first christened. We ate at a fanastic
Gothic-looking restaurant called Citizen Smith.
Comfort food and spectacularly expensive martinis;
there's a two hour limit at the tables - it's definitely one
of the current hot spots. Gorgeous inside, candles
adorning the dark walls, lush curtains, the familiar
glow of lives long lived and past.
We walked to the theatre (walking in the city? what a concept!)
and of course, there is no adjective great enough
to describe the decadent, gorgeous Pantages Theatre.
Thank God for gilded, carved wood work; the musical
was such a hideous nightmare, my friend and I couldn't stop
laughing. We paid a fool's fortune for good seats but during
intermission actually moved to the back of the theatre so
we wouldn't disturb the obviously mentally insane people
who were actually enjoying the freak-like circus on stage.
I have not laughed so hard, in so long. It was immature
laughter; forbidden laughter - the best kind. The kind
of laughter where stifling it feels like you're going to burst,
your stomach hurts and you can't breathe
and that alone was worth the fool's gold.

After our 'escape' we went next door to a
restaurant called Hollywood and Vine, located strangely
enough, on Hollywood and Vine. Lovely, dark,
elegant and beautiful. Was this what Hollywood
was like in the Golden Era? I walked up
Hollywood Boulevard, announcing the name
on every star on the sidewalk like some
crazy tourist. I squealed "Elizabeth Taylor!"
as if I'd just discovered the raven-haired beauty
myself.

Anyway, back at Hollywood and Vine,
which is famous for its banana cream pie...
We were forced to sit at a table in the back of the bar
as we weren't ordering alcohol. We ordered tea
and it came it tiny silk bags. Silk! The flavours
were terribly exotic; mint verbena, pink grapefruit
citrus magic something or other. I sat there wondering
how much it cost to use silk to wrap loose tea as
the denizens of the night glided past us outside.
The most gorgeous women - thin and beautiful
and bodies to die for - I laughed and thought how I
wasn't even looking at the men - I said, "My God,
the beautiful people really do live here."

Apparently there was a club next door;
I'm sure I exceeded the weight limit by a few pounds
or 20 or 30 or 150.
Behind us, on velvet couches, the most obnoxious, loud,
crass French customers sat, doing their best imitation
of Eurotrash. The woman wore a long-sleeved top,
her midriff showing, and cut-off jeans shorts so short
I felt like my own grandmother in my disapproval.
She also had these long black platform boots on. The
working girls down the street were wearing more.
Oh they say "How rude and obnoxious Americans are!"
whenever we go to Europe. Well, I've got news. The French
can be just as bad. For some reason, they were speaking in English
and with filthy mouths they loudly yammered away.
I admit though, the way they say 'fucking' sounds so much
more romantic. Ha. Finally they left and we left and followed
the city's morose, lonely, lost, sad, souls back to our car.
A homeless man lay curled in the fetal position on the sidewalk,
a black plastic bag over his head. My friend and I almost stopped,
and yet I didn't know what to think or do. We walked on, past
huge, swarming crowds of people just beginning their evening, as I
used to, a good 20 years ago, milling about outside various clubs.
Clubs whose names I did not recognize for this is not my city
anymore, these are not my peers, these are not my streets.
I was afraid. Another homeless man slammed a pay phone down,
looking for change. We wound our way in and out of bare bodies
and doors opened briefly as we passed, the pounding of various
songs blaring into the street, the smell of smoke so pungent and
the shadows so familiar I almost called out to myself. One door
opened, and the interior glowed red, a crimson memory, a place
I'd never been to, and yet had been to a thousand times. Music
I did not know, and music I'd heard my whole life. The mix of
liquor and perfumes and smoke and nostalgia and memory and
that scent - oh God - what is it - that one specific odour all clubs
seem to posess - oh, it took me back so fast, I almost collided
with my sweet young self. I stopped dead on the sidewalk, my friend
looking at me strangely - I said, "this is it, oh god, can you smell it?"
This is my past, it's still hidden here, it's still alive, it has a different
name, it's a different look, a different game, and it went on without
me, all the same. I don't smoke, I don't even like cigarette
smoke, I didn't even think smoking was allowed inside any
building in Los Angeles, but god it was a sweet reprieve,
a little kiss from my distant past, a whisper in
my ear, "My dear it wasn't meant to last."

I've walked the streets of New York city, a place
of which I am not a native, and felt less fear.
There are ghosts and beggars, fools and frauds,
cops and robbers and dirty dogs, lovers and drunks
and kids with more than time to kill in these streets,
hidden in those Hollywood hills.

Tonight, a belated birthday dinner at Encounter,
the space-age George Jetson restaurant at LAX.
More martinis and feeling slightly off-balance even
before the Ketel One, the iconic building built long ago
and yet the kitsch, the catch, the future, space-like decor
was so yesterday, and so tomorrow. The observation deck was
closed; it's been closed since 9/11. A memorial to 9/11
is on the ground floor between the spidery legs of the
building. My friend, ironically, was at LAX the morning
of 9/11 and in my horror I remember her telling me
they were evacuating LAX and she had to walk on foot
down Century Boulevard forever.

So we sat and ate and looked at the runway and
talked about how wonderful it would be to just
walk up to a ticket counter and buy a ticket to some
far-off distant, exotic place...to just up and leave
everything behind...at least for a little while.
Planes took off and landed and seemed to hang
in midair, circling, waiting for clearance to land.
Driving home, I've never seen so many planes
seemingly hovering in the night sky; even the
runways have traffic in L.A.

The Encounter lights glowed blue and purple
and red and green and space-age music played
along with traveler's dreams.
I asked the valet if the building had always served
as a restaurant; he told me it was initially built to be
an air traffic control tower but was too low - it's a stunning
piece of late mid-century architecture...the ground floor
still original, that early 1960's flooring with silver stars.
I've always loved the mid-century modern look; so futuristic
and streamlined. I gazed at the floor and remembered when;
but I knew in my heart this place I'd never been.

I don't really believe in reincarnation or past lives -
but why then do I miss so many things I've never done,
so many places I've never lived, so many people I've never met?
No, I was never a queen in Egypt (only on SK's blog), or even
a cat goddess...or a peasant on a lord's manor land...I don't know where
this longing comes from for distant worlds...how can I miss what
I've never known? How can I pass buildings and think, oh I'd love
to go back, when I've never been?
How can I remember the scent of jasmine in a desert dusk?
I have not lived these lives, but god I miss them so much.

All the faces and lives I've passed, all the looks unmet and
unknown, all the hands unheld, and words unsaid,
I wonder, I wonder, where will this energy that is me
go next?

For my birthday my friend gave me a gorgeous book
called "Hemingway's Cats" - a book I very much wanted
but probably wouldn't have bought myself. It's an illustrated
history of Papa Hemingway, and his great loves, his cats.
(Okay there are few women and dogs in there too.)
To see pictures of this 'macho' writer letting a cat drink
out of a crystal goblet on the table, or this big, burly older
man, gently holding a cat who'd suffered a heart attack,
gives you a whole new perspective not simply on Hemingway,
but on the magical, mystical love man and animals share.
According to the book, by 1945 Papa had 23 cats and 5 dogs.
He was a crazy cat man! He and his love Mary called the cats
"purr factories" and "love sponges" - the cats were treated as
royalty (as I'm sure they'd trained Ernest to this task well).
They slept in the guest bedroom and later lived in a room
built by Hemingway especially for his pets. Hemingway believed
cats had souls and that he would see his beloved 'love sponges'
in Heaven.

I hope and pray he was right.
Today would have been my dad's 64th birthday, my own papa,
who also loved cats. I really do hope there is a Heaven, with two big, burly
men, surrounded by meowing cats, and more love than we on
earth, could ever, ever imagine.

Photo: The "Theme Building" at LAX, built in 1961. Architect: Eero Saarinen. (It currently houses Encounter Restaurant. )

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

A Quick Overview of My Brain Melting

Math. Studying. All day, all night.
Pythagoras can kiss my Western European ass,
I am stuck on factoring algebraic equations!
Oh tutor! My tutor!
Get thee to my house soon tomorrow
so you can teach me what I do not want to know.

Even decimals are fucking with me, the tiny
little bastard dots.
Integers that are positive and negative.
How can a number be negative?
How can you NOT have a quantity?
Signs mess up my mind
+ - + - + -
I feel like throwing up.
In the car, on the way to the doctor,
I spew forth geometric formulas
A2 + B2 = C2 motherfuckers!
The area of a triangel is 1/2bh.
And still, I am terrified.

I went to the doctor.
Boy was he in a bitchy mood.
All doctors to me, are nothing more than
necessary evils.
Apparently this guy is an easy mark.
Ha! Only took me almost 13 years to find someone
willing to help me.
He gave me the Ultracet; but I want to use it very, very sparingly.
Thus far, due to my father's addiction history, I've managed to go
almost 40 years, not only not becoming an alcoholic, but barely
drinking and taking pills very sparingly.
I am not thrilled to do this. But it beats the Neurontin.
I cannot gain any more weight; my health is suffering and I feel
heavy and awful in my own body. If you never knew me before,
you probably wouldn't even say I had a weight problem. But for
the formerly thin me, this sucks, to put it mildly.

Tomorrow night I'm seeing a play in Hollywood and going to dinner
with a friend. Saturday night another friend is taking me to a very belated
birthday dinner at Encounter - the cool, space-age looking restaurant
smack-dab in the middle of LAX.

Where does the time go? It's amost 11p.m. I must go to bed
to get up early and straighten this place up. I also need to
straighten my hair. Now, isn't your day complete just knowing
this? Come on, admit it.
It's amazing how I can go from profound to shallow in about 1.2 seconds.

Oh! Some really good news I alluded to yesterday - I have been OFFICIALLY
accepted into the Teacher Credential program at the university for Fall.
I received my letter in the mail today. I am excited, yet a bit nervous.
It's been ten years since I've been the student and not the teacher.
My whole life is going to change, come autumn. But this is a new chapter
and one I am looking forward to. Hell if I can pass this math monster
I can do anything!

Have I mentioned how much I hate my government today?
That's always good and cathartic.
The earth has a fever; they say it's the hottest it's been in 2,ooo
years. I don't doubt global warming for one split second, but who took
the earth's temperature 2,000 years ago? Now they're going to say
Stonehenge is a big thermometer.
I bought Al Gore's book today, "An Inconvenient Truth."
God it's all so depressing. I believe it said the only two countries
that haven't signed the Kyoto Agreement are the U.S. and Australia.
Australia? WTF?

My mother said, "I watched Frontline and this whole time Cheney
and Rumsfeld have been running the country, not Bush."
Pardon my Francais, for one moment here.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
I've been saying that for 5 YEARS!
Now she believes FRONTLINE?
I made her say "Ok, OK, you told me so."
Yeah, I sure did!
Hence, my names for the Triumvirate: Satan, the Puppet and Death.
Rot in Hell, all of you.

Picture: My friend and yours, Pythagoras.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Cry Me A River

Well, today has only been marginally better than yesterday. I am in a
serious amount of pain; 99% of it in my neck, where it almost always it.
It's funny, this whole nightmare started on December 14, 1993.
I have a strange Rainman-like quality with dates, but I think
anyone whose life is changed by illness tends to remember
the moment it happens. I remember I went out to
dinner with my brother. It was a Tuesday night.
I was in finals week in graduate school. I came home,
sat on the couch, and the back of my neck started hurting
Then it started killing me. I had no idea why.
Little did I know that would be the
beginning of an ongoing journey through the medical mill
and all sorts of life-changing experiences.

I'm not sure why my fibromyalgia started in my neck. I always think of that
silly line in one of the Church's songs, "I have anxiety in my neck." Ha! I hate that line. I find it kind of cheesy. This is more than anxiety though. This is pain that radiates down my spinal chord and out into every muscle.

Two years ago I found a drug called Neurontin that was a life-saver. It stopped the pain in my neck. For two weeks, I was totally pain free. It was a gift from God. Except the brilliant doctors neglected to tell me I'd eat like a demon and gain 30 pounds. I'm not even vain anymore. I know I'll never be the tall, slim girl I was in college. But my weight is too high for my health, and I am miserable carrying it around on my body. Around Christmas I lost 20 pounds. It was so hard. I've always been a thin person, so I never had to diet. I never understood how hellish it is to try and lose weight. Talk about getting all kinds of perspective. Now I know.

In March, my doctor and I decided I'd go off the Neurontin and try to lose the weight and start an exercise regime, slowly. That was before my darling kids gave me walking pneumonia. So much for the exercise. The pain was actually OK - until the night of my birthday. When I got home, I thought I was going to die.
I've mostly taken aspirin or some other drug like Aleve for pain over the last 10 or so years. I've never been given a true pain killer, and I've never asked for one. I saw what pain killers did to my dad. I know that when you suffer from chronic pain, getting pain killers can be a dangerous way to live. The chance of addiction is very high.

The past few months, I've struggled with the pain on and off. It seems like it's starting to become more on than off. I admit, I 'borrowed' a few Ultracet pills from my mom - they are for mild to moderate pain. They help 100% as long as I only take around two a week. If you start taking pain meds everyday, you build up tolerance and then you need more and more. Another lovely Catch-22.

Over the years, I have struggled immensely with my health, not just physically, but perhaps even more emotionally. I've been in therapy. I've been very ashamed - as if I did something wrong - as if I somehow brought this on myself.
Perhaps it was all the doctors who told me there was nothing wrong, or insinuated I was just some hysterical female. Thirteen years ago, this disease wasn't accepted like it is today; and even today, some moronic doctors still think you're just hysterical and depressed. I'd like them to live with this pain for a year and see what they have to say after that. Well to be honest, first I'd like to kick the male doctors in the nuts and then have them live with FMS for a year.

I felt if people knew, they wouldn't like me, or wouldn't want to be my friend. Let's face it, I did lose some friends over the years - because of my dad, because I couldn't go out and socialize like I used to. It's very, very rare now, thank goodness, but many years ago, I was unable to do anything. If I ran one errand a day, it was a triumph. I hid my pain from everyone, and I still do to a large extent. I don't want to burden others, I don't want to be seen as different - frankly I don't want to seem weak. I don't want pity, but I do want understanding if I can't do something. I rarely if ever back out on plans now...but every now and again, I am too tired, I am in too much pain to go out. I still feel horrendously guilty if I do cancel on someone. Hmm. Self-esteem issues anyone?

This may sound crazy, but I even felt it made me less of a woman. It's greatly affected my relationships with men. I feel I must hide it, or not let it get in the way of the relationship. I feel like no one will ever want me on a permanent basis - who's going to want to deal with this crap, til death do us part? I am, I would say, probably 95% functional now, but still...I can't climb mountains, I need to rest more than the average bear. I am NOT lazy and I think I overdo it to prove that fact. At one point I felt like I didn't deserve to even date, to have sex, anything. I felt like a fraud. As if I was offering up damaged goods. I worked so hard to try and overcome these beliefs...but it's hard. I managed to really ram them into my psyche and it's hard to let go of them.

I do more physically than some of my friends, but that still doesn't make me feel better. I still feel like I have a big mark on my forehead. The scarlet letter of Having Something Wrong. Perhaps it would've been easier if it had been, God forbid, something more well known. Lupus, MS. God knows I DO not want those diseases; they are progressive and I have seen firsthand the horrible damage MS does to a person. But I never felt legitimate having FMS. I always felt like I had to explain myself. Hello, I am not some hysterical, depressed, neurotic nut who managed to create all this made-up pain. Yes, this is real. No, they can't find it on a lab test yet. But yes, it IS real.

In exchange for going off the Neurontin, the doctor put me on something called Topamax. I am NOT fond of putting all these drugs in my body, but I want to function. I was on Topamax for a week and thought I was dying. It is the single worst drug I've ever been on. I'm going to the doctor tomorrow and telling him I am convinced the Devil created that drug. It fucked with my brain in ways that were so frightening I can't even explain it. It made me forgetful beyond belief. I couldn't grasp certain words - even the PDR said it would do this. I literally sat there, struggling to speak. It does something fucked up to the language center of your brain. It made me beyond tired, beyond fatigued, beyond weary. I can't even explain it. I told my friend "This is what end-stage cancer victims must feel like." Moving from room to room took all my energy. I felt like every drop of my blood had been drained from my body. I could barely make it upstairs. Needless to say, after a week, I took myself off the drug. Within a day or two, I was Ok.

I may do something tomorrow I've not done in almost 13 years. I may ask the doctor for some Ultracet. I do not want to go back on Neurontin. I can't afford to gain more weight. Will he give it to me? That's the $64,000 question. He hands out pills fairly easily. He wanted me on sleeping meds. I tried them for a couple of nights. No good. I don't want to be on sleeping pills. I don't want to be drugged up to the gills. But I don't want to live my days like today, paralyzed in pain.

I'm trying to study for the math exam, and it's hard enough to care about quadratic equations when you feel good! I found out some good news; I'd already been accepted into the University I applied to - but I was also accepted into the Credential program. So this fall, I have to be functional. I need to work and take classes, pain or no pain. I want this Credential more than anything. I finished my M.A. when I was quite ill, so I know I can do it.

I feel weak asking for something to reduce the pain a few days a week. Who knows what will happen. I have refused to go down the road my dad did. I will not use alcohol as a drug, and I will not get on 20 different types of pills. That being said, getting on one pill scares me enough.

No picture day. You really wouldn't want to see me now. :)

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Apparently, Today is About Me, and My PMS

Yes, it's come. How can I tell? Because I'm like a fucking clock.
10-12 days before my period, I start becoming REALLY unglued.
I don't just have PMS, I have that DISORDER...where the PMS
makes my life Hell. I've just recently been trying to deal with it
in different ways. Knowing when it arrives helps me understand
why I am SO FUCKING ANGRY AND UPSET!

I have read about the refugees today, and reading about the way
those two missing U.S. soldiers were found makes me want to vomit.
It had to be a vicious revenge killing for the U.S. killing al-Zarqawi.
And when I mentioned how horrible it must be for the families' of these
two soldiers, to know how their children were killed and mutiliated beyond
all appearances, my friend said, "Well al-Zarqawi probably had a family too."

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! Of course he did. And for anyone innocently connected to that madman, I am very sorry for them. I did not condone
bombing al-Zarqawi. I never condoned starting this fucking nightmare of a war in the first place.
But in fairness, come ON. al-Zarqawi was a MONSTER on the level of SATAN
compared to two young soldiers who, as far as I know, didn't behead civilians, or dedicate their lives to the cause of wiping out every last Muslim.
This war sickens me. And death begets death. But I will not EVER compare a man who killed Muslims, women, children, babies, HIS OWN PEOPLE - to two young kids who probably never dreamt they'd end up fighting a corrupt, immoral war and who died, desecrated and mutiliated.

So now we see. And we will kill them. And they will kill us. And when will it end?
When will it END?

I also found out the Big Pharma Co. near my house lets its employees stay at the Ritz-Carlton on a business trip. THE RITZ-CARLTON! Even their corporate rates are outrageous! How do I know this? My friend's husband works for them and managed to make it impossible for them to stay anywhere else. Don't ask me how this works. When your Rx meds go up and up and up and up...whether you take the Pill, anti-depressants, cancer drugs or blood pressure meds, remember what Big Pharma is doing with all its profits.
FUCKING CORPORATE WHORES. I am so angry about this, and I know I shouldn't be because there is nothing I can do. It's not like I didn't know the pharmaceutical companies were in bed with the Devil. It infuriates me though to even think I know someone who would manipulate the company into letting them stay at the most expensive hotel in the city. I hope they all rot in hell with their profits.

And no, I am no saint, I am not pure, I am not perfect. I have lived a life of some material wealth but I have seen that it gets you fucking nowhere. I have had the most precious things stolen from me - my health, my father, my peace. I would give everything I owned away for a life without anymore pain and fatigue. I am studying to be a teacher. I have been a teacher. I should be smart enough to not regress to the level of a 10 year old who stomps her feet and says "The world is not fair! The world is not fair!"

But that's how I feel today. My dad would say, "Fair? Fair? A fair is a place with cows and pigs and chickens..." I know there's no fair. Hormones make me want to cry over it.

Maybe I won't even have to worry about it, seeing how this North Korean missile thing is going. So we're mulling shooting down their missile. Ah yes, good times!

21,000 more troops notified for Iraq deployment. The world had gone stark raving mad. I hate myself for getting so emotional. I hate myself for being so naive sometimes. I know I will be better tomorrow. I am just in a lot of pain today, and the hormones are raging.

Sometimes I wish I could be more like some friends I have, and not care about these things. They seem to lead an easier life. Less tears, less depression. Less sadness.

One friend jokes about my 'goat' for Christmas. Last Christmas I asked my friends to get me something from Oxfam - a charity where you can buy food, trees, goats, etc. for people in villages who desperately need this stuff. I know it's a joke to her, but I don't want anymore gifts. I can't seem to get that through anyone's head. I have enough crap to last me three lifetimes. It's just a joke to some people.

No one spent more money on more shit growing up than I did. But I saw in the end that none of it made me happy. None of it could get me the things I really wanted. Love, health, family. You don't have to be Donald Trump to realize that all the gold in the free world isn't going to solve all your problems. I want enough money to be comfortable, enough to give some away to charity, enough to buy a few books and CD's and any medicine I need, and keep my cats happy.

My friend told me to go to Africa and teach. You know, I just might do that.
Because what if the whole world fell apart and no one gave a shit?

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Today is World Refugee Day

Today is not about me, or you, or even Angelina Jolie.
Today is about the millions of displaced persons, the millions
of starving children, desperate fathers and mothers and families
who feel the world has forgotten them.

I don't like to put my politics and beliefs on others. But today
I will. I will say, please, please remember these people. Somehow, some way. Please go to the link below and at least read about what their reality is like.
It's no TV show.
We've seen these images for so long we are seemingly immune to them;
don't let that happen.
My prayer is this: God, do not less us become so immune, so fatigued by
images of death and dying that we become too cynical, and think, I can't
do anything. If we cross over into cynicism, we have committed the worst act
of all - we will have abandoned these people.

Who said, 'the worst thing in the world is for a good man to stand by and do nothing'?

The same blood runs through our veins. It bleeds red. Put yourself, your child, your parent in their place in your mind for one minute.

Do not forget those whose very lives depend on our ability to have hope for them, even when they have understandably lost all hope.

Link: Please click here and do what you can. Photo Credit: CNN - Children in Chad

http://www.usaforunhcr.org/?code=P020

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Happy Trails To You...

Well, here it is Monday and I still haven't really processed my
last day with the kids. It was kind of a crazy day, with all the kindergarten (morning and afternoon) classes meeting at 7:45am so we had lots and lots
of wild kids running around. We played on the 'big kids' playground, and read a book about dinosaurs, and they had lunch, and we watched a video someone took of one of the kindergarten classes throughout the year.

When I arrived at school, there were already two gorgeous bouquets of flowers
waiting for me...and more gifts than I could've ever imagined...all in pretty pink
bags. Gift cards, beautiful bookmarks, a beautiful pink satin robe - I mean, these moms really went overboard - I know they can afford it, but it was slightly embarrassing. I was only doing field experience - I wasn't even the teacher!
These teachers, what they don't get in salary, they must make up for every year in gifts! But I had to remind myself, this is a very wealthy community and a very wealthy school.

That is certainly NOT why I did this. For me, the absolute, most special gifts were the cards that the kids made. They were all hand-made, and all so adorable. Marla gave me a lot of pictures of the kids doing things on days I wasn't there, to fill up my scrapbook. The end came far too soon, and as 11:00am
rolled around, the kids gathered up their backpacks and got in line, just like it was any other day. Each day a child picks a song to sing as they're leaving. Sometimes it's "Happy Trails." That's what we sang on Friday.

I'd held it together pretty well, considering what an emotional, blubbering cry-baby I am. I asked each little girl for a goodbye hug and they gave it to me; it's so sweet and sad - obviously at this age they don't realize this was a permanent goodbye. One little girl was crying and crying - she didn't want to leave kindergarten. I felt for her!
I asked the boys if I could shake their hands and I did.
Debbie, Tanner's mom walked in as most of the kids walked out, and she looked so strange. She had her sunglasses on but she looked angry. For a moment I was scared - until she just burst into tears. Well, that did it for me. Debbie and I were probably the closest - and I admit, her son Tanner was a favourite of mine, despite his stubborn Taurus-like nature (he was born the day after I was in April). She, as a mother, I guess, was just really emotional at seeing her little boy leave kindergarten, basically his last 'fun' year behind. We hugged and cried together. Tanner is so lucky to have such an amazing mom.

After everyone had left, Marla was kind enough to invite me to lunch with all the other K teachers; she had to help me to my car with the flowers and boxes and bags. I need to write a LOT of thank-yous. We had a fun lunch and then I came home, and bawled. I was exhausted.

Today, Monday, it really hit me that I'm not going back.
It also has been weighing on my mind lately the difference between a school like this one, and say, a school in South L.A.
The opportunities these kids have, as opposed to the lack of opportunities so many children have...whether it be in the areas of parenting, food, clothing, shelter, a stable family environment, books, decent teachers...the inequality is heart-breaking. And then to take it a step further - I read about Darfur, the Congo, Sudan....I see how so many children don't even make it to 5...I feel so utterly helpless to do anything. Fate has such a hand in your life...where you're born, who you're born to....it's amazing. Whenever I would feel sorry for myself my dad would say, "Be grateful for what you have. You could've been born an untouchable in India." How true.

I hope when I student teach I am put somewhere I am really, really needed. Because it's not about me, being in a cushy rich environment. Certainly I don't want to have to dodge bullets to get to class, but I want to go where the true help is needed next time.

So, happy trails to you, my cupcakes. I'm not sure we'll ever meet again. I wish you health, peace, joy, love, and gratitude for all you have. I'll keep you in my heart, always. Thanks for the cards, the memories, and for being your wonderful selves.

Picture: Claire and Rama mugging for the camera at the Mother's Day Tea.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons
A Short and Happy Blog

Well, after the last two semi-sad stories, I feel like I'm
depressing my readers.
And my other wittle kitty, Fletcher (she is a she, because we
made a mistake and thought she was a he) is jealous that Zoe
got so much publicity.
So I'm showing you Fletcher...or Fletch...or Fletchie or Fletcherama
as I like to call her. She was the runt of Tamarin's litter - but she's
made up for it now with her obsessive need to eat every 30 seconds.
She was born with a little crooked tail...I always say she didn't have
enough room in the womb.
She is chubby and loving and loves to groom her sister, Zoe.
She loves belly rubs and she adores my friend Gena...and Gena's shoes.
She doesn't like to he held, but she'll sit on your lap and 'make muffins' on you forever.
Her face looks like she dunked it in a bowl of milk or white paint.
She HATES the camera - she's oddly afraid of it. Maybe she thinks having her picture taken is akin
to stealing her kitty soul, like the Indians.
She's quite annoying as she gets up at 5:00am on the dot every single day for breakfast and is relentless until she's fed.
She was my dad's cat for a year before he died, but she's been mine
for 10 years.
She likes to lick your skin - I think she enjoys the salt.
She's not nearly as afraid of strangers as Zoe. She'll come out to greet people eventually. Her shoe fetish is a bit worrisome, but I'm going to pass on therapy.
She's my snuggle-bunny and sleeps about 26 hours a day.
And now....for your viewing pleasure....Miss Fletcher!