snappy holidays...

Here's to you and yours... I wish you safe travels and these next few days to be just as you'd like them.

-FelineWarrior

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did you ever feel....

... like you were sleepwalking through parts of your own life? That you have no control? Or maybe that you'd given your power away?

Agnes and I have been talking about such stuff; she maintains that knowing that she gave her husband her power (some years ago) does not necessarily make it easier to reclaim it.

One of those "I know this intellectually and yet cannot act on it in my own -real- life" situations.

This makes me wonder about relationships and why one person would want to take another's power. Oh, c'mon, I'm not talking about role playing and that sort of thing. I am talking about real-life human relationships. (yes, okay, a nod to the role-playing crowd - didn't mean to diss' you - but I'm talking about relationships that are ongoing, in and out of the house, and do not require safewords.)

ANYWAY... am I the queen of digression or WHAT?! ... I don't understand either side of that coin, to be honest. That should not imply, however, that I can't imagine it or that I might not even have my own personal experiences with such stuff. (Go as Agnes... she's 10 feet tall...) (I know, HUH?!)

Here's the real question: How do some people become controlling? How is it that they feel GOOD about intimidating someone else? Surely at some level such people know that they plow over the people who are their significant others, that they have an active role in minimizing the self esteem of their loved ones. Don't they? Is it all subconscious? And it if IS subconscious, what would have to have happened in that (controlling) person's life to bring about such befavior?

Finally, what would have had to have happened in the other person's life to allow such a thing to happen - to give up their power?

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hit by a damn deer

Yes, I said it. I was hit by a deer tonight. I've swiped my own post from a popular social networking page bcos I'm too traumatized to come up with post material more than once tonight:

I was hit by a DEER as I left campus... damn bastid smashed the hell outta my car... beloved purple car... :(.

It was AWFUL. And I was literally minutes out of the parking lot. I hadn't even made it to the speed limit of 35 mph on that (2-lane) road.

Deer came flying out like it was auditioning for Martha-freakin'-Graham... smashed the driver-side windshield (I shrieked), then thump-thumped off the front, then the SIDE, and my door. The deer stood there lookin' ...  at me like I was a fool... and walked away.

I had to exit via the passenger door bcos my door is smashed shut. Girl, that animal smashed the front fender in so hard the paint is standing up. I was all together, cool, calm... as soon as the insurance guy answered the phone, I was cryin' like a baby. So it gets towed to a shop near campus in the morning, the car rental people will pick me up in the morning and take me to a car and I pretend I'm not all traumatized by this.

Off to have nightmares about kamikaze deer...

A response to a concerned friend:

I'm actually sitting here looking up economical, eco-friendly cars that will stop flying deer in a single bound. so far... nothin'. Thankfully a student I recently worked with was still on campus and lives near me, so he gave me a ride home. Otherwise, I'd be sleeping under my desk in Newark. (not really, but can you imagine??)

OY!

And a response to another concerned friend, who said, "guess that's what insurance is for, right?":

Yeah... insurance and <chk-chk> shotguns! JUST KIDDING. I think part of why I was so upset is that I have NEVER run over or hit an animal in my life. The insurance guy was surprised the deer was standing and said, "but I've heard a lot of times they stand up and run away, but it's an adrenaline thing... so they collapse a few feet away and die there." Oh, thanks... that's just cheerin' me right on up.

And the same friend commented that it sounds like I could have been seriously injured.

Geeze, K... you're right - if he'd gone further into the windshield, I'd be trying to type this like Patrick Swayze pushing coins around in "Ghost." (Hey, at least I maintain my sense of humor, even when a deer tries to kill me.)

The windshield didn't break completely - it's just in front of the driver's seat, and low, to the hood. But there is glass on the dash. :(

But hey... Hello Kitty did not come off the dash, so that's something. (What, I don't know.. but it's something...)

Here's Hello Kitty in happier times:

life changes...

Hi, everyone!

Yes, it's me! Here I am!

So here's the deal: On Friday I'm moving to an apartment here in town. A part of town that recycles, so I'm pretty happy about that. M. has taken a job in another state, so he'll be moving there by December 1st and will be traveling (for work) between now and then.

It's a strange time, a time of limbo, changes, and healing. I will have only my Palm Centro to check mail and I haven't yet tried blogging from it (altho it does quite nice with photo uploads to Facebook!). I will have updates soon, soon, soon! (I mean MORE updates.)

I'm well. Tired. Looking forward to buying a treadmill and getting back to running - indoors because it's COLD already. StOOpid bastard early winterlike weather in autumn!

Here's a talented lass, Laura Marling... discovered her on my beloved Craig Ferguson's show...

Yes We Can!

Oh, this is lovely!

Yes, We Can (hold babies)

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Sarah Palin Debate Flow Chart!

From Daily Kos:

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Aah, I'll just quote Rachel Maddow

"Boring but right or exciting but wrong?" - Rachel Maddow in response to Pat Buchanon saying that Palin was "riveting."

Transcript of the debate. (www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/10/02/debate.transcript)




Plus, I ::: heart ::: Rachel Maddow!

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Breast Cancer walk is coming up!

Hey, you can donate to Team Think Pink's efforts. We're participating in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk on Sunday.

Some of you will remember the scare I had and the horrid biopsy (can you say PAIN!?!?!).

Just click the link below to donate!

Making Strides Against Breast Cancer - 2008-2009

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Bible Spice, aka Sarah Palin

Bible Spice

Thanks to Dix Marie for this... So very perfect!

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Craig F. on the importance of voting

Gawd, I love this man....

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Legendary actor Paul Newman dies at age 83

Legendary actor Paul Newman dies at age 83 - Yahoo! News

Ohhhh... One of those people I never really thought would die.

Los Angeles Times file photograph
JoAnne Woodward and Newman in "The Long, Hot Summer," 1958 - the year that they married.

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Agnes twisted

It's been a long time since I've shared an Agnes story. She and I are still close in touch but as you've noticed, I haven't been close in touch with YOU!

So Agnes has been through it - she's actually talked to a domestic violence place at the urging of her counselor. I was concerned that perhaps her husband has hit her, but she says no. He's verbally and emotionally abusive.

And here's the thing - I've heard people scoff at that, at the notion of verbal and/or emotional abuse - it's not real, it doesn't really count. But I've been reading up on this and you'd better believe it's real. And boy, does it count.

Like me, Agnes has a history of depression. And like me, hers has been treated with medication and therapy (for me, thereapy has been off and on for a kazillion years). We're both survivors of a lot of shit.

So what does verbal abuse do to a person? It can make her, over time, dislike herself. It can make her question her own beliefs, ideas, thoughts, and even motives. The emotional side of it just blends in to make the verbal part more effective: Add to what I just described a slowly growing inability to stick up for oneself; a slowly growing yet very calculated separation from one's friends and even family.

Where a person finds herself (or himself) is alone on an island of anger with a controlling and paranoid person - the spouse.

That's where Agnes finds herself most times. She has her children and a few friends. I've told her to set up a blog for herself but she's afraid he'll find it. His anger controls her every move; his anger has shaped her entire sense of self. She questions her place in the universe, if she even deserves to have it.

And why not just walk out? She is slowly working towards it. But to quote Agnes, "I find that I am more entrenched in his sticky, all-consuming web than I'd ever realized before." In fact, she said, "it's like walking out from a deep tunnel - I didn't realize just how deep it was until I realized I'd been walking for days and days and can still only see a tiny glimpse of light."

It makes me so sad that Agnes is so twisted by this man. I imagine a towel, each end held in a hand, and then tightly twisted - and that's her life, her soul, her peace of mind.

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Team Think Pink! Help us out!

Please donate to our team's efforts!

Making Strides Against Breast Cancer - 2008-2009

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Palin says 17-year-old daughter is pregnant - Yahoo! News

Oh, the addition of Palin only gets richer, doesn't it?

First, perpetuating the notion that anyone with a vagina will do (yes, perpetuating... I've been paired up with other women while my spouse golfs, simply because we're women... "er, don't all vaginas love to shop?!").

Then... boy, aren't you just fighting the urge to wonder if this anti-choice (remember, we don't say "pro-life" anymore, 'cause we're all pro LIFE!) didn't somehow manipulate this? Okay, no, maybe not. But still... let's see ol' Palin address the virtues of abstinence-only sex ed now! Mwah ha haaa!

Take that, bitch!

I haven't piped up about the election stuff at all. More to come soon, friends. I'm alive - going through some major changes!

xo,
FW

Palin says 17-year-old daughter is pregnant - Yahoo! News

By LIZ SIDOTI, Associated Press Writer 30 minutes ago

ST. PAUL, Minn. - John McCain's running mate Sarah Palin said Monday that her 17-year-old unmarried daughter is five months pregnant, an announcement aimed at rebutting Internet rumors that Palin's youngest son, born in April, was actually her daughter's.

A statement released by the campaign said that Bristol Palin will keep her baby and marry the child's father. Bristol Palin is five months pregnant, and the baby is due in late December.

"Our beautiful daughter Bristol came to us with news that as parents we knew would make her grow up faster than we had ever planned. We're proud of Bristol's decision to have her baby and even prouder to become grandparents," Sarah and Todd Palin said in the brief statement.

"Bristol and the young man she will marry are going to realize very quickly the difficulties of raising a child, which is why they will have the love and support of our entire family," they added.

Sarah Palin's son Trig was born in April with Down syndrome. Internet bloggers have been suggesting that the child was actually born to Bristol Palin but that her mother, the Alaska governor, claimed to be the mother.

McCain adviser Mark Salter said the campaign announced the daughter's pregnancy to rebut those rumors.

Senior McCain advisers said the Arizona senator and his top aides had known about Bristol's pregnancy before offering Palin the No. 2 spot on the GOP ticket.

"Senator McCain's view is this is a private family matter. As parents, (the Palins) love their daughter unconditionally and are going to support their daughter," said McCain spokesman Steve Schmidt.

Said Schmidt: "Life happens."

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passion, grace, fire

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Where the Hell is Matt!

Oh, please watch and enjoy!

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lung virus?

The doctor said that I've got a virus in my lungs. It wasn't until I got home, napped, got up from the nap, wandered the house, that I thought "what the hell does that mean?!"

I think this might be what we're looking at: www.medicinenet.com/respiratory_syncytial_virus/article.htm.

That is, "The respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) is a virus that causes mild respiratory infections such as colds and coughs in adults but in young children can produce severe pulmonary diseases including bronchiolitis and pneumonia."

I don't have bronchitis or pneumonia. I do feel -even more today- like my lungs are weighte balloons. And tired. I don't even have the energy to let out a yelp of discomfort. So, in my saintlike way, I am suffering silently. (Just the tap-tap-tap of the keys...)

Woe is me and
I am woe.
We, woe and me, are one.
Would there be a race
between woe and me
Woe would have surely won.

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every time I breathe...

---

I'm focusing mostly on the bit about lungs hurting everytime I breathe. I'm having some strange physical thing. I can't say exactly when it started, but less than a month ago and more than a week ago. I get winded easliy -but not when I walk at 5:30 am- and my lungs ache. I yawned tonight and took a deep breath and the pain was quick, sharp and went into my shoulder blade. Needless to say, I let out a yelp.

I have an event after work, so didn't get home until 10-ish. It's a long drive (about an hour, or roughly 5 billion dollars in gas-speak) and me being me... I had to practice deep breathing. I'd do a surprise attack deep breath: "aHA, lungs! Gotcha!" and slow ambling southern ones (I don't know what that means either, but play along with me, will you?): "Ah've always r'lied on the kindness of lungs..."

Anyway I tried it, it hurt. La Gordita, who is now a Mary Kay Consultant (soon we'll all sport colorful faces with mannequin-like skin), gave her diagnosis: "You have achey lungs." When questioned about her credentials to make such a edgy statement, she simply said, "I'm a Mary Kay expert. I just know things now."

Naturally, my self-diagnosis began earlier in the day. My good friend, Dr. Google, provided a plethora of options from which to choose. I'm leaning towards asthma, but will accept just about anything but cancer. I don't know what an iron lung is, but it makes me think of Iron Butterfly, so perhaps that wouldn't be so bad. Those of you who know me are aware of my love of accessories, so perhaps... oh, no. That's just stupid talk.

Was it last summer when we had the breast cancer scare? Yes. That all turned out to be okay. And as painful as that blasted biopsy was, there should have been some kind of answer besides, "Nope, it was probably just some tissue folded over on itself." The nerve of that nurse: "You know, some women can't even tell a needle is in their breast!" REALLY? Because I could have narrated ever damned second of that needle's presence!

I digress. (surprise!)

This has nothing to do with the breast thing. I'm certain. I do have allergies (I'm actually allergic to just about everything! I'm DELICATE, I say!) It is making me edgy, though. M suggested that maybe I'm having panic attacks. I asked if perhaps a sense of PANIC shouldn't be present and he backed off. (Panic attack my ass!) There's something in my lungs, I say. A nest of treefrogs, maybe, or perhaps a nest of vipers.

Now, no doubt you are wondering about the rest of life - I haven't really written much since my mother returned to California. I've been somewhat paralyezd by all that happened. I'll be brief because it is now late and I am tired. And my lungs hurt.

Before she left, my mother forwarded me these two definitions:

Bully:
bul·ly
n. pl. bul·lies

1. A person who is habitually cruel or overbearing, especially to smaller or weaker people.
2. A hired ruffian; a thug.

Brute
–noun
1. a nonhuman creature; beast.
2. a brutal, insensitive, or crude person.

These are her descriptions of someone very close to me. It troubles her.

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how small am i

I felt the roundness of the earth
walking
sunshine
full clouds
melding into blue sky
so full sky
and
roundness the fullness
the fullness of earth and sky
the fullness of life
the simple touch
a dotting eye
and
i felt the roundness of the earth
walking
sunshine
full clouds
melding
blue sky
full sky
dotting
my eye

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spirals

It feels like things are spiraling. I can't get get life aligned properly so that there's a positive feel to it. It's lopsided. Yet I maintain my sunny optimism... mostly.

From a discussion today, I (re-)learned that actions do speak louder than words. That if someone apologizes for something yet continues to do it, their apologies are probably not sincere. So you take those with a grain of salt.

I'm going to have to deliver an ultimatum to my mom... which doesn't feel good (and I haven't even done it yet). I actually did set a date for her to be someplace other than my house, but she pretty much threw it back at me. I'm going to have to do it again and be prepared to have buckets of guilt, shame and manipulation dumped on my head. Over and over again.

I feel sad but okay. I know that growth requires such things as action, even sometimes pain. I still don't like it.

Android: more blue candles. Stat.

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battle of the me's

First one, then the other. Then both at once. It's the battle of the me's.

With Franque as the audience, they perform whenever possible (er... necessary?). Did I say perform? No, it's truly a battle.

Let me tell MY story!
No! MY story!

MY childhood!
NO! MY childhood!

MY grandmother!
NO! MY grandmother!

As I sit there, in between, chewing food only to send it down to the ever-expanding ulcer. Waiting, watching, in pain. Emotional pain.

A narcissistic melody. Screechy and inane.

Madness.  

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Carlpernia Addams

Embedded Video

I heard this woman on NPR the other night. Her story is very touching.

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why is Obama off-limits?

Day after day, night after night, I see that comedians feel quite comfortable spewing out jokes about Hillary Clinton. Yet I've not heard a peep about Barack Obama. Not a thing.

I'm guessing it's because he's black and nobody wants to get a hand-slapping for saying something that might be construed as racist.

But why is it okay to be sexist?

A feminist perspective of these two candidates might go like this: It's still a "man's world." Penises are above vaginas (correctly, "vaginae," but that feels awkward to type!). First the white penises, then the penises of color. And it's the same for the vaginas.

Political correctness, it seems, extends to skin color, but not beyond.

Another day I will go into more detail, but it's been a crazy time (hence my absence) and I'm exhausted.

Be well, all!

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Time meets Blog

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Embedded Video

(Video & text from http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm)

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But 100 years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men - yes, black men as well as white men - would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check that has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice. We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hoped that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for whites only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today my friends - so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification - one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father's died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi - from every mountainside.

Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring - when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children - black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics - will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

nobody's happy

Nobody is truly happy at my house. I manage to maintain some sense of cheeriness, but there's a rumbling tension beneath the smile.

Today I wore new purple cowgirl boots. That was a good thing. Happy feet = happy Franque. But once the boots came off, my awareness of the hatred bouncing back and forth here. (As in "I'm rubber, you're glue; whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.") And of course the boots came off at home. So that ought to be at least a smidge telling.

This is just a quick report. For some reason I'm pooped. Long day today, busy day, good day. Interviewed a professor for an article, learned something new: Williams Syndrome. Often misdiagnosed, often untreated. Shame, that. Wrote a press release about an upcoming gallery exhibit. Got praise for some graphic work I do (yay, me!). And a zillion other things. Amazing what a person can do when she's alert and sober and such. (I'm just sayin')

So now I'm off to bed. Ten-oh-eight and all's not well, but it's okay.

OH... postscript: I am having a wicked hard time having a conversation with my mother about her "next plans." IE, this isn't working out - she needs to work and she can't really do it from a place where there's no transportation. So she's trapped in my house. It's like Brigadoon, without the music. And fog. Well, it's not really like Brigadoon at all, but it IS like nothing's going to change for her here.

Now I'm really going to bed!

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