I Am The Snake

This is my Chinese astrological sign. No, I am not vengeful.

Birthday
Tuesday, November 03, 1953

Sign
Snake

Element
Water

Chinese Name
SHE

Lunar Years of the Sign
1917 1929 1941 1953 1965 1977 1989

Description of the Sign Personality
Depth and charisma make the Snake a formidable presence. What you see is not what you get. The Snake's many interests and insatiable thirst for knowledge result in an increasingly complex persona. Furthermore, with the Snake's penchant for secrecy, they're not likely to let us see how much there is to know about them. More than any other sign, the Snake knows how to present itself, when it wants, in the most favorable light. The downside of this is that the Snake is likely to tire of and discard us lesser mortals. An even bigger danger is the Snake believes in revenge; so, don't cross them. Like the Dragon, the Snake is a karmic sign and likely to experience lots of extreme highs and lows in their lives.

Description of the Sign-Element Personality
More than any other sign the Water Snake has intuitive abilities. You are not only a keen judge of character and observer of humanity, but you tend to just "know" things. You can wow us almost as much with your witty conversation as with your charisma. As a member of the more flexible and easy going variety of the species, you make wonderful companions and partners--- if we can win your respect. You are a deep thinker who is articulate and persuasive. You have a philosophical nature and may appear to be wise beyond your years.

Description of Home Life
The secretive nature of the Snake makes their home one of subtle surprise. Your furnishings are usually of the highest quality while leaving detail to be discovered. We have to be careful how we tread through your household as we might unknowingly offend and become subject to your occasionally revengeful nature. Ah, but the ambiance and luxury is well worth the risk.

Hours Ruled by the Sign
9am - 11am

To find out about your own Chinese astrological sign, go to Firepig

A Good Time Was Had By All

"Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day." ~ Elizabeth Bowen

I'm short on time today and I'm answering the phone because (Sad) Crazy Employee is out today dealing with her mom's estate. I wanted to to let you know that the birthday party was a roaring success. Owner didn't venture into any inappropriate ares and everyone had great fun giving me a hard time. I made a reference to undocumented workers and one of my co-workers educated me as to the correct label to attach to them. I had referred to them as "illegal aliens." I meant no harm by it, but it's not a politically correct term. I stand corrected. It provided everyone with the opportunity to make a few jokes as my expense, but they weren't hurtful in any way.

I ended up sitting next to Owner. That happens pretty frequently. My mom sat on the other side. Hubby was unable to attend because he was out of town on business. Because there were 13 of us crowded around a conference table meant to accommodate probably half that number and because I was sitting next to Owner, I couldn't get very close to the table. I kept dropping crumbs on my lap and on the chair. Again, everyone enjoyed noting my pigginess. Yes, I was amused, too. Laughing at myself has never been hard for me.

It's a beautiful day here and I'm occasionally catch glimpses of squirrels racing through the trees. The autumn morning is crisper, but not cold. The animals are feeling festive and energized. I'm feeling a little rowdy myself.

Hallloween Fun

In celebration of Halloween (and my upcoming birthday), I'm taking a break from the serious stuff.

One of my favorite fun websites features bunnies re-enacting 30 second renditions of famous films. This month, they're featuring some re-enactments of films like "Scream," "The Shining," "Night of the Living Dead" and others. Go by and visit if you get a chance.

Here's the Kaleidoscope Link

Kaleidoscope Fun

No Sleep Kaleidoscope Fun

"There will be sleeping enough in the grave." ~ Benjamin Franklin

I'm still not sleeping through the night. I woke up at 3:00 this morning and never went back to sleep. Since all of this began about three weeks ago, I've been able to get a normal amount of sleep over the weekends, but this weekend was different. On Friday night, I slept 7 1/2 hours, but Saturday night brought only four hours of sleep. I have no idea what's causing this.

There's a cold front blowing through today. I woke up this morning to the sound of rain. The temperature is dropping and the wind has picked up speed. I hate winter.

I'd love to say more, but the brain is barely functioning. In lieu of content, I offer the following link where you can build your own online kaleidoscope. Go there. It's amazingly fun.
Kaleidoscope Fun

La Cosa Nostra Smokah

After twenty years, I quit smoking several years ago. I'd been working on it for several years before I actually stopped. I used nicotine gum for a year or two as my safety net, but I certainly wasn't above a couple of cigarettes on the weekend. It's been a long, long time since I had even a puff. It's one of those questions they ask every time I see an oncology doctor. "How many days has it been since you had one puff?" Of course, I see a lot of people rolling around in those motorized wheelchairs (probably because of their chemo or radiation related fatigue), heads wrapped in scarves or capped with a wig, smoking with a vengeance. Sigh.

Even after this long, I think about smoking pretty regularly. When I'm driving down the street and someone has their window open with a cigarette hanging out (to escape their own second hand smoke, I assume), I long to get close enough to inhale. I take note of everyone I pass anywhere who's smoking. I work with one woman who still smokes and there's a guy who chews tobacco (but who wants that?). I could go downstairs and ask the Foot Lady for one of hers. There might be a foot conversation I'd have to participate in, but I do that fairly regularly, anyway. I haven't asked for one.

That was a long introduction to what may be a less than entertaining anecdote. Many years ago, there was a hot dog vendor who used to hawk his wieners down on Sixth Street, our version of the French Quarter in New Orleans (we're not really in the same league at all). He had a great story to tell about being a mob snitch from New York who was in the Witness Protection Program and had had to assume a new identity to escape the retribution of The Family. In Texas, we're not too familiar with wise guys. We've got gangs, but I'd guess we have very few no La Cosa Nostra representatives living here.

The Wiener Man complained bitterly of being harassed by the police and, in fact, he may have been hassled by them. One year, he'd finally had enough. But it wasn't the cops that ultimately became unbearable. Austin was in the early stages of outlawing smoking in public places. You could still smoke in some segregated areas in restaurants and bars were pretty much excluded, but the places you could light up were severely limited. Wiener Man was outraged and decided to run for City Council.

It was a weird election year, no doubt about it. We had a couple of transgender folks running, one of whom (Leslie) lived in a little trailer that he had to move himself like a rickshaw. He became a kind of tourist attraction. He had a sizable number of financial supporters but, sadly, an equal number of people who hated him because of his penchant for hanging out on the streets of Austin in a speedo or a wedding gown (he loved heels and wore them with both outfits). The other transgender person was also homeless, but low key. I never knew where Jennifer Gale lived and she was always dressed appropriately, though clearly in need of some more hormonal intervention. Jennifer Gale (who still mounts a campaign at every opportunity) became the candidate of transgender acceptance.

Despite the entertainment value of Leslie in his speedo who had absolutely no platform whatsoever, it was the Wiener Man who stole the show. When it was his turn came to define his agenda, it took exactly two minutes. He paused dramatically and croaked,

"I'm a smokah." He reached into his sports shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of unfiltered Camels. He held them in front of the camera as proof, I suppose, that he wasn't just jacking us around. He was the real deal. As if the gravelly sound of his voice wouldn't have been proof enough.

"I wanna look out for the rights of my fellow smokahs. If you're a smokah and you're sick of bein' run outta the stores and restaurants, vote for me."

The smokah candidate did not win that year. Not too long after, he moved to sunnier digs in Florida. I don't know if he had to assume a new new identity, after having outed himself at least in this city. I think of him from time to time, when I long for a cigarette. I only wish he'd won. What fun that would have been.

Having Watched the River Flow

"You must love the crust of the earth on which you dwell more than the sweet crust of any bread or cake. You must be able to extract nutriment out of a sand-heap. You must have so good an appetite as this, else you will live in vain." ~ Henry David Thoreau

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?" ~ Kahlil Gibran

The three days away were absolutely blissful. The sound of the Guadalupe River, high and fast-moving these days, soothed my soul. Time away from Crazy Land and from the hurtful hands of medical professionals was a joyous reminder of how things could be.

Then, on Saturday, a major water main break left us without water until Sunday at 5:00 p.m. It's funny how attached you become to bathing regularly. Fortunately, my mom is generous with her shower.

Aside from that, we're rapidly approaching the ten year anniversary of my dad's suicide. He decided to check out nine days before my birthday. I've always wondered how he could have done that to me. Oh wait, silly me.

My father was a deeply disturbed man who spread misery of all kinds wherever he went. Physical, emotional, spiritual: It was all fair game for him. He saved a large measure of it for me. Nonetheless, he was my one and only father. I loved him, even though I didn't like him, and his suicide was devastating.

These days, memories come unbidden as I watch television or do the dishes or any of a thousand mundane acts. Sometimes, it's as simple as the word "Daddy" echoing in my head. The ironic thing about that is that I stopped referring to him by that name when I was very, very young. The horrors of my very own childhood concentration camp washed that name out of my vocabulary. I guess it's those tiny-child memories that take hold deep within our subconscious, springing up to surprise us when our guards are down. Shortly after his suicide, I remember sitting in the bathtub, with my head absolutely empty of thoughts, which were blasted away by the holocaust of his gun shot. "My daddy's gone." It felt unbearable. The silence that preceded and followed that thought stretched on like nuclear winter for what seemed an eternity.

Ten years later, I've come to terms with it, as much as one ever can. The reality of his self-murder, the anguish of not being able to penetrate his self-destructiveness and delusion have been tempered by time. I'm angry with him still. I pity him still. I still wish he had been capable of love. I still live with the wounds he inflicted on me, before his death and after. I'll continue to talk about his death as the month grinds on, because that's what I do, that's all that I can do.

Life seems to be an intricate maze in search of reconciliation between the child I was, the adult I thought I might become, the person I am and the one I'm becoming. I'm trying to recreate the inner narrative by which I define myself. The stories we tell ourselves about ourselves are critical to human beings; they are, in essence, that which denotes our individuality. I'm a composite of events, cataloged and assigned personal symbolic meaning, separate and apart from others' remembrance of the personality they once knew or their perception of me now.

We are all many things to many different people in this journey. Our brains hold our histories, keeping track of songs long-since forgotten, tiny moments that are unavailable to us in conscious memory. I struggle to meld together the things I remember all too clearly and the puzzle of what comes now, allowing those deep, hidden roots of memory to nourish me in silence and darkness.

It's not an altogether dark exploration, though. The Guadalupe River is high. There's a squirrel napping on a limb outside my window. The mystery of the cosmos takes my breath away.

Watching the River Flow

Annual physical. Check.
Dentist. Check.

Until next week, I'm finished with people in white coats. What a relief. Next week, another dentist appointment and an appointment to discuss genetic testing, which I'm going to cancel. With any luck, that will wrap up all of my medical commitments until December. I'm breathing easier already.

I don't know if this is an industry-wide change, but my primary care physician has a brand new way to do pap smears. Guess what? It involves more pain.

For ten years, I refused to have a pap smear. I had had one of the best ob-gyns in town, a man. From the first time I ever had one, they always evoked memories of my sexual abuse as a child. In my late thirties, I found a woman general practitioner whom I trusted. Since that time, they've all been bearable, until last year. My regular doctor was out, so I had a nurse practitioner do my annual physical. I thought the painful pap smear was because she was a stranger. Maybe the new, improved pap smear methodology was implemented last year. Welcome back to childhood.

I had a accident with my puppy (who weighs 50 pounds) on Sunday, when he rammed his hard, pointy little head into the bottom of my chin. There was a lot of blood (mine) and I was afraid I'd loosened a tooth from the force of his head against my jaw. My dentist says I'm fine.

It's been a tough couple of weeks, so I'm taking a break from work (and maybe the computer) for the rest of the week. Tomorrow, my mom and I are going to have lunch at a little restaurant about 30 miles from here. It's in an old grist mill, with decks perched among the trees, along the banks of the river. You can hear the river rushing beneath the tree canopies. It's one of my favorite things to do and something my mom and I did every year until I was diagnosed. We've been deprived of the fun for the past two years. I was determined to find a way to do it this year, so my colleagues in Crazy Land believe I'm on my way out of town to see more doctors.

I don't even remember when I last had a day completely devoted to relaxing and doing something I enjoy. It's finally here.

I may be away from the computer until next week; I'll have to see how it goes. Until then, I invite everyone to take a day for themselves and remember what's important in life.

Which Tarot Card Are You?

You Are The Lovers

You represent ideal love: innocence, trust, exhilaration and joy. You demonstrate the harmony of opposites, two sides coming together. At times, you also represent the struggle between what is right and what is tempting. Control is an issue for you, especially when you don't know your reasons for choosing something. Your fortune: You have an important choice you need to make about love, and it will be a difficult choice to make. You are likely struggling between the love you crave and the love that is right. In the end, you will choose what you crave, even if it's bad for you. Because without what you crave, you will feel empty and incomplete.

What Tarot Card Are You?

I'm Cambodia

You're Cambodia!

Life's been really rough, but it's slowly improving. You know
way too much about the skeletal structure of humans, mostly from being forced to study
it. This has given you a fear of many things, most especially the color red.
The future has to be more promising though, and your greatest adversary can now
never come back to hurt you any more.


Take the Country Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid

I'm A Scorpion

You're a Scorpion!

You really enjoy weapons and like keeping as many of them at hand
as possible, just in case. Most of these weapons are sharp, and you have a small
collection of armor as well. You just can't be too careful these days. Maybe it's
that you've always been small and feel threatened and this has prompted your
elaborate collection to bloom. It's not too surprising that you've become a bit of
a loner, even a hermit, with those tendencies. Or that your favorite actor is The
Rock.


Take the Animal Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

What Classic Movie Are You

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

What Book Are You?

You're Love in the Time of Cholera!

by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Like Odysseus in a work of Homer, you demonstrate undying loyalty by
sleeping with as many people as you possibly can. But in your heart you never give
consent! This creates a strange quandary of what love really means to you. On the
one hand, you've loved the same person your whole life, but on the other, your actions
barely speak to this fact. Whatever you do, stick to bottled water. The other stuff
could get you killed.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Awesome

On Saturday, when I went to my local Walgreens to pick up a prescription, I was waited on by a young Pharmacy Technician. I've never quite understood what specific skills are necessary for that job other than the ability to talk (to pharmacists and customers), the ability to alphabetize (the prescription bags) and the ability to run the computer/cash register. On the face of it, that seems easy enough.

I've engaged in transactions with this tech before and all has always gone well. That's saying a lot because I've been "helped" by a number of true numbskulls who needed a lot more Pharmacy Tech education. Mainly in the area of "finding stuff." I hope there's a separate class on that subject, because it's sorely needed. Or, for instance, "Diabetes Drugs--Where To find them in the Pharmacy Refrigerator." That should also be a required class in the Pharmacy Tech curriculum.

This Pharmacy Tech must have had absolutely stellar grades in "finding stuff", because he located my prescription in short order.

"Have you taken this before?" he asked me.

"Yes."

"Have you had any problems with it?"

"No," I said.

His response? "Awesome."

Yet another suggestion for Pharmacy Technician required training: "Reasons Why 'Awesome' is a Completely Inappropriate Response. To Anything."

While I'm at it, I may as well cover my other pet peeve, one which must certainly define me as a crank. I always thank all waiters, cashiers and sales people. They've provided me with a service, they are fellow human beings and that is my way of acknowledging both of those things. I know the vast majority of people don't understand either one of those truths, are too busy or too irritated to be thankful. Some people probably don't even seen the need to show gratitude because, after all, the service provider is compensated either by the customer or the store owner or both. I get all of that and I'm not proselytizing for my way of doing things. Nothing wrong with those people.

It's not impossible for me to see that maybe people who work in customer service positions are completely unaccustomed to being thanked. Maybe they don't know what to say. Entirely possible.

However, once I've said my "thank you" and smiled at the cashier/waitperson/sales person, they should respond with something along the lines of, "My pleasure." Instead, the majority of service people say, "No problem." Well, I should certainly hope it would not be a problem, since it's your job, after all.

I know, I know. I have had sales jobs, but not waiting tables and not acting solely as a cashier. I have many times worked in malls at Christmas. I'm a war-hardened veteran of harried, bad-tempered customers. I've had many friends who've worked in restaurants. It's a tough to make a living wage and maintain your sanity. I'm entirely sympathetic to their plight or I would never say thank you.

I work in a service industry, though. (I will not bore you with my lecture about how we all are customer providers of one type or another. It's long and could be a bit tedious.) I not only answer to our clients, but to the other denizens of Crazy Land. Crazy Land notwithstanding, I still want to give my internal customers what they need. I will do whatever it takes to make the company's clients happy. I will tell them it's my pleasure to help them and they should let me know immediately if there's a problem or they need more assistance.

Please never, ever tell me "no problem." I don't get my panties in a wad or leave a paltry tip. It's a thing I notice, though. Think of this as just another note from the woman I swore I would never grow up to be. In the words of my co-worker, Loathsome, thank you for your cognizance.

Things I've Learned By Writing This Blog

I'm not sure I've learned anything writing about myself in my breast cancer blog, but maybe I don't want to know anything more about myself in that regard.

I think this will be an ongoing, sporadic accounting of epiphanies, not in any particular order.

*I'm verbose. Very.

*There are a lot of very kind and thoughtful people out there in the cyberworld. Unfortunately, I don't work with any of them. Or actually live in the same city.

*People who read this blog know me better than anyone else on earth.

*My work life doesn't just make me angry, depress me or make me feel like a failure. It entertains me on a regular basis.

*I have no idea why everyone else doesn't find me as fascinating as I do.

*I no longer hate myself when I write. I no longer consistently hate what I write. It's okay to not be T.S. Eliot.

*Anonymity is liberating. Honesty about my life is exhilirating.

*I need a Thesaurus and dictionary more than I used to before I started taking Tamoxifen. Or went through chemotherapy. Or both.

What have you learned since you started your weblog? I find you every bit as fascinating as you do. So tell me.

Things I've Learned Since I Started My Weblog

I'm very verbose.
I think I'm fascinating and don't understand why everyone else doesn't.
It's wonderful to know people from all over the world.
Virtally all of these people are kind and generous with their hearts.
I like writing again after I stopped being so critical.
I think everything is complex. Oh wait. I knew that before.
I really love the word "just" and have to be vigilant not to use it in every sentence.
I've forgotten how to spell.
My work life is a lot easier to bear when I get to view my co-workers as entertaining.
I'm afraid that someone I know will see what I've been writing. I might lose my job.
I love the freedom to write about anything I wish without the fear that someone I know is reading along.

Crazy Cat Lady Action Figure

When I was at the vet's office last week, picking up one of the feral cats, I noticed she has a "Crazy Cat Lady Action Figure" hung on a bulletin board. Here's a short review from stupid.com

There she stands -- ratty bathrobe, checked pajama bottoms, headband, wild hair, and a fanatical look on her face. And she's surrounded by six cats that own her heart and soul.

The Crazy Cat Lady stands 5-1/4" tall and can be posed however you like.

Yes, you may be tempted to laugh at the Crazy Cat Lady. But, be warned, one day that Cat Lady may be yourself.

It looks a little bit like me. Oh no. What have I become.

The Brain That Would Not Shut Up

There's a song that's been running through my head the past couple of days.

"Rock 'n roll hoochie coo

(Rock 'n roll hoochie coo)

Lordy Mama, Wipe my shoes

As opposed to "Lordy Mama, Light my fuse."

I don't remember who recorded it, didn't much like it when it came out, know the correct lyrics (obviously), but it just keeps popping up in my head with the wrong lyrics. Someone please free me from The Brain That Would Not Shut Up. God I hate this.