Psychological Waterboarding

Panic off. Instead of relying on rumors, Owner has turned up some reliable sources regarding the financial health of our clients.

That noise you hear is me laughing insanely and beating my head against the wall.

I won't get fooled again. No matter what the annual salary hit I'll take, I've had enough. In the meantime, cackle cackle whack whack.

Poison Pen Letter

Owner is back from his sick bed and maniacally focused on sending the business into the proverbial trash can.

Today, I'm angry. Golf Pro and his father, a stockholder, are planning to suck up one of the clients the Pro has carefully cultivated over the years by neglecting. By the way, this is Pro's only client and one that existed prior to his employment. Pro foolishly believes this one client will provide him with the exorbitant lifestyle he's come to wallow in. In the words of Bob Dylan, it's a hard rain gonna fall.

Mr. Moneybags will no longer command his 6-figure income, nor will he have Crazy Land to purchase his vehicle. Owner is completely incapable of getting a job. Once we shut Crazy Land down, collecting outstanding debt will become vexing. However, Land's debtors will inside on being paid. Where will all the money come from to support Owner's grown children, his massive credit card debt and to support his own lavish lifestyle?

I'm at least realistic about the changes Crazy Land's demise will have on my life. I have not grown accustomed to unrealistic pay rates. (See previous post.) I have breast cancer. Money is not my highest priority.

I'm angry about injustice, I'm angry about stupidity and greed. Relentless impending doom, when it's not yet warranted, irritates me.

By all means, shut it down. Let's all try to find our way. Before the end, though, several people will need to clear their schedules for a final interview with Ggirl. You cannot imagine the fear and trembling that can evoke.

I'm Not Home Yet

12.4.08

I threw away my prosthesis Monday night and moved my wigs off of my dresser. I don't know why it's taken so long, nor do I know why there are still things I can't look at and can't get rid of.

I have several tote bags in my bedroom that I've used in the 3 years I've shuttled back and forth between here and M.D. Anderson. They're filled with insurance forms, bills, magazines, puzzle books...the stuff that accumulates while you wait. Waiting is an art in which I've become well versed.

I can't make myself go through it. I try now and then, but that chemo nausea returns like a ghost to remind me of how bad it's been.

I also carry a small notebook with me that includes, among other things, several pages detailing the physical reactions I had to chemotherapy. I agreed to participate in a study that required I keep track. I can't tear those pages out.

I remind myself that I've been through a lot. I got rid of the prosthesis, I moved my wigs. It's a journey of reconciliation. I'm not home yet.

Rules For Living In Crazy Land

Rule Number One for Living in Crazy Land: Let go of ego and resentment.

Rule Number Two: Remember that everyone here is suffering because of their own inability to let go of ego.

There's no need for anger or fantasies of sabotage. That self-indulgence merely leads me farther down the road into the Crazy Land wilderness where dysfunction flourishes. I don't do dysfunctional. I guess that would be Rule Number Three.

When I'm grounded in reality, I'm always free to offer compassion. And to be entertained.

Jingling Bling

Thanksgiving being (thankfully) over, the Festal Pig has returned to plague Crazy Land with jingly bling.

We have a minimal staff today--Golf Pro (wonder of wonders!), Mr. Moneybags, The Information Superhighway, IT Boy, Moneybags' daughter, Morose Owner and, of course, yours truly, the Festal Pig. Were it not for the constant jingle jingle of my bracelet, Crazy Land would be utterly grim.

Though it gave renewed temporary hope to Owner, virtually all of our citizens have accepted the inevitable demise of Crazy Land. Owner, the Founder and Caretaker of Crazy Land, is determined to see the company crumble. As far as he's concerned, it already has. His pessimism is living proof to the theory of self-fulfilling prophecy. Owner is depressed and gloomy. He's already destitute. The worst has already happened.

On the Pig front, I recently gained starling new information regarding salaries here and it's given me new impetus to seek a new, more fulfilling Crazy Land. Yes, boys and girls, it's out there. I will most assuredly find it and settle into a new, dysfunctional country of ego maniacs and eccentrics.

It turns out that Golf Pro isn't the only one who's raking in the cash. Looks like I'm last in line for the gravy train. If we weren't already halfway under water, I might be tempted to sabotage my victories in developing a more efficient analytical database. Mr. Moneybags would have to revisit the cost of building a new version. Reality can be a cruel and pricey teacher. We're two steps into the quicksand, though, and I'm not sure it's worth the trouble required to commit software vandalism.

I console myself with the knowledge that job offers for the wildly overpaid with similar big bucks will be mighty slim. I know none of these comforting thoughts falls into the holiday spirit mode. I make up for it in jingle, though. If my jingly bling irritates my fellow workers, all the better.

Jingle jingle, you buttwads.

Golf Pro: The Reason I Don't Own Firearms

I just found out how much Golf Pro makes (note that I did not say "earns"). One of the many reasons why it's best that I don't own firearms.

Golf Pro works, on average, 10 hours a week and makes more money than anyone other than Mr. Moneybags.

As Bob Dylan said, though, "It's a hard rain gonna fall" if Crazy Land goes away. What does a 47 year old man do who hasn't ever worked? If you asked Golf Pro to define the word "work," he wouldn't be able to do it. He has absolutely no marketable skills, but he does have attitude in abundance. Golf Pro is an executive and demands that he be treated as such. Well, he's smart enough not to expect it from me.

I'm going to resume deep breathing and imagine myself contemplating the universe from the comfort of a hotel room in Santa Fe. Ahhh. Much better.

Wading Through High Waters

It took a while to slog through my dad's anniversary. Actually, I think I'm still wading through some sadness.

Hubby and I are on speaking terms again. He's been more helpful than usual, so I'm thinking that, at least for the time being, we're on almost the same page. Being on the same page is a bit much to ask, but having him on a quarter of the page I'm on is a huge improvement.

Crazy Land has been chewing up all of my discretionary, write in my blog time. While IT Boy was on his honeymoon, I was the only recourse for Loathsome when his email went berserk. He stalked into my office and asked me if I had a computer. That is so Loathsome. I made him cut to the chase and tell me what was happening. You can't imagine what a huge task it was to just get the basic facts out of him. I was exhausted before I began.

I spent two days working on his computer, then I abandoned all hope. I set his email up on another computer so Loathsome could function while we waited for the return of IT Boy. A week into using that computer, it stopped running the accounting software. Of course, everybody blamed Loathsome for the troubles.

IT Boy got back this past Monday and devoted three days to Loathsome's email. I understand that, as of yesterday afternoon, virtual memory has been restored and it's stopped shutting itself down or freezing up. I had correctly pinpointed the problem and I take some pride in the fact that IT Boy wasn't able to waltz in and fix the problem immediately.

Yesterday I invited my Crazy Land cohorts to join me for a belated birthday celebration/thank you party. Two days after issuing the invitation, I suddenly remembered that I've had several birthday parties when no one showed up. Yes, it was a sad, sad childhood. Nothing like setting yourself up to be hurt and disappointed...again.

Everyone but Golf Pro showed up, though, and I was able to thank everyone for helping me get through three years of breast cancer hell. It was actually better that Golf Pro was MIA. Everyone is even more furious at him than usual.

I'm so happy to have 15 minutes to keep track of what's going on, even if it's on a very minimal basis. I have to try to find a way to work this into my days, which continue to be far too busy. I'm inventive. I'll just put me on my daily schedule.

Alone In the Ice and Snow

Hubby and I are at an impasse today. Last night, I lost patience with him when I told him I was having therapy today and he seemed to be exasperated with the endless nature of my medical/psychological needs.

I told him that I resent the fact that he contributes so little to our relationship. He doesn't work, he doesn't do anything around the house except wash the dishes and clean (the inside of) the bathtub. (I have made him responsible for walking and feeding the dogs. He does a middling job of both.) I told him that I'm so resentful, in fat, that it's affecting our intimate relationship. I told him I feel burdened by his lethargy...or whatever. I said that I feel more like his mother than his wife.

I demanded that he tell me what he does with the 8 hours a day I'm at work. I mean, really. Couldn't he just sweep the floor? Dust? Something? He admitted that he wastes a lot of time, but then implied that's just the way he is. I'd love to waste time. I don't have time to waste time.

Well, needless to say, he was very hurt and probably very angry. He disappeared upstairs, came back down a couple of times to deal with the dogs and went directly back up. I didn't like that reaction. It made me angry.

Great timing. Now I will probably have to spend the weekend in silence. Hubby tends to use the Freeze Out (passive-aggressive) response to conflict. Tomorrow is the anniversary of my dad's suicide. Excellent timing on my part.

Today I'm tired and sad. I'm not good at recognizing it, but if I had to bet, I'd say I'm probably really anxious. I feel so alone. The Superhighway says that our respective husbands use guilt to control us. My mom says that, too. I'm sure Therapist will agree.

They're all correct, of course. That doesn't make me less unhappy. Worse yet, I feel shamed by my neediness. Of course, I might not feel so needy if tomorrow were a different day, not an anniversary.

I'm certain that I'll try to ease the tension between us. I wish I wouldn't. I wish he would try to see things from my point of view. I wish, I wish, I wish.... Things are what they are, though.

Boy, do I need therapy.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow.


From Survivors of Suicide

Helping A Survivor Heal

Historian Arnold Toynbee once wrote, "There are always two parties to a death; the person who dies and the survivors who are bereaved." Unfortunately, many survivors of suicide suffer alone and in silence. The silence that surrounds them often complicates the healing that comes from being encouraged to mourn.

Because of the social stigma surrounding suicide, survivors feel the pain of the loss, yet may not know how, or where, or if, they should express it. Yet, the only way to heal is to mourn. Just like other bereaved persons grieving the loss of someone loved, suicide survivors need to talk, to cry, sometimes to scream, in order to heal.

As a result of fear and misunderstanding, survivors of suicide deaths are often left with a feeling of abandonment at a time when they desperately need unconditional support and understanding. Without a doubt, suicide survivors suffer in a variety of ways: one, because they need to mourn the loss of someone who has died; two, because they have experienced a sudden, typically unexpected traumatic death; and three, because they are often shunned by a society unwilling to enter into the pain of their grief.

How Can You Help?
A friend or family member has experienced the death of someone loved from suicide. You want to help, but you are not sure how to go about it. This page will guide you in ways to turn your cares and concerns into positive action.

Accept The Intensity Of The Grief
Grief following a suicide is always complex. Survivors don't "get over it." Instead, with support and understanding they can come to reconcile themselves to its reality. Don't be surprised by the intensity of their feelings. Sometimes, when they least suspect it, they may be overwhelmed by feelings of grief. Accept that survivors may be struggling with explosive emotions, guilt, fear and shame, well beyond the limits experienced in other types of deaths. Be patient, compassionate and understanding.

Listen With Your Heart
Assisting suicide survivors means you must break down the terribly costly silence. Helping begins with your ability to be an active listener. Your physical presence and desire to listen without judgment are critical helping tools. Willingness to listen is the best way to offer help to someone who needs to talk.

Thoughts and feelings inside the survivor may be frightening and difficult to acknowledge. Don't worry so much about what you will say. Just concentrate on the words that are being shared with you.

Your friend may relate the same story about the death over and over again. Listen attentively each time. Realize this repetition is part of your friend's healing process. Simply listen and understand. And, remember, you don't have to have the answer.

Avoid Simplistic Explanations and Clichés
Words, particularly clichés, can be extremely painful for a suicide survivor. Clichés are trite comments often intended to diminish the loss by providing simple solutions to difficult realities. Comments like, "You are holding up so well," "Time will heal all wounds," "Think of what you still have to be thankful for" or "You have to be strong for others" are not constructive. Instead, they hurt and make a friend's journey through grief more difficult.

Be certain to avoid passing judgment or providing simplistic explanations of the suicide. Don't make the mistake of saying the person who suicided was "out of his or her mind." Informing a survivor that someone they loved was "crazy or insane" typically only complicates the situation. Suicide survivors need help in coming to their own search for understanding of what has happened. In the end, their personal search for meaning and understanding of the death is what is really important.

Be Compassionate
Give your friend permission to express his or her feelings without fear of criticism. Learn from your friend. Don't instruct or set explanations about how he or she should respond. Never say "I know just how you feel." You don't. Think about your helping role as someone who "walks with," not "behind" or "in front of" the one who is bereaved.

Familiarize yourself with the wide spectrum of emotions that many survivors of suicide experience. Allow your friend to experience all the hurt, sorrow and pain that he or she is feeling at the time. And recognize tears are a natural and appropriate expression of the pain associated with the loss.

Respect The Need To Grieve
Often ignored in their grief are the parents, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, spouses and children of persons who have suicided. Why? Because of the nature of the death, it is sometimes kept a secret. If the death cannot be talked about openly, the wounds of grief will go unhealed.

As a caring friend, you may be the only one willing to be with the survivors. Your physical presence and permissive listening create a foundation for the healing process. Allow the survivors to talk, but don't push them. Sometimes you may get a cue to back off and wait. If you get a signal that this is what is needed, let them know you are ready to listen if, and when, they want to share their thoughts and feelings.

Understand The Uniqueness Of Suicide Grief
Keep in mind that the grief of suicide survivors is unique. No one will respond to the death of someone loved in exactly the same way. While it may be possible to talk about similar phases shared by survivors, everyone is different and shaped by experiences in his or her life.

Because the grief experience is unique, be patient. The process of grief takes a long time, so allow your friend to process the grief at his or her own pace. Don't criticize what is inappropriate behavior. Remember the death of someone to suicide is a shattering experience. As a result of this death, your friend's life is under reconstruction.

Be Aware Of Holidays And Anniversaries
Survivors of suicide may have a difficult time during special occasions like holidays and anniversaries. These events emphasize the absence of the person who has died. Respect the pain as a natural expression of the grief process. Learn from it. And, most importantly, never try to take the hurt away.

Use the name of the person who has died when talking to survivors. Hearing the name can be comforting and it confirms that you have not forgotten this important person who was so much a part of their lives.

Be Aware Of Support Groups
Support groups are one of the best ways to help survivors of suicide. In a group, survivors can connect with other people who share the commonality of the experience. They are allowed and encouraged to tell their stories as much, and as often, as they like. You may be able to help survivors locate such a group. This practical effort on your part will be appreciated. (See Directory of SOS Support Groups on main page)

Respect Faith And Spirituality
If you allow them, a survivor will "teach you" about their feelings regarding faith and spirituality. If faith is part of their lives, let them express it in ways that seem appropriate. If they are mad at God, encourage them to talk about it. Remember, having anger at God speaks of having a relationship with God. Don't be a judge, be a loving friend.

Survivors may also need to explore how religion may have complicated their grief. They may have been taught that persons who take their own lives are doomed to hell. Your task is not to explain theology, but to listen and learn. Whatever the situation, your presence and desire to listen without judging are critical helping tools.

Work Together As Helpers
Friends and family who experience the death of someone to suicide must no longer suffer alone and in silence. As helpers, you need to join with other caring persons to provide support and acceptance for survivors who need to grieve in healthy ways.

To experience grief is the result of having loved. Suicide survivors must be guaranteed this necessity. While the above guidelines on this page will be helpful, it is important to recognize that helping a suicide survivor heal will not be an easy task. You may have to give more concern, time and love than you ever knew you had. But this effort will be more than worth it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr. Alan D. Wolfelt is a noted author, educator and practicing thanatologist. He serves as Director of the Center for Loss and Life Transition in Fort Collins, Colorado and is on the faculty at the University of Colorado Medical School in the Department of Family Medicine.
As a leading authority in the field of thanatology, Dr. Wolfelt is known internationally for his outstanding work in the areas of adult and childhood grief. Among his publications are the books, Death and Grief; A Guide For Clergy, Helping Children Cope With Grief and Interpersonal Skills Training: A Handbook for Funeral Home Staffs. In addition, he is the editor of the "Children and Grief" department of Bereavement magazine and is a regular contributor to the journal Thanatos.

Loathsome, A Unique Brand of Distraction

This is the second day in a row that I've devoted almost entirely to Loathsome's computer. IT Boy is on his two-week honeymoon, which leaves us without any computer support.

Surprise. I am not IT Ggirl. Error message said not enough virtual memory. I created more virtual memory. I cleaned up the disk and eliminated hundreds of files. Then error message said Microsoft Outlook should be reinstalled because a .dll file is missing. I'm not reinstalling anything, Loathsome. It seems to me that there are systemic problems.

As I tried to understand and work through the many problems, Loathsome required a blow-by-blow explanation of what I was doing and why. Kill me, please. I might as well be speaking Swahili. Loathsome is relentless, as if by telling him, he might be prepared to deal with future problems himself. He's either deluded or he's trying to impress me with his commitment to grasping the workings of Microsoft Windows. Not impressed, as you might imagine.

Up side? Not much time to think about suicide. The baffling thing is that this year is so unbearably sad for me. I've spent at least the last five years being enraged at my father. Even aside from the suicide, I have plenty to be angry about. Most people have trouble understanding how I could have any emotional connection with him at all after he made my life a slow motion, eternal train wreck.

Again, the universe has offered up Loathsome as a distraction. I'm moderately happy to take it.

four days

Remembering the Dragon

Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are but princes that are waiting to see us act just once with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest essence, something helpless that needs our love.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

5 days

Log On 60%

Mr. Moneybags called on the intercom to tell me he was going to shut the server down and reset it.

Two minutes later, someone knocked on my door. Guess who? Loathsome.

"What did your computer do this morning?"

"You mean what's it doing now?"

Loathsome looks confused now that I've posed that question. Try again.

"What's the problem with it?"

It was doing things he'd never seen before and wouldn't allow him to log on. I suggested that he wait a few minutes until Bags reset the server and try again.

"No, that's not it. I've already done that three times, " he said.

I tried to explain why he should try one more time. Sometimes Loathsome gets this look on his face that's part confusion, part frustration, part dumb suffering. If he were a horse, I'd shoot him to end his misery. Instead, I proceeded to his office. I restarted and it got stuck. We did this four times and finally I restartedt in safe mode. At least that way Loathsome could look at his email and surf the net for whatever hugely important tasks must be accomplished today.

I went back to my office and finished up some work on my computer, then went to make some copies in the foyer in our suite of offices. While I was copying, I noticed Loathsome's shadow like carrion ready to lunch on dead meat. Dead meat. That would be me.

"Did you get an email from me?"

I had no idea.

"I don't know. Why?"

"It's not working," he said. I was about to go back to his office when Moneybags appeared at the printer right next to the copier I was using. Bags told Loathsome to log on again.

"Huh?" The famous Loathsome response to everyone, generally repeated 3 times before you can move on to the next sentence.

Moneybags said, "Log on again. Log on again."

Loathsome looked at me like I was his life line. "All the way?"

No, I did not tell him to log on 60%, but you know I wanted to.


Nine days.

Anniversary

Ten days until the 11th anniversary of my father's suicide.

Grief never ends.

Reprieve

Owner came into my office yesterday morning and delivered a rambling recitation of the reasons why Crazy Land was being terminated with extreme prejudice. They were perfectly understandable in this rough and tumble economic environment. Unfortunately, at least some of the information upon which the decision was made was purely speculative. Rumors.

Furthermore, Owner's children were now going to face the brutal realities of making one's own way in the world. They still receive economic support even though they are in their mid to late twenties. So they need to get with that program in 24 hours? It seemed unlikely to me.

An emergency shareholders' meeting was called for 10:00 a.m. yesterday. Owner can't merely decide for himself whether to shut down the Land of Crazy. After five hours of discussion, they emerged with a renewed commitment to growing the Land.

So here we are, walking in quicksand just like every other business in the world. Sooner or later, the money hemorrhage will end if things don't improve. Most of the corporate employees were blissfully unaware of the looming joblessness sitting right outside their offices. As for me, I developed some action items and tried to come to terms with the prospect of no health insurance. Cancer patients aren't generally welcomed by insurers or, if they're invited into the fold, it comes with a price tag I certainly can't afford.

Having gotten a reprieve from the proverbial ax, I'm looking for a new Crazy Land in which to settle. Trust me, if it's an insane work environment, I will inevitably find it and be sucked in to a black hole of psychodrama and inefficiency. I've learned from history, but I feel certain that I'm nonetheless doomed to repeat it.

On the up side, new entertainment awaits.

Crazy Land Crumbles, Writer Goes Insane

That's me there on the left, standing in the wilderness, looking up to Heaven. Like everyone else on the planet, my financial plight looks very iffy.

Tomorrow morning, the Crazy Land stockholders are holding a meeting to decide the fate of the company. The good news is that I'll definitely be employed at the end of today. Tomorrow is anybody's guess.

This is where what I learned from breast cancer is shoring me up. Can I control any of this--the state of the world economy, the state of Crazy Land or my own financial future? Well, not particularly. If you can't control it, gotta let it go. I'm letting it go again and again. About every 15 minutes at this point.

In the meantime, I'm going about my business, filing workers' comp claims, updating databases, searching for unbilled expenses. What else can you do? It's difficult to stay motivated when it's entirely possible very little of my work will mean anything in 24 hours (give or take a few). Nonetheless, it's important to take care of my responsibilities until they're not mine anymore.

Loss. As I recently shared with a friend, it's been my big lesson for the past decade. I wish I could learn the truth behind it so life won't continue to slap me in the face with it. All I know is that you have to let go. What am I missing here?

A life of constant instability, conflict, lovelessness and loss--what am I to make of that? I don't even have a therapist to help me work through this. Okay, that's kinda funny. I guess the only thing to do is continue to open my heart to compassion and to pain--not just my own but for everyone who suffers or has or will. Finding humor always helps, so I have to hold on to that understanding, too. Other than that? Beats me.

Oh yeah...a postscript. The great things in my life. I live in a house. I have adequate food and clothing. I'm receiving medical care (at the moment). There are many people in my life who love me and many whom I love. I have an entertaining and brilliant (though not financially productive) husband. My mom is still with me and we're close friends. I have two great dogs. I am not going through chemo, nor am I looking at another surgery (again, fingers crossed). I am not in excessive pain. I can think. I can see. I can communicate. I have a sense of humor, even though it's rather dark and warped. All in all, I'm a very lucky woman.

Prayers, finger crossing, throwing salt over shoulder, saying a mantra...whatever you do, feel free to include me.

All Hell Inevitably Breaks Loose

Just a brief update today. There's even more madness than usual at Crazy Land. Our bank was bought out by Citigroup, thus flipping Owner out. One of our biggest clients is probably going to file for bankruptcy within the next several months. They owe us a huge amount of money. Both Bags and Owner believe that we'll never receive any of it and that will spell the end of Crazy Land. I'm attempting to maintain some shred of serenity.

This is where the gift of breast cancer really helps. The question to ask is, "Can I control anything in this situation?" If the answer is no, then I have to let go of worry and obsession. I had to ask myself that question about 20 times yesterday to regain my sanity. I did yoga when I got home and felt much better. I see a lot of yoga in my future.

On my own personal crazy front, my therapist and I will see each other once a month. As long as I have this job, I can afford that much at least. It's so incredibly predictable that all hell would break loose within days of being, essentially, on my own. On the other hand, as we all know, I can survive anything. Sometimes you have to ask yourself, though, whether that's such a good thing.

Tomorrow is the beginning of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I'll be posting breast cancer information all this month.

Stop Loss

Okay, let's pause for a moment and review. In the past ten years, I've

*lost my father to suicide
*lost my oldest and dearest friend to a heart attack
*lost another old and dear friend because our relationship had become toxic to me
*lost my Malamute
*lost two beloved cats
*lost my breast
*lost three years of my life to breast cancer

and now I've lost my therapist of 14 years. If the universe is trying to teach me something about loss, I hope I figure out the mystery some time soon. I'm not up for any more losses (as though any of us has a choice).

I really think I get it, though. Life is about loss. Sooner or later, we will lose everything and everyone we love. Refusal to accept that fact is the very definition of suffering. I understand that down to the marrow of my bones.

I'm trying to keep an open mind and open heart so that, if there are lessons I haven't yet learned, they will reveal themselves to me. Of course, I'd just have to move on to another set of lessons I haven't gotten yet. That's kind of scary.

I'd really like to just coast for a while.

No One Left To Talk To

I lost my therapist on Friday. I've maxed out my lifetime therapy limit.

Now you're the only one left to talk to.

How Would You Like To Be Remembered?

Before he died of cancer, one of my heroes (Leroy Sievers) asked his readers to tell him how they'd like to be remembered. I watched a bit of his memorial service yesterday and thought some more about it.

I'd like people to remember all the times when I could have judged, but didn't. I'd like them to remember my warmth. I'd like them to remember the times I made them laugh or shared with them one of those random facts no one else would know.

I wish there were someone who could share, when the time comes, how hard my life has been and how I rose above it, time and time again. That's really the greatest accomplishment of my life. I have thrived in an environment that could have destroyed me. My cousins survived, but I triumphed over bad genes and dismal nurturing.

I hope they remember how brave I've been. Not because I've lived through breast cancer. Not because I lived through my dad's suicide. I've been courageous by refusing let go of compassion, no matter what. It's a work in progress, letting go of anger and resentment, but I continue to put one foot in front of the other.

When all is said and done, there aren't many choices to make in life. You're born into certain circumstances and, as terrible as things eventually may get, all you can do is keep going. As I've said before, no one gets to call in sick to life. We wake up every day and try to get through it, no matter what. That's all we can do.

Getting up and going on doesn't require courage. Maintaining humor, gentleness, compassion and integrity--for those qualities I've had to reach deep inside. I have had to bring my attention back day after day. They've tested my mettle.

I wish people would remember that about me. How would you like to be remembered?

Do I Look Like An Accountant?

Do I look like an accountant to you? Okay, that's a rhetorical question since I've never posted a photo anywhere. The answer is, no I do not.

I spent virtually all day yesterday doing Bags' job. We need to cultivate new business and have an opportunity to work 0n a project in New York. The problem is, in order to do that, we have to know the potential costs to factor into billing rates. I did my part of the investigation--I found tax information and instructions on registering as a foreign corporation. I generally handle all of the activities required to get us going in a new state.

I attempted to give the tax rates to Bags, but he had no interest in pursuing it. I tried to give it to him twice. Owner decided I should give it to him. That set off a flurry of copying and highlighting and flagging. I have to tell you, I am incapable of understanding a lot of it, having never filed franchise taxes before. Again, not an accountant.

Meanwhile, the Superhighway decided to retrieve the mail from the post office and I was inundated with bills that have to be entered into the Famous Endless Database. Furthermore, Hemorrhoid Guy and I have been planning to change the purchase order process for one of our clients. That means I need to find out how to establish access privileges so Our Man On The Scene doesn't accidentally delete all of the records for the past year. Once they're gone, they are most definitely gone, unless he calls our IT Boy to recover the records. Do I trust him to do that? Well, no.

Finally, Owner decided it was imperative to get some specific information regarding a workers' comp accident that occurred two years ago. There have been lots of injured bodies under the bridge since then, so more scrambling about to compile the relevant data.

After that, home to do yoga and cook red snapper for dinner. I've been trying to finish a novel for the past three weeks, but after my day yesterday, I started to fall asleep at around 8:00 as I read.

Last rhetorical question: Do I look like a superwoman? I think you know the answer to that.