Picture This:

We go to Fort Wayne Neurology. We meet up with a patient - a multiple sclerosis patient - and chat with him about his disease, his drugs, and his life in a wheelchair. Nice guy. We do some reflex and strength testing, sensation tests, and then we're ushered into an exam room. Me, Asher, Lindy, and Rachel. With the instructions to "practise the neurological exam". How fun is that? We play with the reflex hammers and figure out how to get knee-jerk reflexes, I demonstrate the ankle-jerk reflexes that my family doctor taught me, we try wrists and elbows...I got a wrist jerk on Rachel once, but for the most part we just banged on our fingers until they went sore, and gave up. Gotta learn. Get out the cotton, the tuning forks, and the pins, poke, prod and bang until we've all demonstrated that we have intact senses and know how to test them. Pull out the nystagmus strip. This is a long blue-and-white striped strip that you wave back and forth in front of someone's eyes to see if they have nystagmus. Which is the spiffy jerking movements that your eyes make when you can't track fast enough. Watch someone's eyes when they're looking out the car window at trees going by to see it. So cool. Tracked ocular muscles with our fingers, then set to the really hard work: the funduscopic exam. Which was when we got to try out the PanOptic. This thing is so freakin' cool. For the very first time ever I got to see the back of someone's eye. Rachel's eye. After fiddling for like ten minutes. Then we tried the regular otoscope, the kind most doctors use. The difference was unbelievable.

I want.

Got to hit up the parents-in-law, who have the wherewithal to fund my medical school education, and see if they'll help me with the $600 student price tag (list at $1000) for it. Because this thing...I can actually see with it. Wow.

Hey, ho, nobody home...

Rachel's crying across the way. To borrow from Clarabear - Rawr at Koritnik for making Rachel cry. The man is outmoded, outdated, constantly claiming he's "too busy" to find out if drugs are on the market yet or even answer a simple e-mail asking a question about the upcoming exam for days after I send it. But he has time to make these stupid little animated icons for his webpage (which plays music, to boot) and for the useless powerpoint presentations. And when Rachel, who had to reschedule her exams because her grandmother died, e-mailed him a question about all the tedious little tiny drugs that he mentioned under antipsychotics but didn't really emphasize, he e-mails back: "I discussed them in class; you should know them."

Rawr.

Free time today; we got out of class at 11:05, and we don't have afternoon lab until 1:00, yay! Eating leftover lasagna and playing at the computer. Such is my enjoyment - especially now that Rachel's cheered up, and she's showed me the cutest little card...which has me momentarily enthralled with SmilePop, which is this charming little animation site. Playing happily with the make-your-own-devil right now. For once, there's not much going on. I should start studying heavily to stay caught up. But instead, for the following people: a video card, in no particular order, because it reminded me of you. Jefe, Kristi, Angel, Chavaling (1, 2, and 3, because you're extra-spiff), Mom, Jorath, Clarabear...and I'm out of time. Off to go play doctor.

Ahh, love...

Made lasagna tonight for my darlingMatthew. I can't believe we dated for four and a half years before I learned it was his favourite food. Ricotta cheese was on sale when I went shopping. So I picked some up, and then I picked up lasagna noodles. And then when I got home, realised we were short on mozzarella, so we went to the store and got some of that. And then we saw green bean casserole stuff on sale, and I was reminded of Chelly, and so we made green bean casserole and garlic cheese bread and had dinner, and it was so good. Even got a unit of notes done. And it's half an hour past bedtime.

A good night....

I Spy and Coldstone ice cream and black lipstick and no studyness at all. Exam, I think, went quite well. More on I spy after a good night's sleep. Why not top off a good evening with a good night. Things to talk about:

• Coldstone ice cream
• People who attempt to con me into driving like an idiot
• The charming policeman at Jefferson Pointe

And now to bed. And now to bed.

Change of plans

Seeing as how the retake on the exam is probably going to be over all the questions, not just what I missed. Seeing as how the one point isn't really going to do that much to my average. Seeing as how if I do really spectacularly on one exam, all my troubles would be over. Not going to retake the pharm exam. Meeting with him on Friday afternoon, after Rachel takes the exam, to go over my old exams and look for a defining trend - something that I've been missing or not doing well enough on, that I can improve in my studying. Mind you, I can't stand the man, but he's willing to work with me and that's something I'm unwilling to pass up. And maybe he'll see something. I'm so bad at picking up trends. So tonight - tonight, after the path lab exam I'm going to outline the antibiotics lecture and then go play. Dinner or something. Spend some time not fretting. I need it.

Special note: Today, according to Iwona, is Polish Independence Day.

Path lab exam in 45 minutes. *munches Spaghetti-o's* Notgonnafailnotgonnafailnotgonnafail... Oh, poo. I still think I'm going to fail. *gets out textbook to cram*

Mom comes through:

A Bernina is a very nice sewing machine - probably comparable to a Viking which your grandmother had. I think it's Scandinavian made.

Wendy's got my order right. Except I wish I could have butter too. There are only 15 glass slides and a few dozen Kodachromes on the exam. And two stations of enzymes, and 16 gross specimens. Really gross.

Andy: "Hey, look! This uterus resembles a pork chop!"

And I just have to type up notes on body fluids and everything he might ask questions on in the book. Lab exam average is 85%. I should be just fine. Not that that means I won't panic tomorrow, but oh, well. I'm going to make it. I'm going to make it. I'm going to make it.

Angel: I love you.

Things to think about:

We drive past a store every day on the way to church. It's one of many stores we pass - but this particular one, a quilting store, has a sign out front: "Make a sewer's dream come true - Buy her a Bernina" And every time I pass it, I misread the blasted thing and have visions of toilet bowls and lead pipes receiving gift-wrapped boxes. Whatever a Bernina is. Mom? Wendy's . Nice place. Worked there for a couple of years. But for some reason, Wendy's is involved in a conspiracy to ensure that I have no cheese on my cheeseburgers. In fact, it seems to be a conspiracy to ensure that I have no dairy products whatsoever. The last three times I've been to Wendy's, I have ordered the same thing - a single combo (#1) with cheese, substitute a sour cream and chive baked potato for the fries. The following:

• Time 1: I got the potato just fine. No cheese on the cheeseburger.
• Time 2: Forgot to tell Matt to get a potato instead of fries. He got caught up in remembering "no tomato, no onion, no mustard" and neglected to order cheese.
• Time 3: No cheese on the cheeseburger, after I heard Matt order it and saw the guy ring it up. No butter or sour cream with the baked potato. "Chives on the side" involved enough chives to season a Thanksgiving turkey.

Am I really that picky? We're going to Wendy's again today, on the way to drop me off at school to study. I intend to order the same thing. We'll see what happens.

Ah, angel. I'm so sorry...I wish I could say things so that they didn't hurt you. I wish I... I wish, I wish, I wish.

Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained "the power of words"--denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words--two foreign soft dissyllables-
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
Than even seraph harper, Israfel,
(Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,")
Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee,
I cannot write--I cannot speak or think-
Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling,
This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams.
Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
And thrilling as I see, upon the right,
Upon the left, and all the way along,
Amid empurpled vapors, far away
To where the prospect terminates--thee only.
              -Edgar Allen Poe, "To--"

To where the prospect terminates -- thee only. You've been my anchor and my angel, my love and my life. You've been everything to me - everything that is good, everything that is right, everything that gives me hope for the future and lets me let go of my past. You've held me when I cried. You've loved me and laughed with me, you've been there no matter what I do, no matter what happens to me. I've screamed at you - you've taken it. I've accused you and slighted you, spurned you and wounded you - and you have come back to hold me, knowing that I hurt you because I trust you more than life. I wish I didn't. I wish I wouldn't. I wish, I wish, I wish. I wish I lived up to the impossible standards of perfection I demand that I achieve. I wish that I were half as giving and forgiving as you have been to me. I wish...I wish I could hold the perfect moments in my hands for eternity, hold them up to a living sun and send crystal reflections of light all around forever. I wish...if everyone in the world had someone one-tenth as perfect for them as you are for me, there would be no more hurt anywhere. I wish - I hope- I try - to be something near to that... Which is why, when I fail, it hurts so much. And even more when, failing, I watch you crumple and weep, want to stop my words...but they beat and they press and they rage against my mind. And I say them. And I hate myself for it. I want to lift you up, to bear you even higher, angel. I want my words to be nothing but a reflection of the light you have brought to my life. I want my words to be hope and love and life...and I want them to inspire you and to fill your dreams, echo through your days. I want you to know, to never doubt, that I love you as you are, that I love everything that you have been and will become, that every thing you say and do is precious to me. Infinitely precious. Infinitely vital. The love that we have is amber and diamond, the heart of an unopened rose. And I wish that somehow, some way, I could keep this mortal world of cares and suffering from drawing its sullied hands across those reflections. I wish somehow...somehow I could keep it precious, sheltered, away from all that is rough and harsh and painful... But I know I can't. And I know that the very reason I want to protect it is the thing that ties us together: because love is precious, and love is real, and love is stronger than this filthy world. You knew me when you married me, and you didn't hesitate. You knew - I knew - that there would be pain, that laughter and tears alike are bound in the web of our hearts. And I want the whole godsdamned world, with its filth and its pain and the shit of everyday existence - this world of confusion and misdirection and questions without answers - I want this world to know:

I love you. I believe in you and the wonder of you. I make mistakes - we both do - we do and we will. But I love you and I have faith in you. And I always will.

Sean Connery, and other trivia....

Many critics and fans alike have said that the quality of his acting has only improved with age. Certainly his personal appeal has. In 1989, at almost 60 years of age he was voted People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive." When advised of the award, Sean seemed to be unaffected as he replied, "Well there aren't many sexy dead men, are there." (Credits) I thought that was so freakin' funny. Ryken's eating Cheesy Poofs with chopsticks. Stale Cheesy Poofs. This is the man who, until he came to live with us, swore he would never be able to use chopsticks. And now he's eating Cheesy Poofs with them. Online mage: As much fun as ever, and to boot...we all four voted for each other for the RP point at the end. Watching The Crow. Thinking about going to bed early, getting up early, going studying, etc. Because then I could do things, and spend the evening doing everything I forgot to do. I hate medical school. Monday and Tuesday, then I can take a night off. All the way off. And then I can bury myself in keeping up with all these fucking notes again. I'm so overwhelmed. I can't wait for Christmas break.

*Gasp sob drool*

From the IUPUI campus newsletter:

Date: Thu, 7 Nov 2002 13:57:39 -0500 Subject: Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. to speak at Atheneum Foundation Dinner Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. and other "wits" to speak at "A Gathering of Wits" Athenaeum Foundation celebration dinner The Athenaeum Foundation will host its 7th annual dinner to celebrate and recognize members of the 1894 Society of the Athenaeum Foundation with some of the greatest masters of wit. Kurt Vonnegut, an Indianapolis-native, notorious freethinker and icon of American literature whose classic writings include Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat's Cradle, will make a rare public appearance as keynote speaker and will be joined by Bob Weide, a Los Angeles-based writer, humorist and producer currently developing a documentary on the life of Kurt Vonnegut (titled "Kurt Vonnegut, American Made"), and Wil Shriner, a California-based director, comedian, actor, writer, producer and son of Hoosier humorist Herb Shriner. The event promises to be an evening of zany wit and laughter. When/Where: Saturday, November 16, 2002 The Athenaeum Reception, tours and open house - 6:00 p.m. Dinner - 7:00 p.m. Program - 8:00 p.m. Tickets for the reception, dinner and program are $100 per person and $800 for a table of eight.

-------------------------- I could not in a million years justify spending a hundred dollars on this. Let alone two hundred, which is what it'd take to put me and my Angel down there for the dinner. Not when we're this broke. But ohhh....it's on a weekend when I have no exam the following monday, and it's

Kurt Vonnegut! *resorts to fangirl ranting*

I'm such a nutbar sometimes. But I love Vonnegut. And I'm afraid he'll up and die like Douglas Adams (sniffle) did before I ever get to hear him speak. *sighs* There'll be a next time, right?

To lighten my day..

Ryken stirs his drink. It begins to foam over. And then...he tries to drink the foam off. Inhaling alcohol in the process. He's coughing and laughing and falling back on the couch. I laughed so hard. Matt: It's Caine. He's supposed to kick your ass. And the debate briefly flares up again, over who's the best James Bond.

1. Unanimously: Sean Connery is the penultimate Bond.
2. Our consensus is that Pierce Brosnan is the next-best...
3. Then Roger Moore
4. Then the others. And Timothy Dalton sucks.

And some people are trying to tell us that Roger Moore is far better than Brosnan, even though he hasn't even seen any of the Brosnan ones. Bah. Bah, I say.

If this fscking laptop dies one more time since it can't tell if the fscking battery is unplugged...

Always the instant before I save, shut down, or post. Godsdamn. ----- Original Message ----- Sent: Friday, 08 November, 2002 16:11 Subject: Pharm Grade > Nykki: > You almost made the cut, but missing 12 gave you a grade of 74 (after curving). You can retake the exam on Tuesday for a 75 if you better your performance. Sorry you didn't do better. Maybe you should stop by and we can go over the exam and see where you can better focus your study efforts. I want you to excell from here to the end ! Hang in there ! > DRK ------------ Okay....for the second time, I think I've stopped crying. One point. One godsdamned point, after a 4-point curve. All I have to do is get one more question right, and I'll have my 75% Exam average: 83, with a standard deviation of 11. That says something. Score range from 67 to 95 aftera four-point curve. If it weren't for the fact that my average in that class has just dropped from 75 to 74, which is sub-passing, I'd say "fuck it" and take the score. But I can't. And that's the part that fscking well sucks. I'm tired of having to dig and scrape for my grade in this class. Even in fscking pathology I'm passing with a little to spare. But pharm.... And he tries to be understanding. I'm apparently just stupid about drugs or something. Going to take him up on the retake (only the questions I missed, oh please God let it be only the questions I missed) and then settle down and talk to him, see if I can figure out what to do about the studying. If I spent any more time studying, I wouldn't eat.

Owwie...

There's nothing quite like going into an exam to find that the preparatory materials you have been given are nothing like the exam itself. After he told us to know the prototypes, he asked lots about the mechanisms of new drugs. Lots of (a) (b) (both) (none). Lots of (e) all of the above are correct statements - when the question asked which was incorrect. Those suck. It all sucked. Worse than anticipated. At least he'll e-mail my grade in a few hours and I'll know whether I have to retake it on Tuesday. Would suck less if I could remember any of the fardling questions. Would suck less if there had been anything I knew on the exam. But all the stuff I know seems to have gone by the wayside, apparently. Bottom of the class in Pharm. Barely passing, when the class average is in the high 80's. On the bright side, I got a little note in my mailbox today telling me that I High-passed medical genetics. Hallelujah. Also on the bright side, Pathology is mostly guest-lecturing for the rest of the semester, which is always a bonus. I do better when Smith doesn't write the questions. Second note in my mailbox confirmed that one more first-year has taken a Leave of Absence. That makes three. And we're still sixteen of us. Amazing. Lunch, wait for my pharm scores, then study pathology. Exam-Monday, Possible-Retake-Tuesday... Someone...anyone...tell me you love me. I feel so godsdamned worthless after these fucking exams.

Cross my heart and hope to die

Roughly 78-80% on the pharm practise exam. Wrote down every single drug name that was mentioned, even the ones that I know inside and out, to go over in the morning. I figure...if he puts it on a practise question, he must think it's worth mentioning. Think I studied the right things. Hitting the sack. Sleeping. If I can. Exam-tomorrow(Exam-today?) Exam-Monday, then ten whole days to catch up, make notes, and take a few hours off. Maybe going with little-Rachel and her-Scott to see Harry Potter on Friday, to be social and things. I like Rachel. She's sweet. Okay, God. I'm doing my part. Don't you back out of this now. We're a team, we are. You and I.

I think so, Brain, but where are we going to get a piece of Saran Wrap that big...?

It's quiet in here. So quiet... So of course the first thing I did was turn on the stereo. Bach's organ works. Yummy. Last night, behind my eyes: A ballet dancer, pirouetting, in the midst of a giant eye ringed with flame. Sauron has a ballerina in his pupil. But that was overshadowed by the flock of paper cranes. Someone had rather cleverly folded them feet...and they came gliding along, beaks and little paper talons all bloody, like some sort of demented origami rendition of The Birds. Sometimes, I wonder if my subconscious is just trying to fuck with my conscious. Maybe I should send it to therapy, while I stay home and study. Teach it to send homicidal paper cranes into my head, yeah! If I were my subconscious, I'd rather be in therapy than studying. If I were my subconscious, I'd campaign for electroconvulsive therapy, just to be really pissy. If I were my... ...It's too quiet in here. It's way too friggin' quiet in here. *turns up Bach until the couch vibrates* If I had five minutes alone with my subconscious, I'd give it a sucker. An opioid sucker. A good big one, so that it'd stay sedated for a very long time. And I have to study now.

Currently taking suggestions:

[00:04] Vessa: Then how should I end it? I'm running out of ideas. I get flashes of parts -in- the play, but I can't figure out how to work the killings. I know Mercutio is going to get kicked out for fighting.. [00:04] Whisper: Work with you on it later? I'm being ordered to bed. [00:05] Vessa: Blah. But I'm feeling creative at the moment. Where's your ability to pussywhip? Tell him to wait a few minutes. [00:06] Whisper: ...wow. [00:09] Whisper: Okay, now I'm just...completely blank. [00:10] Vessa: But.. but.. [00:10] Vessa: -Completely-? What about.. how I could work Tybalt/Female Romeo's tiff... Tybalt's death, female Romeo's banishment.. [00:10] Whisper: Get creative about the parts you have nailed down. Draw a character map and give your people names, etc. Sketch out the parallels in the plot. [00:11] Vessa: Eh, that would take forever. [00:11] Whisper: Yeah, but it'll give you structure to work from. [00:11] Vessa: I think you just want to go to bed. [00:11] Whisper: I'm getting glared at. [00:12] Vessa: Man, maybe you northern girls just suck at the art of pussywhipping. [00:12] Whisper: I'm more interested in maintaining harmony. I got to stay up an extra hour last night. [00:12] Vessa: Harmony schmarmony. Show that boy who -really- wears the manpants! [00:13] Vessa: Eh. I gotta go. My mom's getting mad. [00:13] Whisper: Night. [00:15] Vessa: Consider yourself lucky. I was about to bring out the Big Book O' Lessons On PussyWhippage. ...Okay, all.... Have I just been insulted, or have I just been insulted? Too bad I'm too busy worrying about antiseizure medications to really care...

Tell me this isn't how the day is going to be...

Yesterday: headache from too much computerness, but typing these notes out is helping me unbelievable amounts. So I worked through it. And finally managed to kill the bugger at 4 AM with two benadryl and a matched pair of Aleve. Which meant that I was so completely wiped when the alarm failed to go off properly at 6:30 and again at 7:30...that I woke up at 2 till 8, and went:

"oh, shit!"

20-25 minute drive to IPFW. Class at 8:30. You do the math. Fortunately, the prof was late too. Not-so-fortunately, I'm still wiped from the Benadryl, and kept falling asleep, waking up only in time to highlight the next section as he got to it. Notecards for 2.5 sections done during Pharm and Medicine. Gods, today was worthless. Over-the-counter antacids the whole damn class. Read the labels, learn more than we did. Going home now. To an empty apartment - because Jefe has taken Lily away for some much-needed space. Just...be careful, darling. You know what I mean.

...and I'm all out of gum...

Walked into the Pathology exam this morning, all a-tremble. Reading my notes in the morning, went in early even though the exam was only 37 questions. All prepared to be repeatedly raped by the blasted thing (check for P32 antigen and acid phosphatase, afterwards, to prove it!) Sat down, looked at the first question. Thought: "I know this." Looked at the second question. Thought: "Oh, God, I don't know this." Then I read the answers and crossed out the bits I knew weren't true. There was only one answer left. Repeat for 37 questions. Go over test again, as I write my answers on the answer sheet. Checkmarks for the ones I'm 100% sure of. No marks if I have any doubt. Circles where I'm really unsure if I've picked the right one - including the question on cardiac enzymes where I second-guessed myself and changed it from test to answer sheet. I shouldn't do that. I was right the first time. Counted them up. 37 questions. Three with circles, seven with no marks. At approximately 3 points a pop, that makes a worst-case scenario of 70%. I can deal with 70%. Better case: I get half of the ones I wasn't completely sure of right, because I was fairly sure of them. Which would give me a 79%. That would be better. Thoughts: I could really use an 82 on the exam, though, because then I'd be absolutely certain that I were passing the class. That means...I can miss six. Which is possible but unlikely. Went over the three I wasn't sure about again. Funny, I still wasn't sure of them. Figured I was only making myself needlessly neurotic, turned the exam in, and went outside to take deep breaths. Went back half an hour later to check with Lowene (the darling, the marvel, the wonder-woman) and see what the verdict was. Thinking 80%, hoping 85%, opened the folder and flipped several pages to make sure I was looking at the right exam.

89%, boys and girls!

Eighty-nine fucking percent. I haven't been this happy in a long time. So I'm passing everything right now, and I have a little bit of a buffer to keep me from utter despair. Now I just have to make it through this week, and do as well in Pharm and the Lab exam. Exam-Friday Exam-Monday.Then...a whole 10 days before the next exam. 6 exams and finals left. 22 days of actual class left. Then I'll be through another semester.

They say it gets better. Not easier - just better. I could cope with better.

Pathology Lab 2 Exam Score: 84%

I'm passing :) Now....let's see if I can keep that up tomorrow.

Status Epilepticus

Don't run, Lex. This isn't a studyish LJ entry. Well, not much. I'll keep the big words to a minumum :) So pharm lecture he's almost an entire class period behind - so he started the lecture on movement disorders in the last five minutes of class. Now you have to understand that this man thinks he's the resident computer whiz in the school of Medicine, so he likes to use cutesy-ass graphics on his pages. And so for movement d/o (that's medical abbreviation for disorder) he's got this BRIGHT YELLOW title up on the screen, and it's going in and out of focus, and shifting slightly, and these little black dots crawling all over it...and I almost went nuts. Couldn't look at the bedamned thing without feeling like I was (a) going to have a seizure or (b) vomit.

And he left it up there for five freakin' minutes while he talked about all the little pictures of famous people with movement d/o that were up there around this crawling, moving, shifting, nauseating title.

I almost died. Question breakdown for tomorrow's pathology exam: Pediatric pathology: 9 questions Enzymes and clinical disease markers: 6 questions Body fluids (which, against everyone's hopes, was only cerebrospinal fluid, pleural (lung) fluid, and synovial (joint) fluid): 6 questions Neoplasia - also known as cancer to the uninitiated: 16 questions Total: 37 questions. I bloody well hate short exams. Three true/false questions: Note that medical students abhor true/false questions, because we're so used to being fucked with and jerked around by exams that it takes us five minutes per question to scrutinise every single word and find the one minute detail that's false in it. And then another five minutes to wonder if that's really false or if we're being overly anal-retentive. This is the kind of paranoia that is instilled in us. This is the kind of paranoia that drives Meeta to go up to the professor and ask if "all" means "all kinds of mutations ever possible in the gene" or "all common mutations that we know of". Don't fucking sass us back, woman. We've been run roughshod over by semantics before now, and will be again. We have to be sure, because every single point is vital. Five K-type questions. Those are the (A): 1,2, and 3 are correct (B) 1 and 2 are correct, etc, etc. type of questions. And they suck. Hate 'em, because there's always one answer I'm not sure about, and so I agonise forever over it. Okay. Lab in 10. *deepbreaths* Exam Tuesday-Exam Friday-Exam Monday...and then a break. I can do this. Really.

Suuummmmerrrrtiiiiiime.......

....and the livin' is eaaaaasy.... Hey, space case! You forgot to take the mail down again! Behind my eyes last night: Nothing but pain. I hate having a headache. This morning I woke up early and as I was going back to sleep I saw my classes. Bob and Tom show this morning had a song: "Dear Santa:" Dear Santa: This is Jessica from Aspen. I want a Barbie Townhouse with the electric car and all the pretty outfits and some matching outfits for me... Dear Santa: This is from Paraguay. I want some rain. So I can stop drinking my own urine. ...And so on. Favourites: The kid from North Chicago wants a G.I. Joe with all the accessories and the mini-grenade launcher. The kid from Laos wants a grenade launcher. Dear Santa: I want a stick. So I can burn it to keep warm. There's a deep and meaningful point to this, but I don't have to belabour it. Back to class.

All through the day...

Behind my eyes last night: manilla folders. Closed ones, in a dimly lit room. Flipping slowly from one identical folder to the next. Got Shandahr brigged on Ansible. Log posted here. As if everyone hasn't already seen it. Page 4 of 11 of body fluids, then I'll be through it all once. I hate school. Exam Tuesday. Then Friday-Monday. Bed.

Good morning, Starshine

Walked out to the car this morning to discover that my dad has kamikaze trees. The two cars under the tree were literally covered in leaves, and more were falling at the rate of five or ten a second, tumbling down. I don't know how the blasted things manage to do this for days on end - you'd think they'd run out of leaves before the end of the first day. So we're scraping frost off the windshield, I'm picking leaves out of the wipers, and all in all it's a losing battle because I had to pick leaves out of the wipers at least twice before Matt could get the frost off the windshield, and he missed some because of the leaves. But then we got to hear them sliding off the roof and blowing off the hood, and that was fun. Got a word from Chelly yesterday via Mom: the BCA kids are making Thanksgiving dinner themselves, and of course they wanted to include green bean casserole. But they couldn't find any french fried onions - how can you make green bean casserole without french fried onions? So Mom got Chelly the e-mail address of French's customer service department or some such, and she wrote them a note, asking where she could find french fried onions in France so she could make green bean casserole for the BCA kids in Nancy to have a real American Thanksgiving dinner while they were away from home.

And they sent her ten cans.

Isn't that just too cool?

Mmmm....Vampireness....

Rawr! Matt asked me for a LJ code today. I thought "Gosh, I don't think I'm allowed to make users...I'm just a lowly free account person..." but I looked anyway. And sure enough, I got one little code... How cool is that? Just for my Angel. His LJ name is lakos, which is the name he uses for everything. Because nobody else does. Me...I like Ayradyss. It's the name of Donnerjack's virtual lover in Zelazny's postumous book 'Donnerjack'...and she's so neat. The book is a must-read. Mage: Epic Fantasy game went through tonight. Finally. Z-wad, darling, baby, don't ever leave us alone on a Saturday night again. I'm having so much fun. Those of you who are interested...you must see the logs and quotes. The game's just too much fun. We're the cabal without a name yet (tentatively: hell's errand boys) at the top. Bed. Sleep. Remove contacts that are eating my eyes. For Clarabear, who asked: Behind my eyes on Wednesday night: grocery store isles, with a Blair-Witch-esque video camera Thursday: Nothing, then a technicolour slide show of lights and lines. Friday: I don't remember. Oh, and a few more things: A new log of truly horrendous RP: here on my website. If you haven't looked before, you might want to peek at the whole RP section. Because I'm told it's funny. Chavaling: If you don't give me those Hermione pictures as soon as you get them, I'm going to eat your eyes while they're still in your head. Oh, and make sure you dry the outfit after your showers or it will get mildew-y. Tomb Raider. Must drag eyes away from Angelina Jolie and go sleep. Yes.

What do I do?

Locked to a very few people. People I trust...who worry same as I do. Because I am worried. Two conversations: the first with Ayoka. It may not have been my place to mention Bri to her - but at the time I did, I had no idea that he hadn't said a word to her. Maybe I would have, if I had thought about it. Because there would be no reason for him to do so. But I did tell her about the girl with her head curled up on his shoulder, and she was happy for him. ---- She pages, "Mmm, dunno. I'm happy for him. A bit of...residual jealousy that I really have no right to feel, but mostly happy for him. Why?" (remotely) Ayoka smiles. "Seems so. It's a childish reaction to the memory of him saying that he'd always love me. Don't worry about it She pages, "I'm happy where I am, and if he's happy where he is, then I'm glad for him." --- I don't know. Am I out of my mind, to think that those are the words of a woman who's moving on with her life? --- (remotely) Wren shakes his head. "Don't mind me." Wren pages, "Feeling like a bit of a slimeball, worried about Bri, knowing this probably won't work, what else is there...." (to Wren) Vita sighs softly. "Can I ask what you two decided? What I heard from her was that there was 'still a lot to work out' but that you were going to try." Wren pages, "we need to talk more still...I don't know. I to.d her I was confused, and would like to stay with her, but...I just feel like it's not going to work. Mostly because of me..." (remotely) Wren is afraid he mostly decided to try again because he couldn't stand seeing her cry Wren has received your page: "Because of Cyb? Have you talked to cyb about this at all?" Wren pages, "Not especially, no" Wren pages, "I don't have any friggin free TIME to talk to her" (to Wren) Vita mms. I can see that. Just seems like if you're going to make decisions based on your feelings for her that you should at least be sure you know how she feels. Wren pages, "every waking second, and most of the sleeping ones are either here at work, or with lil" Wren pages, "I honestly don't think it matters much how she feels" Wren has received your page: "No?" Wren pages, "Not to how I'll feel still. " Wren pages, "she could probably tell me it'll never happen, and I'd still hope." (remotely) Wren sighs. "I don't know (to Wren) Vita sighs softly. (remotely) Wren needs to go (to Wren) Vita nods. Wren pages, "she's happy now, and for now, that's all that matters, we'll worry about the future later" ---- Am I wrong, to be worried? I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say. This isn't about love any more. This is about holding on to a dream that has shaped your life for so long that you do not know how to let go of it.

What do I do?

Random gaming quotes: Vampire

GM: So you were taking your sister aside and teaching her about being a vampire... Matt: Teaching her? I'm tying her to the roof. Jeff: I need sustenance. Come, polish my helmet - chomp. Matt: Two Agg for a dead end? Me: What? Somebody put up a holy water fog machine? Jeff: If you lick the wound, he won't bleed to death. Lily: Yes, but then I'd have to get my dress all bloody. Me: So do you spit or swallow when you diablerize? ....And one extra. [Public] Frellin' Comcast...did they eat the Internet? [Public] Mortis can get sites.... [Public] Chavaleh ate it, "Sorry.. it smelled really good." For some reason, I just laughed my ass off at that one.

About being a Wiz...

A preface to the following conversation: I am a Wizard on GargoyleMOO, which is where the following conversation took place. It's modelled after the Gargoyles TV show from Toon Disney - loads of fun - and our policy, as I explain several times in the following conversation, is that we build landmarks in NYC by request - if people think that a particular landmark would be fun to have for RP purposes, we check the maps and fit it in wherever it ought to go. This sacrifices a bit of realism for the larger fun of not having to wander all over a maze of a map to find where anyone is. At the risk of sounding self-centred, I am the Wizard that the others go to for diplomatic solutions to problem players. I have a reputation for patience, self-control, and a deft touch. I pride myself on trying to be fair and patient, in listening to requests and considering them seriously - too seriously, in the minds of some people who also Wizard. Bear this in mind. >>> Player_A tells you "= do you know whom to talk to about NYC landmarks on this MUCK?" >>> You tell Player_A, "Start by talking to me." >>> Player_A tells you "would you like any help in the location os some--I have 57 sights marked on my NYC map" >>> Player_A tells you "= of some" >>> You tell Player_A, "Basically - we build things as they're requested for RP reasons. We're not looking to create a complete map of New York - it'd be wasteful of database space." >>> Player_A tells you "= so you know where in NYC the 23rd is? ANd the Manhattan Mall, The WTC? St. Damien's? The Cloisters--" >>> You tell Player_A, "They're on the maps I have." >>> You tell Player_A, "In any case, it's Ground Zero - not the WTC, but that's a semantic thing." >>> You tell Player_A, "The offer of help is appreciated, though." >>> Player_A tells you "= what about: The Garden, Pen Station, Bellvue, UNHQ, Chrystler BLDG, Grand Central, NY Lib-Main, Embire State, Wash Arch, Gugenheim, Woolworth Bldg, Fed Resrv, Stock Exch/Wall St, Titanic Mem Lighthouse, Chinatown/Little Italy, City Hall, Brooklyn BRDG, Grand ARmy Plaza, Riker's Is, Woodlawn Cem, Bronx Zoo, Ft. Lee, Cen Park Zoo, Trump Tower (or is that the Eyrie ;) ), Rockefeller Center, MoMA, NBC, Park Ave, Queensboro BRDG, MetLife Bldg, Brooklyn Botanical Gardens?" >>> Player_A tells you "= well? any of those needed here?" >>> Player_A tells you "= well? any of those needed here?">>> You tell Player_A, "We have a set of botanical gardens already; you'd have to check with Arazia to see which. Other than that, I have heard only one request for a new area for RP, and that was Cardinal Hayes HS, which was built. So at the moment, no." >>> Player_A tells you "= well, if you need the geo-locations (cross streets) let me know." >>> You tell Player_A, "I will." >>> Player_A tells you "= and you did palce Card Hays at 650 Grand Concouse Bronx, New York 10451, right?" >>> Player_A tells you "= corss street is E 151st & it's enct to Franz Sigel Park" >>> Player_A tells you "= next to Franz*" >>> Player_A tells you "= it's a couple blocks from Yankee Stadium" >>> You tell Player_A, "None of the streets are built block by block. It's on Grand Concourse, north of Eugenio Maria de Hostos, where it belongs according to the city map and the aerial pictures." And that was the last before he disconned. My next response, if he fed me another cross street, was going to be: And, quite honestly, if you're hoping to demonstrate that your knowledge of New York is better than mine, you're completely correct. If you're trying to accomplish something constructive I suggest you try a different tack - because your didactic recitation of places, addresses and cross streets is doing no more than establishing to me that your purported desire to 'help' is a thinly-veiled attempt at claiming some kind of superiority over the builders. As I stated, our interest is in creating a sufficiently diverse representation of New York that people have places to roleplay - in the style of the Gargoyles series - not to create a perfect block-by-block reproduction of the city, nor to build sightseeing areas just to claim that we have them there. A few facts about the player in question: The list produced by @rules specifically states that public communication should be kept to a PG-13 level - with a note that sexual references should be kept to a minimum. This particular player, when he first came onto the MOO, had a description that raised even my jaded eyebrows. Keep in mind that I play a character elseMOO who is a 13-year-old whore with a penchant for stabbing any man she can't seduce. I've created characters with backgrounds and personalities so twisted that my GM demanded I tone them down before he could stomach the history ("I will not countenance, even in fiction, the gang-rape of a two-year-old girl.") But I try to stay within the bounds of the rules of the MOO. On a PG-13 MOO I describe and RP in a PG-13 manner. Being the diplomatic one, I raised the question of his description...and requested specifically that he remove the paragraph that described his "maleness" specifically. Following is the description that replaced it. The one that he insisted was entirely appropriate. Standing before you in a hunched over 6' feet tall, not including the 4' long tapered conical tail is, at 1st glance, a furson that bears a remarkable semblance to the World famous Gargoyle known as Brooklyn of Clan Manhattan nee Wyvern. The foot-long pointed beak, white bushy mane of hair held position by twin horse just over & foot long & curving backwards along the head's top, & even the wiry, slightly muscular physique is an almost identical recreation to the previously said individual. But it's on your 2nd look you realize, unlike Clan Manhattan's 2nd in command, this Gargoyle is jet black-so much so that his hide-skin partially reflects any light source making his physique seem slightly, permanently wet, as if he had been recently exercising. At the end of his wiry, muscular arms are strong hands with 3 sharply clawed fingers & an equally sharp-clawed thumb. Quickly roving downward, you see that he stands digitgrade on long thin slightly triangular shaped jacklegs, ending in 3 claws just as sharp as hind fingers'. A 4th claw just out slightly at the top of the foot-where the heel would be-like a dewclaw. Another key factor that separates your focus from his "twin" is the fact that, unlike Brooklyn & his 10th Century dark brown loincloth, this "Creature of the Night" wears a harness made of thin black leather straps centered on a thin but solid gold ring in the middle of his chest. At the waist, a thin black leather belt holds up a black bikini-codpiece-like brief barely hiding his-it's definitely larger-than-human maleness with a "string" running between the legs, to meet up at a black leather loops that surrounds the thick tail. The leather seems to share his hid color & reflectiveness as to seem a part of him, until you see the straps move slightly apart from his musculature. I don't know, y'all. That just really isn't a PG-13 description. I mean - scanty clothing, suggestive outfits, sure. I can see that. But the phrase larger-than-human maleness, the codpiece on the string bikini, and the general S&M demeanour of the beast....if this is "keeping sexual references to a minimum," I'm frightened. Not to mention that I've seen him RP a mere once or twice in the five months he's been a player. Most of the time he spends online is spellchecking, critiquing, and causing me headaches. I am a reasonable woman. At least...I strive to be. This, however, is just too much.

Death and rebirth

South Harrison, at the Creighton stoplight, is wide enough for a northbound lane, a southbound lane, and a parked-car lane. Assuming, that is, that

1. everyone is in their lanes like proper motorists
2. one doesn't mind about 6 inches of spare space on either side of one's car.

I happen to mind the spare space, which is why when I come down Harrison at 30 miles an hour, I pray that the light is green and nobody's there OR that the light is red, so everyone's going all slow-like. Today: The light was green. There were cars in all three lanes - mine, the northbound, and the parked lane. So I slowed down a little and put both hands in paranoid-position on the wheel. And that was when I noticed that the parked car was

A full two frelling FEET out from the curb.

Remember those 6 inches? The darling going north scraped the curb with his wheels and I did that particular parked-car slalom at like 3 miles an hour. And as I'm accelerating back to travelling speed, glad that Harrison widens to almost four cars' width by the time it jogs at Rudisill, I see that the front end of this parked obstruction is all banged up and bashed to hell.

This is a prime example of the "learn to park, asshole," syndrome.

At the risk of hearing my lovely Clarabear tell me she never wants me to drive again, here's another "Someone wants to kill me" car story. There's a curve in town. At the Columbia Street bridge, for those of you who know Fort Wayne. Where it goes under the tracks and turns into Clay and Main. Two lanes of traffic - narrow lanes, but fully wide enough for me to drive my dad's full-sized Chevy conversion van through without endangering life or limb, even as a reckless 16-year-old. Now I'm driving Michel-Ange, who is my wonderful 1987 Honda Accord with 229,000 miles and a stick shift on it. He's a good car, even if I think he might be gay. It's the purple-tinted windows and the pink "Protected by faeries" sticker that does it to me. Anyway. The curve, as mentioned, goes over the bridge and then curves left into a fairly smooth 60-degreee turn as it passes under the tracks. No trouble at all at 30 miles an hour. Whoosh. You can add in the fact that on the left side of this left curve (the inside of the curve) there's a concrete divider that's pretty darn solid-looking, and on the right - the right lane is slightly wider - the lane curves right through a green arrow stoplight and onto Main. Sort of a very casual S-shape for geriatric slalom artists. It is easily navigable in an 88 Civic at 60 miles an hour, although I'll never do that again. I'm in the left lane. To my right is a large white van with no windows in the back - the kind they abduct children in. And maybe, maybe there was a kid in the back or something and that excuses this asshole. Or not. As we come around the LEFT turn, he drifts LEFT. That's correct - takes the turn even tighter than he needs to, apparently because he's afraid of the 3-inch curb on his right, or the bridge post that's six feet from the road makes him nervous. This puts him a good six inches to a foot into my (already narrow) lane. I didn't honk my horn. Instead, I hit the brakes, grabbed the wheel to hold the car on the straight and narrow between child-abducting van and extremely-tough-looking concrete, and let him have the road. He's like five times the size of poor Michel-Ange. And as I then hit the gas, speed back up to a whopping twenty-five miles an hour, and glance over at him in the last moments before he turns right and I go straight, trying to decide if I should flip him off or not, I see him giving me the Glare of Death (tm) that motorists reserve for reckless teen-age drivers over his shoulder. Whoever you are, wherever you are, I just want to know one thing.

You could have turned my car into some sort of mutant car-pedo shape. The hell do you get off on looking at me like that, when you're the one who can't colour in the fucking lines?

There's a Sprite can in our driveway. Left side, where if I tried, I could run over it. It's been there for three days of so. I keep thinking I should run over it, but I'm afraid (1) it'll be full, and somehow make my tire blow up (2) It's full of something noxious which (a) will melt my car or (b) render Michel-Ange into a Towering Inferno of Automotive Doom (tm), from which I will have to escape, napalm-style, and roll in the lawn. And then I'll smell like burned hair for decades. One more. As I come up Crescent (for those of you who know the area), just before you get to Coliseum, there's a divider between the northish (north-easterly?) and southish (south-westerly? I get all confused when Crescent starts crescenting, can't figure out which way's north any more.) A divider. A big one - the kind that means "Don't turn left here." The motorist in question (I'd post his license plate on the Internet, but I'm too busy driving to stop and write it down), rather than going up to the light, doing a perfectly legal U-turn, and heading the half-block back down to the ITT-Tech (am I right? Or is it another Tech there?) campus, where he could then make a perfectly legal right turn into the campus drive, will stop right where the divider begins. In the middle of the left lane of Crescent, when people are driving, forcing everyone to change lanes to get around this asshole with the left blinker on in the middle of the fucking road. And he will sit there. And sit there. And sit there. Until the light at Coliseum turns red, stopping the influx of south-westerly-bound traffic. Assuming, of course, nobody wants to make a perfectly legal right turn onto Crescent. Because as soon as all lanes are clear, he crosses the median and goes a good half-block north in the southwest lane, crossing the three (counting the special right-turn lane to get into the campus drive) lanes of traffic at a leisurely 10 miles an hour. And turns into the drive as if that were legal, safe, and perfectly reasonable.

Totally ignoring the fact that maybe, just maybe that divider is there so that assholes like him don't clot up all of Crescent Avenue with their desire to make a left turn across three lanes of traffic, ONE BLOCK from a light (with a green arrow left and everything) where they could U-turn and then make a perfectly safe and reasonable right into the campus.

Clarabear, sometimes I wonder if you're right not to want to drive.

'nuff said....

And when the day is through Each night I hurry to A home where love waits, I know... Come right down to it, I guess I'm just a lucky So and so.

Open season on interpretations, take two: "Metea"

Images garnered from previous poetry, for the most part.

In dreams of never linger stars
      with the pull of invisible eyes.
   There are mermaids in the sky
                 with forever on their lips;
          their whispered words call soft and sweet to me.

In waking dawn I whisper why
       to the ears of impenitent I.
    There are dragons in the sea
                     with remembrance in their eyes;
their silent song draws stillness within me.

               In sunlight bold sings a faerie child
and asks whether dreams can lie.
                     There are angels in the earth
     with forgiveness on their wings;
their sacred breath brings wonder to me.

In evening's shadows whispers night
              and begs me to waken wild.
       There are devils in the clouds
                          with vengeance in their swords;
  their murmurs rise up murder within me.

In midnight's hour I linger long
      and watch with invisible eyes.
           There is a maiden in the night
with oblivion in her kiss
        her whispered words of love ensorcel me.
01-Nov-2002

Open season on interpretations, take 1: "teddy bear"

The person for whom this is intended should have less trouble than the rest of you

Phoenix child,
      with wings of pain,
   rise soaring above the clouds.
                      Your eyes are ashen,
your eyes are grey,
             your heart is afire and O
      the light of stars 
                    is calling you now.

           Mermaid child,
                            with eyes of night,
the oceans flow into the sea.
                                Your hands are trembling,
       your hands are free,
                 your dreams unfold and O
the eyes of stars
                     are watching you now.

Icicle child,
      with hands of frost,
                defy the winter's cold.
Your heart is frozen,
                        your heart is lost,
         your soul is untethered and O
                  the summer stars
  will warm you now.

Unwoven child
           with a heart of flame,
                   come back, come close, don't stray.
Your wings are battered,
              your wings are frail
        Your eyes are ashen but O
the light of stars
                 is in them now.
       01-November-02

Just fucking wonderful.

Was about to hit the Hibernate key combo on the laptop when the screen goes black and it powers down. Turns out the fucking power brick was unplugged, and none of my alarms - not the 85%, not the 10%, not the 3%, none of them. Best guess: it's a conflict between the two battery monitors. So I power it back up after plugging it in...and it's then that I realise that even though the last-saved time on my file is 12:09 AM, the data in the file is from 7:00 PM, when I started working on my notes. It takes an hour to retype one page of notes. I had done pages 12-17 and was done with pediatric pathology. Now I've got to start over from Cystic Fibrosis. Fuck.

I am....
What Sign of Affection Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla A kiss on the lips, dang it.
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What box do you get put in?
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Morning has brooooken....

Genetics exam. Sucked. But that's okay. I'm pretty sure I did plenty well. I just don't see the reason to need to know all of the fardling genes that relate to syndromes that all mean "oh, shit, your kid's toast at birth." Eh? On a brighter note: here's a picture of a little girl with Williams Syndrome, which in some theories is the origin of the legends about pixies. They're very musically inclined, even if they're mentally retarded. And a rainbow picture of a spectral karyotype which is just fardling beautiful. Off to my preceptor's, to see if he'll feed me today.

My turn.

I thought I heard Jefe leaving this morning before I got up to take my shower. Lily was up, and confirmed my suspicions. As well as casually mentioning that he hadn't slept in something approaching 36 hours. Did you know that you can go without water longer than you can go without sleep? My turn. My turn my turn my turn. You help nobody if you have no rest. In other notes of worth: Medical Genetics final today. Bleah. Think I'll skip pharm, or at best pay no attention. Last preceptor visit today as well. Which is sad and happy. I'll be glad for the afternoons off, but I like seeing doctory things being done. I like doing doctory things. And...oh, bugger. Did I or didn't I see a drug lunch up there? Well, if there isn't, I guess I'll just go hungry.

Rawr

Some people have...too much time on their hands.

Warning: popup-heavy

A thinking question....

Tay-Sachs disease. A progressive neurodegenerative disorder. Untreatable, uncurable, but detectable by specific tests. Children are born normal. By six months of age they have begun to show signs of progressive motor and mental degeneration. They die by age 2-4. Always. Untreatably. Prevalence: 1 in 30 Ashkenazi Jews is a carrier of the disease. If two carriers get married, 1/4 of their children will have Tay-Sachs. We have the ability to tell if someone is a carrier of Tay-Sachs...and to then test the child of two Tay-Sachs carriers to see if the child is afflicted. At that point, about 95% of couples elect to terminate the pregnancy.

Is it right to abort a Tay-Sachs foetus?

I think the fact that 99% of couples who'd previously had a child with Tay-Sachs decided to abort the second child with Tay-Sachs is a telling mark. Is it fair to a child to bring them into the world - to have six months, maybe a year, before their life spirals irreversibly and irrevocably down the drain to death? No treatment. No treatments on the horizon. What about anencephaly? A small percentage of these children (who have no brain at all due to a defect in formation) survive in utero - to be born, vegetables without brains, with only the most rudimentary of functions left in the brainstem, with a gaping hole in a misshapen head, eyes that will never see. They survive no more than a few days with the best of care...and you can't give someone a brain, nor can you reverse the deformations of development.

Interesting thought, isn't it?

Tempered steel

Jefe worries about me. I suppose he has the right; he knows me as well as anyone on this becalmed planet does. He's seen me break before - he's one of the few who knows how possible and how devastating it is. So is it better or worse, when it just means I get trashed for a night and then go on? Would you rather I break like I did before? I wouldn't. Now it's...controlled. Now I know that I can wait out the paranoid fantasies, the vivid imagery that comes to mind. When I close my eyes at night, before I go to sleep, while I'm still waiting for my mind to stop racing through the events of the day, I see things behind them. I always have. Last night, it was lilliputian savages dragging a dessicated corpse through underbrush, the flesh slowly falling away until it was just a skeleton held together by tendons and scraps of muscle. Except the eyes were still there. Maybe it's to make up for the other night, when I saw kittens with their eyes gouged out, waiting for me to feed them...and the milk in their bowls was blood. More or less, they've almost ceased to disturb me. More or less, I just wait it out...and they go away. I'm sure it means something. I'm sure that the violence of the images is directly correspondant to my particular state of tension. But I don't care. I have to get through this somehow, and once I do it'll be all right. I will get through it. I'll make it.

Tempered steel. Hardened in the forges of my own mind, my own self-doubt, my own inachievable standards. Has it made me stronger or just more brittle, more likely to despair?

And it's time for class once again. At least we only have classes this morning. This afternoon is cramming-time for (oh, fuck. printouts for Iwona! *fetches, prints*) the Medical Genetics final. I don't want to take any more exams...I can't wait for it to be monday after next. No exams for a whole 11 days. And yes, Clarabear, I think I'll take a day off then. And Jefe? Don't worry. I'll make it. I always do. (loves)

Mom, I love you.

---- Whisper: *sniffles* Did you find the email with the livejournal link in it? RaBever87: No, I didn't.......I never saw any that I know of.....what address did you send it from? RaBever87: Can you resend it? Whisper: Warning: some of the language isn't always the best. Especially when I'm ranting. RaBever87: ok, i guess i don't have TOO sensitive ears. Whisper: Figured I'd warn you, since I tend to swear a lot more when I write than when I'm speaking. RaBever87: but i can hardly believe my gentle daughter would result to profanity! :) --- For all of you whose parents don't understand you...for all of you whose parents refuse to acknowledge that you're an adult...for all of you whose parents think that just because you have a mind, desires, and volitions that differ from theirs you're some kind of deviant who should be kept on a tight leash...

Mom is mine, but I'll share her with you if you want to come and visit.

Not to neglect my daddy, because I'm such a daddy's girl it's absolutely ridiculous, and I'll talk about my daddy in another post. But right now, I love Mom.

Jezebel

Clarabear asked me about Jezebel...and so did Jefe and a couple of others. So here's the answer...she ...is one of the only images in my poetry that I don't know who she represents. Archetypically, she's the ultimate wicked temptress, embodiment of sin and evil. She was rebuked by the prophet Elijah for her wickedness...and eventually when she died not even the dogs would touch her body. But my symbols don't always follow reason. And every time she shows up in my poetry, I'm begging her for something... Look at the other poems she's been in...

take me by the arms
and pull me down
this reality is too harsh for me
look.
look!
Into my eyes and see you
not the one who slid a catlike glance
but me! my you are
mine
and this reality can't stand that word
no
never
not
me not you not us
i can't live before you and i
won't after you go on for long
so take
me by the arms and pull me down
down to where you are
o,
and Jezebel,
love me.
        NsK 14-8-96
            those eyes

don’t lie jez
     i know you know my ways
   you crossed my path today
               jezjezibel
my love

           don’t sigh jez
our love my love can save
     you took my hand today
                 jezjezibel
my love
 
                don’t cry jez
i meant to make you stay
       you broke my heart today
                    jezjezibel
              my love

don’t fly jez   
        don’t let this slip away
   you said goodbye today
                jezjezibel
                      my love.
NsK 13-02-01
		"Reine"

So I don't know, Clarabear. Maybe she's my love affair with wishing I were bad and hedonistic and uncaring. Maybe she's something else. Maybe she's me. Can't tell.

About poetry

This is the latest. Like I said, I don't know if I -like- it.

O Jezebel
          my mirrored child
      Your shadowed eyes
                     remember:
The summer's gone
        When days were wild
     This autumn chill
                        will break them

Bend down and rest
          your weary head
                  These days are cold,
      this autumn,
                     And dreams are dull,
Their meaning fled
           And comfort bring
                             no longer

You stand and wait
               For winter's chill
        Don't fear the storm
                             that threatens
    I'll meet you there
on frozen hill
                 And glory there
          together

    My Jezebel,
             of gold and green
       Don't fear the cold
                      and shadow
the dark will pass
          to summer's gleam
   And we will love
              forever

"Jez", 25-10-02

For your delectation:

The realistic Internet Simulator : http://www.b3ta.com/realistic-internet-simulator/ The Scandinavian Singing Horse choir - click their mouths to make them sing. http://svt.se/hogafflahage/hogafflaHage_site/Kor/hestekor.swf Some animated optical illusions, really quite interesting. http://www-bcs.mit.edu/gaz/gaz-teaching/index.html Kittens! Really scary animated kittens! http://www.rathergood.com Okay, be warned that it's not all animated kittens, and some of it is scary. And that'll do for now, because I'm done pulling part 1 of my DVD rip of LotR off of the CD so that it plays properly and doesn't give me funny lags when the pretty scenes with lots of action are goin on. Mmmmm....lord of the rings. I can't wait until the special ed. DVD set comes out so I can have my very own. Mind you, I may be J.R.R. Tolkein's panting lap-dog, and I might have the hots for Legolas so bad (my god, in real life he has dark hair and a mohawk, and it's so sad!) but I'm not going to buy the movie twice. Yet. Although, between Frodo, Aragorn, and Legolas, I might just have to eventually. The more, the better. *drools* Now, as I drag myself out of my fangirl frenzy, I'm doing my best to not feel guilty about taking the night off and not studying. I've been so stressed of late that I know my concentration has been suffering. And that's not good for me learning anything. So the day off, watching LotR and the yumminess that lies therein.

It is...precious to me...

Post-exam notes...

Okay. Part 1: 20 Kodachrome slides. Best analogy: brutal gang-rape. Dear gods. I skimmed over the pictures in the book, got a good idea of what they were. I should have gone over the immunology packet more thoroughly last night. I knew most of the AIDS questions, but when it came to asking what the particular antibody was that was associated with Sjogren's syndrome and rheumatoid arthritis...Aww, hell. And fucking Dr. Kim fucking well told us there would be no questions on metals until the fucking final. And then put a 6-point matching question on metal deficiencies and syndromes. We should try to get that thrown out. Nuclear changes with radiation damage. Vitamin-A associated eye changes (whoops, should've gone over that even though there weren't any pictures about it). What disease state or disease state precursor can be treated by administration of the factor whose deficiency can cause this disease state? Or something like that. I couldn't even understand the question, and by the time I did I had to turn in my paper so I couldn't think about it. Part 2: glass slides and a few more Kodachromes. 16 stations. He didn't fix the lupus slide on a wire-loop, but it was okay, because all of the questions on that station were about lupus, so it was clear that that's what the slide was. Used four other kidney slides, including a very nice crescentric glomerulonephritis with a lot of questions about Wegener's and Goodpasture's. Both things I know well. And the 11 criteria for lupus diagnoses, 1 point each, which the entire class can say backwards and forwards. Forgot fucking membranous glomerulonephritis in SLE-associated kidney changes. I knew there was one that started with an M. Ah, well. But after ten stations of agony, I remembered that there are anti-peroxidase antibodies in Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. Go me. Honest to god, y'all. If you ever wondered what medical students talk about, you should've been in the room when Dr. Smith was half a frellin' hour late for the exam. "Scott, are you feeling some unusual anxiety?" "No, Ryan, I think you're just projecting your anxiety on me." "Where's Dr. Smith?" "I don't know, but you're definitely inciting some countertransference here with your attitude." "Well fine, you can just -take- your reaction formation and sit by yourself. I'm going to go get the moves on with Ivana here..." And so on. It became a contest to see how many times we could use terms from our last psych exam in context. We'll take any excuse to prove that we know something. Particularly when facing an exam. Mental note: give my outlines from MedGen to Ivana so she can feel better about the final Friday. One more down.

Good news!

Exam scores from psychiatry are in. 92%. I'm honours-passing in Psych and MedGen!

Mind, this isn't as exciting as if I were frelling passing Pathology, or doing more than hanging on in Pharm, but it'll get there. It freakin' well will have to.

More good news:

Blusys says that I shouldn't have trouble getting into the Fort Wayne Family Practise residency. Good. *crosses fingers* I don't want to go to Indy. I want my life to work like it always has, where things just fall into place. In any case, I'm going home. I'm hungry.

Pre-examination blues...

Eeee..... Half an hour to the lab exam. My mind is suddenly blank. Gah. What if I can't tell the lupus slide from the diabetic renal glomerulosclerosis slide? What if he gives us a wide-field on lupus or crescentric glomerulonephritis? I wouldn't know them from a hole in the wall....

I hate the fucking kidney.

I do, I do, I do. Kidneys are evil. Wicked and evil and horrible. We have diabetic glomerulosclerosis, which is where all the little glomeruli have this diffuse thickeining, only some of them have little nodules - which is how you know it's diabetes, because only diabetics get nodular glomerulosclerosis (say that three times fast!) which, just to be confusing is also Kimmelsteil-Wilson's diseases. And then we have chronic pyelonephritis (nephr- means it's in the kidney), and that one has "thyroidisation of the tubules" which means that they look like little bits of thyroid, or googly eyes in my opinion, with bright pink stuff in the kidney tubules. Can't miss that. Thank heavens. And then there's the one with the spleen and two kidneys that has arteriolar disease, which has little vessels (if I can find a bedamned vessel) that show a little bit of thickening relative to normal (which I don't get to see), and I hope to high heavens that he puts that one down on one of the proliferating vessels that look like little onion rings and tapes it there. And then there's the one with amyloidosis of the kidney, which means that there's deposits of pink stuff all over the place. It's supposed to be in the glomeruli (which makes it look like diabetic glomerulosclerosis, so it's good that we have an atypical slide). And then acute glomerulonephritis, which is identifiable because the stain is really light...plus, in theory, the glomeruli are hypercellular. And lupus, which looks like diabetic glomerulosclerosis until you see a wire-loop *please god let him put it on a wire loop because I can't find the fucking things* And crescentric glomerulonephritis, which I can usually find a crescentric thickening if I know I should find one...but the way I panic when confronted with a kidney, who knows? And chronic glomerulonephritis...little knots of fibrous tissue in lieu of glomeruli. That one's almost as easy as chronic pyelonephritis. I rest my case. Kidneys are evil and wicked. And so help me...if he gives us the unstained cryptococcus slide I'm going to die. Exams. I hate exams.

Sunday, Monday, happy days...

Fell into bed last night, too late entirely, with a pounding evil wicked headache. They were watching Trigun out in the living room, and David was over. Not a good combination. There are occasional rare times when I am beset by wishing that we didn't have so many people around. Last night was one of them. Trigun's full of explosions and people with sharp voices, and David has a habit of talking a little louder than he needs to...and I asked them to turn it down twice, until I was sure they could hardly hear the dialogue, and Matt turned off most of the lights, so I finally didn't feel like I was going to have my head explode or cry... It's not their fault; I don't want to spoil their fun. I don't....I'd rather suffer than be a party-pooper. God knows nobody around here seems to be having much fun recently.

Nobody fucking well talks to anyone. What, do we all have to be psychic any more?

Okay. *deepbreaths* Okay, okay, okay. I'm just overly sensitive to everyone's particular agonies at the moment. On the good side...I get to hear them. I'd rather be stuck in the middle and know what's going on than not. Even if it makes me want to throttle them. Even though I've done the same thing. You can't avoid hurting someone by not telling them when something is wrong. If it's wrong, it'll only fester and grow...and the pain of deception, of lying by omission, is far greater when you do find out what's gone wrong...

I think it would be interesting if we could all hear each others' thoughts. Interesting...but not necessarily beneficial.

As to today. I woke up at some ungodly early hour in the morning because - get this - Keith calls Matt last night, to see if he'd gotten Keith's message from the morning. Now...Matt's phone has been beeping non-stop, all day, with the message signal, but he hadn't bothered to actually get it. The message is this: Keith has bronchitis. Can Matt preach Sunday morning at the early service? Mind you, this is now like 7 or 8 PM on Saturday. Silly bugger should've gotten his phone, neh? So he says yes, and settles down to write his sermon. And that's why me and my still-lingering headache and my Benadryl hangover had to get up at 7:30 in the morning to go to church. I wasn't about to not support Matt. Not half. And he did good. He needs to work on fluidity and all, but for writing it the night before, after a few wine coolers, it was a good sermon. Everyone told him he did well...but I'm always afraid that they're just trying to encourage him. I mean...it was good, but not great. He has a lot to learn yet. Like I could do better. :P Then I passed out in his office, slept through sunday school and second service, since he had to usher for second service. And we got food at Wendy's and I spent the whole afternoon at school, looking at Kodachromes and microscope slides. Got to go over book pictures tonight, and maybe read some stuff in the chapters. Not too terrified - you can miss a lot when there are 200 questions on the exam, and still be okay. But that doesn't excuse me from studying...and I've exceeded my hour by half again. Maybe more later. Maybe not. Hard to say. I wrote another poem, Clarabear. Kind of a strange one, and I don't know if I like it. I'll try to remember to post it for you.

50 things that guys need to know (not my original list)

Okay...my source of this was Someone's Open Diary. Apparently she got it from somewhere else, all the way back to an old issue of Men's Health. Editorial comments, in italics, are my own. Additions (both to the list and the commentary) are welcome. 50 Things Guys Need to Know

1. Saying "I love you" immediately before, during, or following sex doesn't count.
2. Real men drive stick shift.
Well, or they want to learn but I won't give up my car
3. I will leave if you lie.
Unless there's a compelling reason - like you were planning something incredibly special and I had the bad grace to appear at the wrong time.
4. You are cute in raglan-sleeved T-shirts (two-toned baseball undershirts).
I thought I knew what raglan was...but now I'm confused.
5. I'm convinced I'm pregnant and obsess about it for a minimum of 24 to 48 hours before my period, even when I have no rational reason to think so.
6. I love it when you hug me from behind and whisper in my ear.
7. "Fine" is never an appropriate response when I ask you how I look.
8. Most of the time when I fantasize, it's about you.
Most of the time.
9. I'm terrified of becoming my mother, even though I admire her.
10. I get turned on simply seeing that I have an e-mail from you.
11. I expect you to call me.
12. Only rock stars are allowed to wear leather pants.
That depends on the rock star, the pants, and the guy wearing them. Some guys I know look just delicious in them. You know who you are.
13. I'm scared of losing my independence.
14. I'm more forgiving of you than I really should be.
15. Oral sex is your get-out-of-the-doghouse-free card. Manolo Blahnik shoes also do the trick.
(1) Who? (2) Forget the shoes.
16. You did something bad. I seem cool with it. I'm not. (See directly above.)
17. If I'm not having sex with you, I'm...
• ...having a fat day.
• ...not feeling "connected" to you.
• ...blackmailing you to get something I want.
Cancel the third one. Because, frankly, I'm not going to suffer through not getting laid just to make you suffer.
18. Shoes determine whether you're fashionable or not.
19. I own a Debbie Gibson CD, and I'm not afraid to use it.
Correction: New Kids on the Block. With that picture of Joey in the hat with no top.
20. When I compare my flabby tummy to a kangaroo pouch, say nothing.
21. A man I love plans the occasional fancy-schmancy dress-up date and impromptu weekend getaways, and he buys my favorite candy in advance when we're just going to the movies.
22. You look hot in hooded clothing items.
23. You should never tell me what to do.
Unless I ask you to. And even then, try to do it as gently as possible.
24. If I slept over, you owe me breakfast
25. My breasts love much licking and sucking.
Much.
26. If you ask me out directly, I will say yes.
27. I'm very impressed when you ask for my advice.
28. I'm unimpressed with a man who doesn't take the lead.
29. When in doubt, go with the shirt that matches your eye color.
30. I want to be Madonna.
Material-Girl era.
31. Women get urinary-tract infections easily, so watch (and wash) your fingers.
32. I'm in heaven when you hold my hand.
33. You're sexy when you're shaving, fixing things, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, driving, eating a peach, holding a baby.
Especially holding a baby. Especially if it's in no way related to you.
34. I need to hear how you feel about me. Often. Tell me now.
And now.
35. Surprises, especially gifts for moi = more loving.
36. I want to be the best thing that ever happened to you--and for you to recognize this.
Because you are to me.
37. If I'm not feeling loved, I will start looking....
38. Discussion of ex-gf's and ex-bf's should be avoided at all times.
Correction: unless the discussion is extremely relevant to the topic at hand, or I ask a bout it first.
39. I like it when you tell me what you're thinking, even if you don't know yourself.
"I love you" is always a good way to buy time to decide what you're thinking.
40. Celebrating our anniversary, even if it's only been a few months, earns major bonus points.
41. I love it when you're sweaty.
42. It's best to consult your gal pals for gift ideas.
Please.
43. A lady should always be greeted with kisses.
44. I like porn.
Particularly lesbian porn.
45. I love holding your bum in the palms of my hands.
46. Even nice girls like hushed dirty talk in public.
And less-nice girls like more of it.
47. It's cheating as soon as you're doing something with her that you wouldn't want me to see, hear, read...
If you feel the need to delete the log, there's something wrong. I understand the difference between IC and OOC.
48. For the record: I'd rather you break up with me than cheat.
49. I remember everything about our relationship.
50. You should know all this and more without my telling you.

Post-exam deep breath time...

Okay. One down...*consults the Oracle of exams* Only thirteen more exams. Gods, I sound like a freakin' neurotic, but for those of you who want to know what medical school is like....here's the schedule, separated by weeks.

• Monday 28 October: Pathology lab practical #2; Thursday 31 October: Medical genetics final
• Tuesday 5 November: Pathology interim exam #3; Friday 8 November: Pharmacology Exam 4 (over a month's worth of lectures)
• Monday 11 November: Pathology lab practical #3
• Friday 22 November: Pharmacology Exam 5
• Monday 25 November: Pathology interim exam #4; Thursday and Friday, 28-29 November: Thanksgiving "Recess"
• Monday 2 December: Pathology lab practical #4; Friday 6 December: Pharmacology Exam 6
• Monday 9 December: Biostats Final; Tuesday 10 December: Medicine Final; Thursday 12 December: Pharmacology Final
• Thursday 19 December: Pathology Final

Is it bad when I look forward to a time when I only have one exam in a week? ...Okay, I'm obsessing again. Going to enjoy my lunch break before I spend the afternoon studying. Lab exam monday. Well, at least spending Sunday afternoon in the lab is a good reason to skip church Council meeting. Gah.

Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry....

Momma's gonna make all of your nightmares come true .... Early in the morning - an early morning - because there's no class tomorrow. Everyone else had to go to bed before me for once! Snuck a peek at the point spread for the path exam. 16 kids in the class - 8 of us got 80% or below. The average was only 82% - where the last average was 89% or something like that. I feel better. Now I just have to not let myself get ground down by everything that's going on. Going to Michigan for a few days. Matt found a B&B in Michigan (it's supposed to snow on Thursday there) and since they couldn't give us the room we wanted, they cut us a deal on the giant suite room. How happy. I like the idea of going and just hanging around, having a good time, not worrying about books or MOO administration, or the server, or anything. It'll be nice. Lazy Nykki. Lazy lazy lazy. Woot. And now...it's time to go sleep again, even though I passed out for like 5 hours this afternoon. Came home at 1230, and didn't wake up until 1730 or so. Felt like shit all morning, after all. I think I'm allergic to school. G'night all.

Fear and loathing in Las Vegas

Sometimes I love Lowene. She's our second-year secretary, and she grades all our tests for us in lightning time. 0615: Crawled out of bed to read the notes just one more time, even though it's bad to cram like that. 0715: Kissed Matt goodbye, read two more packets of notes. 0730: Walked out the door. 0735: Finished scraping the ice off my car with my ridiculously ineffective ice-scraper, which scrapes in cross-hatched patterns instead of doing something useful like getting the fucking ice off my windshield. Finally resorted to using my sleeve to rub out the ice places between the cross-hatchings. Went to school. 0800: Got my exam, and started going through it. Did quite a bit more crossing-out-of-obviously-wrong answers and quite a bit less random-guessing than I had anticipated. Felt a surge of hope. 0910: Finished the exam, twice. Turned it in to Lowene. 0920: Got the results back from Lowene. 75%, which is passing by a hair. It won't bring my average up out of the gutter, not in the long run, but it also keeps me from crawling any further into it. I'm not feeling manic, by any means, but I am feeling better. And the thought of having a whole week, nearly, to recover and straighten out my head...feels damn good. Tonight: play Dungeon Keeper 2, or Gauntlet Legends, or Neverwinter nights. Roleplay. Relax. Breathe.

Oh, hell yes.

Foggy morning,
           and mists like air
     Winter's breath
                       a chill
             still unfrozen.

Mists spill slowly,
      over walls and doors,
   invading still
             with the neverwarmth
of winter

               Frozen morning,
in the chill and slow
         Winter's dreams
                     have invaded
and frozen.
               NsB 14-10-02
                          "Winter's breath"

Because I'm feeling sorry for myself.... (Exam rant, part II)

Notes breakdown: Transfusion medicine: 9 pages Adverse reactions associated with transfusion medicine: 8 pages Diabetes Mellitus (part 1): 7 pages Diabetes Mellitus (part 2): 5 pages Environmental pathology: 20 pages Urinalysis: 15 pages Diseases of immunity: 35 pages Amyloidosis: 7 pages Nutrition (and thank God he ran out of time): 19 pages Unless I get my math wrong, that's 125 pages of notes for this exam. The exam is 1 hour long. I'm going to die.

Two lost souls....

[Joe and Lola] Two lost souls on the highway of life We ain't even got a sister or brother Ain't it just great, ain't it just grand? We've got each other! Two lost ships on a stormy sea One with no sails and one with no rudder Ain't it just great, ain't it just grand? We've got each udder! Two lost sheep, in the wilds of the hills Far from the other Jacks and Jills, we wandered away and went astray But we ain't fussin' Cuz we've got "us'n" We're two lost souls on the highway of life And there's no one with whom we would ruther Say, "Ain't it just great, ain't it just grand?" We've got each other! Wherever we go, whatever we do As long as you've got me, and I've got you We've got each other We ain't fussin'- cuz we got "us'n." .......We've got each other...... Joe and Lola, at the lowest point of Damn Yankees, find themselves in the locker room. Joe's soul is surrendered to Applegate by default - and Lola, poor Lola, once the ugliest woman in Providence, RI, has found herself falling victim to Joe's constancy and purity. Too bad, since she's property of Applegate. Two lost souls. I feel like a lost soul right about now. Missed 9 on the Pharmacology exam - for a raw score of 73%, an adjusted score of 76%. Well, I'm passing. I'm still the lowest fucking person in the class, but at least I'm passing. At the bare minimum. I hate this. I hate school. I hate having to fight and fight and fight to get a score that's barely passing. I hate not knowing what to do, whether I'm even going to make it. I hate wondering if the entire godsdamned year is going to go like this. Throwing around the idea, now and again, of going to the doctor and getting meds for ADD. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's not me. I don't know. I don't fucking know. Tomorrow: Study Pathology. Sunday: Study Pathology. Monday: Bear Dr. Darryl R. Smith, clinical professor of Pathology at the Indiana University School of Medicine, Fort Wayne Centre's illegitimate child. Share it with Dr. Blandine Bustamante, M.D., Assistant professor of pathology, etc, etc, and Dr. Seung Soo Kim, M.D., who is a soft-spoken Korean gentleman who sounds like his fucking mouth is full of fucking marbles. Test breakdown: Nutrition (Dr. Kim)- 9 questions Urinalysis (Dr. Bustamante) - 6 questions Immunology (Dr. Smith) - 18 questions, over 30 pages of incomprehensible shit. Tumour necrosis factors, catecholamines, and the like Amyloidosis (Dr. Smith) - 3 questions - and I understood this packet. Environmental medicine (Dr. Bustamante) - 9 questions Transfusion reactions (Dr. Bustamante) - 10 questions, five of which are a five-part matching Diabetes Mellitus (Dr. Smith) - 6 questions Total: 61 questions. I can miss....oh, 10, and get an 80, or thereabouts. I think, if I had an 80, I would be passing. I would like that. I would really fucking well like that. I hate medical school.

Don

This was originally on my Diary-X, but it's so godsdamned true.... Everybody makes mistakes. Some people make bigger mistakes than others, though. Take my mother, for example. For some time, my mother would meet men on the Internet and date them. They were mostly nice, if kind of bizarre. And then there was Don. Don was a truck-driving, chain-smoking, white-trash loser. He had a few good qualities, I think. He taught driver's education, so he did at least contribute something to society. In a manner of speaking. But ultimately, when this man moved into our house a scant few months after he and my mother met, my sister and I were repulsed. She wouldn't let him smoke in the house, at least, but the stench was everywhere. He brought in his computer setup, complete with gaming chair - speakers strapped to the sides, mousepad on one side, joystick on the other, not a single legal piece of software on the monster it was hooked up to. And he put it in our dining room. And he put his computer pieces all over the dining room. And he sat in there when he wasn't truck driving, and played computer games. And he never brushed his teeth, and he rarely showered, and he ate our food, and he used our water and our heat and all that, and he never volunteered a dime to help out. This man was repugnant. Vermin. He had a million "great ideas" that he would never finish, and a whole lot of creativity that occasionally showed up in spurts, like when he wrote a song for Mom, but for the most part he was content to freeload. For months. He would come in after driving his truck, at 11:00 at night, or later, and holler out "Ruthie, I'm hungry." And my mother, who was valedictorian in her high school class, has a college education and at least one (if not two) master's degrees; who had to be up at 6:00 the next morning to get ready to go teach a classroom full of 28-30 hyperactive fifth-grade children; who is an intelligent woman apparently suffering from some kind of short-term brain dysfunction insofar as this man was concerned, would get out of bed, come downstairs, and fix this man some bacon and eggs, or hamburgers, or whatever he wanted. My sister no longer wanted her friends staying overnight for fear their parents would learn what sort of hideous example my mother was being and ban them from seeing her. I was away at school, in part, and had much less to do with him, but both of us threatened that we were going to move to our father's house permanently. That seemed to wake her up, and she finally came around. It took months to get the stench of cigarette smoke out of the house. She was still apologising to us a year later. Last we heard of Don, he was back living in small-town Indiana with his mother, and he had some kind of plan to do a travelling Punch and Judy show. This is not love, boys and girls. This is some sort of medically treatable brain dysfunction. I remain convinced that if my sister and I had sought professional assistance, we could have shaken her out of her stupor much sooner. As it was, I think we all learned a valuable lesson involving the futility of talking to a woman who thinks she's in love. Including the woman in question. We all make mistakes. Some of them, fortunately, do not require the firm application of a two-by-four to the skull to resolve.

Melancholie

Tombstones stand
         across the misted air --
    reminding me of days
                  I walked in ways
I have forgotten

           Shadows fall
in patterns bold and fair--
                and yes they speak of yesterdays--
      and ways
             I have forgotten

Rain comes cold
         to wash the world away--
    I wait and watch - I know,
                    I am too slow--
I have forgotten

                         Dreams awake
And bring back yesterday
        But no, they hide the ways
    I dreamed I knew--
             And had forgotten

   Tombstones weep
              inclined across the air
And now it is too late
                   To find the way--
     I have forgotten.

Everyone has to write something....

Paint it empty
        paint it grey
   This world seems such
 a crazy place
      We've only proved it true
   Our lives are empty
           Shadowed grey
Turning 'round a sacred void
       Not knowing that it's there

  We're old, we're empty
     We're faded grey
Watching ancient days again
        A memory that's died
   Though it is empty
      And sullen grey
We need to fill the sacred void
            For we don't understand

It isn't empty
        Just painted grey
    A waking dream, filled emptiness
A never-ending prayer
                We think we're empty 
        So wrapped in grey
Too caught up in the paint to see
                   The Presence that is there....
          NsB 09-11-02
                  "Painted grey"

Shandahr's name...

One of those unwritten stories in my head that I'm still trying to work out.

And bones of white forgotten lay
   With eagle's flights to bind them,
To caves of night they bring false day,
   And seeking shadows, find them.

Walk softly here among the bones
   That wait with shadows lining;
My Shandahr sweet now make thee known
   To loose the eagles' binding.

And who, my Shandahr, hast thee found
   In summer-silvered meadow
To tell the tale of night unbound
   The triumph of the Shadow?

Thy hands, my Shandahr, only thine
   May false obeisance shatter - 
And bring once more the dark divine,
   Thy night to settle matters.

Unbind the bones, my Shandahr cold,
   And burn the eagles' feathers;
Replace the paths that lay of old,
   Of bone and ash together.

This ancient peace is stale and strained
   Sweet Shandahr mine, thou know'st it.
Usurping crown - too long hast reigned - 
   Now thy sweet hands o'erthrow it.

Take up thy crown, thy rod of rule,
   O Shandahr, cruel thy making!
Rise up from bones thy armied ghouls
   And bid them share thy waking.

O, silvered locks and eyes of mist,
   O, child of smoke and sorrow:
Take up thy sceprre as they wished - 
   Those who foresaw this morrow

And Shandahr mine, bring forth thy night,
   All clad in royal raiment,
And cloaked in thy unholy light,
   And crowned with bone and radiance.

Thy armied ghouls about the shand,
   Now ready for the battle - 
'Tis thine, O Shandahr, all this land,
   Its peoples all - thy chattel.

Raise up the gleaming rod of rule
   And see the shadows greet thee - 
Stand proud, my Shandahr, cold and cruel,
   For none will now defeat thee.

And night will settle on the land
   O'er all but silvered meadow
A path of blood before thy hand
   A war of smoke and shadows

In fire and blood my Shandahr proud
   Thine upstart king destroying
And speak no word - condemn nor laud - 
   Send him to caverns cloying.

With rising sun thy armies fall
   No charge they need to break them
But Shandahr cold, thy hate is all
   The conquered lands to take them

Then rest, my Shandahr, on thy throne
   And with thy people quiver
Then slip away, just thee alone
   To cross the moon-dark river

Cast off thy crown, thy robe of night,
   Abandon rod and shadows
And Shandahr sweet, then take thy flight
   Back to thy silvered meadow

O Shandahr-love, until the call
   Of false obeisance summons
Come dance, come sing, forget thy fall
   In meadows sweet with summer

And arms await thee, Shandahr-mine,
   My love, my light, my only
We'll sup and drink and love like wine
   And never leave thee lonely.
                        NsB 21-08-02
                                "Shandahr my love"

A few poems (2) In the middle of the night.

This one only bears explaining for those who aren't familiar with my own imagery. Ask, if you really want to know.

And I - I am the raven
     That rare and radiant maiden
   Emboldened by the shadows
          Of the night's forgotten lore

Be silent, ancient craven!
        For thou with lies are laden
    I am not now thy maiden
             And will be nevermore

My soul is now forsaken
         to he who's tamed the raven
      And reaches 'cross the shadows
            To recall the long-lost lore

For I - I am the raven
          That midnight-tressed maiden
    Begone, ye ancient craven!
       Beset me nevermore!

No more send fair lords laden
        With gifts for maid and maiden
     She loves no more thy shadows
  Will hear not now thy lore

Her soul by one is taken
           The lay of night forsaken
     This rare and radiant maiden
               Is claimed forevermore.
        NsB 03-09-02
              "Edgar Allen"

A few poems....(1) From the refrigerator door.

It's busy. So very very busy...and I don't have time to write much. So I do it with that blasted magnetic poetry.

he summers here in
     whispered springtime worship
   behind a forest
          misted like the wind
 --asks: when will these
        delirious purple moments
recall the smooth and languid
       sleep of sin?

and singing sweet
       of luscious places shadowed,
    of dreaming under
           sordid bitter moons;
bare petall'd power 
  floods the diamond winter
       and death is yet a beauty--
     all too soon.
           NsB 02-09-02
                "dandelion"