Thursday, August 30, 2012

Not Chicken

There are a LOT of things I cannot do; long division, make a human, rebuild a transmission, cure cancer, get an erection. Yet there are things I can do. I can somehow, even in the depths of the darkest deep, see the ridiculous and that will always make me smile. I can rock any one else's baby to sleep. I know the most random trivia about the most random shit possible AND most importantly, I make the best soup. Ever. I don't typically need a recipe (although I do use them on occasion) I just open the cupboard and see what I can make out of what I have. Put it in the pot and go with it. Kind of like my life. Take what I have, see what I can do with it. I usually end up with a lot of gas in the end, go figure.

Tonight, I ventured outside the soup arena and made a casserole... a vegan version of my Mom's Hot Chicken Salad... Hot Not-Chicken Salad. I so rocked it. I get sorta sad sometimes standing in my kitchen with these awesome creations that only I get to enjoy (flip side, I get more in the end) knowing the ewwwwww factor it would induce in most of my family members and some friends. I just looked down at this 75% organic and absolutely non-gmo dish, knowing I did this. It isn't much, and I had to take breaks in between cutting up the creminis, scallions and seitan then mixing it with all the other ingredients, baking it and then all the dishes after ugh ugh ugh. I think it actually took me most of the day to make. Between breaks, cooking and now blogging, it isn't a wonder I don't do a lot of things. But I do have a big casserole of Hot Not-Chicken Salad waiting for me, and cupboards of possibility.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Sesame Street - Song Of The Count

Still Counting

When I was young, I wanted to be three things; a ballerina, an astronaut or Charlie Bucket from "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." A ballerina because at the time, they were what I considered the most graceful and beautiful example of a female, an astronaut because being in space and seeing what no one else has seen was more exciting and beyond my own imagination than I even knew, and as for Charlie Bucket, he was the best, nicest and purest character I had read in a book. Still is. When I would draw pictures of the universe in class at school it would include the planets from our solar system, some stars and then the rest was just empty, finished at the end of the paper. I would stare at it, thinking about how could a universe have an end? I would think about the edges of the universe when I was 8 years old and then lie awake at night trying to stretch my mind's limited imagination (still do.)

There is proof that the universe is expanding. Well, now there is proof that human hearts are shrinking. I did a lot of crying last night. Some from the actual pain in my body, some from the metaphorical pain in my heart. I watched the Republican Convention on television and from what I see and hear, I am their enemy. If the top of the ticket gets their way, everyone under the age of 55 would be thrown off the Medicare and Medicaid roles. Sure, that might be hard to do with a big D senate, but isn't the big dark question that they want to do it at all? I have had some people tell me that I am "one of those people" that deserve the help I receive, that I am somehow more special. Everyone else fits nicely into the big Cadillac 25 baby daddy drug pushing cell phone juicy wearing refuses to dig ditches category. Problem is, I am everyone else. You throw me off, I am homeless, or dead.

Also when I was young, I had a most favorite album that I listened to so much that I had it memorized. Still do. "The Count's Countdown" from Sesame Street, voiced by Jerry Nelson that passed away on the 27th. This record is such a part of me, it has become everyday conversation, either out loud or in my head.

Pieces of my youth are falling away, either the illusion of a finite universe, the delusion of Charlie Bucket and infinite goodness and the facade of the body as graceful beauty. Yet somehow, all this does is make me want to crawl into my Mother's lap, and listen to 45s.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

My Lionhead Rabbit Peanut - Hopping, Chewing and Nibbling

Cuz He's a Yittle Guy

So, I was up all night with a very very sick and in a LOT of pain bunny. From 8:30 last night until 5:30 this morning I was rubbing Peanut's tummy, or holding him, or crying, or giving him a syringe of water, or rubbing his bloated tummy then having him snuggle his teeny tiny body so close to me he nearly disappeared. He was shaking from the pain.... his only 3 1/2 pound body was one giant heart beat. He was either hiding from me or racing to me with this expectant gesture of "fix it, fix it" which he knew I had been trying to do all evening. He gets soooooo pissed at me for doing what I do, but he knows. Of all of my bunnies, he is the commander, but he knows when I am trying to help, and last night when he was in such distress, he literally RAN to me to make it better. Bunnies instinctively shut down when there is pain, so I just kept bugging him. Rubbing rubbing, to keep the peristalsis going and not let happen to him what happened to The Bun. Peanut is tiny. You don't expect him to be so tiny when you see him because he is so fluffy, but when you actually hold him, he is so small it can be startling. Last night, when he was so sick and trembling, this tiny creature in my arms, who has so much power, gave in to me. I was this black hole of lacking and all I could do was talk to him sweetly, kiss him, and wait.

Have I ever told you that I have the most wonderful Mother in the World?

Monday, August 6, 2012

Scissor Sisters - San Luis Obispo

"Loneliness is never black or white..."

Whenever I leave my apartment, people that know bits of my story ask how I am doing now. Depending on the depth of our relations, the conversation can range from a nod with an accompanying smile OR a lie. I feel like I have to lie to make people feel better about asking. They want me to feel better, so I tell them that I do, which I do to an extent. I am not going through chemo or radiation. Bonus. I do not have a bucket of pee to carry with me everywhere. Super Duper. And yet. It is hard for people to understand why I am up and trying to be normal while still feeling like crapity crap. But what else is there? I lie at home either in bed or on the couch for as long as I can, waiting. But waiting for what? I go about my business, running errands like every other busy human body, cruising through the traffic with my newly made Scissor Sisters CD from my lovely J.D. and I can't stop smiling. Yeah, my hair is a mess and my insurance agent that only remembers me by my bunnies' names gave me one look and said "I don't mean you look bad, but you don't look good." After, I flitted away with the music carrying me over the weight of my body and the heat and as I stopped at a light, I looked up and a flock of birds was leaving their perch from the top of the Court House. All I felt was freedom... the music, the car, the wings.

I don't need to lie, pretend or wait.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Unlimited Range

Sooooo, who wants to hear about my uptown white girl problems? Do I even want to talk about my NOT third world starving in a malaria infested pit of my own feces problems (well pit of my own feces is for me to know... oops.) You know, the same shit different day spiel. My old roommate Michelle would say that the world was fine cuz she was "free, single and 21" and I am near to double that math. So, why do I get to nearly incapacitated when it always comes down to money and health? If it isn't my lack of money and the emergent need of it, then it is the nagging, lurking, looming specter of my body.

My fancy schmancy air-conditioner was on the brink of petering out yesterday and once again, who came to the rescue with her trusty pocketbook? Yup, you guessed it, my super duper Mom. She needs wings and a halo, with a cape and Super Mom logo - maybe a fairy wand. (No tricked out car cuz she couldn't see out the windows to park it and she really likes the Subaru anyway.) Why would my nicey nice air-conditioner be at risk so soon? Bunny hair. Yeah. Even though I clean out BOTH filters as per the instructions, when the awesome fix-it guy showed us the guts it was SMOTHERED with bunny fuzz. It was ridiculous, amazing and embarrassing. "Hey, you wanna come over and fix my bunny hair sucker-upper, erm crap collector, derp I mean air-conditioner?" It is fixed, my apartment is no longer 89* and I now know how to take care of it all by my lonesome.

My fancy schmancy left hip has been hurting for weeks. I have limited range of motion and I finally decided to call my Radiation Oncologist to give them a heads up. I told the nurse, she pulled my chart. Called me back within the hour, I see the doc on Friday for an X-ray and follow up right after. I am impressed by their quickness as well as worried by it. It could be damage from radiation, bone loss from radiation, lymph nodes, cancer in the lymph nodes, nerve damage.... list goes on, who knows. Could be nothing. It is me, the weirdo. I expand the list of possibilities exponentially.

Last night, in the heat of my apartment, with all of the pain my body was throwing at me, the ever present knowledge of surviving off of my parents.... I watched the Olympics, and cheered. I cried, and swore. Hollered, laughed, marveled and witnessed bodies at their peeks. I would forget which side I was cheering for, because I was so happy to watch people do their best, no matter the country, the side, the race, the war, the politics. In my poor-tiny-rich apartment, MY body might have limited range of motion, but neither my love, nor my dreams do.

The Bun

The Bun
If you don't like rabbits, you can suck it, shove it and then go soak your head.