Plagiarism

I am starting to sound just like my Mother. I am. It's spooky. I heard her in my voice, just the other week. She said to Adam, clear as a bell, "I will explain it to you when you're older", and I stood there behind myself marvelling at how... satisfying it was to simply duck and run for cover.

We weren't even talking about sex.

My darling Mini-Bloke, who is about to turn 10, went to his school disco tonight. Half an hour before he was supposed to leave, he suddenly insisted on having a shower and washing his hair so that he could redo the gel before he went out. I just rolled my eyes and said "whatever". So, off he went to the disco in a clean shirt, freshly spiked hair and a big bag of marshmallows clutched in one hand. Two hours later, one happy, tired and rather full young man left the disco after dancing many times with his ex-girlfriend and eating a hearty supper.

They are growing up.

Meanwhile, back at home during all this, Heather was denying the existence of breasts and saying she didn't have any. Shari and I throw all sorts of weird and wacky comments at her about tampons and bras and boobs. She takes it really well. She has decided she wants to be a Pop Star when she grows up. Nothing humdrum for her, she wants to be the next Avril, so in assisting her to crawl before she highjumps she has been having some singing lessons and now listens to a Hayley Westenra CD instead. She sings along with it, too, and I'm sure the whole neighbourhood has heard her belting it out in the shower by now.

She is really rather good.

They are growing out, too.

I've noticed lately that they need less and less mothering , and I am reduced to simply parenting them. Our whole dynamic, our relationship is changing and their independence is growing. They are going to awesome people one day. Maybe.

I shall plagiarise my Mother again and just say "Wait and see...".

~~ Stories are lies, while poems are emotional realities ~~

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Stranger In Stranger

Neurological disease can be a pain in the bum. Or in the head. Or the eye, the arm or the leg. It's not too choosy. It's words like degenerative, progressive, active that scare the shit out of me though. Especially when they aren't just words on paper any more, now they are a reality made flesh and living in my body, and I'm the one paying the rent.

Today, I have "progressed". I have "degenerated". My MS has reminded me it is "active".

I've had a fairly busy couple of weeks; what with one thing and another I have had 2 lots of overnight guests, several visits from friends, some of them several times, an impromptu networking session, shopping, picking the kids up, visiting the MS Society and generally not taking it easy. I am very tired. So tired that I have had a "coma" sleep late afternoon 3 times this week, but today was the worst All I did was a little shopping with Iris, nothing else. But by 3pm I wasn't feeling very well and by the time I got halfway to school for the kids, I was feeling shockingly ill. My head was hurting, not an ache but a stabbing pain. My legs were burning, both of them, and I very seldom feel the right one warm up. I felt sick. Not ordinary sick, but ill to the core of my bones. Two inches higher I would have thrown up, two inches lower I would have gone for a loo. But this was right in the middle of me and it made me squirm. I was squirming still, half an hour later when I climbed into bed looking for some oblivion.

I lay in bed feeling horribly disoriented with a skin that didnt fit right. And inside this skin was another skin that was writhing and moving. It was so like a bad stone. Only, I wasn't stoned. While all this was going on, my legs were burning the worst I have ever felt. Oh, it hurt. I had Heather come and rub one for me to "confuse the brain" a bit. It seems sensible to me, in a weird sort of way, that rubbing or scratching the leg can change the burning, move it around, change it's intensity. I think that's because the brain is sending the right message to the wrong places now, so it's easy to stuff things up completely and change the focus. I didn't even realised this worked until I found myself one evening scratching in long strokes up and down my burning leg and it felt better. Personally, I would much rather have a good looking bloke scratch up and down my leg in long strokes, but that's a whole different story.

I'm saving that for the X-rated version :-P

I slept for a few hours and woke up feeling just shocking and in the foulest temper. And I'm still burning 4 hours later but at least the stranger writhing within me seems to have gone to sleep.

a branch of fire, a flaming limb
that stalks my fears, appears at whim
hooked me hard and reeled me in
and made of me, a trophy

Shari came over before. She said it was really cold out, but it was nice and warm in here with the heater going. I never thought until afterwards, I should have given her my leg to take home; it would have warmed their whole house and doubled as a torch.

I feel as if I slid a long way backwards today.

~~ Yesterday I was a dog. Today I'm a dog. Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog. Sigh!
There's so little hope for advancement. - Snoopy ~~

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Spectacles

When my left eye (aka my GOOD eye) packed up last year for a few days, it was as a direct result of doing the right thing. Bloody typical, I know. Just for once I did the right thing and went for an eye test without being ordered to by the doc or breaking my glasses first. It was 3 years since my last eye test and 6 years since the last prescription change, so I figured it was pretty much due. Which it was. It was also the start of a major upheaval when the optometrist examined the optic nerve in my left eye and started of a dose of ON, just sitting and lurking waiting for an excuse to come out to play. But the rest of his news was all good - he said my eyes were still spot on for my lens prescription and the permanent damage in my right eye was limited to the peripheral vision on one side only. I didn't need new spectacles, after all.

So, I went back to making a spectacle of myself, instead.

When I deteriorated that first summer and was given crutches, I didn't really deal with the emotional aspects of it very well. Everybody thought I was fine, but I cringed every time I had to take one out of the car. And luckily, it was usually only one. Ian used to call it my "appliance" - he said the word "crutch" had connotations. It certainly became one of the better jokes, anyway. Some others weren't so funny.

Everywhere I went, it either fell over, got tripped over or was in the way of my chair when I rolled it. It ensured you could hear me coming a mile away as I clicked my way down the corridors and if I was carrying much of a load, I always managed to drop it at the wrong time getting through the fire doors. At least it gave those around me something to laugh at and make jokes about. One used to take it off me and make a machine gun out of it - little did he know how much I wished it were the real thing and how much his lack of sensitivity hurt me. I guess my own weird sense of humour was what prompted what would usually be considered jokes in bad taste. I was living within a solid concrete mask, too scared to let anyone see what was going on inside me, too scared to acknowledge to myself that things were not looking too flash. Another called me the "Clicking Lady". I didn't like that one. Made me sound like some sort of beetle.

Head down, swallow the hurt and go finish another assignment. Goddess knows, there were plenty of those requiring my attention. It's hard work being a Merit student, you know.

The first time one friend saw me use my "appliance" was at a car show. I was very aware that he hadn't seen it before, I was very unhappy that he had to see it then. I was also very aware of his reaction, well hidden but there just the same. When you get something new, people notice. When you get new mobility aids, people notice even more. You become a "spectacle". And I know most people might not realise this about me, but I don't actually like being the centre of attention. That's just one of those public faces people slip in and out of as the need arises. I used to wear mine all the time. I sort of wore it out, though.

So, I can't help wondering what the general reaction to a wheelchair will be. I know I don't want a chair, I know I don't want anyone to see me in a chair. It's going to hurt in so many ways. And, once more, I will be a spectacle.

Since my legs started leaving the building without me, I have discovered that NOT being a spectacle can be a big effort. So far, no one has seen me hit the deck when my legs stop working, although it's been a close thing a few times. Just occasionally, they get this funny rubbery feeling around the knees. It's worst if I have been standing for a bit and have to lock my knees for stability. When I move again, I can't always be sure that they are actually bent when they should be, and straight when its desirable. Then I become a bit of a puppet on a string, a bit unsteady, uncoordinated and jerky. And that's not beef jerky, either. But it sure makes life interesting.

I'm not so good on stairs any more. Climbing stairs makes me feel like I have just run up the Mount. Well, what running up the Mount would feel like; I've only ever walked up it and that was enough. Nice view, though. I have started avoiding going places with steps or stairs; walking up them hurts a lot and walking down them scares the shit out of me. It's not the fall that hurts, it's the sudden stop at the bottom. I fell down the stairs at the old house once when Adam was a baby and Heather was a toddler. Right from the very top I slid, and I remember thinking, as I ripped my knee apart all buckled up under me, what a neat invention balustrading was cos it meant I didn't end up on my head on the floor in the lounge instead. It took 6 months and a lot of strapping tape and physiotherapy to walk normally again, but I did get a frequent and regular opportunity to read New Idea and National Geographic magazines.

It doesn't really help that almost all my friends live upstairs. Oh well, they will just have to come to me now, won't they :-) And they are starting to.

I just feel guilty that, once more, I am causing the trouble.

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As darkness steals across the land
And the day comes now to rest
We look back and reflect on what has gone
What we found our greatest test
With hindsight pure and foresight blind
We beat ourselves in stealth
And forget we are but Mortals here
Where our deeds become our Wealth
Our friends we keep to make us rich
A currency unmatched
That has no end when based on love
And a new friendship's being hatched.


~~ Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone - "The Sunscreen Song" ~~

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Wake-Up Call

I had an email from Tobi this morning. I was very pleased to hear that her surgery had gone really well and she is home again. Until the next time, any way.

MS has been a huge wake-up call for me in a lot of ways. I know, no shit... but seriously (she said putting on a straight face) it's made me sit back and look at my life and see where the weakest links are, figure out what is important from this point on and make me clean house in pretty much every way imaginable. I hate bloody cleaning, see earlier post about laziness. Once upon a time it was called "sloth" and was one of the seven deadly sins. I've been thinking about my "sinful" life (hehe hehehe) and how I could spice it up a bit. I figure that to do that, I have to examine deeply and honestly the 7 Sins and where I fit into them.

ENVY:
What it is: Envy is the desire for others' abilities, status, wealth or attributes.
Colour: Green
Why I do it: Because other people are so much richer, smarter, luckier, better looking and more clever than me.
My punishment in Hell is likely to be: A freezing cold swim. A long one. I hate water.

My Version: Shari bought a nice MP3 player for her Primera. I want it. Oh, I want World Peace, an end to hunger and to lose 40 kilograms as well. But I really want that MP3 player.

SLOTH This would have to be my favourite Sin (well, after that really big sin that I've forgotten what it is now).
What it is: Sloth is avoiding work. Any sort of work.
Colour: Light Blue
Why I do it: I am a really shiftless, lazy cow.
My punishment in Hell is likely to be: I will be forced to listen to Barry Manilow's Christmas Album for all Eternity. In the dark. Whilst folding washing.

My version: The phone is ringing. I can't be bothered rolling over to answer it. Sorry.

GLUTTONY
What it is: Gluttony is an intense desire to use or eat more than is required.
Colour: Orange
Why I do it: Because I was bottle fed as an infant.
My punishment in Hell will likely be: Eternity spent rebaiting the trap for Merlin's snak-paks. He's a bloody glutton, too.

My version: I will hide all this box of chocolates a lovely lady sent me and share almost nothing with the kids.

WRATH
What it is: Anger is manifested in people who are irrational in the face of opposition. They display this as Wrath.
Colour: Red
Why I do it: It's a talent. It just comes naturally.
My punishment in Hell will likely be: Living in a room with 20 men who cannot put the toilet seat down.

My version: Parking Nazi. 'Nuff said.

PRIDE
What it is: Also known as Vanity. Pride is overweening the belief in one's own fabulousness that interferes with the individual's ability to recognise the Truth.
Colour: Violet
Why I do it: Well-meaning people told me to "believe in yourself." Like if I don't, nobody else is going to.
My punishment in Hell will likely be: Listening to some evil size 10 bimbo moan for all Eternity about how fat she is.

My version: I don't give a shit what you think, I know I am right.

LUST
What it is: Lust is an extreme craving for the pleasures of the body.
Colour: Blue
Why I do it: Cos I have a Pulse.
My punishment in Hell will likely be: Living in a room with 20 GAY men who cannot put the toilet seat down.

My version: I'm dead from the neck up and the waist down. I think they meant "dust" not "lust"

GREED
What it is: A rapacity or desire for material wealth or gain. Also known as Greed.
Colour: Yellow
Why I do it: Cos I am a spoiled brat living in the "Me, now generation"
My punishment in Hell will likely be: Every technological toy imaginable... and no power or phones

My version: Debbie has a new computer. I want a new computer, too. A flash one. And a Home Theatre system with a plasma widescreen TV.

So, what's wrong with all that? I never said I was altruistic to the bone, it's really only skin deep :-)

Really, I'm a yellow-bellied, green-eyed Hari Krishna wearing Orange robes who just happened to fall into the wrong incarnation. I drive a blue car with light blue trim and have violet hair. I go from perfectly calm to "I see red" in 1.37 nanoseconds.

Whew, after figuring all that out, just thinking about spicing up my life makes me want to go to sleep!

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Merlin has been reduced to supplying his own out-of-doors variety of rodents.

He appears to be attempting to make some kind of "statement" to me on this issue. Dork.

~~ Redheads are only blondes in disguise ~~

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Who Loves Ya, Baby

Remember back in the mid-seventies there was a TV programme called "Kojak"? Telly Savalas played a bald-headed detective with an oral fixation fed by an addiction to sucking lollipops, who used to say "who loves ya baby" at least once in every episode. Back then, I had little interest in cop shows on TV, well until Starsky and Hutch arrived on the screen and David Soul was sooooo worth drooling over. (So shoot me for thinking David Soul was cute, this is the woman who had an autographed photo of "Steve Allen" as a child, ok?? Insanity had already long been established.) I suppose that in 1973 when Kojak premiered, that little signature phrase was probably still cool, coming as it was on the coat-tails of the 60's, Haight-Ashbury and Flower Power (if you want to see a Who's Who of the Haight-Ashury era, have a look HERE, there are a few interesting names appear if you can wade through the rather 60's psychedelic colour scheme).

I digress.

In the late 60's, Peace and Love were all the rage, as were marijuana, acid and Woodstock. I was seriously born too late, I missed all the good shit. Mum had little time for popular music, old stick in the mud. She didn't even like the Beatles. She never really said a lot, but she must have hated Pink Floyd when Rae discovered them. Reg was more laid back about the "modern" music of the time and he knew he could clear us out of the room in 3 seconds flat if he got out the 78's and wound up the gramaphone.

No wonder I still suffer nightmares.

Anti-war and anti-killing became Peace and Love, and a whole lot of loving went on if the media is any sort of reliable information source.

Peace and Love. There seems to be precious little left of these in society now. We seldom love our fellow man, and we are, as a global condition, supicious, untrusting, unhelpful, uncaring, selfish and narrow-minded. We live with danger all the time, we lock our doors, some keep firearms for protection and it's common for people in trouble to be totally ignored by people passing by. There isn't a lot of the Milk of Human Kindness happening out there.

It's an ugly, materialistic, dog-eat-dog world. And I hate it.

I like to help people; I don't like people helping me. Not quite sure why, but I think it's my independence raising it's ugly head again - I don't want to feel like I'm beholden to others, don't want to owe anyone. But I don't do things for others so that they will feel beholden to me, or if I do I wasn't aware of it.

I guess that's why I find it so hard to accept that a good person could have to be tested over and over again and face pain and suffering and never be loved by anyone, and a bad person could go through a lifetime having a good time, being successful, healthy and loved.

Isn't Love what is supposed to make the World a better place?

I know very few single people. I mean, almost none who are not in some form of relationship, even if it's just a casual one. And for the most part, those that are alone seem pretty satisfied with their status quo. I know all these neat couples, all going about their lives in love and support and with a sense of purpose and belonging that I still think of as a goal or an ideal to be achieved, but only by the lucky ones. They fight and they make up, they forget things and accomodate each others needs, they forget birthdays or anniversaries and they buy flowers. But most of all, they love and they are loved.

Those of you who have a spouse or a partner, close your eyes and imagine them not there. Imagine life with them not in it, for whatever reason. Think about what this person you love more than life itself really means to your day to day existence. Think of them as gone, of what a hole that would leave in your home, in your family, your routine. How big would be the hole in your heart? It's easy to be complacent when you have it all and don't recognise what you really have in your grasp. And it's impossible to understand what it's like to never have it.

You can't rest without sleep, you can't breathe without air and you can't live without love. I guess I'm on borrowed time then, hmmm.

Who loves YOU, Baby?

~~ When your heart speaks, take good notes ~~

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Out of the Ark

They embarked on the Ark in pairs, two by two
The Elephants and the Kangaroos
The Rats and Mice and Cats and Dogs
The Bugs and Spiders and bulgy-eyed Frogs
Rhinoceros, Hippopotamus, Bison and Pigs
(The Ark must have been enormously big!)
Pelicans, Albatross, Seagulls and Shags
And Kookaburras laughing at all their own gags
Black as Night Ravens and Ugly old Crows
The Sloth should have missed out, because he's so slow
The Donkeys were stubborn and so were the mules
And they both dared to call the Jackass a fool
Hyenas and Wolverine, Weasels and Stoats
And Rabbits and llamas and Cattle and Goats
Noah hunted for weeks, up hill and down dale
To invite all the animals out for a sail
He lined them up smartly, by species, in ranks
(So he knew where to run from, if the Ark sank)
He led them on board his great sturdy new craft
And was glad he'd not settled for building a raft.

Everything comes in pairs, or multiples of two. Don't believe me?

Buy one, get one FREE!

Torch batteries in a twin pack (what if the bloody torch takes 3?)

A pair of pants

A married couple

Twos.

Everything is a part of something.

Well, nearly everything...

~~Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film~~

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