And Now. . .

. . . A moment to express my emotions, since I just had to lock all this shit down in order to navigate the treacherous freeways.

Dear Healthcare Industry,

Medicine Isn't Science

I thought that for a long time. But medicine is, at best, an art and at worst, blowhard negligence.

If anything untoward should happen to me, or if I should untowardly happen to anything else, I have a request:

Please sue the fucking shit out of every doctor who has "treated" me in the past 8 years. Find the most vicious lawyer you can and sue, sue, sue until they are run out of business. Some of them are nice people, but they are all a part of the machine erroneously labeled "healthcare." As cogs in that machine, most only serve to perpetuate the nasty cycle: under/overprescribed, assuming most women with any complaint are "just depressed," encouraging a culture of scalpel jockeys instead of preventative care, and most unforgivable of all, not listening to their patients.

I'm not stupid, not about this anyway. I'm not lying. I have been trying for so long, so hard, to follow all the rules to be "healthy." And you know what following the doctor's suggestions has gotten me? One organ down, persistent pain, internal scarring, and in the worst shape, physically and mentally, that I've ever been in my life.

First, do no harm: yeah, right. Harm seems to be all those fucks are capable of dishing out. Harm, indifference, deluded conviction, and gross negligence.

Sue them. Smear them on the web. Go on cheap trashy talk shows. Render them finally responsible for their actions.

I'm not kidding.

Like Letting The Air Out of a Balloon

I'm picking through my massive, yet never quite complete, medical records as I have One Last Doctor's Appointment to see if I can get any help for all the wonderful bodily ailments I have as a result of being healed. Oh Irony, you so crazy.

And I had a thought that I've never had before: what would my life be like if that biopsy had come back clean? What would my life be like now if I'd never had cancer?

I can't really think past that point. It seems strange that I never thought of it before. All I can imagine is the horrific stress of the day I got the diagnosis (soooo many things going wrong that day)--and I think, "Well, my sister and I probably would have had a better time during her visit." I do not believe I was ideal company during that time.

Isn't it strange that I've never even considered the alternative, what the past 2 years would have been like if this didn't happen? I'm sure that says something about me, but I'll be damned if I know what it is.

***********************

"Your Scar Looks Good"

I hear that a bit. It's funny.

"Your scar looks good."

I never cared about the scar, but it's quite a discussion point among the surgeons, nurses, etc. I got more unsolicited consolation and reassurance about my scar than I did for the cancer. Nothing about what would happen later.

It's funny because the only people who spot the scar are fellow thyroidectomy patients. Even though my scar looks "great" any thyroidectomy patients zone in on it like a laser. From People who know me to virtual office strangers have engaged me on the subject with no preamble.

I am leaving I am leaving but the fighter still remains


my teeth have turned the wrong shape for my mouth

I'll take your part when darkness comes

Man, Art Garfunkel's voice is almost angelic at times.

Why do we so easily lose sight of goals that would provide relief and comfort? How can we know so much about what goes on inside of each other, yet still fail to create a system of mutual benefit?

Holy Moly Frijoles. I'm on a YouTube autoplay, and somehow I'm watching Phantom of the Opera with Sara Brightman and Antonio. Fucking. Banderas?

I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!

Blah Blah Blah

Some things have been happening. Some new. Some same. At this moment, I have very little desire to transcribe any of it.

Three year old's shoes on grown-up feet.

Then there was the time I did at home blood and saliva tests.

Seems like it should be easy, right? That blood did not want to come out.

"Just prick your fingertip" my ass.

Lancets were one use only. Until I Rewired It!

Spent a nice evening at Princess O's, with Lin and the KungFu C.

Rorschach Inkblots on Google. My friend tells me her young daughter "made inkblots in class. . . and one was an indistinguishable blob that was 'a scary fish that lives in the dark and eats little fish with his scary teeth.'"  I responded "I know that fish!" Then I produced this. Why am I not employed again?

Halloween happened.

LinLin made a scary spider jack-o-lantern.

Do. Not. Make. Eye. Contact.

AHHHH! It's coming straight for us!!

This happened. Two words: cocoa puffs.

Somebody got bit running errands today. Damn zombies.

We didn't just give out candy, we received goody bags from some adult ladies. I love the name of this church. Zombie Approved.

In sad news, we have a shirt that's up for retirement.

My Sunday church clothes.

A Swiss approach to shirt design.

Guess that's all for now. Leave you with this.

We've all felt that way, right?

I Have Loved The Stars Too Fondly To Be Fearful Of The Night

Sometimes a person's life is just full of shite. But that doesn't mean you have to spread it around.


The Old Astronomer
Sarah Williams

Reach me down my Tycho Brahé, -- I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.

Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, 'tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.

But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men's fellowship and wiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles.

You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight;
You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.
I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.
You "have none but me," you murmur, and I "leave you quite alone"?

Well then, kiss me, -- since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, -- that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.

I "have never failed in kindness"? No, we lived too high for strife,--
Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;
But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still
To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!

There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,
To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;
And remember, "Patience, Patience," is the watchword of a sage,
Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.

I have sown, like Tycho Brahé, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, 'twill disturb me in my sleep
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.

I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak;
Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak:
It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars,--
God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.

That's Life

It has been a pretty shitty scene around these parts lately.

However, right now I'm sitting in a balmy house in Venice Beach. The door and windows are all open. Cats are wandering in and out. The Chairman of the Board is singing about his favorite years while I lounge in a club chair made from the aluminum and leather of a WWII plane.

My friend blau is kindly fixing all the stuff I've hosed up on my beloved Mac, between light speed packing for his departure in under an hour.

It's strangely peaceful, this moment. I am grateful for that.