I simply don't have a title today. I want an editor!

Oh no. I think it's indeed ADD. As I mentioned, I stopped taking my adderral. Well, that effort to rid myself of any unnatural substances was a flop. I felt very out of whack. I got my prescription filled today and look at me: Bloggin away and muffins baking. I even had my housekeeper teach me how to mop. Life can be long and one never knows.


So, for today I feel confident about my diagnosis. Last month I was sure it was bipolar 2-- Which for the unaware is a lesser form of what is commonly known as manic depression. About 8 months or so ago, I just was standing in the ariel durant library( yums) and I saw a book called, "touched by fire." by Kay redfield and I picked it up. Fascinating read even if you are one of the lucky onces and can just read it for pleasure.
So, that book and then another I took out a week letter made me confident of my "issue." I can get high as a kite(more on cliches later) and low as a puddle(more on cliches that are not in existence later) and yet the image I'd had (from books and movies)of manic depression is one of real heavy wackiness-- jumping off boats and participating in orgies and not sleeping for weeks. Since I always sleep and never jumped off a boat or even entertained the idea of an orgy I dissmissed that diagnosis.

But with bipolar 2 I had all the symtoms and so...
So, nothing really. I have not sought treatment for it. I can't imagine changing too drastically. I am 33-39 years old and I am like an old shoe to myself. So for now I feel that it is probably bipolar 2 with ADHD . and a dollop of whoopass.

This will all hopefully lead to other ideas I want to express. I was picking out nectarines at the jons on labrea and man oh man did I want to blog some.

And, so eventually I was able to spend this time with you sweet sweet blog. I now know that I indeed have some real humans out there reading my babble.
I feel even more committed to ridding myself of a day job. Oh how I hate those.. I am going to really start taking myself seriously as a blogger and maybe with a little prayer here and there, some core excercise, finally finding my center etc, I'll not have to leave my house for money.
Oh, I forgot I'm a wealthy soccer mom. I get myself confused with the larger boned spinster sister sometimes.

Anyhow. I think I have to start bulleting. I don't yet know how to do that.

So I'll doing it like this.

Diagnosis Epidemic.

My two friggin cents

So know June 29th 2008- I am the add or ahdd and to be honest, my leg is a little restless. And now that I am laying myself so very naked in front of you-- I have restless arms too. Restless feet and hands too. Terrible.

My ass is the only part of me that feels sedate. Terrible.

So, I am compelled to blog today for various reasons but the most pressing one is that I am gushing over with frustrated thoughts and emotions. Nothing new there. But, this is the first time I've been able to type it out in such a way.

Recently I've been diagnosed by strangers as many things. It is getting truly comical. I am just as guilty of it. I throw around DSM hearsay constantly. But, when it's turned on you you've got to re-think. And re-think and re-think I have.

Some conclusions: It is out of control. Psychobabble has now really permeated our society to a dangerous degree. It is everywhere and it is babylonian in scope. Sure, there are sociopaths or psycho paths or crazy antisocial types. But, all that gray area in between is being clouded and is just making life less poetic or beautiful or magical or whatever it is that life can sometimes be.

And it's not just arm chair psychologists that are to be avoided and/or scrutinized. It's the degreed ones too especially those with degrees in social work. Let's not even get into Doctor Phil's fortune and how it was built on the widespread selling of this mortifying phenomenon

The ones with ph.d or Md's: They need to get tenures or published or special recognitions and they are really nude emperors if you think about long and hard.

Everyone and everything is a nudie emperor, if you think long and hard enough.
I have tons of theories and even hypothesis's for my darling viewers but long and hard and naked emperors make me want to talk about-- cliches.

(get your mind out of the gutter)

On the short drive home from Jons Market( a magnificent marktet btw) I thought of sticks and stones and how they break bones and how names do harm you. And this made me think about how this is so at the core of life. Names and name calling and aspersions cast or set in stone and surving it all to try and succeeding more and more and not letting them... harm you. Cliches get interesting as I get older. Some stand the test of time and some must be discarded. Stick and stones is a good one and I'll get into that later. Cute as a button and mad as a hatter have not stood the test of time. If buttons were cute we'd all wear them all the time and be happier and hatters are hardly mad. Thank you very much. If this knocked your socks off than ... so what. Seriously, why would the knocking of socks off the feet be a good thing? And let's not even get into the poor dogs. Sick as a dog( woof huh?) dog tired( the dog is thinking-- I always get my 8 hours, bitch) and so many other dog cliches it is overwhelming. They are one of our most favored housepets and yet we use the word "dog." as a slur(cur?) so very often.

Now that I am for quite some time not officially young I can speak from experience about some cliches that should stay. When I was a plump and overly unconforming child any incident where I was the recipient of misunderstanding or cruelty or false impression-- seared me. Made me cry and suffer and curse my faith and fate and my slight fatness. I was shy and scared and lisa karpul and karen kessler were capable of leaving me in a heap. My mother one day said something that changed my life completely. It wasn't a cliche. I was 13. we were talking about my shyness and she said, " Shyness is arrogance." We discussed it more and we talked about how shyness was really connected to some assumption that anyone gives a damn about you. Sure, some will and so do but most people are not paying very close attention to anyone but themselves. I thought and thought about it for years and years and by the time I was 21 I think I'd rid myself of accepting my shyness and letting myself live under the illusion that people were interested in much more than themselves. It's there, the shyness, maybe it should be called a different name, but it's there. I just constantly remind myself that shyness is connected to not only arrogance but to cowardliness. The struggle to overcome any belief that we are the center of the universe is, I think, a worthy and thrilling one. And, because I've just look at the time and there is a time constraint I'll have to leave this blog entry as incomplete. And just type away till time runs out.

I very much doubt it but I hope my desire to share some premise got across somehow. And, that is...

Names should not harm you. And year by year cliches like "you can't please all of the people all of the time" become downright profound.

I see so much "shyness." or cowardliness everywhere. It is beyond enervating to me to be stuck in so many situations where I get the strongest sense of ... fear.

People(not all- but most) are overly cautios and I think that our society is acting even more inhibited than ever because names have gotten more insidious and people feel incapable of fighting them.

Pychobabble names that are zipping our collective lips:

Borderline, narcissist blah blah dsm , obsessed, stalker, get a life(??) lifestyle...

On any message board where there is literacy beyond... u are cool lol. I heart justin, you will see these slurs thrown out willy nilly. And the recieving end is just going to feel mind fucked and incapable of an acceptably brief response that will convince anyone of this misconception with appearing "obsessed." The only way to deal with it is to feel your complexity and beauty and understand that they just can't or won't or don't need to understand.

Now, "obssessed' and "stalker" seem in a different league. But, I see those accusations thrown at almost anyone who displays pretty normal sentiments or behaviours.

If other things don't eat up all my time, I'll get into "lifestyle.' later. It doesn't seem to belong on the list but it does...

There really are mental wards and hospitals for the criminally insane. there really is a death row. There can't be a doubt that some live amidst us and do not experience guilt or goodness. That sleep at night when they ravage other's lifes.
But, they, thankfully, are a select few. Not the majority and these words are just diminishing and need to be put out of commission in cases where there is really no compelling evidence.


Oh my. I do have gramaphobia(or whatever name I was called this week)


I have one minute left and so I'll try to wrap this strange stream of consciousness up with... sticks and stones very well might break your bones but... names need to be analyzed before you even think about letting them harm you. Dyke and faggot and many others have been "taken back." and disarmed. New more onerous, less obvious ones have taken their place.


Much more later, taters. When i hit 1000 hits we are going to party like it's 2008. aight??

I annoy my own self so ... hush.

court reporters rock!!

The vast majority of songs are about heartbreak of the romantic variety. Then, you have your thank you songs. One from Natalie Merchant comes to mind, One from Dido. The golden girls theme. I surely am missing many thank you gratititude songs. Then you have your cheer up song niche-- Desiree' and lots of others. You have your, "keep going. life will get better" songs and you have your I have a crush that doesn't mean much songs.

I'm no statistician so my percentenges are not even remotely ballpark but I'd say that 90% of songs are about unsuccesful or confounding romantic situations that are making feel or act either crazy or like a fool. Which reminds me that alanis morrisette has a new album(know this by osmosis, did not seek this info out) called "flavors of entanglement." Is that awful or what? Just sounds terrible to my large and delicate ears. I havent' been that put off by the languauge use for a song or an album since I heard the radio person tell that a lousy song that I'd heard(about 5 months ago) was called "Melancholy diety." Oh how, I ranted silently at the stupidity that I percieved, but alas it wasn't known to anyone I knew and so the rant didn't take off too much.

Back to romantic heartache and my contention that 90% of songs are about unhappy romantic outcomes and the rest are almost all about gratitude, gratitude for being in a happy romance, cheer up it's not so bad, and I'm free on the road blah blah songs. Then you have your odd hybrid songs which I'll think more about soon. I'm a creep by radio head or karma police by radiohead come to mind. Lots of beatles stuff..... I'll get back to this later.

I've finding all of this very interesting and have lots of fine jokes I've created from this observation. I would tell you them but I fear there might be a joke theif on the loose and this joke theif may or may not read my blog. Someone certainly is and I so wish their was software to show who those people are. Now, my train of thought is completely lost and I have no idea why I even am here on this damned blog. I'll put up somemore artwork. Off to santa monica to pick up court transcripts and then to the lawyer. So glad I can be here for the spinsters in their time of need. If you were to telling me a year ago that I'd have an opinion on court reporters(lovely!) I'd thinking I was dreaming. But, as of today, and last week I like my court reporter very much. Not only can he type at a supernatural pace but he is kindly and compassionate and out of a movie. I suggest we have a court reporter appreciation day. What say you you silent... little honeys?

Benign Masses and suffering classes

heavens to mergensens, and damn it to hell, I am conflicted about blogging. Part of me feels impelled by society to blog. Blog this, blog that, this blog, blogger this, blogosphere. Such an unsexysounding thing-- blog.
Still, the soundless space(When the speakers are off) of this place is disheartening. There seems a perplexing trend of brevity that I don't ascribe to. I have not yet reached a readership that can inspire advertisers, and it hurts.

Advertising reminds me that I was in Orange county this week and in a clothes store I saw tiny tiny t-shirts and on them it said in bold print, " Most popular baby," " Baby most likely to succeed." There were more but I blocked them out. I'm not unaware that Orange county is a hotbed of such notions and yet still I was appalled. beyond measure. And, I felt very sure at that moment that if we would just eliminated advertising we'd all be ok. No need for complex social agendas or dogmas-- just no advertising-- ever. No one allowed to pressure baby like that and pressure us all into buying into concepts that are created by those who want to have a big salary. Advertising is what is making us all miserable and I want it to stop.

Words and words. i love words. But, do they love me? That is what consumes me for the duration of this blog post. I recently had many traumas and just when I thought they'd come to an end, a new one has cropped up. But, none can, in the shadow, of what happened 3 months ago, compare. What happened? Mommy Henya was rushed to the hospital with terrible pain. There we waited, but no one knew what was wrong. A week later, a call came that said that a mass was found in mommy Henya's pancreas. I was recovering from a somewhat botched surgery and wasn't told this. Eventually, I was. And I lost most if not all of the remaining marble. I tell ya.
I read over 200 articles on the internet and was truly obssessed with finding out what the odds and chances were. Through extensive googling, I arrived at a 1% chance of an outcome that wouldn't destroy me completely. And, I looked at it, that 1%, and I did not believe that I would be the benefactor of such a lottery.

And this process was long and tests were done and done, and I googled and googled , and I fell into a darkness darker than I'd known and I'd known darkness. The day of reckoning was near and the biopsy is what it was called. And, the doctor was Indian and she wasn't kind, but many were. And, strangers at cedars sinai, asked me if I was ok, because I suppose my eyes are expressive. i certainly didn't attempt to tell them the scope of my suffering. And, I really don't like drinking anymore but I knew that the level of anguish and the waiting were too much and so I went and got a small bottle of vodka. And, I had 2 hours to wait, to find out, what my future would be. And, that time, as all time does, passed. And, the indian radiologist wasn't kind when she said, "it does not present as cancer." Then, it was a matter of operation or no operation and the odds of no operation was once again, 1%. And, after a week, we were told that she would have to have a modified operation. Better than the Whipple. And, we all convened to feel that this is fine and we are lucky. 2 days later we were told that they are just going to adopt a wait and see approach and they will check her mass every 3-6 months. And, I googled some more, and I was sure I'd never complain again and I'd do everything in my power to make my mothers life better because it seemed that I'd finally been really lucky or that for the first time I'd felt lucky, in a long time. And now more than 3 months have passed and no one is calling insisting my mother be checked and she has not lost weight or developed jaundice and that is very good.

Now, false witnesses, have emerged and sociopaths spouting phsycobabble have come forth to upset my universe. Someone I trusted has shown herself to be beyond trust and a stranger has decided to hurt me for no discernible reason. They do not know that I've survived much worse and I see it as a sturdy and short hurdle that I will cross seamlessly. I desire a mutual understanding but it is denied me in favor of spurious lies and abuses of the legal system . It clouds my blood and brain with disgust, hatred, and (bitter) bafflement. I don't understand. I do know that they both live to win and that I don't want them to.
Oh yes, how did that diatribe come to pass? Words. Yes, I was talking about words. When I stood outside cedars sinai, and I strolled the streets of Beverly hills, and I suffered suffered suffered and I thought, " I am bereft, I am disconsolate, I am forlorn, I am forsaken, I am despondent beyond the pale, and then I thought, " i know too many damned words." I wish I didn't no so many damned words. I wish I just felt, "this is not awesome."

Ah, I feel better.