1. Protocol :: code of conduct
2. Girlfriends :: earth angels
3. Shoulders :: White Shoulders 
4. Coming home :: kickin' off shoes and losing the bra
5. Let it in :: It?  What is "it"?  Don't let IT in!!!!
6. Honor :: thy mother and father
7. Tyler :: Mary Tyler Moore
8. Thriller :: SoBe Life Water commercial see below
9. Angela :: my favorite niece
10. The winner is :: "I'd like to thank the Academy ... "

Sobe Life Water Commercial

You know the drill ... or do you?  "Rules are, there are no rules." There are no right or wrong answers. Don't limit yourself to one word responses; just say everything that pops into your head.  You can mutter there or you can mutter here, in my comments.

I'm in a silly mood today.  I swear, I can't take it.  I don't know what's up with me.  One day I'm feeling wild and joyful, the next day down in the dumps, the next day sassy, the next day blue, the next day playfully mischievous.

*sigh*  What to do with myself.

I'm think I'll go eat my weight in sushi.

In the alley, behind a restaurant, there was an alcove that was once used to store several large trash cans.  The trash cans were gone, replaced by a huge dumpster that hid the alcove from view.  It was where I hid my belongings during the day and where I returned to sleep each night.  If I was lucky, there was something salvageable from the dumpster.  If I was really lucky, the old Mexican dishwasher would slide a greasy paper bag full of scraps beneath the dumpster.  I never spoke to him except to say, "Silencio, por favor." when he first saw me squeezing behind the dumpster one night.

I have a very vivid memory of waking one day.  The first thing I was aware of was the smell of rancid meat and spoiled food.  It took me a moment to remember where I was.  I was cold but oddly, my knee and my calf were warm.  Slowly but surely, I began to remember where I was -- in my alcove, on my sleeping bag, with a deep gash in my knee.  The warmth I felt was blood.  I started to remember why I was bleeding.

Lorraine and I had scored several ballons of heroine earlier in the day and had just fixed.  I loved heroine ... that mind numbing sweet release ... nodding without sleeping ... floating in that long, drawn-out hypnagogic state.  The vomitting wasn't fun but once the heaving was done, the heaven would begin.  Lorraine loved heroine, too -- more than she loved me -- more than she loved anything.

After we had fixed, I put the rig, (syringe, tie-off, spoon, etc) in my large "flower child" crochet purse, along with one balloon of heroine -- our fix for the next morning before we went looking for more money for more dope.  Then I settled into my nod.  At some point I felt a gentle tug on my purse.  Through half-lidded eyes, I saw Lorraine trying to carefully slide the purse out from under my knee.  I tensed my knee, clamping it firmly down on my purse.  Then came the pain.  Lorraine had plunged a large piece of broken glass into my knee.

Obviously, the fix wasn't enough for her ... she wanted it all.  I felt the purse slide out from under my leg; then Lorraine was gone.  I wasn't angry or hurt.  When you have heroine, other junkies either become your best friend or your worst nightmare.  I was a little surprised -- I never dreamed she would turn on me like that.  Actually, she had the right to the heroine.  She was the one who turned tricks to get the money for the dope.  She shared it with me as I shared everything with her -- at least everything in my little alcove world.

The gash was huge.  I noticed that the color of the exposed meat was white and wondered if that was really the color or if it was the color the heroine told me it was.  I reached for a embroidered peasant blouse and tied it around my knee. 

I started trying to figure out what to do.  I couldn't go home for a number of reasons ... mainly because I didn't want my mother to see her junkie daughter.  Secondly, I didn't want to be around her boyfriend who couldn't keep his hands off me -- it was the reason I left in the first place.  Loaded and injured, I would be defenseless. 

The only hopsital I could go to would have been the county hospital but my mother worked there.  Everyone knew her and thus me.  I couldn't take the chance.  The only thing I could do was go to my mother's house and figure out what to do once I got there.  I thought maybe I could hide in the detached garage until I could get into the house.

I limped out to the street and stuck my thumb out.  Those were more innocent days; hitchhiking was pretty much an accepted mode of transportation.  I was picked up by a hippie couple in a  vdub van ... how cliche is that?  They dropped me off about a block from my mother's house.  I waited until the house went dark.  I wondered if I could sneak into the house.  That's when I saw the cellar doors.  Why I hadn't thought of that in the first place was beyond me.  I was too loaded to even know I was too loaded to have a sensible thought in my head.

I crossed the lawn to the cellar doors, lifted one open, eased it down as quietly as I could and waited.  I finally surrendered to exhaustion and what was left of my nod.  When I came to, I listened.  When I was sure that my mom and her boyfriend had left the house, I slipped in through the back door.  Another sign of a more innocent day and age -- my mom never locked the back door.  Later I found out that after I ran away, she still left the door unlocked for me in hopes she would come home from work one day and I'd be there.

I went into the bathroom, took a bath, and washed my hair.  I poured alcohol in my wound and bandaged it up the best I could.  I was beginning to jones.  I needed to fix.  I hated Lorraine at that moment -- enough to want to eff her up when I found her.  I went into my mother's closet where she had put boxes of my clothes since I had left home.  I changed and stuffed some clothes into a pillowcase.  I had no idea if my sleeping bag or my clothes would still be in my alcove behind the dumpster.  No idea if Lorraine might have gone back and taken my stuff to sell.  I raided my mother's pantry and made myself a couple of cold burritos to take with me.  I straightened up after myself the best I could and left.  I went back into the cellar ... I was exhausted.  In the damp darkness of the cellar I ate half a burrito and then I fell asleep on an old chair my mother planned to reupholster one day.

When I woke I heard muffled voices.  My mother's bedroom was directly above my head.  I thought I heard her mention my name.  Then, I heard my mother sobbing.  She knew I had been there. 

I found out later that my mother found my bloody peasant blouse I had accidentally kicked beneath the clawfoot tub.  My poor mama.  She couldn't have known that the wound was in my leg and not my torso.  I sat, shrouded in darkness but no amount of darkness could hide my shame.   Shame that I had hurt my mother, shame that I was a junkie, shame that I had thrown my life away for a fix and then another and another and another.  I vowed to get clean, to get straight, to quit hurting my mother.  But first, ...

... first, I had to have just one more fix.  I was covered in sweat and aching all over.  One more fix  ... just one more fix.  One more trip into that familiar mind numbing sweet release ... nodding without sleeping ... floating in that long, drawn-out hypnagogic state.  I wanted to quit feeling sick.  But more than anything, I just wanted out of the pain ... out of the pain of a life no girl my age should have had.  I had only just completed my junior year of high school.

That was the memory that came flooding back this morning when I took the trash out to the dumpster.  The smell assaulted all my senses and sent me reeling back into the past.  It was momentary, but vivid.  I stifled tears as I walked back to the condo. 

When I opened the door, the heater kicked on.  Scented candles were burning all through the house.  The washing machine end-cycle buzzer sounded.  Supper was simmering on the stove.  My purse, with a wallet full of credit cards and cash, sat on my desk.  I closed the door and leaned against it -- as if doing so would keep the memories from intruding. 

My thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Man.  "You okay?" he asked, "You don't look so good."   I told him that the dumpster was foul and had made me nauseous and a little lightheaded.  He apologized and said he should have taken out the trash.  He suggested I lay down for a little while.

I went into the bedroom, pulled back the silk, gold comforter and slid between the clean white sheets that smelled faintly of lavender fabric softener.  As I curled up, I reached down and rubbed the jagged scar on my knee.  The thoughts wouldn't stop coming.  I reached for my iPod, put the earbuds in and tried to drown the thoughts out.  Nothing in this cozy little life of mine was going to drown out the memory of Lorraine laying on my sleeping bag, foam coming out of her mouth and nose, her skin an odd dark bluish-green.  Nothing was going to make me forget that I picked up a soldier at the bus depot and ...   I did what I needed to do because Lorraine was dead and I needed just one more fix.

When people ask me about the scar I always tell them that I cut it on a piece of broken glass.  I told someone the whole story once and they gave me that oh, you poor thing look.  It infuriated me.  Poor thing, my ass.  I was responsible for that period of my life.  That period of my life wasn't something that happened to me ... it was what I did.  I made the choices.  And it was only the beginning of a string of lousey choices I would make for years.

Those memories don't come calling very often.  When they do come, there's always a trigger .... like the stench of the dumpster.

I don't think I'll be taking out the trash again any time soon.

As for most people, music reminds me of people, places and things in my life -- past and present.  Candy sent me the link to this video several weeks ago.  The song keeps looping in my head and I'm totally okay with it.  The song makes me happy and the video puts that Cheshire grin on my face.  Quite coincidentally, this song (released in 1967 by the Turtles) was one of my favorites in 1968.  <-- Forever Love reference  The song is about a boy / girl couple but it fans that friendship spark inside of me as well.  Thank you, sweetheart!

"Bah-bah-bah-bah bah-bah-bah-bah
bah-bah-bah bah-bah-bah-baaaaah"

About a month ago, Meecie and I attended our first Red Hat Society function ... dinner at a local restaurant.  I enjoyed it even though my evening was cut short because I was plagued with neuropathic pain.  I look forward to our next gathering.  I even had a new sassy red hat ...

The headband is actually a scarf that can be tied dozens of ways and the bow is actually a clip that I can clip on the hat or just clip it on a ponytail or on another hat.  I can tell I'm going to be such a hat whore.

The reason I'm bringing this all up now is that over the weekend, I received an email telling me that a group picture from that evening was in the Valentine's Day issue of The TImes-Picayune!  The picture is pretty grainy and distorted everyone's features a little (my sister says my nose looks huge in the picture -- thanks, sis) but here it is anyway ...

click to enlarge

That's Meecie (Honeybee) on the far left and then me.  Now y'all are getting your first look at the Dynamic Duo that is Meecie and Friday.  =^)  Take a good look because this is the last picture that will be taken of Meecie at that weight.  Meecie's gastric bypass is scheduled for March 11th.  YAY, Meecie!  The five year fight is over and a whole new life begins, girlfriend!  You go, girl!

So, kinda fun but I was feeling like crap that day so didn't take too many pains to look my best.  I guess I should always operate on the, "Always wear clean panties in case you get in an accident" philosophy.  Not that I wasn't wearing clean panties, I definitely was ... red ones.  What I mean is, I should have taken the time to wear make-up or wear the jeans that fit me better or do something with my hair other than braid it or ... well, you get the point.  Then again, how was I supposed to know they post the group picture in the newpaper every month?

I say ... and you think ... ?

1. Passport :: WD external hard drive
2. Small world :: "And a smile means friendship to everyone ... it's a small world afterall!"
3. Radio :: disc jockey
4. Marine :: a few good men
5. Wall :: the walls have ears
6. Wanna be :: poser
7. Pigtails :: inkwell
8. Hyphen :: trait d'union
9. 9.99 :: just about 100%
10. Unrated :: undiscovered

"Rules are, there are no rules." There are no right or wrong answers. Don't limit yourself to one word responses; just say everything that pops into your head.  You can mutter there or you can mutter here, in my comments.

A lovely gift from my sweet Melly, in my favorite color, PINK!  Who would have guessed it, right?  I'm not a very girly-girl.  In fact, my home has always been decroated in deep, rich tones.  I do, however, love to wear pink.  Pink makes me happy.  Thank you, Melly Girl!  I love it!

click to see actual size

When the doctor ordered blood work because she was concerned I might be diabetic, I wasn't worried ... not at all.  I'm so smart.  Test results are back and I'm not diabetic.  Yay!

BUT
(didn't ya just know there was a but coming?)

My potassium is high 6.2 ... in the danger zone, is what she said ... and my kidney function has decreased slightly, indicated by my high creatinine level of 1.27.

You have GOT to be kidding me!

She wanted to refer me to a Nephrologist.  Knowing a little about kidney disease, because of my kidney transplant recipient brother-in-law, I told her that my intake of potassium rich foods spiked over the weekend because I had a cold.  Chicken soup, bananas, orange juice, tea, Gatorade ... all loaded with potassium.  Add that to some of my favorite foods which I didn't avoid: tomato and tomato sauces, potato (french fries), avocado, peanuts.  Also, one of my meds increases my potassium.  I asked if it wouldn't be more prudent to change my diet, discontinue the offending supplement and retest within a reasonable time.  She agreed. 

You see how serious I can be?  I didn't crack one joke while talking to her.

I think she's being over cautious and maybe even borderline alarmist.  She also said she was going to forward the test results to my Neurologist to find out if Copaxone, my MS injections, might be creating some kidney issues.  Oh, terrifiic!  <--sarcasm  I did search for any relation between Copaxone, MS and kidney damage but didn't find anything.

Besides this stubborn cold and my usual MS symptoms, I feel fine but I guess that's not an indicator.  The Nephrologist appointment isn't until April so in the meantime I'll go with the diet / retest plan and hope for the best.

Honestly, I'm annoyed and concerned which isn't the same as terrified.  I do this Multiple Sclerosis, Myotonic Muscular Dystrophy (very mild), Bipolar bullsh*t on a daily basis.  I don't make it the focus of my life.  I want to live!  I don't mean just survive ... I want to enjoy life!  Every day, I put one foot in front of the other and keep on keeping on ... listening to my body but still living life ... engaging in things that make me happy.  But truly ... with this hurdle in front of me, I'm discouraged.  How could so much be wrong with one person? 

I'm not really like other people with chronic diseases who truly understand what's going on with their bodies / brains, or are up on all the latest medical info -- what I learn I don't retain very well.  I'm not in any sort of chronic illness "network" or group.  The only people I know in my real life are totally disabled by MS -- that's not me so it's hard to relate.  I've said it before and I'll say it again, "I don't understand what most MSers are talking about and feel as if I don't have any valuable input.  I'm actually, largely, still in denial.  I know I have MS and I recognize some of the symptoms that are listed for MS but it still doesn't seem real to me.  One would think that after two years, I'd feel differently.

I haven't had to make too many major changes in my life because of MS.  I know kidney issues are different.  For the next ten days, my diet will change drastically.  It's going to be a daunting task.  The list of foods to avoid is massive.

So much irony.  I quit shooting drugs and now have to inject myself daily.  I had a gastric bypass, started eating healthier plus exercising and the very foods I thought were healthy, might be creating a problem.  Worst of all, I hate talking about any of it.  Truly ... I really hate it, don't want anyone to know what I'm going through and absolutely do not want any pity.  What's happening to me seems so trivial compared to what's going on in the rest of the world.

Okay ... that's off of my chest.

I haven't forgotten about "Forever Love - Part Trois", believe me!  I couldn't forget.  It's just that life has been ... let's just say life has been challenging and leave it at that.  Just in case anyone wants to review or catch up ...

Forever Love  &  Forever Love - Part Deux

To backtrack just a wee bit with some slight edits ...

People will judge me for what happened next.  Some may be disgusted with me or disappointed in me.  Some will call me a hypocrite because I have always been very vocal about unfaithfulness.  To those people I say, "I'm sorry".  Although, I wasn't being a hypocrite back then ... I was being a judgemental bitch.  I didn't know then what I know now.

What followed after, was, in my mind, extraordinary.

I may fumble a good bit while recounting this part of this Forever Love story.  I will be revealing things here that I've never revealed ... not even to Paul.

Attached to Paul's next letter to me were pictures ... images of the boy I loved.  To see that face again set this middle-aged heart to fluttering, beating against the walls of my chest like an entire flock of startled starlings.  I have seen current pictures of Paul and I still see the boy in the eyes of the man he's become.  He was shy back then ... as was I.  How did anything ever happen between us?  Is there such a thing as fate?

I wanted to tell him things I had kept locked in my heart.  I was scared.  I had to keep telling myself, "Be cool, fool".  We had both expressed a sense of guilt due to our respective "situations".  We both worried about being in a situation that would test my (our) resolve is how Paul put it.  It was too late for me.  My resolve had been tested and buckled immediately. 

I recognized a spark -- a tiny but brilliant spark of passion.  Though it was but a spark, I was mesmerized.  I was too frightened to fan that spark into a flame but I also didn't want it to die.  I was so torn between what I should do and what I wanted to do.  Oddly, I was more concerned about how it would upset his life, more than mine or Mr. Man's.  For a while, those conflicting feelings were enough to rein me in.  I was being very careful.  Just the infrequency of my email to him is evidence of how hesitant I was -- 6/15, 7/11, 7/29. 

Though I hadn't shared it with Paul, I had already decided, no matter what, I would never see him.  I couldn't take the chance.  There was too much at risk ... too many people would get hurt.  There was also the possibility that seeing one another might change what we felt.  Although I didn't really have him, I wasn't going to lose him again.  This is not the thinking of a mature, intelligent, rational woman.

I went through dozens of scenarios in my mind.  It was a devil on one shoulder - angel on the other sort of tug-o-war.  Finally, bolstered by my "vow" to never see him and 39 years plus over 2,000 miles between us, I stepped over my guilt and fears and wrote to him ...

It's difficult for me to think straight at this moment.  This is always how I become when I think back on us.  You will forever have this affect on me.  I'm grateful that we are still "together".  Please don't feel guilty for telling me what's in your heart.  Truthfully, I hunger for it.  Though years and miles are between us, I am yours and you are mine.  It's something no one can take away from us or ever change.  It's a rare and precious thing.

Thank you so much for the letter, the pictures and that spark inside of me that only you can ignite.

Ever yours ...

There's this thing I do whenever I blog or write to anyone -- even when I comment on someone's blog or tagboard -- I hesitate to hit those buttons like "publish", "send", "submit".  I bite my lip and grimace and debate -- send?  delete? send?  delete?  I don't know how long I sat here and stared at that email.  Heaven only knows how long I'll sit here and stare at this post before I hit "publish".  All I know is that what was in my heart would not be denied. 

With beads of moisture on my forehead and upper lip, I sent the email.  Then, I started to torture myself.  I thought that just possibly, I had gone to far.  Panic began to set in.  My affection and attention can be a little overwhelming sometimes -- or so I've been told.  As I thought about the email I thought, "How presumptuous it was of me to claim him by saying you are mine." I began to get nervous.  I repeated over and over in my head, "What have I done?  What have I done?  Ohmigod, Friday, what have you done?"

So, finally I had told him how I felt ... kinda-sorta.  I didn't profess my love.  Experiencing the panic after my last email, I knew I never would. 

I kept scolding myself for having written what I had written, but all along hoping for a favorable response.  The wait was nerve wracking but also somewhat heady.  Did I mention I was conflicted?

That's all I can relate for now as my very "real world" demands I be present.  There will be many more installments as this story unfolds.  I just couldn't let Valentine's Day pass without posting at least a small part of this forever love story.

Note to self ... Never say never ...

Paul, where ever you are, whatever you're doing -- I love you, I do.

By the way, Happy Valentine's Day y'all.  A little something I made ... a gift for all my loves!

For you ... my "Poetry Man"