Recently in my inner lizard Category

sitting (well, standing, so i can get to the wifi) at duke's ventura, 7:22 pm on sunday evening thinking, hmm, the timestamp is off in my copy of emtee) but anyway. it's time a line was drawn, and if i have to draw the think while eating fish tacos and getting moderately drunk on fat tire ale, well, so be it.

consider it drawn.

notice the rather extensive archives. those stay, they are (for better / worse) part of me & cannot be flushed away like the shit they most likely probably may be.

when i started this i had no idea. matter of fact what this was at that time was an experiment in some newer version of emtee than what i was comfortable running on my old surreally.com blog, and it ended up being this thing. this thing were, as [melly] (link pending) once joked to me in the IM, i could make a one word post and get fifty comments. so i did, and it got ... wait, 13? no, the import process destroyed some of them it was more like 38. anyway there were things going on back in those days in spite of the fact i had no goals, no purpose, no particular reason for being aside from, i was testing a copy of MT and it got out of hand. 1700+ entries 16000+ comments and i gave it all up, then there was even more than that and i gave that up too.

well i'm done giving up stuff in my life and beyond that, i'm done being aimless and messageless and purposeless. at least i seriously hope i am.

so i decided i should have a purpose and some goals and stuff. however at this juncture i have no idea what those are. please stay tuned. please? oh, pretty please...

if she's anything like me, she ran the telling through her mind any number of times, like practice, only imaginary. i imagine the five maybe ten minutes of ordinary everyday smalltalk that preceeded the telling was somewhere between nervewracking nailchewing & tingling anticipating. i know she knew the reaction would be good, but i also know what took her all those minutes nattering on about ordinary everyday this & that, before she told me:

"mom, i'm pregnant"

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

eight weeks.

my daughter was born 12/21, nine days after my twenty second birthday. her due date was 12/16, she was late. (there's a name for that now -- it's called 'amanda time' as in, i'll be there in a half an hour, amanda time, which means 'relax kick back read a book it'll be awhile') anyway.

her due date is either 12/12 or 12/16, depending on the chart you use for figuring. and she will turn twenty two on the twenty first.

i bet it's a girl.

i wrote this in notepad a week ago, they played the rest of the tapes tonight. i didn't see anything i hadn't seen before, i just watched to see her, hear her again. she was ... something to me, i cannot explain.

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

her name mentioned anywhere in my periphery catches my attention. i struggle to ignore the television, yet i knew the tapes would be played tonight. i can resist most tabloid style shocking new development in history type things, but tapes? her voice?

i laid at the foot of the bed, close enough to the tv not to need glasses. i clutched my bottle of newcastle and i fell into her world, so familiar. i know the story, as well or better than i know my own. i did not listen for revelations, i only wanted to hear the things i know spoken in her voice.

and i cried, first at the wedding images and then off and on for the rest of the hour. six and a half years after her death, i cry at the memory of a woman i never met, whose life played out in a world so different from the one i inhabit, yet the recognition was instantaneous. i have been following her shadow from behind the harsh lights, since the first breathless headlines.

i can tell you that these tears are pleasure, an indulgence. and that they cleanse me in ways my own cannot. in fact i enjoy every thing i have felt during this following, the feelings i am feeling now are exquisite bittersweet and perfect. i will even tell you i love her, even though in the typing of that admission, i can feel every ounce of rational matter in me anywhere, protesting vigorously, but with complete and utter futility.

love. love is the word.

my headphones are my sanctuary. but my kid uses mine when his break, and then ... well, they break. i had one pair he didn't break, & it was 'cause they were broken when i got 'em. someone found them & gave them to me, i forget, & i'm a packrat, so here they were. and my last pair of kidphones had one side out, and ... i need headphones. one side didn't work, and was missing the hook dealy that hangs it over the ear. wiggling the cord did make the sound cut in & out, so there was hope. i used a hair tie to secure the wire, turned and bent in such a way that it makes contact. i took a different sort of ear thingy from another broken pair & stuck one end under the rubber band so that the speaker would hang precariously over my ear.

& this works. surprisingly well. astonishingly, even.

i used to do this all the time when i was a kid, i was always fixing my headphones. not very well, the repairs were klunky & generally temporary, but whatever works right? & i did indeed make headphones work on many occasions.

headphones have always been my sanctuary, my little hidey-hole. they don't make the world go entirely away but they do think twice before bugging me, since it's such a hassle getting my attention (hint: it's the same whether i them loud, or quiet, or turned off -- it's not that i can't hear you, it's just that i am ignoring you.) and music, music has saved me so many times.

anyway, living with someone ostensibly way better at this type of stuff than me, and headphones break, and he says 'i don't have a soldering iron', and that's that. well for some reason, i ... started to believe that it really had to be done with a soldering iron. in fact, i had the 'no soldering iron' thought all by myself, in my own mind.

but at nine thirty p.m. with no cash whatsoever & no headphones, it became time for drastic measures. i stood up and announced that i used to fix headphones all the time, because i didn't know it couldn't be done. the response was, this is microfiber you can't feel where the break is. i said, you can pinch them, and sometimes they make the connection, then you just do something to hold them that way. the response to this was a shrug.

well. ha. ha-ha. and neener neener neener.

before i knew i couldn't do it that way, i fixed headphones. the question is, when i did find out it couldn't be done the way i had been doing it, why did i believe that? "you can't do that" "well, i just did" "no, it won't work, because blah blah" "oh. okay then".

what? what?

and now for something completely different:

she takes to her bed fully dressed with offline content downloaded to the laptop & faces the day this way, wearing the size four uncommonly roomy abercrombie & fitch jeans as a reminder they no longer truly fit her they cannot for instance be washed & still worn at this weight they hurt just a bit she will not eat in these pants this is necessary she thinks. it is going to be a long day.

gravity it would seem pulls her down to the car she hasn't quite unpacked at all she digs through sizes, sixes mostly, some eights. she says to her self honest brutal things fat drunk & stupid is no way to go through life sense of resignation retrieving the size eight express flares she also retrieves the eight pound hand weights hopefully reviewing the calorie intake of her recent foray into drunken numbness figures it at approximately two pounds a week she's been here (wherever that is) a month now you do the math she resolves it ends here no matter how much it hurts reality that is.

she trudges up the stairs with a load of clothes mostly too small folds the silent rebuke of the size sixes & stacks it neatly in the closet changes into something she thought was a button down cardigan discovers it has only one button admires the way the regained pounds fill out her skin hates the way they spill over the waistband of the uncommonly roomy a&f size fours. she sighs as she peels off the fours & slips into the baggy comfy size eight did i say eight? that was a lie ... the size nine express flares & subsequently into the skintight charcoal tshirt she'd rejected earlier for revealing the truth about the uncommonly roomy size four abercrombie & fitch jeans, that is, that they do not fit.

she hates the thoughts she feels studying her (physical) self in the mirror, somewhere between an objective fondness & a desire to hate what she sees in spite of this (where did this come from?) this desire to be punishingly thin.

disclaimer for those unfamilliar with womens' pantsizes: numbers can't be used for comparison of actual differences between actual sizes of different brands, but if i'd explained the actual meaning attached to all my different pants & their sizing (& yes, my pants all have meanings) this would have been even more boring, hard to imagine i know, but there it is

... have i mentioned i am not sure if i am getting enough attention? it is entirely possible i am not. when i used to be kd i was all about the attention, i lived for it blogged for it i played to those cheapseats yes i did. & i discovered disquiet in my self & i knew it/shit had to change & change big i knew i had to stop stopping my self from expressing itself, had to learn to say shit like 'sell my ass for cigarettes' without worrying that somebody was gonna get shocky on my ass & stop reading me & godforbid delink me i mean i was in the topten of blogrolling back then, & i treasured whatever that meant to me in some major way & then almost abruptly i gave that shit up.

walked away. tried to be someone anonymously notme but that didn't work out it takes time too much time to build a new you & get that new you to be someone somebody will read. so i resorted to revealing my old identity in a slick & secretive fashion involving utilizing the email field to say (it's me kd) in comment boxes &/or confessing my identity shift to anyone who thought to take the time to email to ask wtf? because i make people ask wtf? it's what i do.

dunno wtf i am trying to say here really or well yes i do but no it doesn't matter & also i do not have a point particularly.

oh whatthefucking well. waitaminute wherewas/were ... i/we? ohright. attention. i don't have the time the bandwidth the attentionspan to deal with the bandwidth issue & therefore i cannot make the comment rounds for that attention & i know i know this is all about reciprocity & i can't right now it's not just this but then again it is & what about the attention? what am i supposed to do? about the attention?

for a little while i was not myself this morning. i was not who or what i am or have been i was simply the occupant of approximately one carlength worth of openroad & very very little else, i was energy singing innocuous popsongs including but not limited to very early madonna (pre-personal tranier era) which made me feel either very old or very young. i didn't like those songs back then. i do now. i did however go through a 'dress like madonna phase'. well, onstage anyway. and today there is this manic energy, this euphoric rage, alive somewhere in between laughter & homicide. on the surface it gives an appearance like focus, while inside it's dancing to la isla bonita.

wander past the computer into the kitchen and only then does it hit me, [never you mind what it was that hit me]. stand at the window eyeing the heavy sky realizing i can breathe as well as almost anyone for once without serious expensive prescription medical intervention and really there's no reason. decide it will not last but will appreciate the respite while it does.

& so. since i have all the inspiration of an ... uninspired thing, and the highest google ranking since the last time i had a high google ranking, i've decided to do what my friends in medicine & academia advised me to do about this discovery, that is, put some keywords in the page title & blog it.

prior to the day quoted above, which was several days after i'd begun taking prescription strength aleve for a toothache, i was debilitated by my asthma. would wake up gasping for breath & needed many blasts off the inhaler just to get getting air, & i would need the inhaler more or less constantly all day & still barely be able to negotiate a 'normal' life. the only thing that had helped was serevent, but loss of medical insurance made that $140/month inhaler out of budget, & i went back to being sick as hell all the time.

so the toothache faded & i stopped taking the naproxen & the breathing got worse. being analytical by nature i looked back & realized the only thing i'd done different those breathing days was to take naproxen.

i started taking the naproxen again. one in the morning one at night 1,000mg per day. i started being able to breathe again.

i ran out of prescription strength & started taking over the counter generic aleve, and i googled to see if this was known anywhere, all i found was warnings about naproxen being bad for asthmatics with sensitivity to aspirin & other ... n-saids? but i have no such sensitivities.

now let me tell you the weirdest part. even on expensive serevent, i was still subject to my worst symptom trigger -- that is, getting somewhere & finding i was without my inhaler. instant acute attack, severe symptoms, panic. on aleve, i go days not even knowing where my inhaler is. discovering i've forgotten it happens more often than discovering i've remembered it, & it just doesn't matter anymore. i mean, i have as close to zero symptoms as i have ever had in my entire life right now, however it should be noted i also have (sort of inadvertently it just happened) cut down smoking to approx. 1 pack a week, before the cutting down i did still have the occasional symptom. occasional.

disclaimer: i may be a medical freak. this isn't a scientific study. i do know for sure it's the aleve i've experimented again & again. one doctor said it makes sense there is a smooth muscle relaxant in naproxen sodium, that's the most medically scientific i can get for you. try at own risk i'm not a doctor i'm a web designer.

i currently take 440mg morning, and 440mg before bed, that's double the recommended overthecounter dosage. i take it with food in my stomach & with a full glass of water & have no gastric side effects however i have one of those castiron type stomachs, ymmv.

today? i have no idea where i left my inhaler. and i don't use prescription inhalers anymore, a basic primatene will do & it lasts forever, months & months. i live like a person with mild almost nonexistent asthma. this is utterly fucking miraculous in case i haven't mentioned that.

all my energy is spent again
but i can't remember where or when
so i crawl back where i should have been
to tell the truth it's more than energy that's being spent ...
shoulda gave it away

tired the mind says stop the hands say write the glands say fuck the rest tends to mutter & sputter some incomprehensible shit doesn't it? spent the weekend camped with life packed outside except ofcourse computer re: last-minute waiver. regret regret regret is at the moment infinite. everything. every thing. and every whatif comes complete with its own wouldbe regret wrapped innate inherent there isn't a right answer is there?

i don't want to let you down, but friend
there's something nice about the sound of drowning

in the interest of digression, an observation: recent bouts of clarity rudely intruded upon my own idealized interpretations, truths that maybe could be taken enraged at the sources but in my case the rage is taken internally (an hour or two before sunrise usually).

though you pray my soul to keep
but my conscience is a flake
now i lay me down to sleep
but i scratch myself awake ... try to keep it away

i do not regret the reason i rage. i regret everything else.

should have my head adjusted
i simply can't be trusted ...
shoulda gave it away

**sound of drowning, pinching judy