The Seated View

The main drawback to being a so-called starving artist is, well... The starving bit. Nobody makes a lot of money quickly by writing (especially when just starting out) and being perpetually short of cash is starting to get on my nerves. So I’m considering alternative ways of generating revenue. I've rather quickly come up against the wall of my disability, which prevents me from the traditional methods - cleaning houses, bartending, dog walking, selling my body for medical experiments (besides, it’s already the product of medical experiments) and have yet to find a way to charge for organizing people’s lives . Instead, I have my words and my voice. So I started thinking of ways to generate extra income. Some options on the list of considerations include: Winning the lottery . Yeah, right. Next! Marrying an elderly, frail billionaire . All things considered, this seems a decent option and should his children decide to contest the will, I'll let myself be bo...

I got a taste for it now. A taste for living with no obligations and responsibilities. No work, no phone calls, e-mail, no news (except for Jon Stewart ), no plans to make, no dinner to cook or shop for, no arranging my life to fit within scheduled visits of attendants every 3-4 hours. No committees, no meetings, no planning 17 steps ahead, considering all permutations and scenarios possible. No constant thinking, no always being available, no being 'on’ all day. Six days of sleeping, eating yummy food, reading, watching excellent TV/movies, with only the responsibility of managing my pain (not bad, as I was no longer doing much), providing input regarding dinner choices and being a relatively amusing guest had managed to slow me down from multitasking madly at 120 km/hr to doing one thing at the time, thinking about one thing at a time and, to be honest, not really thinking all that much. I gained some weight (yay!), stopped twitching, stopped worrying. It was wonde...

Last Monday, it all started with a very unhappy Mojo trapped in a teeny little box (and boy, does she hate to be confined) on her way to the vet. She's doing well - still at the vet's, as I will have to leave again, but hopefully not until later this week. I've taken to calling the wee beastie Madame Mojo of the Sore Butt, as she's had her anal glands removed in an attempt to salve my finances and her physical and emotional wellbeing. I then invaded my mother's place, as she had kindly permitted me to stay there for the duration (the poor woman thought it was only for 3 days). We spent the first three nights sleeping in the condo's guestroom (then I moved to the pull-out couch, or Hammock, as I started calling it) which was quite nice. I especially liked the rain hitting the AC unit - it felt like sleeping in the Norah Jones song, somewhere tropical, under a tinroof. We spent the days in my mother's apartment, having a blast. I haven't had a vacation...

I am going to be away for this week. Ish. Maybe less, maybe more. The interior of my building is being painted and as paint fumes cause my lungs to shut down (love that asthma), I have to leave. I should be back towards the end of the week, I fervently hope. Posting will be light - ok, non-existent - while I’m gone, as there will be no internet access (and I'm already twitching at the thought). Please keep your fingers crossed for quick dissipation of fumes and for Mojo, who’s having a spot of surgery this week. While I’m gone, here’s my take on the new season’s dramas. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip . I was a West Wing fanatic until after its creator left, so naturally I had to watch this show. I'm still a little on the fence, but it’s a token resistance - it's already one of the shows I look forward to. Matthew Perry is great (not a bit of Chandler in sight), Amanda Peet is wonderful and the cast of Studio 60 is charming me every week. Josh L...

Earlier this week, when I was writing Tuesday's post, something really strange happened. I'm sitting at the computer, headset on, dictating to Dragon (and correcting Dragon, as it was having a particularly persnickety day), writing a new variation of an old post. Let's be honest here – this thing about looking at what I have, instead of what I don’t have is not a new lesson for me. It happens every time I get lost in the woods. At some point, something pushes past the fog of pain, heavy meds and resentment and I realize yet again that I've rolled over and played dead, given control of my life to something that can't be trusted with that control and finally, I give myself that kick in the arse and get back on the horse that threw me. Part of that is remembering gratitude. Writing down what makes me grateful, saying it out loud. So there I am, listing The Gratitudes and at the very end, I find myself writing that I am grateful for the pain, because it tea...

Writing it down, putting it out there always helps. It’s like some sort of psychic kick in the arse. Thanks for reading, making nice comments and all the cyberhugs. I remembered something this Saturday. Something that I'd forgotten. I remembered that happiness is hard work, that it takes daily effort and practice to be positive. I realized that for some time now, I have skimmed across the surface of being positive and for a while, I was pretty successful. Then my neck got hurt and then it got hurt again and yet again and at some point, I stopped actively healing and started sitting still and whimpering. Much like Seligman's dogs , I had learned that I had no control and couldn't stop the pain. Except, I do and to some extent, I can. I have to adapt to needing big drugs - instead of being angry and resisting having to use codeine again for the first time in two years, seeing it as a failure, I need to be grateful that it is there to help me heal. Inst...

I’ve been actively not writing something for a while, but am starting to feel like it’s showing. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just me who can see the elephant in the room (it’s pink with orange polkadots, by the way – hard to miss from where I’m sitting). So I’m going to get it out of the way in the hope that it’ll unblock things. I've had to give up hugging. The neck thing doesn't like it and when the neck thing ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Especially me. So I've given it up. At first, I was surprised at how little it bothered me and came to the conclusion that it was entirely understandable, as when something is likely to cause you pain, not doing it can be a relief. Then I had a wee meltdown not too long ago and realized somewhat belatedly - as you know, some days I'm blonde than others - that I've been up to my old tricks of repressing things. And let me tell you, I'm highly skilled at repression. Isn't that a nice paragr...

Somewhat blurry, but I've been chasing this shot all summer (click for larger version). It's time to let go of the quest for perfection and move on - I'm hoping the obsession will pass if I post it. p.s. Thanks to all who were in high dudgeon on my behalf in the last post. To clarify... Mr. Syphilis didn't seem creepy. More lost and clueless in terms of social boundaries. And harmless.

This weekend, I was on the street, minding my own business and waiting for the light to change. It was a bit of a long weight, but the weather was quite nice, so it didn't really matter. Someone approaches the corner from behind me and the following exchange takes place: Stranger: Enjoying the view, dear? (For the moment, I will refrain from entering into a rant about the propensity of complete strangers to call me 'dear'. I don't know you! Why are you calling me dear? Doubly weird, this man was in his 30s - normally, the dearing comes from older people) Me: Absolutely. Stranger: Are you behaving yourself? (Again, what's with perfect strangers asking me if I'm behaving myself or calling me ‘trouble’? Is it the cripple thing? Would you say these things to an ambulatory adult stranger?) Me: Never! And you? (For once, I had the presence of mind to throw the question right back at the person, in a tortured attempt to reverse the condescension)   ...

This year, I had every intention of cutting down on the amount of television watching being done around here. Of course, I say that at the end of every summer, after months spent only turning on the TV for Big Brother and the occasional movie. Then once the new season starts, I get sucked into all kinds of new and returning shows and within a month or so, am thoroughly enjoying being addicted. This year, however, was going to be different! This year, I was going to stop watching a number of shows, only keeping a handful. Turns out, not so much. I am happily hooked on a host of programs, although I am also happy to say that it's fewer than last year. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. Since I will be talking about a 'host' as opposed to a 'handful', I'm going to divide my discussion of the new season into two posts. Today is all about reality shows. America's Next Top Model . Tyra and the gang had been on the list of 'Shows to be ...

Which turns out to be a little media heavy. I blame the accursed neck injury. It’s been a very passive month. Enough rationalization for being a slug. Onwards! Recently, I read an article in the paper that broke down power consumption between residential, commercial and industry to consuming about a third each. Before I start the rant, let me just say that I believe everyone should “do their bit” to save power. However! That’s just the point, innit? In the summer, people are repeatedly warned to keep their A/C at 26 to prevent grid overload (while in offices, workers wear sweaters because of the freezing temps) and in winter, citizens are asked to turn off their Christmas lights, while after business hours, the office towers of downtown are lit up like… well, like Christmas trees. Can we get some perspective here? Some cooperation? Found this link to an Italian Vogue slideshow via Twisty . I can just see some idiot pitching the concept: “it’ll be fierce...

Not too long ago, I was replying to an email sent by a friend. She had asked me whether the Tinks were going to be bilingual and I explained that as both Janne and I are generally a little rusty in the Danish department (mor is way better), we’d do our best to help them be as bilingual as possible. Except, because I was using Dragon and we were still getting to know each other, what appeared on my monitor was “as bilingual as Baltimore”. Given the context, it seemed fitting. After 24 years in Canada, we don't use Danish very much anymore. Janne was nine and I was a month from 20 when we arrived in Canada. We were both immersed in speaking English in school/university, then with friends and then in work and love, so we find it easier to express ourselves in English, our Danish being hopelessly outdated. I think (and dream) in English and I'm pretty sure Janne does too. Of course, there is the weird Danglish we speak when around mor - a mad jumble of English and D...

The whirlwind Poul visit is almost at an end and we've been cracking up the quality time. Which means that when I'm not spending time with family, I'm running around like a decapitated fowl, trying to catch up with the rest of my life. Much to my chagrin, there hasn't been much blog-writing - words to come on Friday. Honestly. AlisonH got herself a blog . Go check it out! Until my return, I present you with the visual equivalent of muzak. p.s. Should you wish to be the happy owner of a lamp made from popsicle sticks, it can be yours for about $30.

This weekend, the Tinks came to town, expertly wrangled by Janne and naturally, today's all about loads of Tinks pictures (click for larger versions). Here, Janne looks somewhat like a deer caught in the headlights (albeit an absolutely beautiful deer - ahem!), but the boy's so damn cute, I can't not post it. Morgan already has impeccable manners. Morgan spent much of the day sitting quietly with Poul (and if you know the kid, you know how rare that is). Love at first sight, I think. Both are now standing (with help) as often as possible... And after dinner, both zonked out.

  Self-image is a funny thing. How many of us see our ourselves with any degree of objectivity and/or accuracy? Usually, it's manifested along the lines of a body image that just never measures up – when will we learn that it's not normal to look like a stick? - but every now and again, the warped idea of self goes in another direction. Earlier this week, a couple of things happened that has brought home to me just how out of whack my own self-image is. On Wednesday, I had yet another in the seemingly endless appointments to try to wrestle some seating apparatus into a shape that’d be comfortable for me so I can start using my new wheelchair (a.k.a. the sculpture in my livingroom) Who knew that finding a cushion that’s comfortable for your arse could be that difficult?  While discussing the frustrations of the lengthy process, the seating expert (and she is good), said that people with “a fair bit of skeletal deformities, who are very active, are the hardest to f...

Not a lot of words today, but to keep you entertained, a few pictures triggered by John's comment on Monday. As he mentioned, my uncle (or yes, morbror) Poul is highly entertaining. He's lived all over the world, is a bottomless fount of interesting stories and bad (but funny) jokes and he has several signature moves. I like to call this one The Stork: And it's contagious. A few years ago, he infected John and Ken.

When the monarchs start fluttering south in September, my uncle Poul (mor's brother) arrives for his annual visit.

The Obsession is nearly over and this week saw such monumental moves that I have to discuss it again. But first! A photo to keep the hordes who are unaccountably not glued to the TV at Big Brother All-Stars time - if you only knew what you’re missing – from banding together and doing an intervention. Yes, I have A Problem, but I don’t want to be cured: I call this Storm Coming: And speaking of approaching storms... Coming into this week, things were looking dire for my Janey. Will was brilliant at manipulation - he made this season - and I think I figured out how he does it. I noticed how Janelle would every now and again frown when he said something that set far-away alarm bells ringing and every single time, he’d speed up the talking, give her a twirl and a compliment. I saw how he did the same with other players (sans twirl) and realized that he drowns them in words. He notices a crack in the spell and before it has time to widen, he talks and talks and talks, obfuscating...