The Seated View

Today, my lovies have their first birthday. Who'd have thunk that a year could go so fast? And that it could feel as if they're brand new and have always been here at the same time? Remember the start of the Tink Freaks club? Now those little beauties are healthy, happy and highly mobile. Happy birthday, kidlings! (photos by a TinkParent)

Once, a long time ago – I was about 12 years old - someone asked me what arthritis pain felt like. After great deal of thought, the best I could come up with was said it felt like being inside a ball of used cotton, greasy and gray and containing a great deal of slightly dulled glass splinters. Later, I came up with a number of other types of arthritis pain, but most of the time, that's what it felt like to me. However, there is one good thing about arthritis pain: if you sit still and take medication, chances are you can get it turned down. Four years ago, I developed fibromyalgia. And it's a sonofabitch., requiring completely different and opposite coping mechanisms to deal with the pain. Sitting still will make you feel as if Medusa’s glared at you and are slowly turning to stone. Very painful stone that does not respond well, sometimes at all, to painkillers. It's got something to do with your pain receptors going wiggy and instead of being ...

(I sense a theme developing)

I’M BACK! Well, I’ve learned the hard way to not get too definite about these things, but I moved my stuff home Wednesday evening and so far, so good. Guess who else is back? Madame Mojo, no longer Of The Sore Butt, but very recently nicknamed Stubblebum, as the nasty vet people shaved that area prior to surgery. The "nasty" vet people also took incredibly good care of her through surgery, her 10th birthday and a much longer-than-expected stay. Everybody at The Animal Clinic are awesome. It was interesting to see her emerge repeatedly from the safety of the bedroom closet in ever-increasing circles, as she made her mark on the apartment again. She's been gradually re-discovering her old habits since yesterday and, aside from a massive case of mommy-itis (we've got to catch up on 5 weeks of cuddling), is almost back to normal. Here, the Stubblebum has semi-retreated to the closet after she tired of being chased around by a demented idiot waving a camera, attem...

I’ve been thinking lately about the messages of worth we receive. From the media, from others. I’ve been thinking about focusing on problems, something that our North American society is wont to do. Talk shows everywhere delve into problems, papers and magazines poke at the wounds and I’m starting to wonder how healthy it is. Which is a fine thing to say for someone with a Master’s degree in social work – kind of ironic, don’t you think? It’s not that I don’t think problems often get better with talking about them, I do and not just because of my professional indoctrination. My point today (and to borrow a line from Ellen Degeneres, I do have one) is not so much a rant about the picking at scabs, but thoughts about the quest for perfection behind the prodding and digging. Because, unless you’re talking serious issues, that’s what’s hidden behind the unceasing focus on what’s wrong, isn’t it? That somehow, if you’re not the best that you can be – physically, emotionally – then yo...

In a fit of efficiency, I organized today's post yesterday and promptly clicked the wrong button, inadvertently posting for about 50 seconds. If you were wondering what Teresa (link added belatedly due to rampant idiocy from yours truly) was talking about in the comment box on the last post, that was it. My "efficient" blog management. Anyway! This month's random is going to be a quick one - I'm still only home for a few hours a day (for reasons which shall remain unnamed, as we are all sick of the topic), although am planning to gradually move back over the next few days, fumes be damned (ok, I mentioned it). I need my life back. Dancing With the Stars is over. Sniff. I'm really going to miss this show - it's astounding how happy watching it makes me. And it made me really happy to see Emmit win – what a charmer! I need to ask the American contingent among you something. Remembrance Day has just passed - Veterans' Day in the states - a...

The problem with the paint fumes – are you as sick of this topic as I am? – is that I live right next to the stairwell. Management was awesome and decided to use low-VOC/low-odour paint for the hallways in the building, but the stairwells have so much traffic they needed what I call “the nasty stuff”. The fumes linger. And linger. And then linger some more. It’s been a week and they’re still creating some interesting symptoms. I lose my voice. Start croaking like a frog, cawing like a raven, in general sounding utterly unintelligible. After this has been entertaining the multitudes for a few hours, the constriction in my throat progresses, the pain in my vocal cords start and then my lungs start protesting about the giant’s hand gripping (and squeezing) my chest. This is usually the point where I skedaddle. So I talked to my doctor while I was there for the Enbrel shot, anyway. About moving back home, the fumes be damned and what that sort of strain could do to one...

I'm home! Well, not exactly. I'm home for a couple of hours, to check out the status of the fumes (and to get some work done) and thought it about time that I start posting again, at least sporadically. Given that I've been on vacation for quite some time now, today's post is nattering about books I've disappeared into lately. Just general impressions, nothing too well thought out - today, I have time for either thinking or posting and the latter feels like I’ve accomplished more. Full Moon Rising by Keri Arthur . I had my eyes on this one for awhile - werewolves! Vampires! Hot sex! What's not to like? For some odd reason, Audible wanted two credits for it and I am pretty cheap with my credits, only spending them on books I really want and never two on one book (the waste!). Luckily, my birthday rolled around and my mother was kind enough to get it for me. It was alright fluff. The concept was pretty nifty and yes, there was a lot of sex - ...

I had big plans. I was moving back into my apartment yesterday. The paint fumes would be gone by then, right? Wrong. After an hour and a half, my voice had disappeared and my throat was going towards shut down, so I skedaddled. Back briefly today to check out the lay of the land, but it's still fairly thick around here and I doubt I'll be back until Thursday/Friday (hopefully - please keep your fingers crossed for me. Dunno if that'll help dissipate the fumes, but you never know). In the meantime, a wee picture to keep you amused. Some time ago, I wrote about one of my favourite moments and last week, when I was rooting around my computer looking for a file, I found another photo from that day. I'd forgotten just what it meant when I said that an adult tiger is really, really big... (photo by mor)

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...