The · Lexicon

...we went to a memorial service for an old friend of ours, and my husband got a piece of fairly bad news about his business. So we're a little bummed out.

Our friend died of a rapid, aggressive and particularly awful form of cancer, and I honestly believe that her death was a blessed release for her. But that doesn't make it easier for her friends, or her family. We've known her more than forty years, and although she had her problems over the years, we still remember her as she was when we were all young, and the world was filled with possibilities. And so it has been -- we just didn't realize that some of them would be so unpleasant. I've written about it, and perhaps that will make me feel better when I read what I wrote in a few days' time -- and perhaps I'll share what I wrote with her brother, and her ex-husband. At the moment, I think we're all too emotional to deal with that.

As for the business matter, one way or another that will work itself out. In the fourteen years we've had this company, we've had what we thought was bad news in the past -- and always, without fail, the path we've taken as a result of the bad news led us to a better place than we would have gone without it. I just know that, much as my husband is putting a brave face on it, he's a little too emotionally fragile right now to deal with it. I really want to help him, and I don't know how, other than to say that I'm confident things will work out, and that there's a blessing waiting over the horizon. I'm just concerned that getting to the blessing is going to be painful and difficult.

I've been teary for the past week for no particularly good reason, though there have been a variety of painful things, most of which are much more painful for others than for me. But still -- others' pain is painful to see. A dear friend's brother has just been taken off life support after a horrendous accident with a drunk driver -- at 8:10 on a weekday morning -- and has, I expect, passed on in the hours since I last spoke with her. Another dear friend had an industrial accident some days ago and was exposed to an incredibly potent toxin, and we won't know for at least three weeks if there will be long-term consequences. My husband was drafted by his sister to accompany her and their mother on a tedious journey of a week's duration, from which he's only just returned, and he's come back to have to deal with problems with his company. And we think one of our oldest friends may be on the verge of dissolving his marriage.

My husband and I are both physically tired, and the week's separation, though quite brief in the context of our usual life (my husband has to travel quite a bit for his company, and is sometimes away as much as a month at a time), came right on the heels of a two-week journey he took to examine a real estate prospect, and THAT came right on the heels of a two-week business trip, so we've been apart slightly more than five of the last twelve weeks. I certainly can cope when he's away, but neither of us enjoys being apart, and that final week was something of a last straw for me. Especially since it was essentially unnecessary. No doubt I'd be coping better if I weren't tired. Tomorrow morning, I'll have a better perspective on the whole thing, and I'll be feeling foolish about being so emotional.

All of these matters will be resolved, one way or another, and there is little I can do about any of them, other than to offer support. But I do feel a bit as if I'd like to go into a dark room and have a big cry. Which I won't do, because my husband, who is every bit as stressed as I am about all these matters, will feel much worse if he knows I'm crying. So I'll make myself some ovaltine instead and go to bed with a trashy mystery. But if anyone out there feels up to saying a small prayer for courage and comfort, we -- my husband and I, and our friends -- could very much use both.

Thank you for that, and thank you for being out there in the ether when I need to vent -- as I look back, I see I've done that more than is fair to my friends. I'm making a mental note to self to talk about the nice, funny things, as well as the bad, sad ones.

I've been seeing the same doctor for about thirty years. I'm in quite good health, really, and so I don't spend much time hanging around the clinic. About ten years ago, I had a condition which involved me in some quite major abdominal surgery, which went very well, thanks. But I found that, after that event, my doctor (whom I had always regarded as a friend, as well as a health care provider) just didn't seem to want to know me anymore, and now I'm finding that his staff is unpleasant, the clinic rules are very stringent (you have to call between 9:30 and 10:30 a.m. on a particular day of the month to get an appointment for the NEXT month, for instance) and if, by some mischance, I have to reschedule or cancel an appointment (which I have never done with less than 48 hours' notice, btw), well, God help me. And when I do go in, if his assumption about what's wrong with me (never mind what I have to say about it -- where did I get MY medical degree, hm?) doesn't prove to be correct, we will never revisit the issue again. His attitude is that he did what was required, and it's obviously my choice not to get well. Of course, there's no need to refer me to anyone else -- HE's already dealt with it. I'm not on any meds; in fact, I've gone out of my way to avoid having to take meds, and I routinely turn down offers of prescription drugs for pain, because I find OTC remedies work just fine. I try to be good humoured and cheerful when I visit, although for the last few years, the very idea of going in there fills me with gloom and depression.

I think it's time for a new doctor.

Am I overreacting? Has anyone else had this experience? Am I really just a bad, bad patient?

		I will marry Tony Stark.
		After a wild honeymoon, We will settle down in St. Croix in our fabulous Mansion.
		We will have 2 kid(s) together.
		Our family will zoom around in a robin\'s egg blue Mustang convertible.
		I will spend my days as a glassblower, and live happily ever after.

My sweetie is away on business, and although I'm keeping busy with work and projects, and I talk to him every day at least once or twice, I'm feeling rather blue tonight. One of his major projects, just on the verge of fruition, has gone somewhat off the rails for reasons beyond his control, and although he's frustrated, he's being remarkably philosophical about it. But I think both of us could use a hug at the moment. Smoochy, though she's better at fishy licks than hugs, has done her best, and has nobly slept with me for a portion of every night he's been away, snoring throatily in the aftermath of her cold. That's nice, of course, but amazingly I don't find her a perfect substitute for my husband. Go figure.

I'm sure his problem will be solved, one way or another, but it will have to be solved by someone other than him, which is difficult for him to accept. I just think (and I know he agrees) his best course of action is to carry on regardless, trusting that, if it's meant to be, it will happen, and if it's not, some other path will present itself, as it has so often in the history of his endeavours. But just for the moment, it's hard to accept that there's no direct action to take that can solve this.

We always remind ourselves when he's away that we're only separated by geography, and that, no matter how far apart we are, we're still wishing on the same stars, and looking at the same moon. And that's comforting, but just for tonight, I wish we could be here together to share a hug.

She has an upper respiratory infection. The vet told us when we first got her that she would have recurring URIs all her life, and this is her third in five years. It's just like a human with a bad cold, really: she's feverish and wheezy and quite grumpy. We've been making a huge fuss of her and giving her all her favourite things to eat, and tempting her with warm chicken broth and shrimp (not together). She's lost all interest in her jiggly frog, and she hasn't danced the Hokey-Pokey in days. All she wants to do is be held and watch television. And knead on my tummy.

Note to self: must clip Smoochy's claws when she is feeling better.

Background: My parents live with my husband and me, in a little old house that was built in the 1950s. It has a chimney, and in cold weather, birds sit on the chimney to get warm, and are occasionally overcome by fumes and fall down the chimney to the bottom, where there is a clean-out vent into the basement. Because my parents are in their 80s, my husband and I occupy the basement suite of the house, leaving my parents the main floor. At the moment, my husband is away on a business trip. It figures -- he always is when these things happen.

Last night, about 9:00-ish, I went of our suite into the utility room to change over some of the laundry, and found a sparrow fluttering around the utility room with Smoochy in hot – and I do mean HOT – pursuit. I managed to catch Smoochy, and locked her in the bathroom, knowing I was going to have to be in and out of the suite. The bird was frantic (and I would be, too, if Smoochy was trying to kill me) so I got a saucer of water, put it on top of the fridge, and forged ahead with the laundry. The bird had a big drink (which tells me it had been down there for awhile) and then started hopping from place to place, looking for (a) a way out, or (b) a safe place to settle down. Through trial and error, I discovered that it could be led from place to place by light – it would go to a brightly-lit place, instead of a dark one. Alas, I also discovered that it could get into the suite (where all the lights are bright) via the suspended ceiling, so I had to turn off all the lights in the suite, leaving the utility room light on. In the midst of all this, my father got up for a drink of water, and I told him the story. He agreed we would keep the door to the kitchen closed so the bird would be confined to the basement, and in the morning, when it was light outside, we would lead it up the stairs by turning on the porch light, whence it would be able to get out the propped-open back door. So far, so good. Smoochy spent the night in the bathroom, and I spent the night in pitch darkness. I have no idea where the bird spent the night. This morning, I got dressed in the dark and made my careful way upstairs, only to find that my mother had opened the kitchen door, the bird had swooped up into the brightly-lit kitchen, and my mother was having a big freak-out. She locked herself in the little room, I led the bird back downstairs by means of turning lights on and off, I got my mother calmed down and coffee-ed up, and I left for work.

When I got to work, twenty minutes late, I found that someone had already made coffee for the big meeting that’s happening this morning, that one co-worker had picked a fight with another and then locked herself into her office, that my boss was in a mood, that another co-worker has called in sick again today, and that I can’t get in touch with the caterers to confirm that lunch will be delivered on time for the meeting. And just now, I’ve got a voicemail message from my father that he can’t find hide nor hair of the bird downstairs, which tells me (a) that it’s gone back into the suite, or (b) that it somehow got out when he came in, without his noticing. It would be nice to know for sure. And Smoochy, to the best of my knowledge, is still in the bathroom, which is the only room in the suite that has a light on. I do hope the bird isn’t in there with her.

I need a hug. And a stiff drink wouldn't come amiss, either.

I am sorry to report that Upstairs Cat, colloquially known as Old Dude, has retired to chase mice for eternity in the Elysian Fields. For 17 years, Old Dude was the boon companion of my elderly parents, and if ever a cat had a caregiver personality, it was Old Dude. He would chivvy my father off to bed whenever he got too wound up in the internet, served as my mother's hot water bottle whenever she wasn't feeling well, and kept the household dog's left ear (for some reason, only the left ear) as clean as a whistle. His hobbies included birdwatching, beating up the dogs next door, arguing with the squirrels, and annoying the Small Black Dog who lives in the kitchen. He and Smoochy rarely met face to face, as he grew quite crotchety in his old age, but they often traded toys under the door and sometimes touched noses on either side of our (basement) kitchen windowpane. Old Dude succumbed to complications of diabetes, and breathed his last yesterday afternoon while cradled in my mother's arms in the local veterinary emergency clinic. My parents are bereft -- their expressions clearly saying, "Who will look after me, now?" -- the Small Black Dog has searched under every cushion for some trace of him, and Smoochy can't understand why no toy returned after she pushed her catnip ball under the door. I have not personally observed it, but I have no doubt the squirrels are all out, looking at their little watches, wondering when the argument can begin. Heaven is the richer today for a fine mouser, a determined debater, a skilled nurse, and a great wit. He had more personality than many people I have known. He will be deeply missed.

You know how, if you fall asleep and are awakened repeatedly, it becomes very, very difficult to fall asleep again? That was me last night. My DH and I are both suffering from summer colds, and he woke me up about eight times, bless his heart, wanting to chat, wanting to hug, coughing, and finally to ask me if I wanted a ham sandwich, and the upshot is, I fell asleep sometime after 2:30 this morning, and got up at 6:00. As a result, I'm feeling extra-lousy physically, and anxious and depressed emotionally, and of course, this is not a good week for me to call in sick, so I'm at work. Clearly, not yet working, but I'm here, which (given the way I'm feeling) should count for something.

Gakked from meridym:

Which God or Goddess are you like? Your Result: Budha   You are Budha. You are a very peaceful person, you love all who love you. You are a cheerful personality, and you have a great sense of humor. Congratulations!! You are Budha!!
Jesus
The Christian God
Goddess Bast
God Zeus
You are your own God or Goddess
Goddess Sekhemet
Satan
Which God or Goddess are you like? Make Your Own Quiz

First, let me say that I love to see you, and that your visits brighten my every day. I always enjoy hearing the latest news about your life, your work and your family.

The problem is, this is my workspace, and my employer insists that I do at least some work every day to justify the vast sum of money that plunks into my chequing account at the end of each month. The work I do requires concentration, and it’s hard to concentrate when:

1. Someone is having a party/fight/meeting in the hallway, standing in the doorway of an adjacent office, or at my counter.
2. Someone is leaning on my counter, bellowing into a cellphone.
3. Someone in an adjacent office is having an intimate though quite loud conversation with his or her spouse/tax auditor/proctologist.
4. People are calling to one another from office to office (and I admit I have done this myself – mea culpa).
5. Someone comes behind my desk to rummage on my desk or in my desk drawers for office supplies/documents/Kleenex/candy.
6. Someone in an adjacent office is playing The William Tell Overture at a volume equivalent to sitting directly in front of the trumpets.

Unlike many others, I do not have the option of closing my door to shut out distractions. My “office” is in an open area, and is defined by the half-walls of my cubicle. This gives me essentially no privacy, a lack which I have attempted to remedy by the judicious placement of green plants. I am, however, unable to shut out noise with walls or a door, and while I am sometimes able to use my fan at least to mask the noise, if I can’t eliminate it, some of your voices really, really carry. I am aware that I make noise, too, and that sometimes noise at my desk disturbs you. I try to keep it down, and if that’s not helping, you do have the option of closing your door.

Please don’t walk into my space without an invitation. The space behind a desk is within that individual’s personal space, and invading someone’s personal space is considered rude in Western society. If you have something to say to me that you don’t want overheard, I may well invite you in, but please don’t assume it’s okay. It’s not okay. If you need something you think may be in my drawers or on my desk, ask me for it. I’m happy to share, but I would like to be asked.

Additionally, although I am happy to be of service, it should also be noted that, since we do not have a break room on this floor, I spend many of my breaks and most of my lunch hours at my desk. If you need me urgently, I don’t mind interrupting my break to help you out. But if your need is not urgent, I would appreciate if you would respect my break-time.

That’s really what it’s about: respect. Respect my space, respect my need for privacy, and respect my need for a little time to myself, and we’ll get along swimmingly.

Although I was not directly affected by the recent meltdown of LJ as a result of Six Apart's response to a complaint by an interest group concerned about online exploitation of children, I feel saddened and a little frightened by what occurred.

Let's agree that the online (or offline) exploitation of children is reprehensible and entirely deplorable, and that any sane, compassionate human being would support its eradication.

I'd like to believe that Six Apart is probably staffed by sane and compassionate human beings who believed they were doing the right thing by suspending journal accounts wholesale, based on a keyword search of interests. Unfortunately, what I think actually happened is that someone complained, and perhaps threatened to spam LJ's advertisers, and Six Apart had a panic reaction (possibly fuelled by a call to their lawyers, who would naturally give them the worst-case scenario, since it is a lawyer's job to compose a response to the worst-case scenario) and started in, totus porcus, on the suspensions. I understand their feelings. I have, from time to time, had those panic reactions, and what ensues is rarely pretty.

I was going to say something profound about freedom of speech, but that's been said better elsewhere by others, so I won't. I will say that the organization which apparently set all of this in motion by making their complaint to Six Apart appears to consist of exactly three individuals. And I find that rather disturbing. If a complaint by a group of three individuals can, overnight, change the character of a community of MILLIONS OF PEOPLE from a warm, welcoming place to a place of anger and chill suspicion, what else might be possible? As it happens, I agree with the deletion of accounts which promote the exploitation of children. But I've got cats, and canoing, in my interest list -- what if a rabid group of three ailurophobe noncanoists calls up Six Apart tomorrow and threatens to spam their advertisers if they don't suspend me? Will the fact that I don't actually take the cat in the canoe be a defense?

Will I be offered the opportunity to raise a defense?

Was anyone else?

It is a nasty fact of life that commercial interests often overwhelm principles. Recently, it was revealed that the publisher of one of our national newspapers had fired its editor-in-chief for publishing an editorial which placed a political party, of which the publisher was a supporter, in an unfortunate light. The basic Godawfulness of such an action was noted but we were quickly on to the next intriguing news story, and only melancholy idealists, such as myself, continue to mourn the editor's departure. We can only remain indignant so long before exhaustion sets in.

Six Apart, unlike the publisher, has stepped up and acknowledged that what it did was wrong, and has apologized for its actions. Some have said this is too little, too late; and there is no doubt that the apology can't change what happened, and doesn't really dispell the concerns their actions have raised. Still, it's all they can do, now, and we will wait and see if this experience has been as educational for them as it has been for their subscribers. And, as a nod to freedom of speech, I note that LJ (unlike the interest group which made the trigger complaint) has not made even the slightest attempt to censor any of our responses to its actions. And that is in its favour.

http://ww3.komotv.com/global/video/popup/pop_player.asp?ClipID1=785456&h1=T

This is a link to a news video relating to a form of breast cancer called Inflammatory Breast Cancer. The symptoms are significantly different than what we've been taught to look for, and some of them are symptoms of relatively innocuous things, like cysts. Please check it out, and if you think you're having any of the symptoms described, make an appointment to see your doctor. It may be insignificant, but why take a chance?

After listening to this article yesterday, I called my doctor to make an appointment for an examination. My original appointment was for July 12th, but after hearing the purpose of the appointment, and the symptoms, my doctor moved my appointment up -- he wanted me to come to an evening clinic last night, in fact, but since I didn't get to hear about the request until this morning, I now have an appointment on Thursday at 2:00.

Now, of course, I'm panicking, because I've been having these symptoms for about three months.

My husband is going away on business tomorrow morning, and it's not something he can put off or delegate, so I've decided not to tell him about the appointment. My co-workers are being very supportive, and have pointed out to me that my symptoms are probably still of something innocuous, but there's no denying I'm going to be a bit stressed until I get a clean bill of health.

Check out the video and the website, and please pass the word.