Saturday, September 08, 2007
Faith
“Why does anybody tell a story?” Ms. L’Engle once asked, even though she knew the answer.
“It does indeed have something to do with faith,” she said, “faith that the universe has meaning, that our little human lives are not irrelevant, that what we choose or say or do matters, matters cosmically.”
Read the rest here.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Blogging Break
I'll be radio silent for the next couple of weeks. Have some wounds to lick, some traveling to do, some books to write, and all that jazz.
Really, you know: par for the course.
See you in a couple weeks.
Be excellent to each other.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
How I Play the Game of Thrones
Your Score: House Lannister
72% Dominant, 36% Extroverted, 72% Trustworthy
Confident. Dangerous. Unrelentingly sexy. The master of all you survey, you are of House Lannister.
You are a dominant personality—and how! When someone asks “and who are you, the proud lord said, that I should bow so low?” your response is probably, “FUCK YOU! I’m a fucking LANNISTER, that’s who the HELL I am!” And then you’d pimp-slap them with your golden hand. All joking aside, you view leadership as your natural, god-given right; it is a trait, just like your golden curling hair and irresistible sex appeal. It’s who you are—a Lannister.
You are introverted, meaning that you prefer to keep your ambitions and devices to yourself. Unfortunately, your personality is so vivacious that (despite all your intended secrecies) you are still a very obvious person. Though no one knows what avenues you will travel, your destination is clear to all. And of course, yours is a road to greatness! You have a magnetic, polarizing personality: people either love you or hate you. They also probably find you exceedingly intimidating. Their fear is probably well-placed.
Finally, you are trustworthy. Does this surprise you? Remember your unofficial motto: “A Lannister always pays his debts.” Though you enjoy keeping secrets and playing games, everyone knows you are a major player. Underhanded tactics are so expected from you that they don’t particularly count as untrustworthyness—it’s more of a family legacy than a choice. Your promise is as good as the gold that you shit.
Representative characters include: Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, and Tywin Lannister
Similar Houses: Greyjoy, Stark, and Targaryen
Opposite House: Tyrell
When playing the game of thrones, you play it balls to the wall.
| Link: The Song of Ice and Fire House Test written by Geeky_Stripper on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test |
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Quote of the Month
"The grand essentials in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." -Addison
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Sunscreen & Letting Go
I was going through a certain common drive that has some songs available and listening to some old stuff. I happened across the old Baz Luhrman "Sunscreen" song that was all the rage 10 years ago. 10 years ago, yeah, man, 1997.
When I was 17.
I thought this song was hugely profound at 17.
I didn't realize it would hit so close at 27 that I would cry.
Yeah, the shit that matters is the shit that hits you at 4pm on a Tuesday. It's never the stuff you predict. Life, yeah. Stop overthinking.
I wonder what I'll think of it at 77.
The Sunscreen "song":
Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’97 -
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience…I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you imagine.
Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing everyday that scares you
Sing
Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss
Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.
Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch
Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.
Get plenty of calcium.
Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.
Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own..
Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.
Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.
Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.
(Brother and sister together we'll make it through. Someday your spirit will take you and guide you there I know you've been hurting, and I know I've been waiting to be there for you. And I'll be there, just tell me now, whenever I can. Everybody's free.)
Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good.
Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.
Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen…
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Black Desert (Excerpt)
Nyx didn’t touch the letters again until she and Eshe and Suha were back in Faleen, holed up in a little two-room rental with a terrace at the edge of the Chenjan district. The call to evening prayer rolled out over the city and was taken up by half a hundred muezzins out on their mud brick rooftops. The air vibrated with the sound of it; just another warm, close night in the desert. Warmer than the coast,
anyway.
She sat out on a rickety wicker chair on the terrace with a whiskey in one hand and the letters in the other. Her burnous was wrapped snugly around her. Winter warmth was a different sort of warmth than the summer kind that drove rich First Families out into the hills and the poorer sort up onto their rooftops. Winter meant sleeping with your clothes on.
She tugged a letter out of the bunch at random. Rhys’s neat, familiar scrawl curled across the front of the pale beige paper, but she saw no return address. She flicked the page open and found the address there at the bottom, next to his signature. Rhys Dax, he had written, his old nom de guerre.
Nyx didn’t know Tirhan very well, but she knew the city he’d listed: Shirazi. She’d been thinking she’d have to get a boat and deal with all that water, but Shirazi was an inland city. That meant she needed to find some way to get across the border through one of the mountain passes. During winter. She’d heard about snow up in the mountains, and seen some pictures, but never experienced it. Frozen water, all around. It sounded bloody awful.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, and put the letter back down with the rest on the low stool next to her. She sipped her whiskey. Nothing about this note was easy.
Suha came out onto the terrace with her. “You hear what’s on the radio?” she asked.
Nyx shook her head. A few muezzin calls still sounded at the outer edges of the city, moving out into the desert. Now, though, she could hear a low, tinny murmur that must be the radio on inside.
“They’re opening up Mushtallah tomorrow,” Suha said.
“What’s the final count?"
“Eighty-four thousand dead. Already burned.”
“Any First Families?”
“Huh. Don’t know. I’ll look into it.”
“Do that. I want to know who lost a first born and who didn’t.”
“Sure thing.” Suha leaned up against the railing, looked out over the narrow street below, the flat rooftops. The dark sky had a hazy orange-lavender glow, a perpetual haze created by dead and dying bugs of a hundred thousand kinds and the ruddy light from glow globes and other forms of bug light. There were no gas lamps this far from the interior, just the constant piss and reek of the bugs.
“Quiet,” Suha said.
“Usually is, after the muezzin.”
“Eshe’s asleep. Been throwing up since we got in.”
“I know. He’s got a sensitive stomach. Don’t want to take him in if it’s nothing.”
“Yeah, he’s all right, seems like now. I gave him some soda and he nodded off pretty quick.”
“Yeah. You know I need to look up a guy in Tirhan?”
“The magician? Yeah, I figured. Boat?”
“Overland.”
Suha gave a slow nod. She continued to gaze out over the rooftops, eyes glassy, big mouth set. She worked her jaw for awhile. “I got a sister married to a gunrunner,” Suha said.
“I remember,” Nyx said.
Suha sighed. “They do a lot of work during the spring and summer running shit up through the mountains and into Tirhan, but I don’t know what they’re running this time of year. I’ll look into it. She can probably get us overland. Don’t know how long, though.”
“I’ve heard it’s a six or eight day trip.”
“I mean, how long til she can set us up.”
“Yeah, well, that part we can butter up. Tell her there’s a shitload of money in it if she wants to play guide.”
Suha clasped her hands. They were big hands, too, like her mouth, dark and bruised as wine-stained leather. “You want to take Eshe with us?
“Where else is he going to go?”
“Dangerous crossing for a boy.”
“He can shift it.”
“Long way to go and stay in that form.”
Nyx took another long pull of her whiskey. Steady burn, steady hand. “I’m not stupid, Suha.”
“Just wanted to say it out loud.”
“You think he’d stay behind if I asked?”
“No.”
“Then don’t nag at me.”
Nyx let the whiskey burn into her belly. She lifted her head and gazed out over the street again. A group of women passed below, talking in loud, drunk voices. They wore bloody burnouses and had the confident swagger of tax clerks or university students. These were smart, rich girls who would never know death or disfigurement at the front. If they had brothers, they had never met them, or they took the Book at its word and didn’t care so much for it.
Nyx let herself wish for a body like that, a future like that. Why not? She needed another drink.
As the girls passed by the dark recess of an arched doorway mounted with metal studs, Nyx saw a shadow there at the mouth of the doorway, something more substantial than gaping blackness. The door was already cast half in shadow, lingering at the edge of the halo of light cast across the street from the big bug lamps at the front of Nyx’s hotel.
Nyx turned her head away from the door, but kept watch out of the corner of her eye. The shadow moved again; a figure pulled in the edge of a dark burnous that had a sheen of the organic about it – far too new and expensive for this part of town. A bel dame might know better than to dress that way in this quarter, but she’d risk it if it meant wearing an organic burnous that could effectively shield her.
Nyx finished the whiskey and set the empty glass on the stool.
“We have spiders,” Nyx said.
“I saw her,” Suha said. “The door? I wasn’t sure.”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“I have us set up with a back exit.”
“If they wanted us, they would have moved already.” Why hadn’t they moved, then? It was a busy street this time of night, sure, but her place didn’t have great security; no filters and one lonely house guard who spent most of her time snickering in the kitchen with the cooks.
“We’ll need to get out discreet in the morning,” Nyx said. “They may be hanging out to see where we’re going.” Or, to see how much we know, she amended. But know from who? Alharazad? What did Alharazad have to tell them? Did they want the reel back?
“You think they’ll follow us into Tirhan?”
“I’m not looking to find out. Don’t talk destination with any of the Faleen magicians. You run into them, you tell them we’re headed back to Mushtallah now that it’s opening up.” Nyx picked up her glass again, remembered it was empty, and set it back down. “That includes Yah Reza.”
Yah Reza, perhaps, most of all.
Overthinking
One of the most annoying things about being a writer is the whole constant introspection thing. Blogs are largely selfish enterprises, and I, for one, write a lot of personal posts here because setting it down into some kind of narrative makes it all make sense for me.
But at some point, I think, you start to overthink things. You start overthinking your life and either second-guessing yourself, or basing decisions on what you think is perfect logic, only to discover that people aren’t ruled exclusively by logic, let alone perfect logic (you least of all). Just because a Shakespearean tragedy is easy to predict doesn’t mean life works that way, too.
The older I get, the more I realize I don’t have a fucking clue. I keep thinking I’m learning from all of my experiences, but the more you have, the more you realize that not every experience prepares you for the next one. You can’t apply all of your learning about one person/friendship/relationship to every person/friendship/relationship you have that shares one or two or ten of the same things the last one did, and no matter how much you work to align the stars and test for all the right traits and work toward understanding, at the end of the day, even the earth’s orbit wobbles, and our galaxy is continually spinning closer to oblivion. Nothing is constant. Nothing is absolute.
Nothing is terribly rational, either, and no matter how hard I try and work life into a narrative, I’m starting to think that narratives only work in fiction.
Which probably explains why I love writing fiction.
Monday, August 27, 2007
It's All What You Choose to Do With It....
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time given."
and
"Life is what you do with the things done to you."
Sitting around bitching about it never got anybody anywhere, and certainly never sent me on any interesting adventures.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
And Now, We Sleep
Note to self: the next time I suffer from these yearly sinus infection/allergy things, I need to get the right drug hookup from Stephanie's Old Man, who, of course, has the best lineup of allergy meds on the market.
I can BREATHE AGAIN!
More Stuff That Doesn't Surprise Me
Your Score: A Pirate Raider
You scored 5 Honor, 4 Justice, 7 Adventure, and 8 Individuality!
More than just the usual swabbie, you demand not only the life at sea, free from landlubbers and their rules, but also you require adventure and excitement. You're happiest when the guns are blazing, the risk high, the outcome uncertain, but the chance for reward substansial. Your kind are welcomed as allies and feared as enemies.
Put on your wooden leg and hook. You'll do just fine!
| Link: The Cowboy-Ninja-Pirate-Knight Test |
Friday, August 24, 2007
P.S.
For the record, I am also currently suffering from my twice-yearly sinus infection, and too groggy, muzzy-headed and miserable to write anything of any substance at any length. So things might be short, sharp or otherwise quiet for a while.
Also, I would KILL for some fruit juice right now. Like, a gallon.
Holy Hell
Went to the pharmacy to pick up testing strips for my new meter and a couple of glucagon kits.
I was nervous when I went to pick these up because they said they only had the testing strips in cases of 200.
Generally, testing strips cost a little less than a dollar a strip. One of the reasons I was using my other meter is because I could get the strips for a "deal" price of 50 for $29.99.
So I was ready, even with insurance, for a bill of at least $40-$60.
My bill, for all 200 strips, with insurance: $10
My bill, for all 200 strips, without insurance: $180.87
Sweet holy hell.
Two glucagon kits, with insurance: $30
Two glucogon kits, without insurance: $170.39
How do drug companies sleep at night? It's like, with insurance, you're paying the reasonable cost. There's this incredible assumption that drug companies make, that everybody's going to have insurance, that the people with insurance...
Yeah, it's just incredible to me, still. After the last year of paying crackpot prices for drugs, this is all just insanely surreal.
It's like, staying alive is actually affordable. Or something.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
My Diabetes Makeover
FIRST.
FIRST, YES:
MY A1c is 5.9!!!!!!!!!!
My A1c is 5.9!!!!!!!!!!!!
Let me write that again:
5.9!
5.9!
5.9!
I AM A SUGAR NINJA.
I fucking knew it. Those of you who know me or read this blog know that I work my ass off for these numbers (anything between 4.5 and 6 is what a "normal" person would have. Diabetics need to keep it under 7).
I have also never experienced that much Patient Love from any doctor.
We sat down for over an hour going over my whole history: how I learned I was diabetic, how often I saw the doctor, the insulins we'd tried.
Looking at my A1c she said, "Have you ever considered a pump?"
"Well, I said, they're sort of expensive and they keep upgrading them. I was thinking about insulin pens or something though."
She gave me one of those incredulous looks. "You're not using insulin pens?"
"Um. No."
"Oh wow, she said, you need a whole... you need a whole new.. you need a..."
"A diabetes makeover?" I suggested.
"Yes, EXACTLY!"
All of my numbers were good. Blood pressure, cholesterol, thyroid was good, A1c was great, all of my reflexes were great, everything was.... great.
So I kept waiting for the bomb, you know, kept waiting for the weight rant.
She gave me some free Novolog and Lantus pens (no more syringes and vials! Yay!) and prescriptions for more, prescription for a glucogen kit, and I got a new free meter, one that can actually download my information into my computer so I no longer have to enter the numbers manually.
"Did your other doctor recommend any diabetes education classes?"
"Um. No."
"So how did you figure out how to get numbers like this? And do carb counting?"
"Um... the internet?"
She was mostly speechless.
And you know, honestly, I can't express just how fucking good it felt for somebody to finally acknowledge all the fucking hard work I've been doing to get these numbers and to do it largely on my own (with massive support, of course, from friends and roommates who are willing to make diabetic-friendly meals and cook in diabetic-friendly ways and put up with my wackjob food preferences and don't pressure me or give me crap for not living on pizza).
Finally, after getting all these new goodies, and all this sugar-love, she's asking if I have any more questions for the second time as we're working over more than an hour of our little chat together, and finally, I blurt out, "I'm just really surprised you haven't said anything about my weight, because that's all my last doctor would talk about when he saw me, about how to lose weight."
She cocked her head, flipped through my file. "Is your weight a problem? All your numbers are great. This is all really impressive."
"I just keep gaining weight. It won't stop, and I'm so strict with what I eat and I exercise regularly..."
"Well, slow weight gain is just for the same reason we all gain weight. Sedentary jobs, immediate availability of high calorie food. But didn't you lose weight when you were sick?"
"Yes, about 60 lbs."
"And you've gained... "
"Um. 30 lbs."
"And you gained most of that the first six months?"
"Well... yes."
"That's completely expected. I know it's frustrating, but expected. Let's see, though... according to this you were 212 in January, and today you're.... 209."
"What?" I said.
"You've actually lost three pounds since January."
No fucking shit?
Wait.... I'm not gaining weight anymore????
Oh holy hell.
So I packed everything up and got a referral for a pre-pump class that they have at the hospital that covers different kinds of pumps and how to use them and gives recommendations. She said I'm an excellent candidate because my numbers are so good, and says insurance should pay most of it, but I'll need to do some research.
Overall:
Sugar Love, man. Sugar Love.
When you're looking for a new endo, ask other doctors. Stephanie works at a clinic, and asked two different doctors who the best endo in Dayton was, and she was it.
Yes, yes she was.
By the Numbers
I see my new endocrinologist today, so I was going through and updating my numbers spreadsheet. For shits and giggles, I created a chart of my sugar numbers. I don't know how useful it is, but it does look pretty.
This chart tracks my numbers from June 2nd to yesterday.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Note to Self:
Though I may, in fact, be sitting up listening to Chris Pureka songs on repeat, posting the lyrics of said songs, in this instance, might make this look like some kind of teenage angst blog, and I'm not particularly angsting tonight.
But man, sometimes songs feel so good. It's not just lyrics, just as fiction isn't just words. It's telling the story with emotion, with passion; it's drawing that all up out of me and making me feel it all over again.
Evoking those pent up emotions - anger, pain, love, joy, heartache, betrayal, hope, rage - somehow validates them, and when they're validated, you can channel them into something powerful. Instead of it being a weakness, all that passion becomes a strength. It drives you.
That's magic, I think. And power.
I love being a writer, yo. I want to be a writer this good, this passionate. I don't want to just tell you about it - I want you to feel it.
So anyway:
Driving North
Great album.
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