This is one from July oflast year that explains.....well it explains me.
I am sitting here drinking coffee thinking about things. This week has been rough due to the fact that my husband, myself, and our friends felt the compulsive need to party like teenagers all week. I am pretty sure my beer consumption rate has risen at least 75% since last weekend. The result from reliving these follies of yesteryear is me waking up feeling like warmed shit. I know I am not the only one either. Let me tell you what, after all that drinking my husband is certainly not a fresh daisy in the morning. I try to talk to him in a groggy half awake sort of way, and I can't even get a grunt of recognition that he even understands the English language. Let's just say I think we all may need to act like adults, and drink socially. Not like we get paid to do it. Or at least not all the time.
I have also been thinking about making some changes in my life. I enjoy reading, and I love doing the whole rant my ass off journal thing. But maybe, just maybe I am ready to take the leap. I have been tossing some ideas around in my head, and I think I need to write a book. I am not even sure if I can do it but something inside (Phillip) (for an account of Phillip refer to the entry titled Another instance of how my brain functions) I have been saying for quite some time now I want to pull on my big girl pants, and write a book. I think I might subconsciously block my creativity so I can't fail. Failure is quite unacceptable for me. I am totally okay when other people experience failure, but I am just not down with it for myself. I wanna be like a large breasted version of Chuck Norris. That is if Chuck Norris channeled his as kicking skills into writing paranormal teen lit. Great.....now I have this vision of Chuck Norris' face on the body of a female Russian body builder scribbling furiously with a pencil, at a very small desk by the light of a very small green lamp with a pull string. It is a pretty intense vision. Be glad your brain monkey does not work overtime like mine. This is what happens when I open up the tap to my mind. It has this way of making seem like I am the mad hatter or something. So before I think up a theme song for the Helga version of Chuck Norris I am going to put a cork in the thinker.
P,S- if you have any ideas for some writing exercises please let me know. I would like to write independently without the help of Phillip. AT least that way it may make some kind of sense.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Cancer, and Micheal Jackson meet for a moment.
This is a Live Journal Entry I posted March of last year. Enjoy.
So I am sitting on pins and needles today. My husbands mother has ovarian cancer, and they are taking her in for surgery to take all her womanly works out, and any polyps that maybe in there. They are doing what is called a lateral incision which will keep her out of commission for the better part of 10 weeks or so. All I keep thinking about is when dad had his first surgery where they took the cancerous stuff out of him. Jeanne is a pretty strong woman, and she never gets sick so this is a shock for the whole family. It is so similar to what we went through with my dad. So in the midst of me freaking out I am listing to my I-FOD (that is what I call my foreign made I-Pod look-a-like) and doing my E-bay business stuff and "Beat it" by Micheal Jackson comes on. "Hmmmmm," I think to myself, "how fitting." I was kind of weirded out because it was like a message from the good Lord I was supposed to give my mother in law. Then the gears in my head started turning, and a mini music video popped into my brain. It went a little something like this:
We pan to a warehouse where you can tell gauntlets will be thrown.
*Cue Beat It music*
In walks Jeanne with a red leather jacket, sparkle socks, and her curly hair is way full of product. She is flanked by nurses dressed in matching red scrubs all looking mean and ready to beat somebody down. (My mother in law is a nurse that is where this comes from) It's like a gang-o-health care all up in this peace.
*pan to far wall*
In comes a sick looking blob of what my mind had deemed "OC", it is short for ovarian cancer. He is wearing a white leather coat that enhances the fact that he is grotesque. He is followed by a random assortment of cancers. They all glare
at the nurses.
Jeanne steps up pats her chest in a gang-like fashion, and puts her hand out. OC steps up and cocks the top of his blobness and holds his jelly stump out.
Their hands are locked in, and it begins. Jeanne pulls a shank out of her breast pocket. OC pulls a sharpened tooth brush he has been working on in the joint, from his sock.
The nurses are howling ready to pounce on the cancer squad at a moments notice. The cancer squad although scared out of their tumorous minds stalk around soundless, on the defense.
Jeanne take stab after stab wounding the OC pretty bad. His sharpened tooth brush is no match for a nurse with a shank, who has a lifetime of experience giving people of all ages shots, IV's, and various other pokes and prods. OC knows if he takes one more stab to his abdomen it will all be over.
Jeanne feels triumphant. She has a few scratches but nothing more than flesh wounds. She takes one last jab and OC goes down for good. She has won. Her fight is over. The nurses see the lead cancer go down and pounce on the rest. As the song winds down the nurses, along with Jeanne, stand triumphantly over the fallen carcinogens. The cancer may win a few battles from time to time, but the health squad has won the war.
Now I wait for the doctor to tell us something. I am not sure how much longer I will last.
So I am sitting on pins and needles today. My husbands mother has ovarian cancer, and they are taking her in for surgery to take all her womanly works out, and any polyps that maybe in there. They are doing what is called a lateral incision which will keep her out of commission for the better part of 10 weeks or so. All I keep thinking about is when dad had his first surgery where they took the cancerous stuff out of him. Jeanne is a pretty strong woman, and she never gets sick so this is a shock for the whole family. It is so similar to what we went through with my dad. So in the midst of me freaking out I am listing to my I-FOD (that is what I call my foreign made I-Pod look-a-like) and doing my E-bay business stuff and "Beat it" by Micheal Jackson comes on. "Hmmmmm," I think to myself, "how fitting." I was kind of weirded out because it was like a message from the good Lord I was supposed to give my mother in law. Then the gears in my head started turning, and a mini music video popped into my brain. It went a little something like this:
We pan to a warehouse where you can tell gauntlets will be thrown.
*Cue Beat It music*
In walks Jeanne with a red leather jacket, sparkle socks, and her curly hair is way full of product. She is flanked by nurses dressed in matching red scrubs all looking mean and ready to beat somebody down. (My mother in law is a nurse that is where this comes from) It's like a gang-o-health care all up in this peace.
*pan to far wall*
In comes a sick looking blob of what my mind had deemed "OC", it is short for ovarian cancer. He is wearing a white leather coat that enhances the fact that he is grotesque. He is followed by a random assortment of cancers. They all glare
| menacingly |
Jeanne steps up pats her chest in a gang-like fashion, and puts her hand out. OC steps up and cocks the top of his blobness and holds his jelly stump out.
Their hands are locked in, and it begins. Jeanne pulls a shank out of her breast pocket. OC pulls a sharpened tooth brush he has been working on in the joint, from his sock.
The nurses are howling ready to pounce on the cancer squad at a moments notice. The cancer squad although scared out of their tumorous minds stalk around soundless, on the defense.
Jeanne take stab after stab wounding the OC pretty bad. His sharpened tooth brush is no match for a nurse with a shank, who has a lifetime of experience giving people of all ages shots, IV's, and various other pokes and prods. OC knows if he takes one more stab to his abdomen it will all be over.
Jeanne feels triumphant. She has a few scratches but nothing more than flesh wounds. She takes one last jab and OC goes down for good. She has won. Her fight is over. The nurses see the lead cancer go down and pounce on the rest. As the song winds down the nurses, along with Jeanne, stand triumphantly over the fallen carcinogens. The cancer may win a few battles from time to time, but the health squad has won the war.
Now I wait for the doctor to tell us something. I am not sure how much longer I will last.
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