It's the OKC Party!

GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.

One thing I often find in the profiles of these guys looking for women in their late twenties is, they also want such young women to be assured, confident, established in their careers (?) and basically be at Maslow's apex of self-actualization.  At 29.  AND looking for a guy in their 50s.  

Alrighty then.

OKAY YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTING.

A FEW EMAILS:

Oh Jeff, if I answered every one of these kinds of emails...

I bet you say that to all the women that live four times zones away.

It is, isn't it?

Why yes, in fact, I do.

Wildlife on San Juan Island

I just returned from a nice trip to San Juan Island, where I spent most of my time watching the wildlife.  I saw many wonderful critters, but no orcas*, alas.  Maybe next year.

I also saw a very cute, curly-mopped young man who worked at The Cask and Schooner, and I spent two evenings lusting for admiring him from afar.  I considered separating him from the herd and seducing him asking him out for a coffee, but

1.  I was only there for three days, and
B.  I talk big but I've never seduced anyone EVER so I am, in fact, a pussy.

Moving on.

The highlight of the wildlife sitings I had was pretty amazing.  I'm including some photos, but I did not take these (thanks Internets!).  I have no pictures from this event, as to why will become evident.

To start with, this particular event is fairly pedestrian.  You can see this activity probably any day of the week up here if you look for it.  However, I have never witnessed such at a mere ten feet away, as I did this time.

When most folks think of The San Juans, they picture

But the interior landscape is lovely too.  Rolly hills and valleys, golden pastures and lavender fields trimmed in evergreen, deep ponds and small lakes reflecting cobalt waters.  It looks like this

Lookit!  A lil lamb!

Note this story does not feature a lamb.

I was driving across the island from Friday Harbor to False Bay, and as I crested a hill, San Juan Valley was below.  The road was straight before me except for a small bend at the very bottom which skirted a good-sized pond.  At my eye level was a bird flying a wide figure eight.  My first thought was (just seeing his silhouette), That's a big gull.

As I descended, so did he.  His flight pattern changed to a circle, and became tighter.  I was about a quarter of a mile away at that point.  Then, his wings stretched wide and he just... floated, wheeling high without a flick of his wings.

He came lower, as I did, and as I got closer...I saw just how big he was.  Hum, I'm thinking, That's not a gull.**

It was an Osprey.

 

When I realized this, I immediately knew what I was about to see.

You know that rare moment, when your mind clears and time slows - some unnamed emotion shoots up your spine, your heart is in your mouth, because you know you are about to experience something incredible?


Only a hundred or so feet away from the pond, I watch him shift, in just seconds, from quiet watchfulness to full-on hunt.  He pinned his wings back in that dynamic double-v and dove down like a shot.

I was right at the edge of the pond, so close I could see the hook of his beak, the gold of his eyes.

With his talons out, the size of your own hands!....

He hit the pond and was back out in the blink of an eye, flinging water from his wings, the sun on the silver fish in his grasp.

Then he was gone, and I almost drove off the road.

The timing, the closeness, the BEAUTY of it - it was so...exhilarating to witness.

I'm still giddy.

Of all the wildlife I've seen, that moment ranks up in the top five of TOTAL BAD ASS EXPERIENCES.






*  I wasn't as bummed about the result this year as I was last - I'm trying to adopt the mindset of, The lower your expectations, the less your disappointment.  Works best in interpersonal relationships, which is a post for another day.
**  That's no moon!

It's The OKC Party!

I've been planning to do this for a while, and there will be more OKC Parties here on Disclaim & Deny because there's just so, so much to post.....  Also sorry for the soft imaging, I'll do better next time.

But meanwhile here's the first.  Enjoy.

JUST READING THESE
MAKES MY CLOTHES FALL OFF.

 

 

BUT COMMAS AREN'T ONE OF THEM.

 

 

I LOVES ME THE MENZ OF FEW WORDS.

Happy Birthday Mister Todd

Okay Peeps you guys know how I love the birthdays.  Not my own, of course, but others'.

I met Todd around 1995, when I worked for FCB on Mazda down in LA.

FCB had a working relationship with a post-production house (PPH) so when my/our work won, off to PPH I went to meet my post group.  It was up in Santa Monica (where all the cool post houses are).

Everyone was great, friendly; and no Big Heads to be seen.  I climbed a flight of stairs, and turned a corner to meet a couple of the graphics guys.

Whoever was doing the introducing, introduced me to Todd - and suddenly NO ONE ELSE EXISTED.

Now this, this, was a specimen of a man - tall, broad-shouldered, with a close-cropped beard and long (longer than now anyway) dark curls.  His green eyes had a mischievous glint that suggested he could do all KINDS of wicked things to me if I could manage to convince him to....  But it was his humor that really drew me to him.  Todd is, hands down, the funniest person I know - and I know a lot of funny people.

Sorry Mark, Rick, Allen and Jonathan!  You guys rank pretty high tho!

When I say funny, I mean in  every way.  Quick wit.  Self-deprecating.  Takes little seriously, except the things that should.  And his writing too!  I can't think of Todd and all his talents without hearing his laughter.

He is also an incredibly thoughtful and kind man.  Back then, I had a series of really unfortunate events that messed me up quick-like:  laid off from FCB, mugged and beaten by two men; sexually assaulted by someone I knew*, all within a few months.

So as I tried to recover from this, I decided to move to the Emerald City.  And who was right there to help me, hold my hand?  Todd.  Who let me stay at his place, burn brownies in his pristine oven, hugged me when I cried for no reason?  Todd.

Years later, he is still that same wonderful guy.  Todd took the time to write me very insightful and full-o-love emails when I was going through a rough patch just a few months ago.

Now, he has his faults and failings as we all do.  But this person has had an influence on my life, and I am very grateful for that influence.  Grateful for Todd, and grateful for this day, when he came into the world.

Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein, you raised a great kid.

Happy birthday, Todd!






*Rick Benson.  I hope you are incarcerated somewhere, Rick!

Famous Celebrities Are Just Like Us Except for Everything

So I've met maybe seven? arguably famous people.  But those are not interesting stories.*

Here are the two stories about the celebrities I encountered but did not actually meet:

When I lived in LA I (literally) bumped into a very hot famous dude who I cannot name as that would be indiscreet (Kiefer Sutherland).  It was a crowded pub and when I turned to apologize for the bump and ruining his pool shot, I recognized him - but in the, "Hey!  How ya been?" way I have when I know someone but cannot remember their name (anyone who knows me, knows I have the memory of a gnat).

Anyway, I was doing the semi-non-verbal Erm, right?, we know each other help me with your name?, along with, "Hey I haven't seen you since that, uh shoot...over at, uh?"

While he was doing that, Are you fucking serious with your lame ass? + Eye Roll.

Then at the exact same time I realized WHO he was, he realized I hadn't recognized HIM, and it was shame-faced-ness all around.  GAH.  We both mumbled something (or at least I did, as I slinked away).

And such a cutie is the Kiefer....

..................


The other was, Not-BF and I were walking down Santa Monica Boulevard and we saw a smallish guy slouched at an outdoor table.  He was noticeable (for one thing) because he was quite overdressed for the summer weather.  Long black coat, black boots, black beret (this was Back in the Day before such was Cool).

My Not-BF says, "Hey, is that one of the camera guys we had on that last shoot?  Let's go say Hi!"

And then we realized it was AL PACINO.

We did not go say Hi.

We did, however, circle the block one more time.







*Not interesting because I was polite, respectful, and did not act the fool.

Have a Funny

Here in the Emerald City, the granola-eating, Tevas-with-socks wearing natives love the small pet stores that keep their chocolate labs living the organic life.

There was one down at the bottom of my hill that just moved to a different space.  The front of the shop has three large windows, and across the three they had painted, "A great funky pet store for pets and the people who love them" or something to that effect.

So now that they've moved out the landlord is refurbishing and had removed the signage from the first and third windows, so for a few days it read:

And I was all, that is TOTALLY going to be my band name!

"Okay everyone, give it up for our headliner tonight.... FUNKY.... AND THE PEOPLE!!!"

Crowd goes wild.


I'm a simple girl.

Have a great Friday.

My Village

As some of you may know, I am lucky enough to host The Band's practice in my basement.

The Band is the third most-popular cover band in the West Seattle/Queen Anne/Ballard area.

I'm teasing - they are pretty awesome.  They have a great concept, and the idea of 'Rockaroke' (folks sign up and sing/practice with The Band) is so much fun.  You get to be a rock star and sing on stage!

You are AWESOME!

And the members of The Band are so great in their own right, because everyone is Good People, along with their spouses, significant others, and kidlettes.

They are all part of My Village.

Saturday they rehearsed.  It was one of those perfect Emerald City Summer days.  I had to work but on the way home I picked up a big o bucket o KFC (what is summer without fried chicken?).  We visited, there was more good ol rock n roll, and then everyone pitched in on help I needed on the house.

Let's call The Band members John, Paul, George and Ringo.  WARNING: Photoshop Filters Ahead:

Ringo worked on replacing my leaky bathroom faucet.   I've probably wasted hundreds of gallons of water with that Stupid Thing.  Don't tell any of my Tree Hugger friends.

Ringo

Ringo is a very nice, quiet kind of guy.  He works on airplanes, and is always willing to very patiently explain how planes work, which ones are sound; why they fail.  I'll ask something painfully uninformed, like, "How does a megaton machine fly through the air, much like a bird, but without the flapping?", and he'll proceed to lay out the theories of aerodynamics in words of one syllable.  My dad is a pilot so we have a little to talk about there.  Ringo says my dad's plane (which he recently sold) was known as The Fork-Tailed Doctor Killer.

I really like talking to him about such things, because he never makes me feel stupid for my lack of knowledge.  His lovely girlfriend is in town and during practice she helped me changed out light bulbs (People, heights freak me out.  Even little ones.  There it is). 

Paul supplied tools (and helped with plants). 

 

 Paul

All this rehearsing is for Paul's wife's birthday party Saturday who is a very sweet person (shout out to Paul's wife!).

John and George did heavy lifting to polish up my flower bed structures in the front yard.

John

 

George*

Not that I didn't help.  I cut the lumber to size with a big o electric circular something-or-other, and it was very satisfying.

BBRRRRRrrrrrrriiinnnnnnnnnngggggggg!!!zzzzzzzzzZZZZing.

SWEET.  Who, I ask you, DOES NOT LIKE POWER TOOLS?  That lumber had NO CHOICE.

I was, in fact, THE MAN.

Then John and I set the wood screws and built the trellises.

How it looked before, with Ringo multitasking (mowing and drinking).  Not the best shot but as you can see I only have the uprights to the flower beds:

How it looks now:

  

So life is pretty good these days.  I have a good job, and a loving village.  You can't ask for too much more than that.  I could not be happier, really.


But as a bonus, here are two sunsets we've been treated to recently:

This is completely unretouched - that's how beautiful it was.

This one too.

And what's a Disclaim and Deny post without something semi-random:  My current favorite song The Band is rehearsing.  By Eric Clapton, Teh Genius**:









*Possibly also a reference to Nancy Drew, for those In The Know.
** With all due respect to SRV.

A New Season

Summer doesn't usually start around here until July 5th.  Just to rub in how crappy the other eight months of the year can be.  But we've had a lovely spring and as I write this, it is sunny and 81 degrees.  Although, with the humidity, it feels like... 81 degrees.

I LOVE SAYING THAT.

I find the turn of the seasons a wonderful thing.  It reminds me that change is the only constant; a crippling time of darkness can fade and the sun will rise and warm.  I am feeling much...clearer these days.

Two dear friends, who are married to each other, both lost their fathers in the past few weeks.  As much as I would take their pain into me to spare them, I know I can't.  Seems obvious but when it comes to Empathy, I'm dialed up to eleven, and I need to get a hold on that.

I cannot let my heart keep breaking for others.  More specifically, I need to recognize when someone just doesn't add to my party.

I have a lot of baggage, but I'm trying to get it down to carry-on size.

More on the Happy of my life in the next post - and Yes, I have a lot of Happy to report.

A New Season.

May You Live in Interesting Times

A phrase which, as you may know, is a bit of an insult.  One of those backhanded phrases, like, "I wish you all the happiness you deserve."

Been a crazy coupla weeks.

Went to Texas to sit at a Thing honoring my dad for his generosity.  It was a lot of money.  A lot of money.  Enough to keep any of us in business for pretty much the rest of our lives.

My mom said, Next time - Anonymously. 

That said it was an okay trip, and I only heard about my weight once!

I got off the plane at PoDunk and came through the gate (and when I say 'THE gate', that's literal).

Me:  Hey Dad!
Dad:  Hey Baby Girl!  Wow you've lost weight!
Me:  Oh, well maybe ten pounds.
Dad:  Well ten down - only twenty to go!

Then off to DC, an unexpected trip that afforded me time with folks.  All great evenings.

Home to the Emerald City, where all KINDS a things happened.

Wrote on my screenplay like a NUT, hope it's not as uncreative as I currently think it is.  Shared scenes with friends - some read some not.

Really excellent interviews, really shitty email exchanges.  Reconnected with old friends; lost another.  A marriage to come this summer (4th this year!); a death, a birth; another death. (see previous sentence).

My dad in Peru, ASKING to get dysentery.

Weird times right now.

The two universal thoughts I have from Buddhism, which I think of daily, are:

There is no constant but change.
The secret to happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have.


So it's all going to sort.  With the help of reliably, consistently administrated Effexor.

A Wedding

This past weekend was my dear friend Chippy's wedding.

It was a wonderful four days.  Everything went off without a hitch and everyone had a lovely time.  Girl evening on Thursday, rehearsal dinner Friday.  Saturday the wedding:  Cocktails, good appetizers, simple and charming exchange of vows (why don't more people do that?). 

Liquor was flowing, and we had an excellent dinner; folks got up and spoke for the couple including me.  Great music and dancing after.  Recovery brunch of Red Rocks Pizza and Bloody Marys Sunday.

But this is my blog:  therefore All is About Me.

The rehearsal dinner was in itself quite nice, except for the torrential downpour during the 15 minutes prior as I walked to the restaurant.  As the rain became more heavy I'd duck into a storefront but after a while, you know, you kinda give up and just lurch through.  It was actually a bit liberating - I'm dressed to the nines, completely drenched and at that point who cares?  It's raining buckets, the streets are overflowing, and Life is Good.  Except for my shoes which are now beyond repair.  And they were so cute!

Some kind soul handed me an umbrella as I got about halfway down King Street, which I promptly lost when I got to the restaurant.  I went to the ladies room, semi-wrung out my dress (my hair was a certifiable disaster, o well).  My sweet new polky-dotty dry clean only dress is now the most expensive and useless car waxing rag.  

It was a great night.

The wedding itself was lovely.  I took a couple of pictures but as per usual I was tearing up and I only got one decent shot.  More pictures to come, maybe. 

Chippy asked me to speak at the reception.  I was honored.  Chippy has a large family, a great many friends, and she asked ME.

No accounting for judgment.

I asked the shooter to please take a picture now prior to donning my reading glasses.  Never trust a photographer.  

Below is my speech.  Thanks to my friend Marie who suggested a 'Top Ten' format.  Feel free to steal it, change names, use as your own.  I got a lot of AWWwwws, and laughter; especially after threatening bodily harm to the new groom (lesson:  know your audience).  I received many compliments afterwards so I color it a success:

----

So first, two disclaimers.  I’m an attorney so no shocker there:

I am not (overly) nervous right now nor do I have low blood sugar.  I have a disorder that gives me a pronounced tremor.  Also I cry easily.  Hand shake and may cry.  Unrelated but both probable. You have been warned. 

I am deeply touched that Chippy asked me to speak at her wedding.  So here it is:

The Top Ten Reasons Why I Love Chippy – And wish her the best with the love she has found with Jack.

Number Ten:  Makes a mean tuna casserole. We shared many a home-cooked meal (usually her doing the cooking) and she made DC home for me.

Number Nine:  I like baseball but the whole ‘designated hitter’ thing, is, um, out of my league to be honest so now with Jack around, I can just look at men in tight baseball pants.* 

Number Eight:  The least judgmental person I know.  Always there for me, listens to my problems, and as justified as she may be to say I TOLD YOU SO, she never does.

Number Seven:  Her full and unquestionable passion for protecting our environment.  I am so proud of her work and not a little envious of all she’s accomplished. 

Number Six:  Jack loves her so much.  I am grateful he has given her so much joy. 

 Although - and he has been warned - if he hurts her I WILL kick him in the shins.  Just getting that on the record.  

Attorney disclaimer: There are now three disclaimers in this speech.

Number Five:  The memory of wild abandoned dancing in her apartment to ‘Twist and Shout’, while watching ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’.  Chippy has, in the best possible way, no shame.

Number Four:  Her two amazing children.  I don’t know Jack’s children well but I do know he loves them just as deeply as Chippy loves hers.  Sandra and Tim are fine people in their own right, but are so, in part, because Chippy raised them.

Number Three:  Love of travel, the best travel partner I’ve ever had.  San Francisco, Napa, Chicago, Costa Rica, New York City.  Manhattan was our own Ferris Bueller, and although we had some fabulous, never-to-be-repeated adventures in New York, what really made it was I was there with Chippy.  Thank you for one of the best trips I have ever had, hands down, and that’s saying something.

Number Two:  Being my big sister.  I met her on a sunny summer day on the back porch of Nancy North’s house.  Nancy said, “Hey you need to meet Chippy, I think you two will hit it off.”  20 years later Chippy has continued to be the open, loving sister I always wanted.  Thank you Chips.

And the Number One Reason I Love Chippy…:  She has the taste and sense to love me too.

Chips: I love you — and I wish you and Jack all the happiness you deserve.

*I actually like baseball quite a bit, in addition to the pants.  Just a shout out to Jack.

Adventures in Veterinary Medicine

One of my cats, Mr. Smith, had to go to the vet and have some tumors removed.  It was a pretty involved surgery.  Three incisions to remove five tumors.

Being interested in, well, kinda everything, I asked the vet to save the tumors so I could look at them.

The two big ones from his chest were lyphomas, a benign fatty tumor.  The vet tech showed them to me, they were in a bag.  They were solid, whitish masses with traces of little red veins, floating in a blood-stained pinkish saline solution.

I will never look at shrimp cocktail in quite the same way again.

The three little tumors were really freaky.  Those were probably malignant mast cell tumors.  They look like big ol warts, and because they are usually malignant they have to cut away a substantial circumference of skin and flesh around it.  So these things are floating in a jar, big warty knob on top with a two-inch circle of skin around it and fleshy bits hanging below it.  They appear to be some kind of mysterious deep-sea creatures that can only survive 4000 feet underwater.

Creepy.

I was going to post pictures of Mr. Smith, with his crazy half-shaved body and sutures, but frankly it's a little unsettling.  I expected nice clean little stitches, but I'm here to tell you, he looks like FrankenKitty.  They didn't stitch him up, they CROCHETED him back together.

Although as my friend Drew pointed out, now he looks like a badass - "If you think I look bad, you should see the other cat!"

Bless his little kitty-cat heart.

When Boredom Strikes

I've been sick the past coupla days.

I was sitting around Tuesday evening, minding my own business, when my body announced,

ATTENTION GUESTS OF THE GASTROINTESTINAL SYSTEM:  PLEASE VACATE IMMEDIATELY.  MOVE TO THE NEAREST EXIT.  NOTE THAT YOUR NEAREST EXIT MAY BE BEHIND YOU.

I've been hanging out in bed all this time.  Bit of a challenge, since flat on my back invites use of the lower exit, sitting upright invites the upper.

I was staring at the wall and started wondering, if there was one animal who could talk, which should it be?

First I thought Elephants!  Then but, what could they tell us, really, when they talk to each other?

"Hot today."
"Yep."
"Pretty hot yesterday too."
"Well Africa and all."
"Remember when Frank died?"
"Which, Little Frank, Frankie E or Bull Elephant Frank?"
"Bull Elephant Frank."
"Like it was yesterday.  Man, after Bull Elephant Frank died back in '92, shit got real."
"This is what I'm saying."

Then I thought, Dolphins!  Dolphins rock.  They are very intelligent, they could probably solve the Middle East problem and end the drug wars in Mexico.  The UN could go home!  World peace!  Statues to Douglas Adams!

They could tell us all about the ocean and all the other critters.  "Sharks actually don't like eating People Meat. Too fatty."  "Sure otters are cute but man can they be petty!"  "Orcas are pussies!"

So if not dolphins maybe domestics, either dogs or cats.

Dogs would be cool because of all the shapes and sizes and breeds from all over the world.  And they'd talk with a little charming accent depending on where they are from.

Except for bichon frises and poodles.  For one thing I hate bichons, little whiny useless fuckers.  And poodles are apparently really smart and you know they'd be obnoxious about it, in their french accents.

But with dogs the conversations would boil down to, "DO YOU LIKE ME I LIKE YOU WILL YOU LIKE ME ARE YOU THE ALPHA DOG DO YOU WANT TO BE THE ALPHA DOG IS THAT A SNACK CAN I HAVE A SNACK TOO?"

I'd be great if cats could talk, but you KNOW they'd be all,  "Did I, or did I not say, FRESH salmon?  Is this not CANNED salmon?  I AM speaking ENGLISH, correct?"  "Leave me, Human, I'm trying to nap here."  "Listen, I'm not having this conversation with you."

Happy Valentine's Day

Here's my Valentine's Day post.

As has been well-reported (most fully in my A&E Biography), I am not a fan of falsely created 'holidays'.  Today the interwebs is full of "I'm Single and Valentine's Makes Me Sad"; "Men Don't Like Valentine's Because Boo - Pressure to be a Nice Guy to Your Girl One Day a Year is Sucky" and WHhAAAa.

Whatevs, Bite Me. 

Two points:

One, Yes I think this manufactured holiday is bullshit, but not for the reasons you may think.  Cheers to you if have a Special Someone to be Sweet to.  Yay you!  But this day reminds me to be good to the folks you love, as often as you can.

For example my friend Burns has done so much for me - lending testosterone to chores around the house that I cannot physically do.  Offered to help on really big things that put my mind at ease when I moved to DC.  Most importantly, he listened to my sobbing over a heartbreak - for fucking months! -  and hugged me while doing it.

This is someone I hope I show, as often as possible, how much I appreciate him.  Burns is only one example of the awesome people in my world. 

My best friend Marie is another - she was RIGHT THERE during the worst of my depression this last time.  The woman has kids, yet she did not hesitate.  Actually never has - after my sexual assault, and then the mugging in LA, the girl flew down from Seattle to hold my hand.

That, My Friends, is Love.

Second... Wait.  I don't remember my second point.  Damn you, crappy memory!

Point being, be good to the folks who are good to you, every day, even if you are not boning them.

The OKCupid post to come.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Untitled

So many things to write about, too indifferent to put the time in at the moment.  But doing okay all things considered.

First I worked on a post titled "$421.45", the amount I hear every month as the pharmacy rings up my anti-depressants.  I also get to hear, "Don't you have insurance?," followed by, "Are you sure you want the whole prescription?"

TELL ME ABOUT IT, PHARMACIST CHICK.

I do better with my meds in the summer because I do not have to choose between my life-saving pharms and my heating bill.

You scoff (O yes, I hear it) but cold is not something I do.  I grew up in TEXAS, People.

Next I toyed with recent developments in my personal life (HAHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHAa).  Too short of a post worth attempting.

So the next post will be about OKCupid.  For funzies I reopened my profile a coupla weeks ago.  In Good News, lots of folks have checked my profile and I'm getting a surprising amount of emails.  In Other News, GOOD GRIEF.

It will be amusing, dispiriting, and confirm why I'm changing the name of my vagina to The Chamber of Eternal Emptiness.

Peace Out.

Parting Clouds

At the moment I am in Our Nation's Capitol (Capital? I always get those confused).

I've seen five lovely friends, and will see another this evening.  All the peeps I really needed to reconnect with.

I was a bit of a disaster when I got here (WHAT) but the recharge my soul has enjoyed in the past four days - I am so grateful.

Another word on how my depression works:  Unlike many instances of depression mine is not conditional or situational - nothing 'triggers' it.  I just start falling into the abyss.  In fact it would probably be more manageable if it was conditional.  If something totally sucky happened I could be all, Let's stock up on the Effexor!, but that's not how it works for me.

In fact, the majority of that last post was written over a year ago, but it sat as a draft I did not want to complete.  But it holds true. 

I received some wonderful emails in response to that post.  Folks in the same place, folks wanting to share the post with family members that are also suffering; folks simply saying they are there for me.

My friend J, Everyone's Favorite West Coast Lesbian, (Look it up, People) reminded me that our friends don't need us to be happy and pulled together; they just need us.  Beautiful words.

That said this trip has made a world of difference. 

I won't go into it all, but something I will say about myself - I am a demonstrative, physically affectionate person.  I'm a big hugger.  I will pet your hair, hold your hand, drape my arm around you and 'love your neck' as my grandma used to say.  So being with my DC peeps and offering true affection for the first time in a long while and having it returned, emotionally and physically, has been a wonderful thing.

I know the same is awaiting me when I get home to The Emerald City.  I hope the clouds have parted enough that I can accept the care and affection all my Seattle friends offer me as well.

I think I'm on the mend.

In Other News:  I have an interview Friday.  This is at a semi-unbelievable place, which never hires 'newbies', and the interview itself falls under the category of 'It was wonderful just to be nominated.'

How Depression Robs Your Soul

As we all know I have moderate to severe chronic depression.

With therapy and proper medication it can be, to a certain extent, controlled.

It is a disease like any other, and it can kill.  If you have any doubts about how crippling mental illness can be (Oh just get over it!  Stop feeling sorry for yourself!) the facts leading up to the death of one of our time's finest writers, David Foster Wallace, should change your opinion.

Note I do not claim to have the value in this world that Wallace did.  I simply point to his death as one which illustrates what depression is capable of.

The best analogy I have to explain depression is the following:

Your life is a book in your lap.  You are curled up on a couch in the late afternoon, next to a sunny window and each day is a page.  As you read, though, the passages slowly become harder to see; you cannot focus and the words melt into the pages.  The paragraphs you do make out are filled with your faults, failings, and long lists of how you are just not.... Not enough.

Not kind enough, not thoughtful enough, not sensitive enough, not chose-your-whatever-here.

At first you don't notice.  You just keep trying to read, because you know - you have to.  It's your life.

But the slow struggle of reading - of living your life - grows and creeps over you, quietly draining you.

You cannot, cannot find a job; even an interview.

You love but the love is not returned.

Your friends want to see you, but you have nothing to offer.

Even the 'Lost Dog' flyer at the corner shop brings you to tears.  Days becomes empty, they bleed into each other; to keep reading your book seems fruitless enough that...

a whisper starts telling you,

Just put the book down, Elle.

I was in this place - this very dark place - when I left DC for home.  And I am there again.

This is what it is like: I have not had a shower in about a week.  I have worn these same clothes for about two.  I do not remember the last time I brushed my teeth.  Mornings are the most manageable, when I think, Okay, today might be better.  I will get ONE THING done today.  For example, yesterday I cleaned the cat box.

Then I'm just too drained, I lay on the couch, I go to bed for a 'nap' at 3 in the afternoon and I wake up 14 hours later.  Another day.  Did I eat anything yesterday?

And I drink, too much.  It can also be difficult to take the meds because the side effects are hard to tolerate.  Lots of vomiting, my tongue swells up, I have difficulty swallowing and I gag easily.

The whispers to put down the book lead me to consider it.

I can't do it in the house.  That would be bad for the house, and what poor soul would find me?  I could hang myself in the garage (which is detached) but it would still be 'here'.  How would I prepare to make sure the cats were fed until I was found?  Maybe the thing to do is to do it elsewhere.  Not jumping off the Aurora or anything - that's too public.  The smarter way would be to have a car accident.  I could drive into oncoming traffic, but that would be awful for the other drivers.  I could drive off a bridge maybe.

None of this is to say I'm going to off myself.  I'm more sane than that, I promise.

Bigger picture:
Sure if you kill yourself you are no longer in pain = Plus!
But you are also, you know, DEAD = Minus.

And all the people close to me would feel really, really shitty.

But I do think about it. 

However if you are lucky, unexpected headlights sweep the room, or someone happens to turn on a lamp  and asks, "How can you read in the dark!?"

Then you realize just how dark it is, how dark it has been for far too long.

And that's when once again - you find help, you get back on your meds long enough for them to work, you scrape together the shards of your heart and attempt to tack it all back together.

I just wish I could find the light switch.

That is NOT Going to Air Out.

My bedroom is my great-grandmother's Art Deco furniture.  Blonde wood, rounded uprights.  The dresser is a classic, a glamorous low-slung piece with a four-foot wide circular mirror.  Out of one of the Thin Man movies, Myrna Loy poised on the little bench, at the two-foot high top vanity, cocktail in hand.  I don't really use the furniture, but on the vanity sits the only picture I have of my great-grandparents, holding the baby that became my grandmother.

Yesterday I had an interview.  One I had because you never turn down an interview.  An interview that went very, very well.  I really hope they don't offer me the job because I do not want to have to decide.

Today I had another interview.  One I luckily got because I totally want to work for this organization.  I sent in my application, I dropped off a clever leave-behind; I practically sprinkled twenties in their office.

It was a phone interview, and due to scheduling I had electricians at the house so I figured I'd just hole up in the bedroom with the cats.  The cats were in the bedroom all morning, waiting for the call.

I'm thinking Call call call.  RING People RING.  Please!  I sat in the bedroom, keeping the cats from the electricians.

Call call call. RING, PLEASE.  Let me interview and be the ONE!  They are late CALLING...must call at any minute right?....

Just then Noah jumped on the vanity, as one of the electricians unexpectedly and loudly drilled through the ceiling - he looked both panicked and apologetic as he raised his tail ....

and pissed against the picture of my great-grandparents.  The urine poured out, down the photo, pooled on the vanity, and soaked the carpet.

Then the phone rang.

And in all honesty, as I write this - he just threw up a hair ball on my Moroccan carpet.