July 10, 2004

The brownish pack on the counter--that was my brand.

wistful but not wanting

missing you.

Deanne Delivers

7/9 on 7/9. (weight/birthdate)

He joined the world this past evening around 7:30, happy, healthy, after a 2 hour labor by a 43-year-old third-time mom. Textbook flawless, and I was there to watch my first ever non-c-section birth.

Three of us lady friends stayed in the birthing room with her (never mind the story about the husband--I'll tell you all in person one day), one of us with no children, one of us with three, and me, the scheduled c-section mom of one sweet daughter.

It amazes me, as complicated as my friend's situation is right now personally, as old of a mom as she is starting over, mostly on her own, that it never really entered her mind that anything would go wrong. It just doesn't happen that way in their family. These things go along fine.

Me? I would have had myself dead on the table six times and the baby born with eight heads if I had been in her situation. There's something to those folks who take life as it comes instead of attempting to envision every anomaly (read: catastrophe) that might possibly occur one in eighty-thousand times.

As I sit here now, back at home, I'm still looking for something more than, something deeper, some unseen concern, some untold shoe on high. And I'm telling myself to cut it the fuck out.

It couldn't have been more simple. We stopped by the doctor around 5 p.m., who said, "Oh dear, you're at 5 cm--get over to the hospital," and we put the kids in the van and drove the two blocks to the hospital, where she got her epidural, then we gabbed for a couple of hours while we watched the magic arches on the monitor go up and down, tuned into CNN for a little bit, until the nurse stopped by and said, "Lemme check you again," followed by, "Okay we're gonna push now." So it was one-two-three pushes and out he came, full of hair and full of life, cheesy and pretty darn mad at all the poking and prodding that ensued.

For me, the overwhelming complexity of what it means to be human is to let things be simple, to perceive as deep what seems so very uncomplicated.

My challenge is to be still of mind and heart long enough to notice.

Some things are taken care of before we even get there.

Sometimes we just walk in, laugh for a while, and kiss a baby hello.

July 09, 2004

RB Delivers

I commissioned Mr. Boy to create my personal totem, an image similar to those grafikal creations of his we've all come to know and love. Minus the porn.

I wanted my totem to brandish a threatening steamroller at the top (more on the steamroller later). Yes, I paid real money. Wow, what $15 can get you these days! (Note to IRS: We used Monopoly money.)

Mr. Boy accepted the assignment, but on further reflection decided that a Coat of Arms was a better backdrop for my steamroller totem. Leveraging the Coat of Arms from Pope Urban VIII (1623-44), and why not, he rendered me a beauty:

I will be finding a nice spot on my template to display my arms coat.

Now, some may be wondering, why a steamroller?

It's in the genes.

More on that soon...

July 08, 2004

Get It On.

"The Domino's Pizza of Liberation".

[[i'm not worthy.]]

It's true, really.

Wandered over to Euen's and found this:

purdy much.

I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow their house in.

News like this, from NY, makes me want to blow smoke at them. Cigarettes that put themselves out. Kind of like blogging a conference.

The question is whether the newfangled smokes can make a difference. Even with the special safety paper, a forgotten cigarette may burn for several minutes before going out on its own. And some smokers may try to defeat the law by buying cigarettes outside the state.

Then there's the potential added hazard to smokers, who may take more and deeper drags to make sure that they won't have to light up again. Still, if it's a choice between further endangering the people who smoke by choice or the potential victims of fires set by cigarettes, we'd opt for the former.

Yes, and if it's a choice between a live pig and barbeque ribs, I'm eating the pig.


Second Hand Ralph

You should be able to smoke where you drink.

Neither is illegal and they're pastimes traditionally enjoyed in tandem.

Ban drinking because of second-hand vomit then!

It's only right.

(Don't worry my smoker friends. I won't betray you.)

Is it possible to gain 600 pounds in a day?

Take female hormones and add them in on top of quitting smoking, and I'm pretty sure you've got the recipe for triple digit weight gain.

I walked back and forth inside the olympic size pool today. Thought about things other than cigarettes. For at least 33 seconds. I jogged a few laps in the water, even swam some. Yesterday I shopped at Whole Foods so I wouldn't buy junk.

None of this has mattered.

I'm switching to wood.

If that doesn't work, it's Oxycodone for the stomach upset side effect. Not to mention the slight high I'll get.

Clean & sober & toothy

Still not smoking. Not a puff. Oh. How. I. Want. One. Now. I. Don't. Remember. Quitting. Being. This. Hard. Don't. Wait. Until. You're. Over. 40. to. Quit. It. Sux. Real. Real. Bad.

I want to chew things. Not like gum or candy. I want to chew leather sofas, cedar shingles, and baby grand pianos. Right now I'm looking at my piano, and, quite literally, thinking how good the splinters would feel in my gums if I gnawed on it. Once I get past the finish, I imagine a sweet, slightly acrid taste. And soft wood pulp giving way...

Someone ship me a nylabone, quick.

Instead of ruining a family heirloom, I have made other plans. I'm chomping on those fat-free pretzel things that are the size of a bear's paw. I'm quite sure I've loosened three fillings, but I'm actually looking forward to the root canal. Mmmmmm. Saweeet. Only two nerves? Oh, I was hoping for four.

Anyway those pretzels apparently have no fat, no calories, no nothing except the cardboard from the box they come in, which is what they taste like.

But I don't mind the taste because, you see, they move every part of my oral network when I chew them. They absorb all of little parts of me missing my ciggy friends. I wish I could think of something even harder to chew on--like maybe steel.

What is this?

What the fuck is this feeling? I feel like an animal in a steel-jaw leghold trap ready to amputate myself free.

Chew or be chewed.

Well. That's what it's like to be me just now.

And there's a pig just over the backyard fence.....

Oh, you poor poor fellas.

The Big Boy Bloggers' Club laments the pressures of actually having, um, readers.

Whoa. It's tough out there, ain't it Instadoughnut?

Related news on doughnuts.

July 07, 2004

That Old Black Magic

Cigarettes. I've been thinking about them all day. Because I quit sucessfully a couple of times before (is it successful if you go back at all in your lifetime? Maybe not), the patterened thinking of my addicted mind is familiar to me.

I love cigarettes. I love them. If I had one here in my hand, I would lick it with love. I would sniff and sniff and lick and lick and slobber all over it. Then I'd take another one out and smoke it. I'd inhale deep and hold. Hold my love, my first love at 12, my family, my childhood best friend. Come back to me. I could rely on you. Didn't matter when, who, why--you were there. Always. A block away on a bad day.

That is why I love my friends, cigarettes. That is why at this moment I see no reason, not one single reason, why I should not have one. And then the darkness. You can't. No, you can't have one. Doctor's orders. And Jenna. Remember? Remember? What's wrong with you. You would have had one RIGHT THEN if it were sitting in front of you. Why can't you remember why? Where does it go? How does making sense come to make no sense and not making sense become sensible?

I can't think too good these days. At Group tonight I rambled. The sound of my own voice scared me. It had no idea which way to go without the reliable next step--go out and smoke.

I hate cigarettes. If they loved me like I loved them, those pieces of shit American Spirits, they'd let me go, let me breathe, let me live.

Oh shit. It's not like that, my papered pets. It's not you. It's me. You're sweet and wonderful and make me feel so alive. You taste like candy.

Except that I really hate you, you fucking coffin nails.


[[still clean, -j.]]

Day 5, sans cigarettes

getting pissed. it's working.

I've quit before. Once for four years. Always cold turkey. Because I like the way it hurts. It creates a memory that keeps me quit--at least for some years.

Have to. Have to. Don't want to, but do want to, but HAVE to. Can't wait for that feeling good thing when I don't have to remember to bring them with me. Not there yet. Still wanting. BAD.


Winer Watch

Dave continues to demonstrate he's wacked (is that better? I don't much care) with recent posts on scripting attempting to pick at his enemas, I mean enemies, while glorifying himself.

It is masterful work in projection from one who calls posses to dig up dirt on the women who dared to say "WTF, No You Can't", has stated that certain women are out in blogland fucking their way around weblogs.com, and has vowed to make sure those who have something to lose DO lose.

Today we see a kinder and gentler Dave, the new self-appointed Dr. Phil of blogland, wagging his finger at those who have in some way -- he's really going back a long ways now -- offended him. These people are HONEST about their world, not afraid, and have nothing to lose here by telling the truth. Dave can't get to those kind of people online because they have nothing to lose, and that drives him crazy.

Projection unmasked:

The Golden Rule comes before The Cluetrain Manifesto. If you aren't trying to treat people as you would like to be treated, you can't possibly do good, imho. You guys have taken a big detour, I think you've lost your way. When I first read the Cluetrain I was cheering, it was exciting. Now it's degraded and sick. Time for an intervention. Wake up guys, people matter. I still believe you're better than this. Much.

Yes, dave, what you said.

July 06, 2004

The close of day 3 sans cigarettes

Want to. Gotta. Can't. Must. Won't. Mmmmmmm. No. tap. walk. breathe. want. no. don't. won't. don't want. doctor. can't. good. hope. dark. want. have to. door. outside. no. upstairs. downstairs. tv. no tv. work. no work. sniffffff. cough. tap. have to. what? why not? Just one. Not one. who cares? makes good sense. sniffff. sigh. buses pollute. suck. walk. sleep. panic. sleep. snifff. breathe. hack. miss. cry. gone. gone? why not? no don't. Just one? Not one. One more. No more. tap. walk. breathe. sigh. why not? no can't. just one? not one. work. sleep. wake. cramp.