Monday, April 28, 2008
Another year....
It is such a cliche, but I am at a loss for any other way to express it.
Time is moving way too fast.
In a few hours from now, around 12:30 am, April 29, the clock will be at the hour of my birth, which happened fifty-seven years ago. It is not possible that it has been an entire year since I posted that picture to the right.
That's my favorite picture of me. She's a goofy kid who turned into a goofy adult and is now a goofy geezer. I found it in my father's things when we cleaned out his apartment last year.
This past year's been kind of a tough one. A year I don't want to repeat - ever. I'm glad to report, however, that right at this moment I'm feeling better than I have in a very long time.
Today at work during my weekly "relief" receptionist hour, a woman came in who was my age. I know that because part of the process in this office is to validate ID - license and social security card, please.
She looked fifty-seven. She looked like a senior citizen. I felt a pang in my stomach. Do I look like her fifty-seven? Must I accept that I've now passed the threshold and entered fully into senior-hood?
I'm not an overly vain person. My looks aren't that important to me (save for a brief period of girly-ness a while back that resulted in bras and painted toe-nails... I got over that, thank goodness...) ... but, I am concerned about looking old before I'm ready (as if one can ever be ready).
I am fortunate that my parents endowed me with a genetic framework that has kept me younger looking than my actual years most of my life. But, that fountain of youth isn't going to last forever - and it isn't.
The face is sagging, among other things. Wrinkles are increasing and deepening. Gray hair is hiding under the dye job.
I just don't feel it, though. I am way more immature than my years would suggest. Yet I wonder if I'm not breaking some unwritten rule somewhere that says at some point you have to be your age. I feel that I have to be careful not to end up a fool.
These are things that swirl through my thoughts more frequently these days but that I, for the most part, have been successful at ignoring. In spite of my fits of conern, I'm optimistic that, no matter how wrinkly or gray I get, I will avoid becoming an old fuddy duddy.
I may take more naps as time goes on, but I fully intend to rock on as long as this body lets me.
And I have to tell ya' - I was encouraged when I renewed my drivers license today. The agent had to call to get clearance to override the new facial recognition dealio.
My new picture had to be taken with glasses off and the machine couldn't match my face to the old picture. When she called to get the clearance, it almost wasn't granted. The person on the other end of the phone said the old pic and the new pic were two different people.
"Her hair is blonder, there're no glasses and she's smiling."
Finally, it was resolved and I went on my way with my new license. One, as a matter of fact, I don't mind showing. The first license picture I've ever liked. Just as much as I love that goofy kid in the picture above, I'm really liking the goofy geezer in the picture below.
Time is moving way too fast.
In a few hours from now, around 12:30 am, April 29, the clock will be at the hour of my birth, which happened fifty-seven years ago. It is not possible that it has been an entire year since I posted that picture to the right.That's my favorite picture of me. She's a goofy kid who turned into a goofy adult and is now a goofy geezer. I found it in my father's things when we cleaned out his apartment last year.
This past year's been kind of a tough one. A year I don't want to repeat - ever. I'm glad to report, however, that right at this moment I'm feeling better than I have in a very long time.
Today at work during my weekly "relief" receptionist hour, a woman came in who was my age. I know that because part of the process in this office is to validate ID - license and social security card, please.
She looked fifty-seven. She looked like a senior citizen. I felt a pang in my stomach. Do I look like her fifty-seven? Must I accept that I've now passed the threshold and entered fully into senior-hood?
I'm not an overly vain person. My looks aren't that important to me (save for a brief period of girly-ness a while back that resulted in bras and painted toe-nails... I got over that, thank goodness...) ... but, I am concerned about looking old before I'm ready (as if one can ever be ready).
I am fortunate that my parents endowed me with a genetic framework that has kept me younger looking than my actual years most of my life. But, that fountain of youth isn't going to last forever - and it isn't.
The face is sagging, among other things. Wrinkles are increasing and deepening. Gray hair is hiding under the dye job.
I just don't feel it, though. I am way more immature than my years would suggest. Yet I wonder if I'm not breaking some unwritten rule somewhere that says at some point you have to be your age. I feel that I have to be careful not to end up a fool.
These are things that swirl through my thoughts more frequently these days but that I, for the most part, have been successful at ignoring. In spite of my fits of conern, I'm optimistic that, no matter how wrinkly or gray I get, I will avoid becoming an old fuddy duddy.
I may take more naps as time goes on, but I fully intend to rock on as long as this body lets me.
And I have to tell ya' - I was encouraged when I renewed my drivers license today. The agent had to call to get clearance to override the new facial recognition dealio.
My new picture had to be taken with glasses off and the machine couldn't match my face to the old picture. When she called to get the clearance, it almost wasn't granted. The person on the other end of the phone said the old pic and the new pic were two different people.
"Her hair is blonder, there're no glasses and she's smiling."
Finally, it was resolved and I went on my way with my new license. One, as a matter of fact, I don't mind showing. The first license picture I've ever liked. Just as much as I love that goofy kid in the picture above, I'm really liking the goofy geezer in the picture below.
Labels: aging, Birthdays, staying young
Posted at 4:12 PM | |
Sunday, April 27, 2008
I can haz muziks
My home town launched a free music festival last night that is hoped to become an annual event. With three blocks of our downtown closed off, two main stages flanked the east and west end with several mini-venues sprinkled within various store-fronts and one larger indoor venue.
The festival ran from noon to 11:00 pm -I'd tell you who the artist's were, but it's website has already erased that info - a list of the artists can be found via this link. But I do know there was a healthy mix of genre's from indie to bluegrass. Word has it that it wants to grow up and emulate the massive SXSW festival in Austin. I'm a bit skeptical of it's chances.
Once upon a time, back in the day, our town was on the rise with it's local music scene. The Campus Corner area at the rim of the University was rife with restaurants and clubs crowded on the weekends with people clamoring to see their favorite local band or artist. It wasn't unusual to see street musicians on the corner in those days.
But the scene fizzled. It's been debated over and over as to what happened, but my guess is one of lack of support from the city 'fathers' and lack of organization from the artists. It just never took off.
I am really out of touch with the current scene in this town, so when I heard about the festival - yesterday, day of - I was surprised (I don't read our local rag, something that an acquaintance I ran into last night responded to by telling me I needed to get my head out of my ass... he may be right).
I was really surprised that the downtown merchants agreed to such a venture. My ten years running the indoor venue taught me just how tight-assed they were about anything that could potentially take money from their pocket without any consideration as to how they may make it work to their advantage.
A lot of those merchants have either moved on or were beaten into submission I suppose, because for twelve or so hours, on a Saturday, downtown was closed off and streams of people flowed in to enjoy the current local music scene.
I arrived about a half hour before one band was set to play. I came because it was a reunion of a hometown band that "made it big" as it were. A band that had also played at the indoor venue during my tenure there which gave me the opportunity to chit chat with some of the band members. They were/are great guys.
The band? None other then the Chansaw Kittens
. With proud parents and grandparents at the foot of the stage, they jumped into an hour long love fest with their audience. I recorded a bunch of it with a friend in mind who, perhaps, has made more music festivals in his young lifetime, then I ever could have boasted of in my hippy youth.
This one's for you, Pauly (the beginning is rough, the sound is out of sync for a brief moment or two).
...
The festival ran from noon to 11:00 pm -
Once upon a time, back in the day, our town was on the rise with it's local music scene. The Campus Corner area at the rim of the University was rife with restaurants and clubs crowded on the weekends with people clamoring to see their favorite local band or artist. It wasn't unusual to see street musicians on the corner in those days.
But the scene fizzled. It's been debated over and over as to what happened, but my guess is one of lack of support from the city 'fathers' and lack of organization from the artists. It just never took off.
I am really out of touch with the current scene in this town, so when I heard about the festival - yesterday, day of - I was surprised (I don't read our local rag, something that an acquaintance I ran into last night responded to by telling me I needed to get my head out of my ass... he may be right).
I was really surprised that the downtown merchants agreed to such a venture. My ten years running the indoor venue taught me just how tight-assed they were about anything that could potentially take money from their pocket without any consideration as to how they may make it work to their advantage.
A lot of those merchants have either moved on or were beaten into submission I suppose, because for twelve or so hours, on a Saturday, downtown was closed off and streams of people flowed in to enjoy the current local music scene.
I arrived about a half hour before one band was set to play. I came because it was a reunion of a hometown band that "made it big" as it were. A band that had also played at the indoor venue during my tenure there which gave me the opportunity to chit chat with some of the band members. They were/are great guys.
The band? None other then the Chansaw Kittens
. With proud parents and grandparents at the foot of the stage, they jumped into an hour long love fest with their audience. I recorded a bunch of it with a friend in mind who, perhaps, has made more music festivals in his young lifetime, then I ever could have boasted of in my hippy youth.This one's for you, Pauly (the beginning is rough, the sound is out of sync for a brief moment or two).
...
Labels: chainsaw kittens, Music
Posted at 12:30 PM | |
Friday, April 25, 2008
Can you hear me now?
Communication. It’s been on my mind of late and especially in the last couple of days. Due to a couple of friends’ recent discovery and subsequent blogging about Twitter, I’d thought I’d chime in and ramble on a bit about it today.
Since the dawn of the internet and the ubiquitous chat-box, I’ve been fascinated by the ever-increasing facility of instant communication with just about anyone, anywhere, anytime.
I remember just how out of the world cool it was to type a sentence on my Mac and for it to appear - one letter at a time - on the screen of my friend's Mac instantaneously. And I won't even go into how jaw-droppingly awesome it was to use a modem for the first time.
Then there were the early days of AOL member chat, occasionally joining the “40-something” chat-room and actually carrying on a decent conversation with perfect strangers. That lasted only a short while before the chat-rooms became too crowded and the conversations declined to queries of one’s mode of dress, or rather, un-dress, as it were.
The bulletin boards born of the BBS and VBBS systems in the nascent days of the internet were the place to go if chat rooms weren't your thing.
I dabbled in those only very briefly before finding the next generation of forums at the dawn of the century – one in particular that became the birthplace of my online persona of another name.
Then personal vanity websites evolved into web-logs which took about two seconds to be reduced to “blog.” I eventually and serendipitously, along with now about 6,663,642,300 other people, found a small voice in the blog universe. Well, actually two of those voices are mine.
Along with blogs we now have the rapidly growing social-networking trend with MySpace, Facebook, Friendster, Linkdin, ad naseum. Internet popularity contests designed to trigger loads of anxiety in my inner, very insecure, high school self.
So all this has been swirling in my brain of late, triggered by the stream of Twitter tweets which punctuate my day. Twitter is an intriguing little communication tool that I haven’t decided whether or not I like.
On the plus side, I can – and do – use it to notify the hive of twitterers that I have new blog posts ready for the enjoyment and edification, thus drivinga stampede of one or two readers to my blog door.
Some “tweets” that trickle by are interesting. Another twittering friend has a habit of sending out obscure “tweets” that seem to come from some odd corner of his mind. They are always intriguing, if not perplexing. I engaged in a Twitter haiku round there for a while which was challenging and a bit fun …
… but, I find myself wondering – to what purpose? And, yet, I’m drawn to it like a magnet to the fridge. Here is a micro-world of people, myself included, mostly sending out spontaneous thoughts to the ether just ‘cuz.
What drives the compulsion to share a thought – right now – with the universe? Are we entering an era of talking at rather than with? Are we already there?
And, intriguingly, why do I have nearly every portal open – IM, SMS, iPhone, e-mail, social-network accounts, you name it – and rarely walk through to say “hello…”
….with the exception of the blogs. And, perhaps now Twitter, which is hailed as micro-blogging, so that makes sense.
And why am I more comfortable spewing out my thoughts in a blog than tapping someone on their virtual shoulder and saying “You wanna do lunch?”
It may have something to do with lack of anonymity, shyness, fear of… whatever. I suppose that would be a few dollars spent for couch time and a brain dusting if I wanted to go that route.
Or I could point to another portal – the comments section of this blog – and invite you, dear reader, to offer your opinion.
So, I do.
Let’s do lunch and discuss this communication thing. I think we have enough for a four-top.
Since the dawn of the internet and the ubiquitous chat-box, I’ve been fascinated by the ever-increasing facility of instant communication with just about anyone, anywhere, anytime.
I remember just how out of the world cool it was to type a sentence on my Mac and for it to appear - one letter at a time - on the screen of my friend's Mac instantaneously. And I won't even go into how jaw-droppingly awesome it was to use a modem for the first time.
Then there were the early days of AOL member chat, occasionally joining the “40-something” chat-room and actually carrying on a decent conversation with perfect strangers. That lasted only a short while before the chat-rooms became too crowded and the conversations declined to queries of one’s mode of dress, or rather, un-dress, as it were.
The bulletin boards born of the BBS and VBBS systems in the nascent days of the internet were the place to go if chat rooms weren't your thing.
I dabbled in those only very briefly before finding the next generation of forums at the dawn of the century – one in particular that became the birthplace of my online persona of another name.
Then personal vanity websites evolved into web-logs which took about two seconds to be reduced to “blog.” I eventually and serendipitously, along with now about 6,663,642,300 other people, found a small voice in the blog universe. Well, actually two of those voices are mine.
Along with blogs we now have the rapidly growing social-networking trend with MySpace, Facebook, Friendster, Linkdin, ad naseum. Internet popularity contests designed to trigger loads of anxiety in my inner, very insecure, high school self.
So all this has been swirling in my brain of late, triggered by the stream of Twitter tweets which punctuate my day. Twitter is an intriguing little communication tool that I haven’t decided whether or not I like.
On the plus side, I can – and do – use it to notify the hive of twitterers that I have new blog posts ready for the enjoyment and edification, thus driving
Some “tweets” that trickle by are interesting. Another twittering friend has a habit of sending out obscure “tweets” that seem to come from some odd corner of his mind. They are always intriguing, if not perplexing. I engaged in a Twitter haiku round there for a while which was challenging and a bit fun …
… but, I find myself wondering – to what purpose? And, yet, I’m drawn to it like a magnet to the fridge. Here is a micro-world of people, myself included, mostly sending out spontaneous thoughts to the ether just ‘cuz.
What drives the compulsion to share a thought – right now – with the universe? Are we entering an era of talking at rather than with? Are we already there?
And, intriguingly, why do I have nearly every portal open – IM, SMS, iPhone, e-mail, social-network accounts, you name it – and rarely walk through to say “hello…”
….with the exception of the blogs. And, perhaps now Twitter, which is hailed as micro-blogging, so that makes sense.
And why am I more comfortable spewing out my thoughts in a blog than tapping someone on their virtual shoulder and saying “You wanna do lunch?”
It may have something to do with lack of anonymity, shyness, fear of… whatever. I suppose that would be a few dollars spent for couch time and a brain dusting if I wanted to go that route.
Or I could point to another portal – the comments section of this blog – and invite you, dear reader, to offer your opinion.
So, I do.
Let’s do lunch and discuss this communication thing. I think we have enough for a four-top.
Labels: blogs, communication, internet, twitter
Posted at 3:39 PM | |
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Politics - scattered, smothered, covered and chunked
Enough of the gloom and doom, dear readers. The sun is out and I've let some light in. I just may be back to my usual self. In fact, I'm darn near perky, if you can believe that.
My appetite seems to have returned in spades. To satisfy it, I paid a visit this morning to one of my favorite breakfast spots in town. It'd been a few months since my last visit due to the initiation of a new diet - one for health, more than for losing weight. I, therefore, had banned myself from...
Waffle House
Yeah. Crazy of me, I know. Who in their right mind would do a thing like that? Well, it's fairly evident that I have not been in my right mind of late...
There are two of these establishments in my fair city. One is Waffle House Hell and the other is, well, not. In three visits to the first one, I've walked out twice after waiting too, too long to get served. In addition to that, it's lack of upkeep would discourage even an in-discriminate cock-roach.
The second, well, I've had only one bad experience with a waitress who had an irrepressible need to give more attention to stocking the silverware than taking my order. Other than that sour encounter, it's rep with me is one of a clean, well-managed establishment. And friendly.
This morning was no different. I was greeted like an old friend when I entered and my waiter proposed marriage after I sat down.
"No, really. You think I'm kidding. You say yes, I"ll leave right now," he implored. I laughed and gave him my order - coffe, OJ, cheesey scrambled, hash-browns, wheat toast and bacon. Crisp.
On my left were a largish man and woman who had just finished what looked like a couple of heaping plates of biscuits 'n gravy and whatever else the kitchen had to offer. They were jovial and chatty with the staff. While I waited for my order, I dove into my Google-Reader subs on my handy iPhone to catch up on my internet neighbors.
Just before my order came, the largish man ordered a steak. The waiter thought he was kidding. "Nope, I'm serious. Cook me up one of those steaks."
One-of-those-steaks was a two handed Waffle House T-bone. Did I mention he was a largish man?
A couple on my right had finished up and, when the waiter brought the check, mentioned they were going fishing.
"I'm going with you," the waiter announced. He turned to the rest of the staff, "Hey, I'm leaving. I'm goin' fishin' with these guys."
There was a general laugh and the largish man said, "What? Ya' not happy here? How long you been workin' here?"
"Four years, but it's about to be none."
The largish man asked him what was going on.
"Well, ya' see, I'm a cook. I kin cook uppa thousand dollars inna night an' this croppa new cooks cain't even manage a coupla hunert dollars worth without screwin' up an order."
He was clearly frustrated.
My breakfast was delivered, whereupon the largish man expressed his desire to possess my bacon. Crisp.
"Kin I have yer bacon? It looks mighty good." He smiled. I thought to myself that this poor man's wife was probably going to find her husband keeled over from a heart attack someday soon.
"Maybe, we'll see how far I get," I answered, but my bacon was going to stay put. I didn't want to contribute to his impending coronary distress.
I gave my attention to my breakfast and my reading and let the rest of the Waffle House world swirl outside my bubble for a bit.
I tuned back in as I was finishing up. The general topic had shifted to politics.
"I'll vote fer her, before ah'd vote fer that Obama," the waiter stated as he cleared the dishes from in front of the largish couple.
"I cain't stand her," largish man protested. "She's a liar and cain't be trusted. I cain't vote fer him either."
"I'm not a democrat, but ah'd vote fer her before him. I couldn't vote fer him ever." Clearly my potential intended was further right than I. And maybe just a bit of a bigot. But, as I learned in the next moment, perhaps not as much of a bigot as my largish neighbor.
"Well, that Obama is full of anti-Amurikin sentiment. He's got no substance. But, he's got the blacks nailed."
It was at that point that I noticed a new couple on my right. A young black man and his girlfriend. I gave them an "He's an idiot" look. They sat quietly waiting to give their breakfast order.
Attempting unsuccessfully to lower his voice, largish man turned to his spouse and scoffed "When you mention blacks it's s'posed to be high praise only..."
I pulled two dollars out of my pocket for the tip and tucked them under the side of my plate. I gave another look to the young couple on my right. I then looked at the largish man.
"Bacon?" He gleefully took my half eaten plate of bacon - crisp - from my hands.
I paid my bill and departed.
My appetite seems to have returned in spades. To satisfy it, I paid a visit this morning to one of my favorite breakfast spots in town. It'd been a few months since my last visit due to the initiation of a new diet - one for health, more than for losing weight. I, therefore, had banned myself from...
Waffle House
Yeah. Crazy of me, I know. Who in their right mind would do a thing like that? Well, it's fairly evident that I have not been in my right mind of late...
There are two of these establishments in my fair city. One is Waffle House Hell and the other is, well, not. In three visits to the first one, I've walked out twice after waiting too, too long to get served. In addition to that, it's lack of upkeep would discourage even an in-discriminate cock-roach.
The second, well, I've had only one bad experience with a waitress who had an irrepressible need to give more attention to stocking the silverware than taking my order. Other than that sour encounter, it's rep with me is one of a clean, well-managed establishment. And friendly.
This morning was no different. I was greeted like an old friend when I entered and my waiter proposed marriage after I sat down.
"No, really. You think I'm kidding. You say yes, I"ll leave right now," he implored. I laughed and gave him my order - coffe, OJ, cheesey scrambled, hash-browns, wheat toast and bacon. Crisp.
On my left were a largish man and woman who had just finished what looked like a couple of heaping plates of biscuits 'n gravy and whatever else the kitchen had to offer. They were jovial and chatty with the staff. While I waited for my order, I dove into my Google-Reader subs on my handy iPhone to catch up on my internet neighbors.
Just before my order came, the largish man ordered a steak. The waiter thought he was kidding. "Nope, I'm serious. Cook me up one of those steaks."
One-of-those-steaks was a two handed Waffle House T-bone. Did I mention he was a largish man?
A couple on my right had finished up and, when the waiter brought the check, mentioned they were going fishing.
"I'm going with you," the waiter announced. He turned to the rest of the staff, "Hey, I'm leaving. I'm goin' fishin' with these guys."
There was a general laugh and the largish man said, "What? Ya' not happy here? How long you been workin' here?"
"Four years, but it's about to be none."
The largish man asked him what was going on.
"Well, ya' see, I'm a cook. I kin cook uppa thousand dollars inna night an' this croppa new cooks cain't even manage a coupla hunert dollars worth without screwin' up an order."
He was clearly frustrated.
My breakfast was delivered, whereupon the largish man expressed his desire to possess my bacon. Crisp.
"Kin I have yer bacon? It looks mighty good." He smiled. I thought to myself that this poor man's wife was probably going to find her husband keeled over from a heart attack someday soon.
"Maybe, we'll see how far I get," I answered, but my bacon was going to stay put. I didn't want to contribute to his impending coronary distress.
I gave my attention to my breakfast and my reading and let the rest of the Waffle House world swirl outside my bubble for a bit.
I tuned back in as I was finishing up. The general topic had shifted to politics.
"I'll vote fer her, before ah'd vote fer that Obama," the waiter stated as he cleared the dishes from in front of the largish couple.
"I cain't stand her," largish man protested. "She's a liar and cain't be trusted. I cain't vote fer him either."
"I'm not a democrat, but ah'd vote fer her before him. I couldn't vote fer him ever." Clearly my potential intended was further right than I. And maybe just a bit of a bigot. But, as I learned in the next moment, perhaps not as much of a bigot as my largish neighbor.
"Well, that Obama is full of anti-Amurikin sentiment. He's got no substance. But, he's got the blacks nailed."
It was at that point that I noticed a new couple on my right. A young black man and his girlfriend. I gave them an "He's an idiot" look. They sat quietly waiting to give their breakfast order.
Attempting unsuccessfully to lower his voice, largish man turned to his spouse and scoffed "When you mention blacks it's s'posed to be high praise only..."
I pulled two dollars out of my pocket for the tip and tucked them under the side of my plate. I gave another look to the young couple on my right. I then looked at the largish man.
"Bacon?" He gleefully took my half eaten plate of bacon - crisp - from my hands.
I paid my bill and departed.
Labels: Politics, Restaraunts, Waffle House
Posted at 11:42 AM | |
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Dancing with the devil
I am posting the following more for my own benefit than for any other reason. If any one reads this and gains some positive use from it, then so much the better.
This is how it went down:
So - that was the few days that was. If I've learned anything from this is to a) forget about being a guinea pig for bucks and b) thoroughly question my doc about any prescriptions AND to research them if there's any hint they could be narcotic, addictive or have withdrawal side effects.
Tramadol Ultram is not on the list of scheduled narcotics because it is not considered habit forming. That's what I was told when I started the study six months ago - that it wasn't habit forming. It's a pain killer, but is not a "euphoric" which would put it the the danger zone for addiction.
What I wasn't told was to expect withdrawal symptoms. Even though the drug is not a "euphoric" - I was craving it if only to stop the agony of withdrawal. I'm starting to get angry about all this but, really, I have no one to blame but myself. I didn't do my research so I could ask the questions that needed to be asked at the outset. I was foolish in trusting the research company.
Never again.
My heart-felt thanks goes to those of you who sent support. You are true friends, indeed.
This is how it went down:
- Tues. 4/08: Last Tramadol taken
- Wed. 4/09: Withdrawal symptoms start trickling in - restlessness, insomnia..;
- Thurs.4/10: Leave work at 1:00 due to inability to concentrate, put together a coherent sentence and to sit still;
- The next 24 hours are somewhat of a blur. Very little sleep and any sleep that did happen was out of utter exhaustion;
- Fri. 4/11: 6:30-ish pm - felt better after a few hours of sofa snoozing... calmer yet tired, but inspired to visit local gambling establishment for some recreation. Left 3 hours later ($600 richer) when symptoms began to reappear - in spades;
- Sat. 4/12 6:40 AM: Finally fall asleep out of exhaustion after a watching the hours tick slowly by while compulsively rocking to try to quiet the nerves and tire myself out, plus thrashing, yelling, crying and sinking into really dark thoughts...
- Sat.: 4/12
- ---11:30 AM: Awake and join friends for brunch. Discover I cannot sit still let alone join in the conversation without stumbling through words and thoughts. Leave in haste and drive straight to the urgent care clinic. Wait an hour or so to see a Dr. who prescribes an ambien and benedryl cocktail and wishes me to have a "nice nap." Doc also informs me the symptoms will take about ten days to get completely out of my system...
- ---3:40 PM Took ambien and two benedryl, took a long hot soak in the bathtub, then went to bed. Over the next 16 hours I mostly slept, but remember getting up three times - twice to chug some orange juice, once to get my bose ipod boom box for music to listen to in order to distract my mind from its thoughts.
- Sun. 4/13: 7:51 AM - Awaken and remember friend Gracie telling me that the best chance of scoring a Wii is to get to Target at opening time on a Sunday. So, that's what I do. I get up, drive to Target and score the Wii. The rest of the day is spent setting up the Wii, playing with Endless Ocean and, apparently - later that night in my sleep - attempting to text message a friend an incoherent message about Leonard Cohen, soul-mates and training manuals. Only it went to Sonic (the burger drive-in), and not my friend. Thank goodness.
So - that was the few days that was. If I've learned anything from this is to a) forget about being a guinea pig for bucks and b) thoroughly question my doc about any prescriptions AND to research them if there's any hint they could be narcotic, addictive or have withdrawal side effects.
Tramadol Ultram is not on the list of scheduled narcotics because it is not considered habit forming. That's what I was told when I started the study six months ago - that it wasn't habit forming. It's a pain killer, but is not a "euphoric" which would put it the the danger zone for addiction.
What I wasn't told was to expect withdrawal symptoms. Even though the drug is not a "euphoric" - I was craving it if only to stop the agony of withdrawal. I'm starting to get angry about all this but, really, I have no one to blame but myself. I didn't do my research so I could ask the questions that needed to be asked at the outset. I was foolish in trusting the research company.
Never again.
My heart-felt thanks goes to those of you who sent support. You are true friends, indeed.
Labels: drug withdrawal, Tramadol addiction, tramadol detox
Posted at 2:50 PM | |
Sunday, April 13, 2008
How not to buy a Wii
It's been a rough few days in the land of Yesablog. I only thought I was kidding about the withdrawal thing. Last week was just a warm-up for the real thing this week. I will never - and I mean never - put myself willingly through anything like that again. I'm about 85% out of the woods. Thanks to a ten day prescription of Ambien, I was finally able to get some real sleep - 16 hours worth - (you read that right) after two and a half days of mind-fucking agony.
During the past three days, I gained $600 via the hobby that will not be named here, ordered a pizza and cheese sticks - but don't remember when - and scored a Wii. So some good came of it, however I don't recommend the method.
I expect to be up to 100% in the next few days and will return to report on all things Wii. Why? Because I'm already loving it. The first game I bought was Endless Ocean
and it is the perfect distraction for this shaky time - calm and relaxing.
In the meantime, I'd like to direct you to an internet neighbor's blog. Gene recently returned from a trip to Viet Nam. Take a few moments to read his trip reports. Fascinating and compelling.
During the past three days, I gained $600 via the hobby that will not be named here, ordered a pizza and cheese sticks - but don't remember when - and scored a Wii. So some good came of it, however I don't recommend the method.
I expect to be up to 100% in the next few days and will return to report on all things Wii. Why? Because I'm already loving it. The first game I bought was Endless Ocean
and it is the perfect distraction for this shaky time - calm and relaxing.In the meantime, I'd like to direct you to an internet neighbor's blog. Gene recently returned from a trip to Viet Nam. Take a few moments to read his trip reports. Fascinating and compelling.
Posted at 5:02 PM | |
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
From the prescription bottle to the mountaintop
Due to a cut-back in my drug habit, I've been near to chewing the wood-work for the last week. Withdrawal. It's a bitch. Let me 'splain.
For the last six months I've been a drug whore. That is to say, I've been participating in a drug study and have been a guinea pig for a combination of two drugs with the plan to combine them into one at the end of the study and pending FDA approval.
I agreed to the study because it promised the relief of pain, not to mention free doctor stuff and money in my pocket for my participation. Plus, I was already taking one of the drugs so, what the hell, pile on another. Free drugs, free xrays, free ECGs, free Doctor probings and a little green for things like Flips and such - what more could a girl ask for?
The study was supposed to last for a year, but was cut short because the drug company deemed it no longer profitable. It'd incurred a substantial fourth quarter loss in its bottom line, therefore was cutting its losses. And cutting off my drug supply. Thank you, Bushonomics.
So, I was put on a week of half doses until I'm cut free entirely next week. Now, one of the drugs - the pain-killer - had literature that stated it was non-narcotic. However, right now I'm doubting that claim. When I find myself sitting and rocking - even while I type - while at the same time longing for sleep, as well as wanting to claw my way through the wall.... well, I'm thinking there's got to be a wee bit o' narcotic in that wee bit o' pill to be experiencing withdrawal symptoms.
Of course, I do not mean to make light of what it REALLY means to experience narcotic withdrawal. I'm getting only a tiny, tiny, teeninsie, taste of that. But that tiny taste of hell is enough to reinforce my resolve to never venture into that realm and count my lucky stars I dodged it in my hippie youthdom.
Speaking of which - my co-worker, being an avid NPR fan, pointed out that Friday, April 4th, was an ironic day in history. "Oh, do tell," I'm implored him as we strolled in to work. As it is, on that day in history, forty years ago, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated and the peace symbol was born. Ironic indeed.
I also listened to an NPR report - the day before - on the way to work. I only heard the last part of it, as the Rev. Samuel Billy Kyles remembered, forty years ago, listening as King delivered his portentous "Mountaintop" speech. Kyles was only a few feet away from Rev. King.
I am not religious. In fact, by way of a lifetime of exploring, reading, contemplating, debating, questioning and even being born again, I am now an affirmed atheist. But, I still weep when I hear that speech. It is a transcendent speech. A speech for the ages, while at the same time a deeply personal affirmation of faith. A faith that I cannot and will not question or criticize.
Martin Luther King, Jr. not only had faith in his god, but faith in human nature. He believed that somehow, some day, we humans would transcend. We would get past our differences and find common ground. A simple, but profound faith and seemingly, for the times, an impossible faith.
On April 4, 1968 I was a sixteen year old junior in high-school. I remember shock. I remember fear. I remember the images on the nightly news. Little did I know what that day and another assassination two months later would do to shape the person I was becoming. A generation was poised to set the nation on it's ear and I was one, small, insignificant member of it trying to figure it all out.
As Rev. Kyles pointed out, some would say we haven't progressed very far in those forty years since - that it's worse now then it was then. His response:
And now an African-American has a real shot of being our next president.
But, even with that, Rev. Kyles reminds us that there is still much to do. "Each generation will have it's portion, and that helps to keep the dream alive."
I am fortunate that I lived in a time that had such leaders as Martin Luther King, Jr. A time of great, yet turbulent, change. But, change for the good.
I am fortunate I live in a time of such potential as that of Barack Obama. Time will tell, whether he becomes our nation's next president or not, if he will be a leader who brings change. Change for the good. Change that is desperately needed today.
I would encourage you, dear reader, to take some time and listen to Dr. King's speech. Reflect on where we are now, and what is yet to be done. You can play a part in keeping the dream alive. You just have to figure it out.
For the last six months I've been a drug whore. That is to say, I've been participating in a drug study and have been a guinea pig for a combination of two drugs with the plan to combine them into one at the end of the study and pending FDA approval.
I agreed to the study because it promised the relief of pain, not to mention free doctor stuff and money in my pocket for my participation. Plus, I was already taking one of the drugs so, what the hell, pile on another. Free drugs, free xrays, free ECGs, free Doctor probings and a little green for things like Flips and such - what more could a girl ask for?
The study was supposed to last for a year, but was cut short because the drug company deemed it no longer profitable. It'd incurred a substantial fourth quarter loss in its bottom line, therefore was cutting its losses. And cutting off my drug supply. Thank you, Bushonomics.
So, I was put on a week of half doses until I'm cut free entirely next week. Now, one of the drugs - the pain-killer - had literature that stated it was non-narcotic. However, right now I'm doubting that claim. When I find myself sitting and rocking - even while I type - while at the same time longing for sleep, as well as wanting to claw my way through the wall.... well, I'm thinking there's got to be a wee bit o' narcotic in that wee bit o' pill to be experiencing withdrawal symptoms.
Of course, I do not mean to make light of what it REALLY means to experience narcotic withdrawal. I'm getting only a tiny, tiny, teeninsie, taste of that. But that tiny taste of hell is enough to reinforce my resolve to never venture into that realm and count my lucky stars I dodged it in my hippie youthdom.
Speaking of which - my co-worker, being an avid NPR fan, pointed out that Friday, April 4th, was an ironic day in history. "Oh, do tell," I'm implored him as we strolled in to work. As it is, on that day in history, forty years ago, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated and the peace symbol was born. Ironic indeed.
I also listened to an NPR report - the day before - on the way to work. I only heard the last part of it, as the Rev. Samuel Billy Kyles remembered, forty years ago, listening as King delivered his portentous "Mountaintop" speech. Kyles was only a few feet away from Rev. King.
I am not religious. In fact, by way of a lifetime of exploring, reading, contemplating, debating, questioning and even being born again, I am now an affirmed atheist. But, I still weep when I hear that speech. It is a transcendent speech. A speech for the ages, while at the same time a deeply personal affirmation of faith. A faith that I cannot and will not question or criticize.
Martin Luther King, Jr. not only had faith in his god, but faith in human nature. He believed that somehow, some day, we humans would transcend. We would get past our differences and find common ground. A simple, but profound faith and seemingly, for the times, an impossible faith.
On April 4, 1968 I was a sixteen year old junior in high-school. I remember shock. I remember fear. I remember the images on the nightly news. Little did I know what that day and another assassination two months later would do to shape the person I was becoming. A generation was poised to set the nation on it's ear and I was one, small, insignificant member of it trying to figure it all out.
As Rev. Kyles pointed out, some would say we haven't progressed very far in those forty years since - that it's worse now then it was then. His response:
...the only reason you can say that is because you were not here then... Think of how far we have come - it was illegal for my ancestors to read during slavery... [my ancestors] came to this country in chains...
And now an African-American has a real shot of being our next president.
But, even with that, Rev. Kyles reminds us that there is still much to do. "Each generation will have it's portion, and that helps to keep the dream alive."
I am fortunate that I lived in a time that had such leaders as Martin Luther King, Jr. A time of great, yet turbulent, change. But, change for the good.
I am fortunate I live in a time of such potential as that of Barack Obama. Time will tell, whether he becomes our nation's next president or not, if he will be a leader who brings change. Change for the good. Change that is desperately needed today.
I would encourage you, dear reader, to take some time and listen to Dr. King's speech. Reflect on where we are now, and what is yet to be done. You can play a part in keeping the dream alive. You just have to figure it out.
Posted at 8:33 AM | |
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Karma
It's baseball season. The first ball of the season has been thrown. I don't know who threw it, but I bet whoever it was, the ball was thrown better than could I. I'm not good at throwing baseballs, or footballs, or basketballs. What I am good at throwing is conniptions. I threw a good one this evening.
Angry at myself for losing something that was near and dear, I attempted to distract myself by gathering up the items that needed to go to the recycling bin. A couple of Simply Orange bottles, a diet coke bottle, a plastic to-go container, a tuna can and a pile of junk mail. They wouldn't cooperate and, in a flash, ended up on the floor and half-way across the room.
I then slammed into the bathroom and took my displaced wrath out on the clogged toilet that has been holding on to its prize as if it were Gollum with the ring finally in his grasp. I succeeded only in splashing water all over the floor and pumping my blood pressure to the brink of popping a vein.
My only pleasure was in squashing some ants that had dared to invade my kitchen space. I am not a Buddhist.
That is all.
Angry at myself for losing something that was near and dear, I attempted to distract myself by gathering up the items that needed to go to the recycling bin. A couple of Simply Orange bottles, a diet coke bottle, a plastic to-go container, a tuna can and a pile of junk mail. They wouldn't cooperate and, in a flash, ended up on the floor and half-way across the room.
I then slammed into the bathroom and took my displaced wrath out on the clogged toilet that has been holding on to its prize as if it were Gollum with the ring finally in his grasp. I succeeded only in splashing water all over the floor and pumping my blood pressure to the brink of popping a vein.
My only pleasure was in squashing some ants that had dared to invade my kitchen space. I am not a Buddhist.
That is all.
Posted at 6:08 PM | |
