8.30.2005
Charmed, I'm sure...
There are some women who have the ability to enrapture men. Specifically my Mom, but not limited to her. I've always wondered if it was pheromonal, chemical, social - just what combination of criteria make for irresistibility? Over the course of my mating life, I have been described as "intimidating", "overpowering", and a "firecracker" but never "alluring", "exceptional", or "entrancing".
8.12.2005
Have You Ever...
had the feeling that knowledge just aggregates in the brain and all you have to do to utilize it is awaken it with a little prodding? I took my Stats final two nights ago... I don't know about the rest of you, but I have pretty much forgotten all my graduate level stats except for p-values and ANOVA's which really don't matter much unless you know how to interprete them and use them in a sentence, er... equation. And where am I going with this drivel?
After attending the INSC 60013 intro class, I somehow skipped every class until the mid-term, which I took and have no idea how I did but suspect it was miserable, then conducted some psychological self-flagellation for my sloth. Convinced that I would now walk the straight and narrow path to Statistical and Graduate excellence, I awaited the second half of the summer session with renewed expectation. Evening classes came and went and there I sat on my couch, in my bed, out in the park, any place but Smith Hall. And finally, a mere two classes before the final, I pin-pointed my lack of drive... I had normal people depression. Mmmm - weird.
But how was I to rectify this class thing? Too late too drop, too ashamed to attend class, too proud to confess. A brief communique to the prof assured me that no harm done, just finish the requirements. The day, Yes, the DAY of the final, I started to study. 18 Chapters of finance statistics to absorb in 6 hours.
And guess what? I feel quite certain I did.
After attending the INSC 60013 intro class, I somehow skipped every class until the mid-term, which I took and have no idea how I did but suspect it was miserable, then conducted some psychological self-flagellation for my sloth. Convinced that I would now walk the straight and narrow path to Statistical and Graduate excellence, I awaited the second half of the summer session with renewed expectation. Evening classes came and went and there I sat on my couch, in my bed, out in the park, any place but Smith Hall. And finally, a mere two classes before the final, I pin-pointed my lack of drive... I had normal people depression. Mmmm - weird.
But how was I to rectify this class thing? Too late too drop, too ashamed to attend class, too proud to confess. A brief communique to the prof assured me that no harm done, just finish the requirements. The day, Yes, the DAY of the final, I started to study. 18 Chapters of finance statistics to absorb in 6 hours.
And guess what? I feel quite certain I did.
8.08.2005
Nocturnes
The bedroom was beautiful - large, high bed; thick, wooly rugs; dim lights and candles softly glowing. I was struggling to hide the evidence of Steve's visit, cigarette ashes carelessly flicked on the old plank floor, cooled wax. The party would be starting soon and I hadn't even gotten the decorations for the spiral staircase that the kids would use as a play area. Of course the booze was already awaiting the arrival of the costumed guests. As I rushed over to the adjoining complex, I saw that Mom had already done the decorating... all was in readiness.
Suddenly I was in the midst of our party, children clambering, adults marvelling at the interior decor and gushing over my Mom. I felt alone, small and silly. I wanted to shout about my achievements, my successes, my talents, but I knew it would all fall on deaf and charmed ears. After most of the revellers retired for the night and I was a bit high on the booze and my self-righteousness, I cornered my Mom. Intensely, but not loudly, I reminded her that I was valuable, not like one of her turn of the century chintz plates but as a person, a daughter and an individual. She wept but I remained arid. Maybe I had gotten my point across.
An Indian friend noticed our exchange and soflty approached. She invited us to her house for the following day to relax with her large family in their new home. As we arrived she offered us warm chai tea and calmed our frazzled emotions with her soothing banter. Feathers were smoothed and accusations were withdrawn, status quo regained.
While wandering the house I noticed a new ability to move objects, make them appear and disappear, happening only when I wasn't concentrating or wishing but when I just knew it should happen. Each time I used this gift, it grew, becoming easier and more bold. I went outside to play with the dog, throwing a stick and making it disappear/reappear to the dismay of the Lab. I conjured simple things, natural things, things that might be there anyway. Delighted with my treasure, I returned inside to make the ice cubes in drinks appear and vanish. No one seemed to notice.
Later that evening I went out and was delighted when I was approached by Matt Damon and Ben Afleck, the younger versions just off their success with "Good Will Hunting". Ben already had the beginnings of the swagger that would wear thin with fans and keep him in sub-par movies, but Matt still radiated that innocent intensity. Ben had a brazen dark girl on his arm and Matt asked me to join them back to their hotel. First we stopped at a manufacturing plant, laser-machined parts and other metal fabrications were the products made there. Matt demonstrated his skill with a precision metal laser while I watched with fascination. Ben and his woman squirmed in the dark corner urging us to hurry up.
Arriving at their hotel, a grand Las Vegas style affair, we headed up to the penthouse suites. The other couple practically engaged before the locks and doors were thrown. Matt and I retired to his rooms and our encounter was slow, sweet and delicious. He revelled in my experience and I was overcome with his youth and energy - the fit was perfect. While we lay together. Matt confided to me that he thought Ben was somehow spying for the Russians and sending the information from the fabrication plant to their government, but he couldn't be sure how the information was being gathered. He asked me if I would spend some time alone with Ben, try to suss out the means for the deception. God, I would do anything for Matt's angelic face!
Wouldn't you know, Ben was carrying around a small Russian spy, named Fyodor, in his navel.
Suddenly I was in the midst of our party, children clambering, adults marvelling at the interior decor and gushing over my Mom. I felt alone, small and silly. I wanted to shout about my achievements, my successes, my talents, but I knew it would all fall on deaf and charmed ears. After most of the revellers retired for the night and I was a bit high on the booze and my self-righteousness, I cornered my Mom. Intensely, but not loudly, I reminded her that I was valuable, not like one of her turn of the century chintz plates but as a person, a daughter and an individual. She wept but I remained arid. Maybe I had gotten my point across.
An Indian friend noticed our exchange and soflty approached. She invited us to her house for the following day to relax with her large family in their new home. As we arrived she offered us warm chai tea and calmed our frazzled emotions with her soothing banter. Feathers were smoothed and accusations were withdrawn, status quo regained.
While wandering the house I noticed a new ability to move objects, make them appear and disappear, happening only when I wasn't concentrating or wishing but when I just knew it should happen. Each time I used this gift, it grew, becoming easier and more bold. I went outside to play with the dog, throwing a stick and making it disappear/reappear to the dismay of the Lab. I conjured simple things, natural things, things that might be there anyway. Delighted with my treasure, I returned inside to make the ice cubes in drinks appear and vanish. No one seemed to notice.
Later that evening I went out and was delighted when I was approached by Matt Damon and Ben Afleck, the younger versions just off their success with "Good Will Hunting". Ben already had the beginnings of the swagger that would wear thin with fans and keep him in sub-par movies, but Matt still radiated that innocent intensity. Ben had a brazen dark girl on his arm and Matt asked me to join them back to their hotel. First we stopped at a manufacturing plant, laser-machined parts and other metal fabrications were the products made there. Matt demonstrated his skill with a precision metal laser while I watched with fascination. Ben and his woman squirmed in the dark corner urging us to hurry up.
Arriving at their hotel, a grand Las Vegas style affair, we headed up to the penthouse suites. The other couple practically engaged before the locks and doors were thrown. Matt and I retired to his rooms and our encounter was slow, sweet and delicious. He revelled in my experience and I was overcome with his youth and energy - the fit was perfect. While we lay together. Matt confided to me that he thought Ben was somehow spying for the Russians and sending the information from the fabrication plant to their government, but he couldn't be sure how the information was being gathered. He asked me if I would spend some time alone with Ben, try to suss out the means for the deception. God, I would do anything for Matt's angelic face!
Wouldn't you know, Ben was carrying around a small Russian spy, named Fyodor, in his navel.
8.04.2005
Alta Y Baja
A couple of years ago my Grandmother gave me some stock for Christmas. Since then I have set up a little portfolio, watched it anxiously as it quivered and quavered with the whims of the NYSE. However, before I started all this MBA nonsense I was only concerned with the bottom line - How much is this stuff worth?? Ho, Ho,... but now that I am all the wiser in matters of Financial Reporting and the like, the rhyme is starting to jive with the reason. So, last week when my little pieces of paper started climbing the heights, I chortled with delight, but was gradnly dismayed when it took a nosedive based on the slightly revised quarterly earnings.
Ah, that fickle market, how it yanky my midas desires to and fro.
Ah, that fickle market, how it yanky my midas desires to and fro.
8.03.2005
Anti-Evolution
A never-ending supply of stories to further my conviction that a separatist, elitist existence is the only way to avoid the insanity.
What's wrong with this picture?
I'm sorry, but this is just wrong. Yet another vivid example of the dysfunctional standards we live by today and how they circumvent the natural order.
7.25.2005
Death of Creativity...
The psychotropics killed my "juice", or at least forced it cowering into a darkened cob-webby place. Last year, when I started this blog, there was depression, emotional trauma and re-evaluation, aborted bliss, and submission to vice. Those posts seem eons more creative than the blather I paste on here of late. The only time I feel the "juice" percolating is late at night in those furry moments twixt slumber and conscience, stirring restlessly around the edges of cognizance and probing tentatively at the caged volatility imprisoned by a serotonin task master.
In deference to the sanity of family, hearth and MBA, I will continue to obey the commands of my chemical jailers until such time as I can release the "juice" to wreak havoc with my liver, lungs and psyche producing sublime and quixotic verse. How I long for the rush of expressions fighting to be first to the nib... Mmmmm but the price is high.
In deference to the sanity of family, hearth and MBA, I will continue to obey the commands of my chemical jailers until such time as I can release the "juice" to wreak havoc with my liver, lungs and psyche producing sublime and quixotic verse. How I long for the rush of expressions fighting to be first to the nib... Mmmmm but the price is high.
7.22.2005
Memory Lane
Lately it seems that I have had the pleasure of taking a stroll down the byways of my memories. Navigating the sulci and gyri of my past populated with the aromas, colors and catch phrases of loves long gone, it used to be that this particular avenue was barricaded with large orange "detour" signs posted for no through traffic. Until recently, a mere peek down that lane elicited self-doubt, questions of worth and meaningless idiot loops of why's.
For some reason or other, recently the ban seems to have been lifted and I have tentatively swung onto this path for a few forays into the gardens of my loves lost. No pain, no doubt, no struggle accompanies me here, just the lovely remembrances.
God, I hope this doesn't signal maturity...
For some reason or other, recently the ban seems to have been lifted and I have tentatively swung onto this path for a few forays into the gardens of my loves lost. No pain, no doubt, no struggle accompanies me here, just the lovely remembrances.
God, I hope this doesn't signal maturity...
Disbelief
paralyzed - abject gawping, staring, and absolute disgust. There are no words for this:
shithead
and please realize this is not an isolated incident. And, furthermore, I am not limiting myself to complete revulsion only with regard to heinous bird atrocities, but squirm with real pain when ANY animal is subjected to the wanton and spurious actions of humans.
shithead
and please realize this is not an isolated incident. And, furthermore, I am not limiting myself to complete revulsion only with regard to heinous bird atrocities, but squirm with real pain when ANY animal is subjected to the wanton and spurious actions of humans.
7.14.2005
Liofe Hasppens...
or, "Life Happens". How do you maintain the desire?? The desire to write every little brain blip, every little postulate, every little nebulous observation...
What started as a venue for a recovering pessimist and depressive, a quiet non-judgmental place to rant, to expound, to forgive my self and others, now seems to be rather a small monkey(marmoset-like as I see it in my mind's eye) chattering in my wee ear about all the things I haven't written. And when I do get here, it all seems so mundane, these letters and words that spill from my digits.
My poetry is on hiatus and my dreams are on overdrive, but so tenuous that I can grasp only the faintest tendrils - France (Louis XIV), even now they slip seductively into my subconscious only to resurface during the interplay of shadow and REM. School sucks the intellectual fire from my conversation, and challenges my esteem in the face of barely 20's langorously sporting success like a well-worn Polo while I still struggle with my meaning, my purpose.
Fortunately it's not all grey... I have an other who I am finally beginning to appreciate and for whom I feel true fondness. Birds and dogs are my mainstay, preening my eyelashes, nostrils and eyebrows with ferocious determination and accuracy. Rallying to my side for daily walks and affirmation, riding my shirt like adrenalin junky mountaineers, and tempting me to expose my softest parts despite the risk of pain.
What started as a venue for a recovering pessimist and depressive, a quiet non-judgmental place to rant, to expound, to forgive my self and others, now seems to be rather a small monkey(marmoset-like as I see it in my mind's eye) chattering in my wee ear about all the things I haven't written. And when I do get here, it all seems so mundane, these letters and words that spill from my digits.
My poetry is on hiatus and my dreams are on overdrive, but so tenuous that I can grasp only the faintest tendrils - France (Louis XIV), even now they slip seductively into my subconscious only to resurface during the interplay of shadow and REM. School sucks the intellectual fire from my conversation, and challenges my esteem in the face of barely 20's langorously sporting success like a well-worn Polo while I still struggle with my meaning, my purpose.
Fortunately it's not all grey... I have an other who I am finally beginning to appreciate and for whom I feel true fondness. Birds and dogs are my mainstay, preening my eyelashes, nostrils and eyebrows with ferocious determination and accuracy. Rallying to my side for daily walks and affirmation, riding my shirt like adrenalin junky mountaineers, and tempting me to expose my softest parts despite the risk of pain.
6.15.2005
In the Bag
Another hellacious mid-term in the bag. This accounting stuff, financial analysis, is not rocket science, but when you throw an undergrad degree plan and a 15-week grad semester at me in the space of 6 measly weeks, I may have slight difficulty. The first mid-term was disastrous - low C on that one. Last night's foray into the realms of A/R, Inventory, PPE, Issue price of Bonds, MB values and other odd miscellany was enough to make me weep. I felt confident as I left the class, however, this morning I am feeling not-so-confident.
I'm a good test-taker. This is shaking my fragile little world.
I'm a good test-taker. This is shaking my fragile little world.
Pinky Things
Pics of the offending pinky, now not so threatening and seems to have lost the attention of family and friends. Medical problems are so boring if they are not your own.
5.26.2005
Indian Love
Bird Mart this May was chock full of Green Cheeks and Moluccans, but luckily I happed into a lovely bearded gentleman looking for a male ringneck. I was looking for a female. So, we saw a pair and split the difference.
Now Sterling, my randy ringneck, can refrain from flogging his flamingo and has a lovely wife, Jessie. And, soon I hope I will be hearing the pitter-pat of little birdie feet. (I promise I will update with new photos soon... No, really, I will! I'm not kidding. It's gonna happen... start holding your breath now)
Now Sterling, my randy ringneck, can refrain from flogging his flamingo and has a lovely wife, Jessie. And, soon I hope I will be hearing the pitter-pat of little birdie feet. (I promise I will update with new photos soon... No, really, I will! I'm not kidding. It's gonna happen... start holding your breath now)
Star Light, Star Bright...
For one measly day I would love to experience the high of manipulating the psyche, soma and selective reasoning of the public at large (as opposed to the large public). Recently I had the honor of visiting the "No. 1" vascular surgeon in DFW, who proceeded to spend all of 20 minutes with the now not-so-blue pinky, subject me to sonogram, doppler and finger cuffs, only to relay the diagnosis equivalent to "I dunno." On the basis of that, he recommended an echo-cardiogram - simple enough. Checked in with his upstairscardiology group and sent me to their office to powwow with their "No. 1" cardiologist. I signed in and confirmed that I would be seeing Dr. Carry. After 20 minutes I reconfirmed that I would be meeting personally with Dr. Carry, and the receptionist was firm that it would be just a minute. A mere 1 hour and 20 minutes later, I was called sweetly through the magic door and was greeted glibly by Dr. Carry. I bluntly asked if it was standard procedure to keep patiemts waiting for up to two hours. She hemmed and hawed, justified the wait by explaining that I was a "work-in" and as I escalated my inquiries and ejaculations (no pejoratives, mind you), she now-nowed, there-thered me to my utter dishevelment.
I stormed out uttering incoherencies and gesticulating wildly, all the time trying to prevent tears of anger and frustration from slipping out and giving away my emotional discomfiture. Upon reaching the safe haven of my car, I wept and hiccoughed, jerked and spasmed until I could get enough air to call Dr. Pearl. After repeated unsatisfying jockies with his office manager, he finally came on the line and queried me in a sweet "I'm-talking-to-an-hysterical-person" voice, and he was right. I had lost my senses - left without my staggering command of grammar and a devastating vocabulary, I could only whimper ineffectual commentary as to inefficiency and indiscretion. So, now, not only was I angry and frustrated but I was muted by my own inflated emotion.
Without any additional information being imparted as to my health and/or well-being, these "professionals" managed to squander a full day of my valuable time, several hours of my precious mental health, and all of my sanguine goodwill. Yes, yes... I know what you are saying... I let them frappe me into this state, but wouldn't anyone be incensed?? If you aren't, you should get that way. Doctors have challenged even the most stoic and forgiving with their inattention and unconcern for the time and trust of their patients.
OK, so they spent seven years in school preparing to wrangle the vicissitudes of the human body, they got divorced, ignored their children and wives, and bowed in obeisance to the medical powers that be, but does that negate the necessity of continuing to be human? I say, let's take our bodies into our own hands, use the vast sources of imformation available to us and begin to know ourselves so that we can begin the process of diagnosis and treatment withou the intervention of a medical automaton who pilfers our pockets for his ski trips to Vail.
Patient, Heal Thyself!
I stormed out uttering incoherencies and gesticulating wildly, all the time trying to prevent tears of anger and frustration from slipping out and giving away my emotional discomfiture. Upon reaching the safe haven of my car, I wept and hiccoughed, jerked and spasmed until I could get enough air to call Dr. Pearl. After repeated unsatisfying jockies with his office manager, he finally came on the line and queried me in a sweet "I'm-talking-to-an-hysterical-person" voice, and he was right. I had lost my senses - left without my staggering command of grammar and a devastating vocabulary, I could only whimper ineffectual commentary as to inefficiency and indiscretion. So, now, not only was I angry and frustrated but I was muted by my own inflated emotion.
Without any additional information being imparted as to my health and/or well-being, these "professionals" managed to squander a full day of my valuable time, several hours of my precious mental health, and all of my sanguine goodwill. Yes, yes... I know what you are saying... I let them frappe me into this state, but wouldn't anyone be incensed?? If you aren't, you should get that way. Doctors have challenged even the most stoic and forgiving with their inattention and unconcern for the time and trust of their patients.
OK, so they spent seven years in school preparing to wrangle the vicissitudes of the human body, they got divorced, ignored their children and wives, and bowed in obeisance to the medical powers that be, but does that negate the necessity of continuing to be human? I say, let's take our bodies into our own hands, use the vast sources of imformation available to us and begin to know ourselves so that we can begin the process of diagnosis and treatment withou the intervention of a medical automaton who pilfers our pockets for his ski trips to Vail.
Patient, Heal Thyself!
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