in which the pain of being misunderstood crushes me

I got angry today, fed up that I'm being constantly misunderstood.  People have a tiny range of experiences and can have zero belief that things they haven't experienced are possible.  What a failure of imagination and compassion.

I'm having problems with low energy and temperature regulation.  People seem to think I'm lying, exaggerating, being high-maintenance, being ridiculous, being lazy...  Or it's all because I'm fat, and of course, being fat is a problem I caused for myself, so I deserve no compassion or accomodation.

In fact, I was fat for many years and my health was good.  Two days ago I was at a warm restaurant, and a kind lady I love marveled that I could still be hot, seated next to the ac that was blowing right on me.  Why would I exaggerate?  It's like they think I'm being intentionally wimpy.  Why would I do that?  Even smart people.  If they haven't experienced it personally, it's all a charade.

I remember years ago, our swami, a smart, kind person, telling Ming that his sleep problems are all because Ming doesn't exercise enough.  He was invalidating Ming's 35+ years of living with a disabling medical condition by applying his own life experiences to a problem he doesn't have.

There's science!  Some scientists say narcolepsy is an auto-immune disorder.  It's an actual, studied thing.  When a person with narcolepsy sleeps, different things happen in their brain.  It can be measured!  Ming is considered by the government permanently disabled.  He's not making narcolepsy up.

But according to Swami, if Ming just exercised more, he'd be fine.  And Swami is a nice, reasonable person, normally.

I got really hot, which feels like anger to begin with.  Then I was upset to be misseen and uncared for by so many people--actual people in my life, and culture in general.

Getting that angry, it felt like a bunch of pissed off yellow jackets were buzzing around inside my body.  I needed to move around and get feelings out, but I had no energy and was too hot to dance.  I talked to Ming and was finally able to cry some tears that I'd been needing to cry for a day.

Compromising for others, and they don't even know if.  Pushing down needs no one can understand.  Disabilities that are invisible and totally dismissed.  I hear "be yourself," but myself is too confusing.

I need weird things!  Just because they're weird, doesn't mean that's not real.  A tv playing news at a high volume means I need to leave the room immediately.  It's like the sound is going into my soul and killing me.  I'm not exaggerating or being fussy.

It's a sensory issue, I guess, but who cares what I need.  Watching the news is normal, so that person's need wins.  I feel he was self-medicating with news for three hours.  Whatever he needs to do, but I needed not to hear it.

I have other sensory issues too.  I have my diagnoses, but nothing really encapsulates it.  I struggle so much, at times I would like to give up.  But I get up the next day and do it all over.

It's the middle of the night.  I'm sitting at the kitchen table of the people we're housesitting for.  These huge windows that look out on the San Francisco Bay, there are no curtains.  So maybe someone's looking at me?  People in glass houses shouldn't walk around naked.  Or throw stones.

Oh God, please help me create a world where all of us can be who we are.

resist

At the place where I go to therapy, in the waiting room there are some signs.  One says DREAM, I remember.  But most are lists.  One says Family Rules.  Then it says all these instructions--forgive, ask permission, hug--stuff like that.  There's a Friendship Rules also.  Keep secrets, it says.

I read these things and feel annoyed but curious.  Are these good ideas?  I contemplate the instructions.  Are they helping anyone?

I imagine the person who designed them.  How did they come up with the list.  I'm thinking it's something they brainstormed.  Or they googled other lists like this one and plagiarized.

This farmhouse we're staying at, my eyes keep returning to a big light blue sign with white writing.  Smile, share joy and kindness, play outside, dance in the rain...

I can tell I'm taking it too seriously.  I'm doubting the people of this household are dancing in the rain.  Their dog who tended the goats died on Monday.

The sky is starting to light.  We were thinking about going to a cave.  I had trouble getting good information from the janky websites.  I wish the prices were easy to find.

Yesterday we saw a tree Ming was trying to identify with an app.  His app said it was Moreton Bay Fig.  I said no, it was a madrone.  Like a strawberry tree.  So I was looking at tree pics on google images, but they were too small.

I remember when a lot of homeless people lived under the Moreton Bay Fig in Santa Barbara.  And them getting kicked out.  Ming said he saw it from the train station.

My friend is wrapped in a blanket, and Ming offered him coffee.  My friend said he was ensconced.   I said he seemed more cocooned than ensconced.

"Are you going to transform into something?  Maybe into an awake person," I said.  I think of ensconced as a torch stuck to the wall.

These inspirational instruction signs, I'd like to make a joke one.  Or one that's more pertinent to my life.

never in a hurry
care for Mother Earth
nourish people
respect those who have less than you
leave your campsite cleaner than when you arrived
don't wait for others to do it
be grateful
create the world you need
listen to kids
hug a tree
resist capitalism for fun

in California

We're in Pioneer, and it's beautiful here with oak trees and conifers.  Our friend's parents have a farm.  A worker just brought in eggs. 

It's hot and there are fans blowing.  I'm getting hotter and hotter.

The dogs are big and old.  Three dogs.  One fell when her back legs gave out.  The humans are sad about the dogs, that they'll die soon.

Some tomato seeds are in mason jars, rotting so the slimy stuff will break down, so the seeds can be saved for next year.

Trying to figure out how to cool down.  Maybe I'll lie down so I can take my clothes off.

Beautiful places, strange experiences of how did I get here.  We spent two days driving to Sacramento--then I was surprised to arrive.  Didn't make much sense. 

The house where we're staying in El Cerrito has amazing views of the San Francisco Bay, huge windows, a patio with many plants, coolness.  It's like a retreat.

I'd like to stay there to do nothing for a while.  So far, we've overscheduled, like usual.

in which God talks to me about death

I hear people assert stuff about the end of humanity.  Usually I think they're imagining it wrong.  I have a belief that there's going to be a superflu or other virus that kills off a large chunk of the population.

"Why do you think I believe that?" I asked Ming.  "Is it really likely?  Am I having a premonition?  What do you think?"

Ming thinks everything is projection.  He explained how he thinks of energy crisis causing the end of humanity.  But he's ten years older than I am.  When I was a kid, AIDS was a big thing.  I remember hearing about it when I was little.  A very scary illness.  So Ming thinks that affects my dreams and my fears about the end of the world.

It's true--threat of nuclear war and war in general, I don't remember the beginning.  But AIDS, I think I remember when it became a news item.

"So it's not that likely?" I asked.

"No, I didn't say that," Ming told me.

"It's not that it's necessarily likely or unlikely," I said.  "It's just in my imagination."

My dreams actually are not about superflu or other virus--they are more about dystopia and the government rounding people up and killing us.  Well, I guess that's happening now.  Sad face.

Last night I was lying in bed, praying and feeling God's love, not all the way awake.  I was feeling cared for and warm.  Then I felt like God wanted to tell me something.  She said three things. 

She loves me.
She's keeping me safe.
She wouldn't let me go to a bad place.

She didn't have a regular voice--it was more of an idea thing.  I've been thinking about death a ton lately.  I felt God was telling me that she's been taking care of me my whole life, and there's no way she's going to stop taking care of me after I die.

What do you think of that?  A dream, a fantasy?  I wasn't really asleep or awake.  It didn't seem like a dream--also didn't seem like a fantasy or thought.  It felt like a simple, quiet religious experience.  I wanted to tell Ming, but I think he was talking with our friend in the kitchen.  I just lay there a while then fell asleep.

Before that, last God experience I had was months ago, in that waiting room before I met my new GI doc, when I felt God was comforting me and had her hand on my chest.  Before that was seeing Jaguar in the hospital.  Before that was when I lived in Sacramento several years ago, seeing light at vespers twice.  When I thought something was wrong with my brain, or my eyes.

Is it wrong, for me to think God would speak to me?  Am I like my crazy neighbor now?  It didn't feel crazy at all--it felt perfectly fine.  Like a wonderful yet normal thing.

We're in Davis now.  We ate some delicious organic apricots.  Ming is sharing his deli inari with me.  Also, a wonderful cookie.

fantasy party, offensive bracelet, lion mask

When I was in the ER the other day, they told me my blood is pretty much ok now.  My hemoglobin is 11.2.  Yes, we've done a good job healing my blood.

Take down the paper on the back of the door listing iron-rich foods to eat.  Let's move on to other projects.  But thank you, spinach, beans, oatmeal, dried apricots, nuts, blackstrap molasses, tahini. 

I told Ming, we should have a party called No Longer Anemic.  We could eat only foods with no iron in them.  "Would that be cool?" I asked Ming.

I think he said it would be a weird party.  Would that be cool, to put up decorations of art depicting red blood cells? 

Someone could be dressed up as a doctor, wearing a white coat and round reflective thing strapped to their head.  Going around telling everyone what to do.  Hmm, that sounds like a performance art party.  And not fun at all.  Nevermind.

I don't know why, but I think my new computer chair is hurting my back.

Last night I dreamed about losing a tooth, but it wasn't a tooth--it was a crown.  I just remembered that feeling of the tooth in my mouth, moving around not in its place, the tongued feeling of the hole where tooth should be.  Creepy feeling.  It was the crown that's given me so much trouble.

I saw this ad the other day--I think it was on facebook.  It was for a silver bracelet that had words inside saying--If you get [too shaken by the world, maybe], just remember whose daughter you are and straighten your crown.

I was telling Ming how gross I found that.  Ugh!  How you should not have that attitude, and if you do, you should try to get rid of it, not inscribe it on a bracelet for your kid.

He said something about how you don't get your power from a parent, and people wanting to be royalty and how that doesn't work out well for them.  Princess, king.

Well, you might be remember I fantasized about my rapper name being Dairy Queen.  That was more about the dairy.

We bought two masks at the dollar store.  The lion mask is made of felt--the elastic is too tight, and it hurt my eyes.  I took it off and rubbed my eyes, thinking how being a lion is not worth that feeling. 

"Maybe it's for a kid," I told Ming.  But it fit him fine.  He said we could take off the elastic and replace it with ribbon.

My love is ever the problem-solver.  Wish us luck on our journey.

ps
At this motel6, the wifi is terrible.  I was trying to load weatherunderground for five minutes.  "Can you tell me the weather in Sacramento on Saturday?" I asked Ming.  "I'm looking for a high.  Not from drugs.  From weatherunderground."

we love you, spider

I asked Ming to photograph me, so I can show my friend my new Totoro shirt.  We were happy to see I got photobombed by Holy Mother.  We were laughing.  "I didn't know she was like that!" I told Ming.

Cleaning my desk, I find stashes of this or that.  Some old postcards people sent me.  A lot of stationery I haven't used yet.  Little piles of scrap paper, angular, left from a project.  Some zines read, unread, or half-read.  Some zines by me.  Beads, business cards, stickers, bits of thread, button badges, homemade Spanish flashcards, fox washi tape, a penny...

I see my good intentions--a postcard I never replied to from an activist prisoner friend, next to the blank postcard I was going to use to write back to him.

I bought some lime essential oil that was inexpensive--got it home and saw the little bottle had been opened, inside the box.  I complained to the company, so they sent me a fresh bottle. 

So now I have two bottles of lime essential oil--smells delicious.  But I only needed around seven drops of it!  I guess I could use more in the future.  But let me know if you want some. 

I offered it to my friend who's doing an afterschool program to empower teenagers, but she told me today, they have enough already.  I offered her magazines for collage also, but she says they're good on magazines now as well.

Ming told me it would be cool if we were human-plant hybrids and could photosynthesize.  I've actually been thinking about that for a long time.  I said, "Maybe one day.  You never know.  We could get bit by the right spider."

He said, "We would need to get bit by a plant."

I said, "Yeah, a spider plant!" 

My mom grew those, when I was a kid.  I remember them making little clone-babies.  Maybe that helped me love plants.  Life is amazing.

envelope trade, teacher strike, what the Catholic Worker is

I have a lot of smallish envelopes--I get them in the mail--a charity wants money, so the envelope they hope will return to them with a check.  I cross off the address and use the envelopes for other purposes, but I have too many. 

People give me envelopes also, of different sizes, often greeting card size.  My best friend's parents collect them for me.

Also, I have a greeting card and its envelope, but I'm sending the card with some zines, so I don't need the envelope because the whole packet is going in a larger envelope, so I keep that superfluous one, and they accumulate.

The ones I do need more of soon are half-size envelopes, around 6x9, or 6 1/4 x 9 1/4 or whatever.  The size that's good for half-size zines.  Please let me know if you need some small envelopes I can give you, or if you have some bigger ones to share.

Getting some things organized, making lists, checking them more than twice.  We have this place in our fridge for candy.  I was looking for chocolate.  There are some different kinds of M&Ms, a Snickers bar for Ming (I like peanut butter but not peanuts), a ziplock full of jolly ranchers someone donated during the Sacred Peace Walk, I think.

There are two big chocolate bars from a fundraiser for a blind thing--we have a friend who's blind, and Ming bought two chocolate bars from their fundraiser.  I was looking forward to eating some, but today when I looked, I saw one has spicy peanuts and one has hazelnuts.  No.

There's this guy who volunteers at the soup line, and he has a loud voice.  He's a high school teacher.  I heard him talking crap about Black girls, one morning.  I was like, you gotta be kidding me.  He's a tall, older white guy.  I couldn't believe what I heard him say.

Ming told me that this morning, the teacher was saying how he won't strike.  There's a strike happening now or soon with the Las Vegas teachers.  When I was in the ER, a patient a few curtain rooms down was watching the news on his tv.  They were playing an entire speech some teacher union person was giving--it went one for a long time, and I was surprised the news was playing the whole thing.  I guess it's important to the local area.

Anyway, this dude was saying loudly how he won't strike because it's illegal, and he had another reason too, can't recall.  I thought striking was protected by law.  But anyway, who cares if it's illegal.  I was like, do you know where you are?  Have you ever heard of Gandhi?  Do you know what the Catholic Worker is?  Maybe you should read the wikipedia article.

Once my mom was asking me--what is the Catholic Worker.  I was like, you know, the place where we serve the hungry and the people I live in community with.  She was like, no, what is the Catholic Worker.  I think she was asking a deep philosophical question. 

I was like, whoa nelly.  Good question.  It's a thing that exists in a historical way and has a wikipedia article.  But the Las Vegas Catholic Worker is a manifestation, made of individuals, including me and Ming, who are varied and diverse, in different ways.  So we are creating it every day, changing it, flavoring it with our own belief and activities and all that.  It's in flux.  There are parameters, but it is what we make it.

Is that what you meant, Mama?  Maybe I didn't understand the question.  We were talking over txt, and I never adequately answered.

Ming went to a party.  He said there were only four people.  I woke up at 9:45pm confused.  I think my dream confused me.  Then Ming came home from the party, and I was happy he was home.

filenames, journal solution, rarity of Ming, damn good popcorn, what is a monster

I think it's funny, how people name files.  Newsletterfinal or newsletterfinalfinal or newsletteractualfinal.  Old school people who were saving files before there could be spaces, still not using spaces.  Yep, that's me.

I asked Ming to help with with a creative solution to a difficulty I have of too many journals for different purposes.  Regular journal with daily self-chitchat, ideas lists, day plans, and notes from Las Vegas Catholic Worker weekly meetings.  Dream journal I've had going for years.  Gardening journal which I'm now also using for the permaculture course I'm doing.  There's a journal where I write prayers.  Then a guided journal that asks me questions that I was given as a gift.  A journal for a relationship skills workbook I'm reading.  I was about to start another journal for this online creative class just joined--then I was like, holy shit, I have seven journals going.  This is going to be heavy.

Honestly, there are other journals I'm not even mentioning.  I started a restaurant journal that I stopped using.  I have a religious one.  I have a health log, but I do that one in a googledoc.

We figured out I could combine my regular journal with my creativity journal because my whole life is creative.  I don't think it needs to be separate.   What do you think?

We spent six hours in the Emergency Room today.  They don't know what's wrong with me, which is good and bad.  The ruled out all the obvious suspects.  Congratulations, you have a special problem.  Afterward, I told Ming, At least they didn't say it was just anxiety.  I'm glad my heart is ok--glad to be able to trust it.

The last doctor we saw, Ming recognized from last time.  The weird thing is, the doctor recognized us too!  He must have seen thousands of patients since February!  Weird, isn't it.  He mentioned the rarity of long-haired Asians.

This popcorn is so damn good.  I dish myself a plate of it, close up the bag, eat the whole plate of popcorn, think I want more, open the bag again, pour another plateful, eat all that joyfully.  Think I want more and then say, Laura-Marie, please be reasonable.  Resist the third serving.

"I'm going to get the water bottle.  If I don't come back..."  Something about foxes or wolves.

"The driveway jackals," I said.

"I thought there was something else."

"Dingos?"

"Something that starts with a c."

"Coyotes?"

"Something your mom said, to protect you..."

"Cucuy!  She and her sister were protecting each other.  That's not an animal.  That's just a monster."

I'm thinking now, what is a monster.  I think it's a person who went awry.

variation on special salad, permaculture, old radio

We had no parsley, but we had some broccoli, so I made the special salad with broccoli, and it's so good!

"I'm feeling conceited, right now," I told Ming.  "I feel like a salad genius.  Luckily, I get to have my salad and eat it too."

Slow to wake up this morning.  We're serving the hungry, meeting, lunch with a friend, social time with another.  Good to see people before we leave town.  Some errands.

I joined an online year-long permaculture course and also another support thing for artists for a year.  Exciting.  These are in line with what I want to do.  What I'm moving toward.

But they involve watching videos.  I'm not good at that, but I'm trying.  We'll see.  I like to bind zines while listening to the video, so I get less of the passive feeling.

I joined a website where you trade stuff.  I'm trying to trade an old radio for two crystals.  We're negotiating.  I thought the radio was from the 1960s, but when I looked it up, I saw it's from 1978.  It looks old.

special salad, kit contents, fruit view, new zine, new chair, bagel mania

Finally I'm showing you the picture of the lovely salad I was talking about.  Mmm, gotta make more of this salad!

Ming photographed the emotional first aid kit at Happy Earth Market for me so I could see if anything was missing that I could replenish.

My good friend asked me for pics of Las Vegas, so I sent a few including this fruit view.

I have a new zine.  I like it.  I found on the floor another calla lily drawing I made for it.  Oops.  It fell.  I can pop it into the original and maybe one day if I make another run, the calla lily will be included.

Ming's up with a nightmare.  I ate a bagel.  Yesterday had hard parts, but I'm grateful to be alive and trying new things.

"How's your new chair?" Ming asked.

"The armrests are lower, than on the old one.  Otherwise, seems good.  Somewhat supportive.  The seat is plenty wide.  You put it at a good height."

"What about the buttons on the side?"

"Those are for the rocket.  For if I want to go to the moon.  I haven't tried that yet.  Gonna hold off on that, for now."

"What about the levers?"

"Those are for if I want to change into a different animal.  Like a mouse."

"Oh!"  Laughter.

"I'm making stuff up, honey.  You wanna try it?"

"No.  I just wanna know what it does."

"You know the difference between you and me?  You're an explorer."

"Like Dora?"

"Yeah!  You're an explorer of outer worlds, and I'm an explorer of inner worlds."

"Oh, like..."

"Like a drug person who doesn't use drugs?"

"There's no mascot for that one."

"Dora the Inner Explora?"

Something about lunar travels, whether I'm a lunatic.  He's making a bagel for himself now.

I forgot to tell my friend that my view from the courtyard, in the distance, in the middle, you can see the Stratosphere.  Maybe you'd need to zoom.  I'm in a neighborhood in the city, but I can see this symbol of decadent Vegasness every day, without leaving home.

Ming jumped from the Stratosphere twice.  So we have a connection to it that's extra.  Also, LuvIt Custard is right by the Stratosphere, and a pizza place we like.

my fantasy, healing soup, hospital jokes for survival

I was telling Ming--Protonix is such a good drug name.  I love it.  I love words with x in them.  Tonix is good.  Pro is good.  Protonix is the only drug name I ever loved.

"If I was a rapper, I'd take the name Protonix," I told Ming.  It's the drug they gave me in the hospital for my ulcer--they gave it to me through my IV, and then when I left the hospital, I was taking it in pill form.

"I'm going to become a rapper, go by Protonix, and write songs about GERD, stomach ulcers, and esophageal cancer."  I was laughing so much---he gave me a look.  Please imagine me in a  puffy silver glittering coat as shiny as a disco ball, wearing dark sunglasses, wearing rings with huge exaggerated diamonds on them, a strange hat at an angle, and making rapper gesticulations, as I rap about stomach-related illness, an old-fashioned microphone in my hand.

Oh, Laura-Marie.  "Are you amusing yourself, over there?" Ming asks as I'm laughing at my own blog post.

In the hospital, the IV machine had a little digital display and would say the name of the drug it was giving me.  Protonix has another name as generic, and the digital display was small, so the drug info would scroll.  The name is Pantoprazole, and when Mom saw it, she thought at first it was Pozole, like the soup with hominy in it.

Somehow in the hospital, that was funny.  Imagining being given healing Mexican soup through my IV.  In the hospital, you take laughs where you can get them.  I guess that's the case outside the hospital too.

life-force

I like this olive cream cheese, lately.  I like to toast a bagel and put the olive cream cheese on it, then some slices of tomato.

The tomato tonight, some seeds inside it had sprouted.  I think that's good luck.  I feel there's extra life-force in the tomato, and it will help me.

I was facebook messaging my good friend, but I didn't know if it was waking her up, so I stopped.  I will ask her in the day time, if she hears a sound from her phone.

My ankles stopped swelling, but sometimes I still get that lightheaded weakness.  It scares me.  Medicine is a glorified guessing game, which I've known for a long time, but I see how knowing can get deeper and deeper.

I would like a doctor who sees me as a complete being.  How is the most important thing about health the thing they miss?

I told Ming that putting my feet up is like smoking cigarettes.  It's a little treat, a way to take a break, relaxing and meditative.  "It's time for me to put my feet up," I'll say, out loud or in my mind, and I'll go to the bedroom, stack the three pillows, enjoy the 15 minutes.  It's a way to regulate my time, comfort myself, a way to regroup.  But it's free and won't kill me.  Even though my ankles aren't swelling, I'm still putting my feet up.

I'll mention to a friend how I smoked cigarettes when I was a young person, and they'll tell me they can't imagine it.   I think I seem responsible.

A long time ago, I used to cook a vegan sausage and cut it in half, toast a bagel and put vegan mayo on it, and I think I sprinkled some raw spinach in there also, and put the sausage in there, and it was a wonderful delicious treatfood.

My ex and I called it a beanerism.  I'm laughing now because that sounds so funny.  I can't think why we called it a beanerism when there were no beans in it, really.  Well, I guess the meat was soy, which comes from a bean.  He and I had funny names for things.  Wordplay.  Two poets.

Ming is not a poet exactly, but we have some wordplay at times.  Why was I laughing like crazy, earlier?  He was half-asleep and telling me some weird things.  Standing in the bedroom in his chonies, eyes closed, slightly swaying.  He kept surprising me with the things he said, but I can't remember now.

"Don't fall," I said.

"Why not?" he asked.  "Because I'll die?"

"No, because a cockroach might walk on you," I said.  "No, I don't want you to break your hip.  I can't lift you.  We'd be screwed."

"You're right," he said.

"Did they do a bone density test on you?" I asked.

"They won't," he said.  "I don't fit the profile."

"You're not a lady?  But you're Asian-American.  And they say Asians are lactose intolerant more.  So then maybe you didn't drink milk, so you didn't get calcium, so you should get a bone density test."

I was imagining all that cereal he eats--raisin bran, ridiculous lucky charm-type cereal with bright marshmallows.  The box says, "Now with three new unicorn marshmallows!" or something.  I'm like, you gotta be kidding me.  The vegetarian marshmallow eater.  Kid cereal.  All those leprechaun feelings.  The smiling leprechaun on cardboard, blessing breakfast.

He has a little milk but gives most of it to me.  It's a relationship ritual.  I drink it from the blue plastic bowl, grateful.  He watches me drink it, then takes the bowl and puts it in the sink.  It's some love thing I don't understand.  The slightly sweetened cereal milk.

Sometimes he saves it for me because I'm asleep.  When I see a bowl in the sink with milk in it, I know it took me too long to wake up.  An opportunity lost.

Oops, now I'm getting delirious.  I've over-blogged, but I learned something.  I didn't really realize how the cereal milk was a sacred relationship thing.  You learn something new every day.

bag project

Hey, guess what.  We finally gave away one of those bags.  An elder sitting in her walker was begging with a cardboard sign, at a place where the parking lot meets the street.  Ming pulled over and got the bag and handed it to her.  She said thank you.

I was imagining the card would go unread because the person needed glasses and didn't have any, but as we pulled away, she was reading the card.  That's what she went to first.

I was so glad it worked out, I almost cried.  So now I'll make another one.

Ready supplies for making more bags.

Contents of the next bag.

So I guess I'm now accepting donations for the project.  My birthday is in late September, if you would like an occasion. 

individually wrapped wet wipes
dollar bills
individual apple sauces
wrapped toothbrushes
canned fruit with a pop top
non-condensed soup with a pop top
case of water bottles

three fails

Last night a wheel popped off my computer chair.  The chair part is still fine, but I need a new chair because of the missing wheel.

My google limit is reached.  I deleted photos and emails and got it down to 96% but it's just a matter of time.  Thinking of getting a new email and letting my current one go.  Or..not sure if I should just pay google for more storage or what--still deciding.

I made a yuckie food.  Basically--too much cumin.  The cumin was very fresh and strong.  Oh well.  Win some, lose some.

shake it shake shake it shake it shake shake it shake it shake it like a printer cartridge / toner

"Why can't it put black stuff on the page?  What's so hard about that?  That's its whole job!  Other printers can do that just fine!"

"Shh, you'll give it a complex," Ming said.

"It's in the other room," I said.  "It can't hear me."

"It has wi-fi," Ming said.

"I'm not digital," I said.  "I'm analog.  Can you shake it?  Can you shake it like toner?"

We got distracted talking about "shake it like a polaroid picture" which Ming doesn't know. 

"Don't you remember when S was moving up to Portland, and she had that party at the karaoke bar, and she and her friend were singing that song?"

"You remember the song they were singing?"

They were so energetic and happy.  I consider this song of modern times, but I looked at youtube and see it's from 2004--fifteen years ago.  Dang.



Our friend gave us a recipe for a mediterranean chickpea salad.  I told you about it--I made it pretty much according to the recipe. 

Well, now I have it down to five ingredients, plus dressing.  It's much, much better for me, this way.  I was planning to add olives and sun-dried tomatoes, got too tired to chop those, and learned they are completely unnecessary.

cup cooked quinoa
can drained garbanzo beans
fresh parsley
sliced cucumbers
avocado chunks

The original recipe called for feta, bell pepper, red onion, and making your own vinaigrette--doesn't need feta, and I'm just using some vegan tahini lemon dressing I had in the fridge, left over from the Sacred Peace Walk. 

So it's simple, vegan, cheap, easy, has protein, and is so delicious, eating it is a joy.  And it's cold--great for summer.  And you can make a bunch of it and eat it for days.  Just add the dressing to your individual dished serving.

I'm liking parsley as a green, but I think using raw spinach instead of parsley could be good also.  Or lettuce.  Historically, I haven't been that into salads.  But this is a winner.  Thank you to the recipe-sharing friend.

cat life, cairns, Never Knew You From the Sun

Wally / Wiley likes to drink from the hose as it drips for a minute after Ming waters the door garden.

There's a pot that doesn't drain well, and Wally / Wiley likes to drink from that also.

Catastrophe likes to drink from the wet sidewalk.

This morning we went to Red Rock.  I needed that.  Ming went for a walk while I stood on some sandstone with my shoes off and touched sandstone with my hands also.  I was thanking Mother Earth for her love.  It was incredibly nourishing.

I also sat on a bench in the sun, my skirt pulled up to reveal my legs, feeling the sun's warmth and enjoying it for what it was, hoping I was helping the sun nourish me by giving me vitamin d.   I looked at my legs and loved them.  It was 93.  So I did that a while then moved to the shade.

There I saw a scene of carnage.  Or cairn-age.

When Ming was done walking and came over to me, I told him, "Someone over-cairned.  A bit repetitive."

I had been singing a song I like.  I sang it for myself three times, each time better--the acoustics were good right there.  A huge rock wall was nearby.

Then I sang it for Ming.  He liked it.

me

I thought my storage space with google was sort of endless, but I guess I'm out.  I'm deleting thousands of emails, but I think photos are probably the problem.  My settings can be confusing--I had an iphone, but now I have an android that uses google photos, which I hate.

"What computer person decided photos should save in multiple places?" I've asked Ming, while going nuts, trying to find a file I just saved.

There was a bad smell like burning.  I woke up thinking it was morning when it was not even close.  Ming dressed and investigated.  He decided it might be the north swamp cooler.  We decided to turn it off.  "But then somebody has to get up on the roof and fix it," I told Ming.  But there's the south swamp cooler also.

I had a very good mood that crossed over into extreme irritability.  All sounds hurt me, and I was angry about everything.  Trying to figure out if that happens to other people, or is it a bipolar thing.  I went to bed.

Sensory stuff is a pain.  Sometimes I'd like less sense-input and a vacation from emotions.  But I gotta be me.

My ankles are swelled, but I feel good otherwise.  I've danced at least three days in a row--thank god for the B-52s.

But I blew my duolingo streak.  I had done Spanish nine days in a row.  It helped that I kept that tab open on my browser.  But my computer has been doing an annoying thing where it pauses, like I maxed out the memory, so I'm trying to close intensive tabs, and I don't know if duolingo is intensive.

Well, if you send me an email and it bounces, I'm working on it.  You could give me a call.

the loss of a friend

There was a death in our community.  The lady who was here a week and a half ago, asking for a place to stay.  Her life was spiraling, and I'm sorry. 

It's disturbing she was here so recently, hugging me, holding my hand, saying she loved me.  You know I usually like all that.  But there's a reason she'd lost her job, her boyfriend dumped her, and her roommate was kicking her out.  Her behavior was very difficult to be around.  Everyone was pulling away.

"Tell me all your health problems," she said to me.

"No," I said.

"Tell me all your health problems!" she said.  "I'm a healer--I heal people all the time.  I'm very holistic."  The last thing I wanted was this lady messing with my health--my actual body, my astral body, anything--I wanted none of that.

"If you don't tell me, I'll get him to tell me," she said, gesturing to Ming.  It felt chilling that she was trying to force me to open up to her.  Intimacy is a sweet thing, freely given, but her pushing and threatening me was freaking me out.

Then she violated Ming's boundaries also, in a few different ways.  Ming gave into demands rather than fight her persistence.

Before, I would have let her stay here, gritted my teeth and put up with her bad behavior for three nights.  But I have no wiggle room, lately.  My resources are so low, one moment of fuckery is too much.  I'm done sacrificing myself for anyone, let alone a difficult, judgmental person I barely knew.

Also, three nights wasn't going to save her.  So much erratic and chaos, pain and disconnect, weird weird ideas, pushiness.  Trying and failing.

I want to be there for people, but I'm done letting anyone hurt me.  We can't do more than we can do.  I used to try, but I have no reserves now--what little I have, I need.  Trying to give away the small amount of life-force I have is a bad idea.  I need to heal.

But it's very strange, this huge personality who was in our house so recently is now a corpse, the hands I held now ashes, her spirit hopefully flying around elsewhere.  All her struggles with health, money, relationships are over now.  The boxes of her stuff are irrelevant.  Her needs are vanished.  She tried and tried, but that's over.

She loved the pasta salad I made.  I listened to her, fed her, sympathized, tried to help her problem-solve.  Ming picked her up from the transit station.  She would txt me and call me in the middle of the night.  She wouldn't reply when I tried to reach her in the day, but she would try to reach me in the middle of the night, and I wasn't doing that. 

A lot of her txts didn't make sense.  It was uncomfortable the way they almost made sense.  It was like talking to someone who's half-asleep when at first you don't know they're half-asleep.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" she asked me, months ago.  She seemed drunk.

"No," I told her.  "I don't know you all that well, but you seem like a good person to me."

I'm 42 years old and still completely freaked out by death, confused by its finality.  How can someone be so alive, then so dead.  Where did the life go, and what was the point of all of that.  It takes a while to comprehend the away-ness.  Her txts are in my phone, my memories are fresh.

On facebook, people are calling her an angel.  How giving she was, dedicated.

The people who want to heal others but can't heal themselves.  If I had liked drugs, that could have been me.  We had a lot in common, but I've been fortunate in many ways.

Life is weird, but death is weirder.

August and everything after

My friend had a birthday--we went to pupusas.  It was fun to celebrate.

Here's a pic Ming took of our first okra and a small mantis you can see at the base of the okra.  It looks kinda blue, doesn't it.

Here's a larger mantis on the tree collard.

Here's the Las Vegas Radical Mental Health Collective journaling workshop held Saturday, a success.  A few other people showed up after this picture was taken.

Here's me and Ming before the workshop started with the lady who facilitated it.

Ming helped me remove a bunch of metal clasps from envelopes.  I often think about "the right tool for the right job."

This morning my friend R stopped by.  He wanted to reconnect after some time away.  I was hesitant, feeling annoyed that he's been home a few days but not available.  Community takes a lot of energy.  We hugged and I told him some things that have been on my mind.

Last month, I was confused about friendship.  I felt I had too many friends and was spread too thin.  How much do you need in common, what's a dealbreaker, when to say goodbye.  How to have fewer friends when every person is a miracle.  How to prioritize.  Also, chosen family, and how something airy like friendship was hurting me with its airiness, like I needed it to be more trustworthy, when by its nature, it's a changeable thing, in motion.

This month, I feel confused about vulnerability and openness.  What do I share with who, how safe am I.  How strong am I, to be judged for my past, beliefs, needs, behaviors.  What I can lose and gain by being very open.  Feeling good about myself enough not to care what people think.  But if I'm too weird, can I lose certain good things in my life because I get misunderstood or am considered too different.

I'm part of the family of life.  All the things a person can do, they're not too weird, are they?  A long time ago, a friend told me about reincarnation--we all do everything.  We come back so many times, we have all the experiences.  We're all the murdered and the murderer, the abused and the abuser, the vibrant artist and the boring dullard, the iconoclast and the icon writer.  Farmer, teacher, artist, retarded person, butcher, mother, shaman, astronomer, thief, seamstress, sex worker, soldier, peace activist.  I don't know what I believe about the afterlife, but I find that idea appealing and sort of relaxing.

I used to be so guarded, I was kind of paranoid, private to the point of fear.  Now I'm not so scared.  But I heard a quote, "It's good to have an open mind, but not so open that it falls out."  Ming always tells me, you can't unsay a thing.  He likes to err on the side of caution, at times.  I have a deep desire to be known and loved for who I am.  Ming is more judicious and stable in himself.

I believe if you're honest and open, it helps other people feel safe to do the same.  So it's like a ministry or political thing, for me.

I'm trying to find a doctor who will listen to me.  I did some research, found some dead ends, asked a few friends, and have more research to do.  Wish me luck.

cartoon caveman Ming and the fishbone comb

We were kitchen dancing to the B-52s.  "You look like a caveman!" I told Ming.  "Your forehead is oily, and you need to comb your hair..." 

He rubbed his forehead with his wrist.  "Is it gone?" he asked.

"Yeah, much better," I said.

"Glad my forehead is gone!" he said.

"Yeah, now you have a three-head" I said.  We laughed.

"How will I comb my hair?" he asked.  We have a woeful lack of combs in our life.

"With your fingers!" I said.

"I can use a fish bone," he said.  We laughed more.

There was a comb from some Viking excavation, and the scientists were curious about the word that was carved on it--found out the word was "comb."  For some reason, I think about that all the time.

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2018/01/viking-age-ribe-comb-runes-alphabet-spd/

banana phones, garden mantises, survival

"Why do I spend so much time talking to bananas?" I asked.  I have the bad habit of praying to my food.

"Because they look like phones?" Ming suggested.

How many times have I answered a ringing banana.  "Hello?  Oh, it's for you," and handed off a banana to a smiler.  Not enough times, really.

Bananas are easy to talk to.  Comical, yellow.

Yesterday I tried to watch a friend's movie.  I got four minutes in and hit pause, overwhelmed.

Who is this world designed for?  I guess I mean culture.  Some people seem to get by ok.  But depression and anxiety are pandemic.

Sometimes I feel this world was designed for someone who doesn't exist.  Everyone's a square peg.

Yesterday I almost went to the ER--today I feel pretty ok.  Life is confusing, and medicine feels like a guessing game.  I'm tired of swimming upstream, but I guess that's life.

Someone used to say life was directing a stream of negative entropy upon yourself.  Who used to say that to me?  Probably John Dobson.

One of the cool things about Ming is how he can watch a two hour superhero movie full of explosions one day, and look at praying mantises in silence for 15 minutes outside our front door the next.  I am a specialized person.  Ming is more varied, and I love him.

I was the one watching him watch mantises for 15 minutes.  I need to dance, eat breakfast, take a shower, and hope I can survive this day.

never again--stop nuclear weapons now

Ming woke me up at 5:45am to say goodbye to me.  He was leaving to prayer vigil at the test site for Nagasaki Day.

"Don't get arrested," I told him, still half-asleep.  Then I changed my mind.  "Do what you need to do," I said.

They were both fasting.  Like last year, our friend had a sign that said Peace Faster.  I thought Ming should have a sign that said Peace Slower, but that would be confusing.

"There are a lot of grasshoppers out here," Ming told me afterward.  He called from the DARM site to ask me if I wanted to go to breakfast with them to break their fast.

We held hands and prayed over our pupusas.  We brought our friend to the bus stop so he could go home.

The day before, I was on the phone with his spouse.  She was telling me I had more than my blood family--I had chosen family also, with the Catholic Worker.  I agreed with her but wondered, Have I done a good enough job, being vulnerable with these people, that they really know me for who I am?

I hope they can see me for who I am, even if I haven't been 100% forthcoming.  They've known me at a funny time in my life, transitioning from scared of people to not scared.

I love soup

Ming had been peace fasting.  We went to lunch at a Thai place we like, youthful Thai.  I asked if the soup had a meat base or was vegetarian when ordered with tofu.  The worker said he thought it was vegetarian, but he would check.  Yes, vegetarian.

Tom Yum is the tomato based one, and Tom Kha is the coconut milk one.  He said the Tom Kha was milder.  So I got that one.

Wow, lemongrass, ginger, and garlic is the best combination in the world.  I ate it up.  The mushrooms were great also.  I shared with Ming.  We ordered some rice to share so I could have rice with it.

I think I am changing into a soup lady.  Thought you should know.

Also, there are clouds.

I love these weird wispy glowing clouds with diffused cloudness around them.  Two kinds of clouds together always delights me.

Oh wait, this one's got no clouds, just tree and sky.  But I loved the way the leaves were glowing.

You know me--I'm a sucker for pink clouds.  Birds were flying around also, bird bonus.

swan swan

Tap, tap.  "Is this real gold?" asked the print shop owner.  He was making prints of Ming's Jesus of Sinai icon.

"Ouch!  I guess he's not the religious one!" I told Ming afterward.  In the prints, there's a little gold glitter in Jesus' hair.

Ming was showing me how it came out too dark.  They look great, but I see what he means--they're not the true colors.

Ming's the kind of person who can't tell the difference between fonts, so I thought he was insensitive, but I see he can be very attentive to detail.

We borrowed the icon back from the Worker while our friends are away, on vacation for their 25 year wedding anniversary.  "Don't think about us even once!" I told J right before they left.

"That's not possible," she said.  "You're always in my heart."  There was a huge cucumber somebody donated.  We were playing with it--the swan cucumber, we called it.

"I think everyone we love becomes a part of us," J said.

"I hear that and raise you--we are all one, so everyone is part of us, whether we love them or not," I said.

G proposed to her on a train, so they took a train trip to Glacier National park for their anniversary.  We're caring for some germinating seeds while they're gone, but they didn't give us money like they give money to the person who cares for the chickens.  I guess chickens are aliver.

treat

Today we got special popcorn from Popcorn Girl.

courtyard photoshoots

I hope many people read this zine.

Ming is wearing his new Go Solar shirt.  I'm glad a bee didn't buzz by and try to get pollen from the printed sunflower, or my flower lollipop.

twenty questions: Seattle version

Hey, honey.  You know in Seattle, there's a sound?

Yeah?

Why do they call it a sound?

It's really deep.

Is a sound just like a bay?

Yeah, but deep.

Is the bay around the bay area shallow?

They dredge it.  They dredge it by the bridges.

They do that so the boats don't get stuck?

Yeah.

Otherwise, the bay would fill up?

It gets a lot of silt from the San Joaquin River and Sacramento River.

Oh.  Is that bad?

Well, silt can create more land.

And that means there can be more room for people?

No--you can't really live on silt.  It shifts around too much in earthquakes.

You use it to grow stuff'?  You use it to grow marsh-mellows?

No!

How about marshMALlows?

[laughter]

Are there marshmallows in marsh-mellows?

I dunno.

Okay, so the clams.  When we were at that rainforest place where the clams are shooting the water out, where was that?  Was that right by Seattle?

It wasn't that far.

Are those clams all over the place?

Yeah.

Is there pollution?

Probably.

Do the clams taste good?  Did you eat them?

Yeah, I ate them.  But then I stopped because I didn't know how old they were.

You were afraid to eat an old clam named Ming?

Yeah!

Are you not wanting to eat old clams because they've had a lot of years to accumulate toxins, or out of respect for your elders?

[laughter] Both!

I had clam chowder before, and the clams just tasted like chewy nothing.  I think it was the ingredients around the clams that made them taste good.

***

Can't even remember why I was asking about this.  The special clams, Seattle.  I'd like to go up there again.

zine fest report: Co-Zi 2019

Yesterday was going to be the day--the day I used broken-up lasagne noodles to make pasta salad.  But then I chickened out, realizing that I had some macaroni after all.

I was thinking--I can't have much red sauce.  It's not good for my stomach, the acid maybe?  But then I was thinking--I can make lasagne with a different sauce.  I don't want an alfredo kind of sauce.  But maybe I could make a vegan cheesy sauce, with cashews, maybe.  There are options.

But who wants to use the oven when it's 122 degrees outside.  Some people do their oven cooking early in the morning.

Ming enjoyed the zine fest yesterday.  More people came than I thought there would be.  My zine Resisting Capitalism for Fun was given to Bernie Sanders' person, kinda weird.  Ming is more interested in celebrity than I am.  (Bernie Sanders was at the Center yesterday afternoon too.)

Still need to unpack stuff, see how much the radical mental health collective got in donations, write an email to everyone who signed up on the more info signup sheet.

Radical tablers saved the day with their smart friendliness.

At home, I enjoyed life's glow.

a special treehouse for fat people

I have a new zine we copied yesterday.  Ming needs to poke holes in it and I need to bind some.  The zine fest is today.

Someone was going to stay at our house a few nights, but I have very low resources right now, and I couldn't handle some difficulties.  I go around seeming ok much of the time, but I have very little resilience.  The smallest thing is a huge obstacle. 

Sleep deprivation plus anemia can be ugly.  Sleep deprivation can wear you down.  I have nothing to give, right now.  There's no margin for error.  It's like breaking down on a road with no emergency lane.  It's like breaking down on a bridge.

People are like, Sleep deprivation!  Yeah, I know about that.  I didn't sleep well one time!  But it's been four months.  I think my body is starting to revolt. 

I was thinking, Well, maybe it's not so bad.  I enjoy writing in the night--how quiet it is.  A lot of people say they're writers and then write once a week or twice a month or never.  I'm writing for hours every night and day.  If that's my reason for living, this lifetime, I better do it.

The new zine is about fat liberation, doctors and the little diagrams they draw, what "healthy food" might be, speaking up, fat yoga, loving myself, and sitting in a sturdy camping chair for the first time.  I love that camping chair.

night life

I go to bed and wake up thinking it's morning--all those dreams, the hard work of sleep.  So glad I survived it, so glad it's a new day. 

Then I look at my phone and see what time it is, realizing that only two hours have passed.

You gotta be kidding me--I just worked like crazy to get through this night, and you're telling me I didn't get through this night?  ARrrrrrg!

I was telling Ming how all the time, all day, I'm getting little glimpses of half-remembered dream-bits and slivers of dream feelings.  It's disorienting, and I would like them to go away.  The unbidden dream stuff that nudges into my consciousness--all day.

Does this happen to everyone? I asked Ming.  I don't hear people talk about it.

No, he said.

But it happens to you!  Why does it happen to you? I asked. Narcolepsy, right?  But I don't have narcolepsy!  Did you give me narcolepsy?

I used to sleep all night like a decent human being.  Then I had my first manic episode.  I was put on a sedating bipolar cocktail.

These days, for the past four months or so, I get up every night in the middle of the night for two or three hours and write.  I like the quiet.  It's good.  I get a lot done.  But honestly, I envy people who can sleep well.

I remember when I was in the hospital, up writing in the middle of the night.  It was a great comfort, though I should have been getting what sleep I could.  A passing nurse gave me a look like, Okay--whatever, weird patient.

Ming with his narcolepsy has a night life.  He likes to watch movies in the night.  He does his things I don't really know about--call his mom late, read, clean, load and unload the dishwasher, whatever Ming does. 

Now I have a night life also.  It's ok, but I hope one day I can be a good sleeper again.

beautiful morning

I noticed it was 78 degrees inside and 80 outside, according to my thermometer display thing.  I opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard.  Yes, very lovely out. 

The cats were having a cat party--many charming body patterns.  Rainbow, Catastrophe, and Wally / Wiley were near the gate.  Project 56, No. 1 was under a table.  I talked to them, saying good morning and telling them about their cuteness.

"Mew," Catastrophe said.

I walked up and down the concrete path, and the path felt good on my bare feet, a pleasant temperature and good texture of slight roughness.  I swung my arms around.  I felt alive and nourished by God.  The sky was helping me.

I felt--it's an honor to live in this weird world. 

Something last night when I was falling asleep--living in a house in the desert.  I'm in the desert, even if city is surrounding me.  The creosote bush, lizards, cactus, bright flowers, bugs, sky, sun, earth itself are all here with me, even in the city.

When I was a teenager, I glorified the desert, its starkness and special beauty.  I wanted to live in the desert.  Didn't know I would end up here.  Well, thank you for helping me get here.