Time

Just a quick note today: Go see dear Lisa and wish her well. She is one of the bravest, kindest, and smartest people I know. She could use a boost (to put it mildly) so go on over there and give her one.

Things are decidedly better over here - almost good enough that I feel capable and even likely to begin my slavish and groveling campaign to win back the respect and affection of Avitable, whom I have treated monstrously in the last few months. Very badly. Indeed worse even than... well. Perhaps I won't describe it. But if Avi forgives me by the time we both turn a year older (this is not long for either of us, I am certain) I will count myself truly blessed. Because I have behaved... oh forget it. We'll talk about it later.

In other news, of the mind numbingly boring sort, I had the last piece of metal dental work removed from my head today. I now have enough "invested" in my teeth to make dying any younger than, say 90 a complete waste of funds. Ha ha.

Guess I better get on with all that living.

Love,

A

Sooner

(s).

My darling Woodrow has just informed me that the OK Sooners are tied at the half and so need intercessory intervention of a time sensitive nature. Light a candle for recently departed excellent priests and Oklahoman football victory.

(Gracias).

Clarification

To be fair, I should explain that I see Excellent doctor frequently. Why? Because she is a true PCP. She is the hub around with all my other medical specialists operate. In a given year I see her at least three times - usually more like six. Between all my various specialists, I see her to review all the wreckage. And last year when I made my first trip to what might rightly be called a developing country, she chose what immunizations I should have. When she rattled off the list of hepatitis vaccines, I stopped her and told her that I was determined, despite all my human frailty, not to do it with any Moroccan men - or any other men of any other nationality. As I announced this, she chuckled in a way that only a doctor who knows far more than you do can chuckle. Then she started cracking jokes about me smoking hashish and whoring my way across the Sahara desert. At the time it was hilarious. I laughed so hard it hurt.

Since then, every time she gets a chance to obliquely suggest I get laid, she takes the opportunity. And we giggle, and it is all very funny. Ha ha.

Only this time she wasn't laughing. This time I think what she meant, as usual, was not that I engage in all manner of inappropriate reproductive behavior with any creature not dragging his knuckles and drooling onto his shirtfront. She meant that I ought to move the fuck (pun very intended) on. And that moving on might mean making my own family, somehow, someway, so that the destruction of the one I was born into can be left firmly behind.

I suppose, since I am in a clarifying mood, that I should explain further what I meant by getting the information about my current fertility or lack thereof. I meant only that I know now that if I have children, it will be alone. Since that is the last option open to a woman two weeks shy of 39 years old, I thought I should at least know if even that is possible. I do not mean to say that I am determined to do it alone; merely that I want to know if even that is possible.

Other news is otherwise good, but I don't have to stamina to write about other things. Be assured I am better every day.

Love,

Aelalea

Elevator music

Why do we call it elevator music? When was the last time you were riding in an elevator and had the pleasure of listening to familiar melodies piped into the elevator car as you ascended or descended?

Never, right?

So why do we call it elevator music? Why?

We hear elevator music when we are on hold with the credit card companies or the IRS or the brokerage holding our shrinking IRA accounts. We hear it in department stores but never in department store elevators.

From whence did this term come? Seriously. From whence?

A big step forward has been made in the reclamation process. I have not had the time to describe it yet, but I will describe it on, I think, Wednesday after my first appointment with the archetypal therapist (who thinks and behaves just like a little fairy and has thoughts and opinions similar to those one might expect from one). She is a piece of work and a half. I'll describe her for you Wednesday.

Love,

Aelalea

Where I have been

One odd thing about this new blog is that I am not officially signed up with Blog365, which makes me less spastic about making sure I post every day. I know I should be anyway. But I am busy busy busy. Plus privacy issues related to the place I live plus my determination to keep my anonymity this time causes me some confusion about what to post. I am choosing not to over-analyze today.

I spent the weekend at my brother's house. I do not have authorization to post pictures of my brother Buzz, his wife Leta, and their son Liam. But here is their fireplace, which has, I am almost certain, no right to privacy.



I also finished my kitchen, but you've already seen pictures of that. You probably have not seen, however, my new knitting/yoga area. It is the landing of third floor. It used to look like this:




Now it looks like this:



Here is my yarn stash:



Yes, that is a canvas shoe holder. Yes, I am working with what I have. Yes, this place is far more livable now that it's clean. And yes, the pool table is now usable.



Today marks the end of the "Make situation livable" initiative. Tomorrow, I will describe my next initiative: the "Aelalea Reclamation Project." (Just throw in my old name there if you are still thinking of me in that way). (I still think of me in that way most of the time too).

Have a good Wednesday.