AFK

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 16:09:50 -0400

Greetings to my OS friends.

Sorry I've been kind of absent lately .... I see I have lots of reading to catch up on!

I have been ill with flu, and then hospitalized with a bad reaction to Tamiflu. I can't wait to post my rant about being treated as a mental patient and not someone with a possible neurological trauma!

More, though, I can't wait to see what you all have been up to!

I'm catching up on housework now, but then I'll be back ....

I just have to come out of my hole for this....

Sun, 6 Sep 2009 11:09:40 -0400

(via one of my OS heroes, … Chuck A. Stetson, who got it from another, cartouche)

From my friend Leigh Bailey: " No one should die because they cannot afford health care, and no one should go broke because they get sick. If you agree, please post this as your status for the rest of the day." Any questions?

Confessions (Sex! Drugs! Rock and Roll!) of a Punk Princess

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 01:09:45 -0400

Ok... there's not much sex, drugs and rock in roll in this post (there will be, soon enough, I promise), but maybe I can supplant "My Sexiest Men Living" with my title. Enough procrastination ... here goes.

This is my story. I have always hated writing about myself, perhaps
because it's always been hard to nail down who I should be at that
moment. Before I decided to write this, I was thinking about ... You know, I don't really remember. I think I decided to write this instead of writing to Cary Tennis.

Lets start with some facts; things I know to be objectively true: I am 49 years old. I have been married to my husband (my second) for 13 years. We have three children, 10-year-old fraternal twin boys, and a 12 year
old daughter. We live with two guinea pigs, two ferrets, and a golden retreiver. We have a small pet cemetary in our back yard, as well.

I'm not going to write too much about my family; I have a thing about breaking their privacy. But, knowing me, I probably will, eventually, have to. The ferrets first, most likely.

We relocated from my beloved San Francisco three years ago, and now live in an upscale suburb in the southwest. I have a BA in journalism, and a law degree. I have been, for all intents and purposes, a stay at home mom since we married.

I have had a series of psychiatric diagnoses over the course of my
life, ranging from simple to chronic depression, addictive personality (is that even a diagnosis?), and (my personal fave) borderline personality
disorder. I tried for a disassociative identity disorder diagnosis for a while, but couldn't quite make the grade. (Don't get me started on "The United States of Tara").

My current (and, I believe most accurate) diagnosis is Bipolar Disorder, Type I with ADHD (Inattentive Type).

Thanks for wading through the dull bits.

This is my now (actually, it was my now back then ... I started writing this about 3 months ago):

I'm sitting on a guitar stool in my bathroom. The filthy flannel nightgown that I am wearing is inside out. It is five thirty in the afternoon. I am smoking one of the new "fire safe" cigarettes, a Marlboro light, and every few minutes I have to puff furiously to keep it from self- extinguishing.

Let's add some light and shadow to this picture; the woman in this
portrait is almost 50, though some say she could pass for 35 on a
good day. She hasn't had many of those of late, and she looks
her age. Her long hair is knotted in a rough bun at the nape of her
neck, the bangs a tangled nimbus framing her gaunt cheeks, and
spilling over the rims of her smeared glasses, occasionally straying
into her glazed and reddened deep set hazel-green eyes. Dull brown roots,
liberally threaded with gray, show for three inches above rusty and faded
auburn frizz.

Imagine the nearsighted, middle-aged offspring of Bette Midler on a
very bad hair day and the Wicked Witch of the West, as played by
Margaret Hamilton, and you'll have the idea.

I'm thinking too much, as usual, picking apart every thought, brushing
off dust and detritus like an archaeologist at a dig. Trying to find
truth in the ancient soil of buried hurts and memories.

The problem, you see, is that I'm never sure of reality; I'm never
certain that my world is just as it appears, or if I am casting some
subliminal shadow or glow around everything.

My reality is pentimento.

So here I am. I haven't written anything for public consumption in
over 15 years.

I hope and fear that someone will read what I post.

I hope that I can offer something, to someone, however small.

Mostly, though, I hope I can scratch, with this virtual pallate knife, through the layers of old paint and charcoal, to reveal my truth.

mama_rox's Open Salon Blog

AFK

I just have to come out of my hole for this....

Confessions (Sex! Drugs! Rock and Roll!) of a Punk Princess