The Life of a…

Deviant of society?

Bisexual woman?

Masochist?

Wife?

Woman?

Mother?

Daughter?

Friend?

How would I classify myself then?  If I relate to all of the above… then how to I fit into normal society?

I kinda don’t.  I am who I am.  I always have been.  And I always have been on the outskirts of “normal society” because of who I am.  And you know, I’m fine with that.

I’ve always had the mentality of take it or leave it, and I don’t think I want to change that, even though there are a few people out there who might not know the full scope of who I am, or some who might not even have a clue!

The problem, on the other hand, is that I get terribly upset when someone I like very much casts me aside because they learn something about me that they might be uncomfortable with.

Case in point.  A woman, who I would choose to call a friend as well as a colleague recently just stopped talking to me shortly after learning I had been a topless dancer for many years since I was 19.  I knew she had a “vanilla” personality, but considering her tendencies toward liberalism and excessive indulgences (I won’t say what), I thought she would be okay with it.  I might be overly sensitive on the subject and maybe it has been a bad time for her (3+ months)… but I don’t think so, considering the time that has now passed.  I must say, considering this woman’s serious vanilla personality, the fact that I was a stripper was as much as I could tell her.  Being bi and being poly and being in BDSM… well, frankly, that was just going to have to remain a secret until I knew more I think…  But then again, I also felt awful about not being open about who I was.  It’s kind of a catch 22 and I usually play it straight from the get go with people.  Being that she was originally someone I only worked with kinda threw me for a loop on that.

Another case in point… Another friend, who when we first got to talking I told outright that I was bi-sexual, was okay with that, and we had a platonic friendship for over a couple of years.  But it came up in conversation several months back and the look of sheer horror that came over her face told me there would be a problem, but the unreturned calls confirmed it.  She literally freaked out… and she KNEW when we first met.

This hurts when my “friends” turn on me.

So, now I’ve decided to be open about it.  As long as it doesn’t effect my husband’s or children’s relationships or lives, I really need to be 100% open.  I tried to be as open as possible before, but I did hold a reservation about certain circumstances (like the working with someone… like is it really their business?)

But now, I’d rather continue to work with someone (or not) and have everything on the table and know that my friends know about me and my tendencies BEFORE I become friends with them and before I become invested in the relationship.

I wonder how they feel?  In the case of my friend who knew and turned on me?  I wonder what happened that she turned?  Did she forget and then decide that she didn’t like that? (That’s the only conclusion that makes sense).  Does it intimidate her?  Does she think I hit on every woman that walks on 2 legs?

What about my colleague/friend… I wonder what was all about being a topless dancer that made her turn on a dime.  Perhaps it was something else?  If it was the stripping, what about that would make her turn on me?  Considering her tendencies of other ’sins’ I doubt it’s the whole religious thing (except that I know too many people who live by double standards).

This really trips me out.  Truly, how can MY life intimidate YOU?  Even if what I do is considered a sin by your terms, how does that affect you… really?

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Do You Mind if I Bring My Boyfriend?

I called the girl from the restaurant that I’ve been gaga over and who my husband is also interested in.  I asked her out for drinks.  The conversation started off fairly well, that I was just getting down to the brass tacks of inviting her out so we could get to know her better and after she accepted and we picked a date and time and a place she said, “Do you mind if I bring my boyfriend along?”

Uhhhh…. no I guess not but really and truly, yes I sorta do because I’m not interested in your boyfriend and will never have an interest in him no matter how cute and nice he may be.  I don’t even want to meet the guy.

But what could I say at this moment of truth to this woman I hardly knew and had only exchanged some major flirtations with?  I said yes because I wanted to go out with her and see where things would end up.

But saying yes opened up a whole realm of possibilities that neither I nor my husband are interested in entertaining.  We don’t want to swing with another couple.  We want to have a triad relationship with another woman and thought that she would be a good candidate for seeing where things might end up.

We knew she had what she called a “boyfriend” but we didn’t know how the dynamic was or if they were serious or just dating.  If I were dating just one person I might call him my boyfriend but not have any meaningful attachment to it.  But some people do.  However, when I talked to her today, I could hear a baby in the background.  A young baby, not a toddler, a baby.  So that leads me to think that this guy could possibly be a more serious thing and possibly even the baby’s father.  And while none of that is really my business at this point, it brings up the dynamic of her relationship with this guy.  I no longer think that he’s just ’some guy’ she’s seeing at the moment.

After discussing this with my husband, he’s suggested that I call her back and see what talking to her openly about our interest in solely her would accomplish.  I think it’s a good idea.  I’d rather have the awkward conversation with just her than with both her and this guy we haven’t even met yet.

So, I think I can handle the conversation well.  I know I can do it without hurting her feelings.  And I’d rather feel like an ass for presenting my case and have it go nowhere than make her feel like an ass if we waited until we all went out and they brought it up.

Hell, maybe she did just flirt in a major way and give us her number and still not want anything out of it.  I don’t know.  I have more of a chance of being the ass in the situation than anyone at this point.  But I’m fine with that.  I like her.  I think she’s beautiful and sweet and I want to get to know her and I want to have a sexual and intimate relationship with her.  If that’s being an ass, I’m an ass.

Whoo! Hot Mama!

There is this girl I absolutely must have.  I’m just crazy over her.  My husband and I went to dinner a few weeks back and she was our server and she was flirty with me and as I watched her, she wasn’t that way with the other people.  So I began to flirt back.  I’m a natural flirt anyway, although I usually have to stifle my flirty behavior because of the fact that I’m married.  But I made it explicitly clear to my husband that I wanted to take her home with us and he seemed to like that idea so I just continued to flirt with her… and she was receptive and reciprocated as well.

By the end of dinner, and 5 glasses of Grey Goose on the Rocks with a Twist, I was throughly ready to screw my brains out, and so I told my husband we just had to leave and he was going to have to spank me for being so bad in the restaurant.  (not spank me in the restaurant though!… although how kinky that would be!!!)

So I left her my number and a GIGANTIC tip and told her I wanted her to come out with us sometime.  She said she would.  I knew it might take a little more convincing and knowing my birthday was right around the corner, I knew I wanted to eat there anyway (great steakhouse) and so I’d flirt with her a little more, and see what happened.  If she didn’t make a move I’d drop the issue.  No sense in stalking the girl, right?

So officially today is my birthday, I’m now 35 years old.  But last night, Saturday, we went to dinner at this fabulous steakhouse that’s been in town forever and I made it a point to sit in her section.  I also made it a point to invite as many of my family members as possible to take off the pressure and show her I’m not some hack-em-up psycho or something.  I’m just a regular girl who happens to be married and also like beautiful women.  I actually like women more than men… but that’s besides the point.

So, the hostess thought she was sitting us in the right section but apparently wasn’t and our girl rushed over, seeing me from behind and grabbed us and said, “I’ll take them here.”  She came really close to giving me a hug and complimented me on how beautiful I looked.  Well then, I was off to a great start.

My husband wanted to make a big deal of my birthday, which they will do at this place, whooping and hollering and getting everyone in the place in on the fun and I said the only way he would not have my wrath was if he could swing something with her.

I ate my dinner and didn’t even notice that he’d left for a bit.  He said he had to use the restroom but it didn’t phase me.  He’d made such a big deal that his task of getting her to agree to go out with me or something equal would be impossible that I’d just written it off and forgotten about it.

I ordered dessert and when she brought it, she also brought a bowl of ice cream with a candle on top and started yelling about it being my birthday and how I was 35 and how I wanted everyone in the joint to sing to me.  So they did.  And I was so embarrassed and so tickled with pleasure because in that moment I knew that my sweet husband who I can want to wring his neck sometimes, must have pulled something off that I wasn’t aware of.

There was so much commotion though, that I soon was swept into conversation by the family and the kids and we had to rush to get ready to catch the 7 pm show that was about to start… and I wanted to ensure she was going to get another huge tip (because my mother ran her ass all over the place for this and that like a freaking servant)…

But then my husband presented me with the bill and said, “You might want to hang on to this.”  And there at the top was a little note in beautiful blue handwriting, “Happy Birthday!” (and my name)  “Hope it’s Great” and signed it her name “Love…” and left her phone number.

WOW!

So…  My evil plan worked and my husband was an amazing wingman!!!  I wasn’t sure he had it in him!

Now I’m just not sure what to do with this!  I think I’ll call her Tuesday if I don’t already hear from her.

She told my husband that she told her boyfriend about the phone number the other day and he told her she should call.  (Are *they* swingers?)  I’m not sure what this will mean since she has a man in her life.  I don’t want to get involved with another man – shit, one is enough!  But a beautiful and sweet woman on the other hand… now that sounds wonderful.  She said she almost called a few times but was nervous.

I’m not nervous.  I have nerves of steel.  (As you can see)  And I’m very curious about where this is going to lead.  Although I suppose my husband and I need to have a conversation about our boundaries before I do call.

Phew!  She’s beautiful and sweet and I really would love to get to know her more.

Life, Death & What’s Acceptable

Since I was a child the thought of our American choices for how we handle our death have horrified me.  They’ve been unsettling and felt wrong to me.  What I always wanted, since childhood, and what always sounded logical was to be given back to the food chain.  But living in America, this is an unacceptable option; and until semi-recently, wasn’t really something I knew was even possible.  i was told it was not an option as a child and told that subjects like that were not for small minds.

The fact was that while they meant a child’s mind, I had a larger mind than they had and have always thought big thoughts and it always bothered me that when I got older I would be stuck with making a choice between burial, cremation and donation to science/education.  And I knew as I got older and learned about other civilizations’ death and burial rituals that there were other possibilities out there, but I still never quite found one that seemed right for me until I learned about Sky Burials which are typically practiced in Tibet.

Once I heard about what it was and read more about it, even saw part of the ritual take place (you can’t see the entire thing as it’s unlawful in Tibet to video tape or photograph it), I now know exactly what I want for my burial.

Most people would rather not think about death.  But I think death is a transition to another place and time and so I’m not concerned.  I’ve lived my life well.  I’ve learned from my mistakes and I’ve done the best I can in my life.  I have nothing to regret and I try to enjoy every moment I have.  I don’t waste my time being angry about things or harboring resentments.  So when my time comes, I’d like to be prepared and have things settled for my family to know exactly what I want to alliviate any question for them.

I knew I wanted a Tibetan Sky Burial.  I’m Buddhist, and this practice fits my beliefs perfectly.  A Tibetan Sky Burial consists of giving the body over to either Tibetan Monks or Rogyapas (body-breakers) who will ‘disassemble’ body into smaller parts to give over to the local birds and the Earth itself.  The birds are generally Eurasian Griffins & Old-World Vultures, although there are sometimes other birds who will get to eat as well.  There is a lot more to it than just feeding human remains to the local animals, it has a lot to do with reincarnation and the Buddhist belief system as well as a philosophical understanding that because Earth has given to us, we should in turn, give back to her when we can.  This is the ultimate gift we can give to her.  Our bodies.

Whether or not I will be allowed to have one remains to be known as there are both the laws of America and Tibet (China) to contend with, but when I told my family of my desire my responses were varied.

My husband looked at me like I was nuts.  He thought it was kind of gross and yet didn’t have much to say about it.  I got the feeling, but not the explicit words that he would respect my wishes.

My mother said I was too greedy to put such a huge burden on my loved ones and that I should do something that takes the others into consideration and not care about myself.  I argued that aside from being born, my death and burial was, to me, probably the other biggest thing to happen in a person’s life cycle and that it was so important to me that it should be done how I want it to be done.  She doesn’t get that life and death are the two most gigantic things that happen in our life-cycles.  The most important thing is how we live life in-between the beginning and the end, but the end is just as important as the beginning.  She’s a shallow being who doesn’t think big or see much past what the government or the Bible tells her to.

It wasn’t really surprising to me that she, of all people would not only be disrespectful of my wishes but also demeaning of them.  This is quite typical of her and really not unexpected.  It’s sad that in her 72 years she’s not grown one bit.  If my belief of reincarnation is true, she’ll be back for yet another round of torture.

I also told a close family friend.  She was understanding but understandably grossed out.  I think the part of the bodily disassembly (cutting the body up into smaller pieces) is what is problematic for most people of the western world.  I see the body as a shell, which should be used to feed the Earth and it’s creatures, however, so this doesn’t really bother me.  I won’t be in the body anymore so as long as the burial is accomplishing what I’d like, I’ll be happy knowing that my wishes will be carried out.

I have to look into the legalities of having such a wish carried out and then when my husband and I do go to the lawyer to have things settled about our living trusts and other things related to our deaths, I’ll have things ready.  I’m sure most attorneys here wouldn’t even know what I’d be talking about.

Distraction & Focus

I carry my camera with me most days.  There was a little over a week that I didn’t though, and during that week or so, I witnessed a regular feast for the eyes every morning on the way to take my daughter to school.

There is a giant old, dead Eucalyptus Tree with no leaves and at least a dozen vultures using it as their perch.  I don’t really fancy vultures that much, but with the color of this tree, a golden blonde, and the backdrop of the mountain range in the morning, a hazy purplish grey, and the newly sunlit golden sky, with the greenery behind the dead tree lit up like lights, these black giants stood out on their tree as they awakened.

There seemed to be a male present who would periodically show off by stretching his wings, his giant wings, out as far as they would go… and he would just stand there, head down as vultures do.  And the sun would hit his wings from behind and light them up too and he’d be beautiful.

There are certainly vultures around the world that have beauty, but I never saw the beauty in the local vultures until these last couple of weeks.  And so I resolved to get my camera cleared of the wedding I had recently done and start toting it around again.

The vultures have been missing from their tree on occasion.  They were missing yesterday.  The day before there were very few there.  And today, the day I made sure to have my camera, they were not there.  I never see them in the afternoon.  And when they’re not in their tree, I look to the skies to see if they’re circling somewhere nearby.  But they’re not.  I have no idea where they go.  In the morning, I’m in too much of a hurry with the kids’ schedules to do a stake out on these birds and mid-day it’s way too hot still.

As of this moment, I’m wondering where the vultures have gone.  I don’t know much about these birds, as it’s only been recently that I’ve had a fascination with them.  The sun is coming up later now, perhaps that has something to do with the change.  But considering that it’s very warm practically all year here, I doubt these birds migrate…  but then again, they are scavengers, and so food may be on the move and so they may move to where the food goes.  Where the other animals go, the other animals die and the vultures can eat.

The distraction this brought to me prevented me from seeing the other beauty that surrounded me for a while.  I was consumed by where the birds had gone to.  But then, I dropped my son off at his school and suddenly my attention was again redirected.

As I was driving back through the foothills on this winding road surrounded by lush desert, I realized the beauty again.  I was surrounded by it… distracted by it, consumed by it.

I couldn’t help but notice the way the shadows of the trees caressed the Earth, and the vibrant colors of the greenery and flowers in the morning sun.  How the sun would backlight the yellowing Ocatillo so it looked like tall plumes of pure gold spraying up from the ground.  I noticed how Spring brought forth wildflowers that seemed to last much longer this year than in previous years and I noticed how stunning they were against the surrounding desert.

The rocks were beautiful.  The Earth itself was beautiful, from the rocky ground to the smoother and finer dusty ground.  The colors the dirt contained stood out this morning as they rarely do.

Today the Earth glowed.  She showed me her distracting beauty… a beauty so distracting, it makes you focus on it and nothing else matters.  And yet, I couldn’t force myself to grab my camera and get behind the lens.  I didn’t want to miss a single thing.  I couldn’t.  I wouldn’t.

I make sure that I don’t lose sight of what it is that I want to photograph… beauty.  If I don’t stop to see it without my camera every now and then, what’s the point and how can I truly enjoy or appreciate it?

So… today, I had my camera.  And although my favorite shots are in the morning or at that vital point of sunset, I didn’t shoot anything today.  YET.  We’ll see what happens this afternoon.  Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t.

Step out from behind the camera every now and then and be sure to enjoy and appreciate what you see before you.  Don’t forget that sometimes when we’re behind the lens we can lose sight of the most precious things in life, so be sure to play an active role inside your picture.  Live life!

The Fear That Stops Us

Each of us has a fear inside of something so terrifying to us that we allow this fear to stop us from accomplishing certain things in our lives; the things we may want to accomplish the most.

For some reason, humans not only give fear life but we give it power.  We feed it.  We nuture it.  We allow it to grow.  And it takes a very deliberate choice to stop fearing something and sometimes more than that.  Sometimes it takes deliberate actions to remedy the damage that has been done by allowing the fear to control us for so long.

For me, my fear began as a fear of not being accepted.  It stemmed from the children in grade school constantly berating me and bullying me.  It was a legitimate fear given that I was a small child of 5 when this all began.

But the fear of not being accepted eventually turned into a fear of trying to be accepted for fear of not being accepted.  And later, this even morphed into a bigger fear of even being successful.

Now why, you ask, would anyone be afraid of being successful?  For me, the fear of success is what success may bring.  Not what it will bring.  What it will bring is what I want from being successful.  The fear part comes in with any success brings that is unexpected or even unwanted.

What will happen in my marriage?  What if there are demands placed on me because of my success that I cannot fulfill because of my health?  What if my husband resents my success?  Just because I’ve been supportive of his does not mean it will be reciprocated.  Success for me can mean a lot of travel, so what happens when I travel?  Will my husband be as bitter about my travels as he was about my 8 day trip to Florida?  What if I were traveling often?  What will that mean for my kids?  Even if my marriage situation worked itself out in one way or the other so that I could travel, what would me being away mean for my kids?  How often would I need to be away?

These are some of the fears that circle like vultures around my desire for success.

I keep shooting and I continue to get better.  I see it in my photography as time goes on and I’m continually striving to be even better.  I’ve gotten better equipment too, even though it’s by far not the best of the best that money can buy.  I don’t need the best to be successful I just need to make things happen and stop being fearful.  Some professional photographers don’t use the huge, heavy cameras but stick with the trusty SLR of their choice.  I have 2 SLR cameras, one film, one digital.  They were both very expensive but the digital was by far through the roof on the price tag and worth every cent.  I have the other necessary equipment… but all this does not a professional make.  So when will I have the guts to face my fears and finally do something to send my dream skyrocketing from dream realm into the reality realm and become a professional?

I know I’m the only one who can make this happen.  I know I want to make it happen.  I know that I’m ready to be successful… but.  And it’s the big but in the room that’s preventing my success.

We all have our own fears of various forms and for various reasons, and like me, some of you even have fear of success.  I invite you to look at exactly what it is that you’re afraid of, be it success or something else entirely.  What’s the fear preventing you from doing?  Really break the fears down into more specific details about what they are.  Do it for yourself.  Feel free to post your comments or fears here if you wish.

Getting to the Beach

I’ve lived in Arizona my entire life.  However, in my lifetime, I’ve taken countless trips to various beaches, mostly in my childhood, in California, Washington, Texas, New York, Hawaii, Mexico & Florida.  I can honestly say, the ocean, the beach, no matter which ocean or beach it is, is the single most wonderful place for me to be.  It is the place where I feel the most at home.

You know when you’re home.  It might not necessarily be your actual house.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m always happy to come home after a long trip (not oceanic trips) where I’ve been in a hotel room for days or weeks.  I’m always happy to be in my own bed when I’m sick or after I’ve been sleeping in another bed.

But there is something about finding your true home that just cannot be replaced.  It’s not a dwelling, it’s that place where you belong.  I have somewhat of a nomadic bit to me, so to me it doesn’t matter where I am as long as I have my own bed and I’m at the ocean.  Considering my desire to live the gypsy life, this would be great.

I live my life with no regrets, so starting my family at 24, while not the most conducive to making my dreams come true, is something I am happy to have.  And it changes the dynamic a bit.  I can’t go on the road and be an ocean gypsy like I always wanted.  Especially considering the fact that my husband almost hates travelling.

I didn’t know this fun fact about him when I met him.  I can’t say with total certainty, but it may have changed things for me and him had I known this.  We never know everything about the people we decide to marry.  This was a huge kick in the ribs for me when I found this out.  In some cases the things we can learn can destroy a marriage or it can be a pleasant surprise… and then there are the in between scenarios, like mine.  I’ve learned a lot about my husband that I really don’t care for.  And a lot that was misrepresented prior to marriage.

I just want to get to the beach at this point in my life, besides the once every five year trip.  My husband says he wants to as well, but he’s the one with the job that can take us there and he’s not doing anything to make it happen.

This year, I was lucky!  I actually got to go to San Francisco in January & San Diego in May with the family and then off to Florida in June by myself.  I have to say the part in Florida was amazing.  I missed my kids a lot, and I missed my husband a little, but I really enjoyed my alone time just hanging out at the beach doing what I wanted when I wanted and taking hundreds of photos of the wildlife and the sunsets and the nature.  And we can’t forget hunting for good Mojitos and ending up with my good old trusty Vodka on the Rocks with a Twist.  Are you surprised I had to hunt for them?  I was too.  Sadly, I only had one good Mojito in Florida.  Thankfully, every bartender I encountered there knew what a twist was, unlike here. (They think a slice of squeezed lemon is a twist here which makes me wonder who the hell is teaching them how to make drinks around these parts?)

My husband wasn’t too pleased that I went anywhere without him let alone a fantastic business trip for my home business that ended in a grand finale of a 3 day personal stint in Clearwater Beach, Florida.  But oh well.  I was at home on the beach taking photos of the birds and the sunsets and just enjoying my time.

Photography is where my passion lies.  And I know that besides just showing my work in the local gallery here I should get an objective critique of my work and send it in to National Geographic or Arizona Highways or another magazine.  I can write a decent journal piece, so I think in combination, I could end up with a dream job that could take me wherever I wanted it to.  I could visit every ocean and every beach if I wanted.  Who knows, maybe you’ll read an article of mine someday soon.

This is the one dream I’ve been afraid to pursue.  I’m in perpetual fear of failure and rejection or even worse, afraid it’s so good that someone will steal it.  It took me over a decade just to submit my work to a gallery that had no jury and I almost threw up it was so traumatic for me.  Then going to the first opening was like the first day of 1st grade!  Only I had to take Valium it was so awful.

So here I sit in my 2-story house that I wanted to have all my life, and my SUV, with my husband and two kids, one boy and one girl, that I wanted to have all my life, and I’m not content with it.

And do you know why?  It’s not about the material things… it’s about me.  It’s about living in fear of actually making my own dreams come true that I’ve resigned myself to only letting them happen if someone else does something for me to make them possible.

Case in point… getting to the beach.  I’ve wanted out of this state my entire life.  And although I went to that awful reform school in the midwest, I’m still here.  Still sitting in Arizona wanting to leave this place.  And needing my husband to get the job in San Diego to get where I’d like to be…  because now I’m married with kids.

So for me, for now at least, getting to the beach is a vacation that I rarely get to take anymore.

Today

Today I hurt.  You see, yesterday I got my weekly injection for my MS.  Yuck.  It’s an interferon drug and it’s an intramuscular injection.  I just switched from a prefilled syringe of the med to a powdered form of it where I have to mix it all up myself.  So yesterday was the first injection with the new one.

They’re both Avonex; they both have the same main active ingredient.  But the old one has a suspension fluid that causes severe, short term, side effects for many, many people.  I was one of them.  It used to be that for 24 hours after my injection I’d have full body tremors, fevered (literally have a fever!), my skin would hurt all over, and my muscles would be in such hard spasm everywhere I would be in intense pain.  I’d have to not only take my nightly meds which, if you include the few vitamins, is 20 pills.  But I’d also have to take a few extra drugs, like aspirin, valium and soma.  And it still wouldn’t help too much, just enough to let me fall asleep, which is how I cope with high intensity pain.

I’d heard the powdered form didn’t cause such severe side effects so I got it.  And last night, I must say, was better.  I still hurt, but nowhere near as badly as before.  And today I hurt but again, not as much as before!

I hate getting my injections.  I’ll just put that out there.  I really hate it.  I don’t use the word hate too often because it’s such a strong word… but this I truly HATE.

Here’s the kicker.  The whole thing about MS is that my immune system is so powerful it attacks my own body, thus destroying nerve connections in the brain and spinal column.  The medicine brings my immune system down really low; so low in fact that I now get sick with every little germ that comes floating my way.  It’s crazy.

Get this.  Last fall/winter, when I had the flu and 3 colds in a row and was sick for several months straight, I decided that I would stop taking the Avonex temporarily until the Flu season was over.  After all, people were dying, and our hospitals were so overcrowded here they were shipping people out of state!  So, for 6 months (until this April) I didn’t take my injections and guess what?  I now have optic neuritis.  So the Avonex really does work to keep the progression of the disease at bay.

This Winter, I’ll still be taking the Avonex; however, I’m also going to do something the doctor has said she’s not sure I should do but that the pharmaceutical company’s pharmacist says makes sense (although they’ve never tested this).  I’m going to take immuno-boosters, like Echinacea, Vit C and other herbs and vitamins that boost the immune system’s functions.  I’m hoping that this will bring my immune system to somewhat of a normal level.

Without Avonex my immune function is at a 10 and say 5 is normal.  With Avonex, my immune function is at a 1 or a 0, so I’m hoping that with the immuno-boosters, it will bring me up to that 5…  not so high that my immune system is attacking itself, but still preventing me from getting sick with every bug in town.

So today I hurt.  But I’m working on feeling better.  Writing to you about what I’m going to do helps.

I’ll keep you posted on how things turn out with the immuno-boosters.

Why

“Why” is a question people often ask.  We ask it to the Higher Power of choice… “Why me?”  “Why did that have to happen?”  “Why does this always happen to me?”  “Why can’t I ever get the success I want?”  etc…

We ask “Why” to other people… “Why did you do that?”  “Why don’t you do this?” etc…

And we ask “Why” of the big questions, the Universe questions… “Why are we here?”  “Why do we exist at all if we are just going to die?” etc…

I suppose there are other questions, like “What” in relation to the Universe as well, like “What am I here to accomplish?”  and others, but I’m focusing on the “Why”

My daughter asked me why I have MS (Multiple Sclerosis).  It wasn’t the first time she’s asked, but I guess, since she’s 10, she can ask a few times because it doesn’t really sink in.  Because, you know, nobody knows why.  The doctors don’t know why.  I don’t know why.  I don’t belive in God, so God doesn’t know why and I don’t care.

I told her all that, about the fact that nobody knows, which is something difficult for her to really grasp, but I also told her that the why doesn’t matter really, it’s really about “What am I going to do about it?”  And I think that’s the most important thing of any major thing that any of us would ask “Why me?” about.  Who cares?  Really!  The big and most important question is “What are you (yes you!) going to do about it?”  If you have something in your life that you’re not happy about, what are you going to do to change it, or at least try to change it.  Some things, can’t necessarily be changed with the snap of your fingers or a simple decision, like a disease.  I’m not a biochemist.  I don’t know how to fix diseases or find cures.  But I can do other things to try to change the course of my disease.

So Multiple Sclerosis has no cure… Yet.  But there are pharmaceutical treatments out there.  And I must say that for many people, the treatments are pretty decent at keeping the progression of the disease at bay.  And there are other things, like alternative healing treatments (which I think work best when used in conjunction with the pharmaceuticals), and there are of course certain foods that contain nutrients we need to help rebuild the synapses and nerve pathways, and vitamins.  Exercise helps a great deal in keeping muscle strength, because sometimes the nerves make walking and balance difficult so exercises that we can find through physical therapy can work wonders.  The nerves breaking down can also cause bladder and bowel issues, and physical therapy and working the core muscles really helps this to be not so bad.  It can even make it go away!

It’s amazing what can be done to change the course of something when you decide “What you’re going to do about it”.  Often, when someone finds out they have a disease, they wind up in a severe depression and can’t cope, can’t deal with anything.  They don’t talk to anyone, they don’t want help, they don’t go to the doctors, they don’t try to change anything.  They’re too focused on the “Why did this happen to me?” part of things and they’re afraid of the fact that the future looks different.

Almost 10 years ago, I went through this.  I didn’t know it was MS.   Neither did the doctor at that time; he didn’t test me for it, and it never occurred to him to test me for it.  I was 26 and I was too young to get MS – according to the medical world.  (Things have changed on that front.  They now know teenagers and young kids can develop MS now!)

He tested me for everything else, even Lupus.  The only thing I tested positive for was Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatique (two things that have symptoms very similar to MS).  The tests for these are not objective, there is no blood test or x-ray or MRI to prove that you have these syndromes.  It’s based on how the patient feels over time, and pressure points.  That’s it.  So for a long time I thought I had those two diseases.

But when I first was told that they were what was going on, the doctor I had at that time said, “Your life as you know it will never be the same.  Your future, as you have planned, will never be.  The dreams you have now you can forget about.”  WHAT?!?!?!

So that statement itself sent me into a whirling depression.  I smoked a lot of pot.  I was high all day and all night.  I’d wake and bake and smoke all day until I went to sleep at night.  Hell, most of the time, I’d sleep during most of the day too.  I was getting something like 18 hours of sleep or more.  I didn’t leave my house ever.  I didn’t do anything or talk to anyone.

But something happened shortly after the death of my beloved Grandfather.  I realized that life didn’t have to be over.  I could make new plans, new goals, and new dreams.  And I started recreating my life based on what I could and could not do.  I knew I was in a lot of pain more often than not and that I was fatigued seemingly all the time.  So, I just started really examining what I was willing to let go of and what I absolutely would not budge on.

Over the years since this rebirth, I’ve come up with some pretty big dreams and I’ve reworked old ones to fit me now.  There are some things I’m just not willing to compromise on and I’ve had to say “Fuck that doctor for telling me that!” and move forward!  I’ve made plans and changed the way I live.

I constantly examine myself, and am in therapy regularly to keep myself in check.  It’s nice to talk to someone who can look at things objectively, and bouce back to me tidbits of helpful information.  Friends are attached and my husband could care less.  Hell, I can’t even get him to give enough of a shit to listen to something I’m excited about that happened to me!  My family is worthless in this department… they’re too fucked up in their own worlds of fuckedupness.

So I don’t concern myself with “Why” anymore.  It’s really and truly a pointless conversation to have with myself or God, or anyone else really.  It just IS… I have to deal with it or I will drown in this.

I encourage you to stop the “Why” syndrome and start the process of accepting what “Is” and figuring out a way to make whatever it is work for you.

Meet Xia Xi’an

It’s been a while since I’ve put forth my writing efforts into the world of the blog.  I stepped back for a while to focus on my family, myself and my health.

I’ve missed blogging while I’ve been away however, and now that I’m back, I’ve decided to upgrade to a better venue!  I think this will be better suited for me.  No junk, no fake friends lists to maintain, no silly applications and no spam.  Sounds great to me.  So here I am WordPress World! You can call me Xia Xi’an.

I am a woman of contradictions as the name suggests and as you will soon come to see.  Sometimes I blog everyday, sometimes more, sometimes I don’t.  It all depends on what’s happening around me, in my life, and also how I’m feeling at the given moment as I do have my health to contend with.  I have Multiple Sclerosis.  So while I’m probably up and about taking care of my family and myself, sometimes the blog gets put on the back burner so that I can rest and regain my ability to function.  So all I ask is that if you like what you read here, please remember that if there is blog silence for any period of time, I haven’t forgotten about you, I’m probably just down and out in Beverly Hills… Well not really Beverly Hills.  Just somewhere in Southern Arizona.  And I’m thinking about blogging and I’m thinking about what I’ll write when I return.  So don’t forget to check in.

I’ll make a promise to all of you, if I ever decide to leave, I’ll letcha know in advance and give you a heads up to where you can find me.

So for the first blog done… I’m out.  Time to go play a video game.  Yes, I’m a business owner, mother of two, wife, Reiki Master, Nature Photographer who loves to play video games!  Right now, I’m just biding my time while I wait for my birthday game Star Wars: The Force Unleashed (Yes, I’m also a huge Star Wars fan), and currently playing for the 3rd time Elder Scrolls: Oblivion…  Gotta love that game.  Heck I even dream about that one.  And I have to say, if I could live in a game, it would be that one.

What else can I say?  I think I’ve given you a little taste of things to come.  But this blog will be raw.  That I promise.  And I’m sure you’ll find out more about me that will bring you shock and awe.  Perhaps I’ll let it all hang out this time around.

Are You Afraid of Spiders?

I used to be freakishly afraid of spiders.  The tiniest little spider would scare me so badly I’d scream and flail wildly about making an insane fool of myself.

Ever since I had my first child however, when incidentally I was single, I had to learn to take care of the business of spider killing on my own.  After all, I couldn’t make a phone call to have a boyfriend or my mother to come kill the things now could I?  That might actually be more insanely ridiculous than the flailing about like a maniac.

However I soon came to realize that spiders were, like many insects, most often beneficial to us and should not be harmed whenever possible.  So because of my unnatural fear of the creatures I began the process of learning about them.

The learning process began with learning to identify the spiders I encountered.  There were two spiders that I’ve always known were extremely dangerous to humans, the Black Widow and the Brown Recluse.  And I grew up seeing dozens of Black Widows throughout my life, but the Recluse I only knew had some sort of a fiddle shape somewhere on it’s body and it seemed like practically every spider I encountered had some sort of a fiddle shape on it.  I searched for photos and I found one.  Finally, I did find one.  Up until the point of this photograph, all l had seen were drawings, which were of no help in identification of the real deal.  They really need to stop the drawing thing for spider identification and use clear photographs.  It makes all the difference in the world.  After I saw the photograph I realized that I had not only seen the Recluse a few times in my life, but I had luckily not been bitten by one or had to be the one to kill it or even try to take it outside.

Taking spiders outside is what I generally tend to do now that I have learned to appreciate and respect spiders.  My husband prefers to spray pesticides and I prefer not to, so having spiders and lizards and frogs and other insect eating life outside is beneficial to us as a healthy and chemical-free family.  My husband tends to kill spiders that are in our house or he calls me to identify them first so he knows what he’s dealing with.  Most often, however, I will have a container to trap it and I will gently remove it from our home and place it outside where I know it will have a feast of tasty pests to eat.

For the last two days my son and I have been enjoying a pair of male and female Crab Spiders build a web.  The female is doing the web building, as it seems she’s preparing to lay eggs.  The male seems more focused on the hunt.  He stays out of her way.  Spiders are cannibalistic and will eat other spiders, including their own species, so what I’ve learned is that each species, especially the opposite sex upon entering a web, will have a specific “code” of vibration that they will create by tapping or rubbing their legs on the web to let the existing spider know, “Hey, I’m one of your own, don’t eat me.”

So this duo is working pretty well together.  They’re sharing a web and the male, who is significantly smaller than and much prettier than the female, is helping out by cleaning up, hunting, and doing other “chores”.  Although if the female starts to come his way, he moves away very quickly.  He knows he’s in her web and he had better stay out of her way.

They work tirelessly at night.  They are nocturnal and we have been very hard pressed to find then during the day, although we did see the male briefly today hiding in a crack of the screen door.  My son and I are fascinated to watch them and I am anxious to see how the web and egg sack turn out once final.  I have urged my husband to leave them alone as they are outside and they are perfectly harmless.  Hopefully he does.

I think I’ve come a long way from the freakish nutcase to the more and more informed spider woman.

My Bizarre Life Part I

I was adopted by a woman who was 2 months away from turning 37.  She was single and has still to this day, never married.  She was desperate to have a baby but couldn’t because of a hysterectomy which she had when she was 25.  She had to do some heavy duty fighting for me as the State of Arizona fought her because she was a single woman and I was a well, white baby.  It took from the time I was 3 days old until I was over 4 years old for the adoption to finalize.

Even though my mother is a very giving woman, as it turns out she really had no business having a baby.  Perhaps a mental evaluation should have been done.  Perhaps it should be done on anyone who wants to adopt a baby.  While you can’t stop people from having their own babies, you certainly CAN stop people from adopting when they shouldn’t be.

My mother worked tirelessly to ensure that I went to a great school in grade school, to ensure that I always had new shoes (from Buster Brown) that fit well and that I always had new dresses for Sunday church.  Because I had to look my best for God and the other church-goers.

The rest of the clothes were from the Salvation Army or hand-me-downs (even if they were boys’ clothes) from various cousins and friends of the family.  She always said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”  This comment, which she imprinted in my brain by saying it over and over throughout my life (she still says it), led me to believe we were poor, and this came up later in life and I got in trouble for it.

The school I went to, while fantastic academically, was a religious school.  And although it was a part of the church we attended, thankfully the school didn’t participate in the shenanigans that the church did.  The church, on the other hand, was Pentecostal.  It was a huge church; the congregation was anywhere from 1500-2000 strong and they were all crazy.  The tent revival, Bible-thumping type of crazy.

We had the miraculous healing sessions and the anointing of oils.  We had the speaking of tongues, and the interpreting them.  (That was pretty damn freaky!) We had the raising of hands and “Hallelujah” and “Praise Jesus!” being shouted from the masses every few seconds during the sermon and prayer and the healings and the tongues and the singing and the communion.  We had people dancing in the aisles, which was actually & surprisingly pretty cool.  I mean, hey, with most churches it’s all funeral dirge-style hymns and solemn prayers and you feel like someone really did die.  So the fact that there were a bunch of hippies dancing around barefoot, well, that actually was kinda cool.  It just seems like perhaps they might have found it better suited to them to be pagan or something.  But I’m not one to say that a person’s religious choice is wrong.  If Pentecostal is your choice, then I’m glad it makes you happy.  I personally think it’s fucking nuts, but I’m certainly not going to interfere.

So, this is the church in which I grew up.  A nuthouse church full of liars and fakers and two-faced people who wouldn’t hesitate to stab you in the back if it made them look good to someone else.  Most of these people were very well off too which is probably why I could have a nice NEW dress for Sundays (and other church days – we went 3-4 times a week) and wore tattered old and used stuff for the rest of the time.

My mother would literally beat me if I didn’t speak in tongues or raise my hands or say “Hallelujah!” at intermittent points (like everyone else).  She had to keep up with the Joneses.  The problem with that was the Joneses weren’t beating their children into speaking tongues!

The thing about speaking in tongues is that it was a Biblical occurrence after the Tower of Babel.  In Genesis 11, it talks about the entire Earth being of one language.  The people of Shi’nar decided to build a city and a tower that would reach the heavens.  The Lord came down to see what they were doing and he saw that they actually might be able to do what they had set out to do.  My concordance isn’t available to me at the moment, so when it says “unto heaven” I don’t know if it’s referring to the kingdom of God or the heavens as in the sky.  (It would certainly be ridiculous if God thought that they for sure could build a tower high enough to reach his kingdom, and it’s still ridiculous to think that God would do this next thing…)  In verse 7 he says, “… Let us go down there and confound their language that they may not understand one another’s speech.”  So what is this, a practical joke?  Ha Ha.  I’m sure the people were just laughing their fucking asses off.  And then to top things off, in verse 8, “So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth and they left off to build the city.” Verse9 “Therefore is the name of it called Babel…”  Tongues is mentioned several times throughout the Bible, but later, and actually, in the New Testament, in Acts 2, it brings up tongues in great detail.  And basically, the Apostles were filled with the Holy Spirit and were able to speak to the masses (all of whom spoke different languages) and everyone could understand what was said.  If you read closely and pay attention, and I would bet if you actually exegete, you would find that the Apostles were speaking in their own native tongue and that everyone else just heard & understood it in their own tongue.  It’s kind of like a universal translator was present.  (Think of Star Trek)

So… the far fetched thinking of the crazy Pentacostals to say that speaking, “gobbledygookanoobeedoo gibberishnanubalalu” (or anything remotely like that) actually is tongues is total bullshit.  And I must say, if you’ve never heard 2000 people uttering this nonsense at the same time for 20 minutes, it’s something in the top 5 freakiest things ever list.

Periodically someone would interrupt the sermon to speak in tongues, and people would be saying, “Hallelujah Lord!” and “Praise Jesus!” And then to think that they actually believe it when someone else in the crowd jumps up and interprets the bullshit…  Well…  To each his own, I guess.  But that’s not what tongues is people!

I’m not a Bible toting believer but I know my Bible pretty damn well considering I grew up going to church 4 times a week and it took me a while to get out of it even after I was an adult.  I had moved past the freaks with a capital P, and had gone to a Bible Church the last several years I was into that religion.  And that’s where I learned the most.  That’s where I learned how to go back to the original Hebrew and Greek and see what was really meant (called exegesis), since things are often lost in translation.  (That’s what a Concordance is for.)  So although I don’t consider myself a Christian any longer, I am very highly schooled on the Bible.  I still own one too.  I also own a copy of the Apocrypha, and the Qaballah and many more books dealing with religions, philosophy, metaphysics, and life.

So, you ask, “What religion are you?”  I’m not.  I’m Buddhist, but Buddhism is not a religion; it is a way of life.  I have strong interest in Judaism, but that’s probably because I also practice high magick, which deals with a lot of Judaistic overtones.

So then, what else makes my life sooo bizzare?  Well… let’s see.

I was beaten fairly regularly as a child.  Forced into a role of crazy Pentecostal child.  And oh… Since my mother had no other relationship but me and her work, I was pretty much the relationship for her.  She needed love and attention and she needed to be told how wonderful she was and she needed affection.  So sadly for me and disgustingly for her, I was the target.  I don’t recall there ever being anything actually sexual in nature present, but something became apparent to me as I got to be a little older that I did not want her touching me…  Not one finger, she became gross to me.  And I wasn’t really very old when this little switch turned on either.  But it was there, and I wasn’t happy about her constant demand for my affection and I made that abundantly clear and I was beaten for it.  I think once I turned 9 I actually started fighting back.

One day she went to backhand me in the face, which, considering the size of her knuckles is like getting a knuckle sandwich.  And I blocked it.  A classic block like they’ll teach you first thing in any self-defense class.  I put my forarm up and blocked her.  She went to swing again with her other hand but I was already in motion because I knew it was coming.  So I blocked that second hit attempt and the 3rd I didn’t get in time and she hit me hard.  Well, I punched her square in the nose and I said I wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.  At that moment, I told her she would not hit me ever again or she would pay.

Over the next few years she would try, mostly by cornering me and trying to beat me with both hands or getting me backed in the chair or the couch and pressing up against it so I couldn’t get away and trying to hit me.  At one point I had to just push her off me with both legs and it sent her across the room into the piano (which she forced me to play for 11 years), and it hurt her very badly.  I think in that moment, she realized the strength I had and that I had the real potential to hurt her or worse.  And I did.  I knew it.  She was pushing me farther to the edge of the cliff and I wanted to kill her.  I fantasized about it and I dreamt about it.  The dreams were so realistic I could feel it occurring.  Things I shouldn’t have been able to imagine the feeling of, I could feel in great detail.  And it scared me.  It scared me because I knew the potential was there and I knew if she didn’t stop I would really kill her.

There came one night that I told her I would.  I think I was maybe 12.  And I don’t know if I did something too, but I know I scared the living hell out of her and she never even attempted to touch me again.  From that moment on, I pretty much had free reign.  I still wasn’t allowed to do things normal kids could (I don’t know why I didn’t do them anyway!), but I managed not to get beaten anymore and that kept her alive and me out of Juvi.

In high school, I was sent to a reform school of sorts, not by court order, just by my mom.  The mom who was so desperate to have a child, but too crazy to raise one, and the woman who when that child became too much of a handful, decided she didn’t want that child, she so desperately had to have, anymore.  The school was in the backwoods of the deep south.  A religious school again.  Oh yay!  They beat us badly there and there was no getting away from it or fighting back there.  We were so far away from civilization that the kids who did run away either got caught by the sheriff and brought back or were caught by one of the staff.  And when they were caught, they were beaten even worse than usual.  I only got in trouble twice.  The rest of the time I was their prized student because I played the system.  I knew how to be good and do my time.  And I knew that I would do what I wanted, when I wanted, with whomever I wanted as soon as I graduated and was 18 and out of that hell hole.

I graduated… Valedictorian too.  Then, shortly thereafter, I turned 18 and a few days later I was gone.  And within two weeks I got a tattoo and shaved my head into Liberty Spikes.  It was 1991 and I was a punk rock girl and I could wear black again.  So fuck them.  (They made me wear pink and curl my hair there because I came to them in black with black nail polish and black and white striped stockings and pale makeup with black eyeliner and dark red lips and unbrushed long hair with black streaks.)

I love my tattoos, but I hate that one.  The thing about it though, is that it marks a huge point for me.  It was the mark of my freedom.  Maybe that’s why even after all the talk of wanting to cover it with something else, I haven’t yet.  I’ve gotten other tattoos, and will get lots more.  But I wonder if I’ll ever change or cover this one.  It marks a huge part of my life.  This was a transitional period for me (as all my tattoos seem to be), and I think that makes it kind of important.  Maybe I should just knock off all this talk of covering it and do something else instead, maybe just have it re-worked or something.

My life now is interestingly boring.  I’m a mom who drives her kids back and forth to school.  I’m involved in both schools volunteer groups, and I also have my own thing going on.  I sound kind of like a soccer mom, but the funny thing is that I do not fit in with those women.  They’re too vanilla for me and I’m just too flavorful (I’m not even as plain as chocolate!).

I have to end the blog somewhere, so it’s going to be here for now.  If I don’t I’ll run out of things to talk about.  Besides, I think I should play a video game for a little bit before I have to leave again.