There have been two moments over the past day or so where my thoughts wandered to this blog and I started to compose entries in my mind. I had to stop myself both times and remind myself to "write it down" here instead of just thinking about it. Once again, the topics of each moment are diverse, but they both have stayed on my mind and I do not know if there is a connection to be made as I write about them or not, but I will do my best to make sense of both.
The first was an idea I had about something I hope will bring some degree of amusement to others; it is about me. It occurred to me that I am somewhat eccentric but not nearly brilliant enough to have it excused by others as being merely "normal" for-such-an-incredible-genius-sort-of-thing, and I was exploring the thought when I realized that some of the most damning evidence for that eccentricity exists in the form of what I collect.
For the longest time I could not decide on exactly what it was that I wanted to collect; stamps, coins, tea cups, tea pots, salt and pepper shakers, pitchers, silver-plated baskets, hand-painted wooden ware, oriental porcelains, books, recipes, sheet music, quilts, doilies, stem ware, jewelry, Beanie Babies, antique knitting and crocheting patterns, handkerchiefs, knick-knacks, dolls, wood carvings, cat figurines, dog figurines, horse figurines, antique clothing, - as you can see, it's quite a list and it barely even touches on all of the different things people can think of to make up collections.
It seems that, while I was exploring the possibilities, I was also collecting - first one type of item then another, just in case I decided to collect those instead of those, etc. While I was at it I amassed a lot of items from all of the above mentioned groups of potential collectables as well as others that are not on the list. It has played hell with our living conditions and much has been sacrificed to the whims of individual pussycats, my boyfriend, resident mice, and such. Then, it dawned on me, instead of not being able to focus upon any one particular item to collect, I had actually managed to create a genuine and unique collection after all; I collect collections.
None of my collectible items amount to much as collections of single types of items, but I now have one very large collection of collections - teapots, baskets, knick-knacks, tea cups, stamps, jewelry, antique medical items, bottles, music boxes, patterns, mugs, figurines, paintings, ...you name it and I likely have it represented in my collection somehow. (This is not intended as challenge to those who like to compare their collections to those of others.) Realizing this made me feel a little better about my apparent inability to focus upon any one thing to collect, since it turned out I already had but didn't realize it until then, and I also felt better knowing I had not managed to merely fill our home with clutter so much as I had managed to amass a respectable and eclectic collection large enough to inspire pride in any collector of found or sought after objects. There is still the sneaking suspician that what I really have on my hands is fodder for one heck of a yard sale, but I refuse to view it in that way quite yet - it felt so good to imagine I was not as disorganized as I have been feeling for such a long time.
The other thing that has been on my mind is the situation we all find ourselves in as regards my younger sister's struggles with leukemia. Of course we all hope that she will recover and go into a permanent remission - the best case scenario for anyone with this type of illness - but, understanding that we may only get something reasonable that falls a little below that cherished and hoped for goal, I would like to think we had all managed to learn something from this that we could pass on to others facing similar struggles. This turned my mind to the various things, both sage and not, that I have been told by others and I wondered how I would answer someone else's questions - the same ones that have hammered my brain ever since this thing began - and this has helped me figure a few things out.
One of the things I realized is that, in this type of situation, you have to both let go of your family or loved one but also hold on tighter than you ever have before. The letting go comes with the realization that, while everything humanly possible is being done to help my sister - in my case - there are powers at play I have absolutely no control over. Medicine, science, faith; all of these are in play and are very much a part of the human equation. It is what transcends human abilities and control that makes this thing she is going through so frightening; I cannot control it, much as I wish I could, and it is in that realm, on that level, that I must relinquish all desire to command or issue demands.
That is where you have to do the "letting go" of your family or loved one - in my case, my younger sister. The rest of it - the parts of life that you can control; homework, visiting, speaking to others about helping out, chipping in on chores that otherwise would not get done, keeping yourself at your best for the sake of your loved one (my sister), encouraging her (them), being there as much as possible, caring, loving, listening to each other, comforting other distraught family members - this is the place we need to hold on as tightly as we can to one another. Holding on desperately and determinedly to love is where we have to refuse to let go.
I am not sure there is a truly apt analogy between the two subjects discussed above, unless you could consider the second part as a collecting of people or emotion, or perhaps strength. Maybe there is something in all of this that might speak to someone about uncluttering their emotional lives or cleaning up their kitchen or divesting themselves of miscellaneous possessions or neuroses, but I cannot extrapolate such things at the moment. Perhaps it is merely the way a person's mind wanders when they are tired and careworn and have just tripped over the what-cha-ma-callit for the umpteenth time this morning. I do not know but I hope to learn soon. Maybe I should set up a trade site for those with too much household and emotional clutter: "To Trade - collection of collections for wisdom of ages. Will consider monetary offers as well - must clarify life and mind for what lies ahead. No reasonable offer refused. Purchaser must pay shipping fees."
Monday, March 26, 2007
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Seeing My Sister
Today, despite the snow, I made it to the hospital to visit my sister. She was tending to various "household" paperwork projects, or trying to as the medication they were giving her to help prevent the nausea from the chemotherapy was making her sleepy. We chatted a little between paper sortings and then I read to her while she ate lunch. When the snowstorm got too frisky I headed back home. The thiry to forty minute trip took me almost three hours. I do not know if I will be able to get through the snow tomorrow to get in to see her or not, but I will try if the roads are not too bad. It is a simple thing to be calm and cheerful around Patty right now, and it is something I want to continue to do for her if not for myself, but arriving home as the day winds down and there are more and more quiet moments to traverse poses new challanges the bustle of the day will not allow and I begin to feel the sting of tears long waiting to be shed as they force themselves into my eyes and drown my heart in an ache that is difficult to adequately describe.
I love my sister and I know she loves me. Neither of us being perfect, that fact of our mutual lives is not always in evidence to the extent it should be, but the special moments do happen and remain a vital and important part of our relationship as sisters. It is when I see Patty in my mind's eye, lying on the hospital bed with toxic chemicals entering her bloodstream because that is the only thing that might save her life, or at least extend it - giving us more time - that I find myself weakened by what we are all going through with her, although we all also realize the largest and most difficult burdens are her's, her son's, and her daughter's.
We all hope for the best possible outcome for these treatments but we also try to keep in mind the realities of her illness. It is a tightrope I hope not too many people are forced to walk on in their lives. You move ahead feeling a little like you are about to fall off somehow, but then you look up and realize that you are not really dizzy even though you could have sworn you were about to plunge into some nameless, frightening abyss with no bottom to it - where you would initially fall and then just keep falling - forever. I think that is the part where the fear of loss lives, that place of no return that lurks evilly around each corner as you and all of your loved ones go through this "thing," this vast and unwelcome experience you wish would just end as long as it could be like it had never even happened; everything, healthy, happy and all right, somehow.
Perhaps some day science will grant humanity the chance to experience full and extremely lengthy lives lived with no fear of premature death and loss of loved ones; where "picture perfect" will be the norm instead of grief, fear, and pain. I wonder what there will be to take its place in the training of our characters, the teaching each of us needs to learn how to survive such devastations - emotional and physical. Perhaps humanity will prove too shallow and unworthy of the benefit but something deep inside of me would still very much like to find out "for real."
God bless you and all of your loved ones. May you all feel and be as safe as you were the day your mothers first held you, your fathers first touched your tiny fingers, the times you nestled within the bosom of your families, falling asleep as you listened to the drone of the conversation of your parents lulling you to sleep, resting your heads upon warm laps, cozy together as night quietly claimed the remainder of your day.
I love my sister and I know she loves me. Neither of us being perfect, that fact of our mutual lives is not always in evidence to the extent it should be, but the special moments do happen and remain a vital and important part of our relationship as sisters. It is when I see Patty in my mind's eye, lying on the hospital bed with toxic chemicals entering her bloodstream because that is the only thing that might save her life, or at least extend it - giving us more time - that I find myself weakened by what we are all going through with her, although we all also realize the largest and most difficult burdens are her's, her son's, and her daughter's.
We all hope for the best possible outcome for these treatments but we also try to keep in mind the realities of her illness. It is a tightrope I hope not too many people are forced to walk on in their lives. You move ahead feeling a little like you are about to fall off somehow, but then you look up and realize that you are not really dizzy even though you could have sworn you were about to plunge into some nameless, frightening abyss with no bottom to it - where you would initially fall and then just keep falling - forever. I think that is the part where the fear of loss lives, that place of no return that lurks evilly around each corner as you and all of your loved ones go through this "thing," this vast and unwelcome experience you wish would just end as long as it could be like it had never even happened; everything, healthy, happy and all right, somehow.
Perhaps some day science will grant humanity the chance to experience full and extremely lengthy lives lived with no fear of premature death and loss of loved ones; where "picture perfect" will be the norm instead of grief, fear, and pain. I wonder what there will be to take its place in the training of our characters, the teaching each of us needs to learn how to survive such devastations - emotional and physical. Perhaps humanity will prove too shallow and unworthy of the benefit but something deep inside of me would still very much like to find out "for real."
God bless you and all of your loved ones. May you all feel and be as safe as you were the day your mothers first held you, your fathers first touched your tiny fingers, the times you nestled within the bosom of your families, falling asleep as you listened to the drone of the conversation of your parents lulling you to sleep, resting your heads upon warm laps, cozy together as night quietly claimed the remainder of your day.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Another Open Letter To a Very Mixed Up Young Woman
Dear Britney,
The silence was blissful as I wondered how you were doing but, as of today, your publicity machine, desperate for attention, has kicked in and you are, marginally, news again. You might want to let your publicists know that temper tantrums and "little girl" behavior from a fully grown woman and mother of two (adorable) little boys, while perhaps understandable under the circumstances, is far from appealing.
It does remind me, however, of why I started taking an interest in you in the first place; it was the first time I saw my little (then) niece imitating you as she sang "Oops, I Did It Again!" and danced around the living room. Realizing for the first time what the "parental" perspective has been all along, I decided that perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to keep track of you a little more in order to understand my niece a little more. I followed the stories of your breast enhancement (yuck!), your brush with Madonna and Kaballah (good grief!), as well as your partying with the Audrey-wanna-be and Ms. Lohan, and even took a quick peek at the panty-less pics to see if they were really as bad as all that (they were). I did not realize that following the stories and pictures about you would also land you a place in my heart and mind that could have led to the concern I am feeling for you now, but so it goes.
In addition to a large shot of personal dignity you also really need to stop behaving like a child, Britney, and grow up to the wonderful life ahead of you. This may be contrary to the advice of those who know they can make a bundle of money off of you if you can somehow remain in the public eye and stage even a marginal comeback, but then they do not care about anything except themselves, certainly not you or your children, and they do not care if your life is destroyed as long as they can make money from the ensuing explosion. They are morally bankrupt and have no compunction (look it up) whatsoever about doing absolutely anything in order to get what they are after. You are merely their most convenient sacrifice at the moment.
You are also using a self-diagnosis of post-partum depression to, in essence, self-medicate your own feelings about what you are going through right now. Post-partum depression is a VERY serious illness that requires a great deal of psychiatric and psychological support in order to overcome. If you are behaving like an extremely spoiled child - not picking up after yourself, scapegoating, drinking too much sugar and caffiene based soft drinks, etc. - I would say the chances of your having a significant case of post-partum depression are slim at the moment but, admittedly, I am far from expert on the subject and would (and must!) defer to those who know more about it than I do, but you are not likely - judging from the currently existing reports - to be among those who know more than I do at the moment about that particular condition. I do not rule it out as having to do with some of your problems but gross immaturity seems to be your biggest problem at the moment. (Again, in my unprofessional opinion.)
You have a wonderful life full of love, hope, and endless possibilities ahead of you, Britney, but it can happen only if you are able to ditch the prepubescent publicity urges and hoped for teen queen comeback tour and get on with your life as an adult and mother. You have to grow up even if it isn't the most financially profitable or publicity generating venture you have ever undertaken.
You are a pretty, intelligent, talented human being who needs to allow herself to blossom fully into the beauty and joy of womanhood and motherhood, but you and your publicity hounds are fighting what is usually a very natural and normal transition in an effort to hold onto a success that can continue only if it changes and matures along with you. Don't let the perpetual teenager syndrome of so many has beens be your lot in life, too.
So I say for the last time, with all of the sincerity and concern I do feel for you; grow up Britney. It is your only hope for survival in the midst of all of the perversities and pitfalls of this world.
Love,
Izzlebug
P.S. Your kind thoughts and sincere prayers would be most welcome and appreciated for my younger sister (and mother of my niece) as she continues in her battles with the leukemia that has invaded her body and all of our family's lives.
The silence was blissful as I wondered how you were doing but, as of today, your publicity machine, desperate for attention, has kicked in and you are, marginally, news again. You might want to let your publicists know that temper tantrums and "little girl" behavior from a fully grown woman and mother of two (adorable) little boys, while perhaps understandable under the circumstances, is far from appealing.
It does remind me, however, of why I started taking an interest in you in the first place; it was the first time I saw my little (then) niece imitating you as she sang "Oops, I Did It Again!" and danced around the living room. Realizing for the first time what the "parental" perspective has been all along, I decided that perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to keep track of you a little more in order to understand my niece a little more. I followed the stories of your breast enhancement (yuck!), your brush with Madonna and Kaballah (good grief!), as well as your partying with the Audrey-wanna-be and Ms. Lohan, and even took a quick peek at the panty-less pics to see if they were really as bad as all that (they were). I did not realize that following the stories and pictures about you would also land you a place in my heart and mind that could have led to the concern I am feeling for you now, but so it goes.
In addition to a large shot of personal dignity you also really need to stop behaving like a child, Britney, and grow up to the wonderful life ahead of you. This may be contrary to the advice of those who know they can make a bundle of money off of you if you can somehow remain in the public eye and stage even a marginal comeback, but then they do not care about anything except themselves, certainly not you or your children, and they do not care if your life is destroyed as long as they can make money from the ensuing explosion. They are morally bankrupt and have no compunction (look it up) whatsoever about doing absolutely anything in order to get what they are after. You are merely their most convenient sacrifice at the moment.
You are also using a self-diagnosis of post-partum depression to, in essence, self-medicate your own feelings about what you are going through right now. Post-partum depression is a VERY serious illness that requires a great deal of psychiatric and psychological support in order to overcome. If you are behaving like an extremely spoiled child - not picking up after yourself, scapegoating, drinking too much sugar and caffiene based soft drinks, etc. - I would say the chances of your having a significant case of post-partum depression are slim at the moment but, admittedly, I am far from expert on the subject and would (and must!) defer to those who know more about it than I do, but you are not likely - judging from the currently existing reports - to be among those who know more than I do at the moment about that particular condition. I do not rule it out as having to do with some of your problems but gross immaturity seems to be your biggest problem at the moment. (Again, in my unprofessional opinion.)
You have a wonderful life full of love, hope, and endless possibilities ahead of you, Britney, but it can happen only if you are able to ditch the prepubescent publicity urges and hoped for teen queen comeback tour and get on with your life as an adult and mother. You have to grow up even if it isn't the most financially profitable or publicity generating venture you have ever undertaken.
You are a pretty, intelligent, talented human being who needs to allow herself to blossom fully into the beauty and joy of womanhood and motherhood, but you and your publicity hounds are fighting what is usually a very natural and normal transition in an effort to hold onto a success that can continue only if it changes and matures along with you. Don't let the perpetual teenager syndrome of so many has beens be your lot in life, too.
So I say for the last time, with all of the sincerity and concern I do feel for you; grow up Britney. It is your only hope for survival in the midst of all of the perversities and pitfalls of this world.
Love,
Izzlebug
P.S. Your kind thoughts and sincere prayers would be most welcome and appreciated for my younger sister (and mother of my niece) as she continues in her battles with the leukemia that has invaded her body and all of our family's lives.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Being Strong When You're Not Really
"Keep your chin up!" "Best foot forward!" "Be strong for your sister and your family!" All advice offered by a friend who feels she has been through the mill in life (she has, by the way) and offered with the impatience of someone who does not readily cry or, as she puts it, does not wear her heart on her sleeve. All very much opposite the temperament of the friend to whom she is speaking.
As mentioned before in my blog, my younger sister has had a relapse in her battles with leukemia and is going back into the hospital for further treatment and a bone marrow transplant. She does not need people being weepy and depressed around her as she prepares for the next stage in her fight so I, being more of the weepy type, am trying to get it all out of my system before I visit her this afternoon. Nothing could induce me to deliberately try to undermine Patty's focus or determination but, if my eyes leak without my consent in her presence, that may be how she feels although it will be so far from the truth of the matter as to make the negative interpretations almost cruel without that being the actual motive behind her response to the tears, either.
Her response to people being weepy is defensive. I think it makes her feel like they are grieving prematurely and she has no intention of obliging them by sickening and dying before she is ready to and the tears, though not so much for fear of her imminent demise (and certainly not because of a wish for that to happen!), being more because life is so unfair and that my sister should not be having to deal with this "thing," this disease I wish I could snuff out completely and have Patty healthy, happy, and fiesty again; those are the tears and why they exist and sneak out at inopportune moments.
So, I am going to buy her some balloons (mylar and not latex) and use them to hide the tears as I visit and take her funny movies to watch and, hopefully, help keep her spirits up, which can be hard for her when she is in the midst of chemotherapy treatments that make her sicker than she has ever been before in her life. She is also going to lose what little hair has had time to grow during the brief span of time that since the last treatments has granted her.
I will be trying not to recall moments from our mutual childhoods that may lead in the direction of grief, however unintentionally; those thoughts and memories can wait, hopefully for times we may get to spend looking through photographs for her kids' photo and memory albums as they each prepare for happy moments in their own lives: weddings, graduations, babies, and such. Maybe even for the time when, both of us old, gray and wrinkled beyond belief are sitting watching Patty's grandchildren drive their parents up a tree; then we can do these memories and reminisce, when we are that old together. That is when the tears will somehow be OK, although Patty, not being the weepy type, may still give me a "Good grief, Elizabeth!" sort of look just like our Mom used to now and then. In my imagination I picture Patty with more wrinkles than I will have then, a weaker older sister's final revenge.
As mentioned before in my blog, my younger sister has had a relapse in her battles with leukemia and is going back into the hospital for further treatment and a bone marrow transplant. She does not need people being weepy and depressed around her as she prepares for the next stage in her fight so I, being more of the weepy type, am trying to get it all out of my system before I visit her this afternoon. Nothing could induce me to deliberately try to undermine Patty's focus or determination but, if my eyes leak without my consent in her presence, that may be how she feels although it will be so far from the truth of the matter as to make the negative interpretations almost cruel without that being the actual motive behind her response to the tears, either.
Her response to people being weepy is defensive. I think it makes her feel like they are grieving prematurely and she has no intention of obliging them by sickening and dying before she is ready to and the tears, though not so much for fear of her imminent demise (and certainly not because of a wish for that to happen!), being more because life is so unfair and that my sister should not be having to deal with this "thing," this disease I wish I could snuff out completely and have Patty healthy, happy, and fiesty again; those are the tears and why they exist and sneak out at inopportune moments.
So, I am going to buy her some balloons (mylar and not latex) and use them to hide the tears as I visit and take her funny movies to watch and, hopefully, help keep her spirits up, which can be hard for her when she is in the midst of chemotherapy treatments that make her sicker than she has ever been before in her life. She is also going to lose what little hair has had time to grow during the brief span of time that since the last treatments has granted her.
I will be trying not to recall moments from our mutual childhoods that may lead in the direction of grief, however unintentionally; those thoughts and memories can wait, hopefully for times we may get to spend looking through photographs for her kids' photo and memory albums as they each prepare for happy moments in their own lives: weddings, graduations, babies, and such. Maybe even for the time when, both of us old, gray and wrinkled beyond belief are sitting watching Patty's grandchildren drive their parents up a tree; then we can do these memories and reminisce, when we are that old together. That is when the tears will somehow be OK, although Patty, not being the weepy type, may still give me a "Good grief, Elizabeth!" sort of look just like our Mom used to now and then. In my imagination I picture Patty with more wrinkles than I will have then, a weaker older sister's final revenge.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
A Heart Used to Breaking
I was watching the very ending of "Brian's Song" this morning - the one with James Caan and Billy Dee Williams - when the phone rang. It was my younger sister, Patty, with some of the worst news that could have arrived - the leukemia is back and she has to return to the hospital for another round of chemo but this time with the added stress of needing to find her a compatible bone marrow donor.
I would like to ask any and all who may read this to please go in and have yourselves tested for bone marrow donation and be placed into the national registry of bone marrow donors. If you're a match my sister's doctors will find you. Also, keep in mind that my sister is only one of many victims of this disease that could potentially benefit from your willingness to do this. You really could save a life without risking your own by taking this generous step.
Also, please pray and think very kind thoughts about my sister today and over the coming weeks and months. We love her very much and do not want to lose her.
Izzlebug
To a Younger Sister
I was three years old
And looking up at you
As you sat in the cardboard box
That served as your makeshift high chair for our picnic.
Your pale, wispy blond hair,
Barely there,
Shone in the bright Kansas sunshine
Like a bald head.
I can still see the picture on the side of the box,
Mr. Clean - earring and all,
Smiling - he was not the one going home with a sunburn.
You were dressed in pink, I think, and squinted into the camera
And into your older sister's heart,
Although I was not aware that was happening;
I was only three.
Today, our hair is a collective gray
Although the currently fashionable brand of
Hair dye periodically helps you forget.
Would it also help to know
Your older sister still sees you
As that beautiful, little
Platinum blonde babe
Lolling in the prairie winds
Secure in your box?
Soon, the chemotherapy will take all of your hair away,
Again.
I will try to save your dreams of beautiful hair
And Mr. Clean
To fill your thoughts while we all wait
For those first frail wisps
To reappear again.
It's almost like
Starting over
Each time.
I would like to ask any and all who may read this to please go in and have yourselves tested for bone marrow donation and be placed into the national registry of bone marrow donors. If you're a match my sister's doctors will find you. Also, keep in mind that my sister is only one of many victims of this disease that could potentially benefit from your willingness to do this. You really could save a life without risking your own by taking this generous step.
Also, please pray and think very kind thoughts about my sister today and over the coming weeks and months. We love her very much and do not want to lose her.
Izzlebug
To a Younger Sister
I was three years old
And looking up at you
As you sat in the cardboard box
That served as your makeshift high chair for our picnic.
Your pale, wispy blond hair,
Barely there,
Shone in the bright Kansas sunshine
Like a bald head.
I can still see the picture on the side of the box,
Mr. Clean - earring and all,
Smiling - he was not the one going home with a sunburn.
You were dressed in pink, I think, and squinted into the camera
And into your older sister's heart,
Although I was not aware that was happening;
I was only three.
Today, our hair is a collective gray
Although the currently fashionable brand of
Hair dye periodically helps you forget.
Would it also help to know
Your older sister still sees you
As that beautiful, little
Platinum blonde babe
Lolling in the prairie winds
Secure in your box?
Soon, the chemotherapy will take all of your hair away,
Again.
I will try to save your dreams of beautiful hair
And Mr. Clean
To fill your thoughts while we all wait
For those first frail wisps
To reappear again.
It's almost like
Starting over
Each time.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Gray Days, Gray Thoughts, and the Approach of Spring
The winter dusk is gray and dreary, the bluejays silent, the sun hidden below the horizon to the point of being beyond reflecting a "sunset" but still present enough to prevent the gray from becoming the black of night. I have taken several minutes to reread some of my former blogs and, while they definitely reflect many of my thoughts, feelings, experiences, and opinions, there is not really any one central theme; much like my life and mind, I suspect.
Not only have I always "felt" the weather, I have also always had a continuity of racing and bizarre thoughts to contend with on an almost daily basis, but today they have been thankfully silent. I have never had another person, at least one not considered mentally ill, mention that they, too, have thoughts that sometimes arrive in vast quantity and diversity, like a mental tidal wave, that have at times threatened to overwhelm them or, at best, merely kept them from falling asleep as expediently as they might wish. What this means is that, as far as the massive influx of seemingly random thoughts that I experience from time to time, I have no way to gauge whether this is "normal," or "within acceptable limits," or "pretty, frigin' strange." (Please feel free to get back to me on this, anyone of you who may happen upon my blog now and then.)
On the other hand, I do have a lot of fun, though rarely, of doing a sort of "free association" type of writing that can take me on adventures without ever having to leave my desk or home. They can take the form of any sort of story you might imagine and usually fade after a paragraph or two, but that is because they take a great deal of mental energy and I am growing increasingly conservative with my mental energy as I slowly begin to gather the dust of advancing middle age.
Izzlebug and the Martians
Once upon a time there was a child who had no clue she would ever be known by the name of "Izzlebug" after she had grown up, which was just as well because she was much more sober as a child than she is able to be as an adult, having discovered within herself a perverse sense of humor and a delight in the odd, unexpected, or downright strange. However, it was all of these things that have helped her in her dealings with the extraterrestrials who she has discovered living in her home in the form of molds, mildews, mice, book-eating beetles, dust mites, clothes-munching moths, and on occasion her boyfriend, but that is only when the Martians invade his mind when he is too tired to prevent them from encroaching. The way Izzlebug discovered these beings was simple enough, some of them make her sneeze. Who would have known a plain, old(er) person would be allergic to extraterrestrials?
Most of the time Izzlebug, her boyfriend, and their family of cats manage to live in peace with these invaders from another planet, but once in awhile one or more of them decides to take their true form and then havoc can ensue because the Martians' natural form is the same in structure and substance as that of human emotions, and sometimes not very nice ones. Fortunately, the incursions are few and no longer as successful as they once were and Izzlebug is hoping all of the Martians will eventually get so bored they decide to invade someone else's home.
The End
There you have it; the evidence. Of what I am not quite sure but there it is in black and white. Have a lovely evening and watch out for Martians - they're everywhere!
Not only have I always "felt" the weather, I have also always had a continuity of racing and bizarre thoughts to contend with on an almost daily basis, but today they have been thankfully silent. I have never had another person, at least one not considered mentally ill, mention that they, too, have thoughts that sometimes arrive in vast quantity and diversity, like a mental tidal wave, that have at times threatened to overwhelm them or, at best, merely kept them from falling asleep as expediently as they might wish. What this means is that, as far as the massive influx of seemingly random thoughts that I experience from time to time, I have no way to gauge whether this is "normal," or "within acceptable limits," or "pretty, frigin' strange." (Please feel free to get back to me on this, anyone of you who may happen upon my blog now and then.)
On the other hand, I do have a lot of fun, though rarely, of doing a sort of "free association" type of writing that can take me on adventures without ever having to leave my desk or home. They can take the form of any sort of story you might imagine and usually fade after a paragraph or two, but that is because they take a great deal of mental energy and I am growing increasingly conservative with my mental energy as I slowly begin to gather the dust of advancing middle age.
Izzlebug and the Martians
Once upon a time there was a child who had no clue she would ever be known by the name of "Izzlebug" after she had grown up, which was just as well because she was much more sober as a child than she is able to be as an adult, having discovered within herself a perverse sense of humor and a delight in the odd, unexpected, or downright strange. However, it was all of these things that have helped her in her dealings with the extraterrestrials who she has discovered living in her home in the form of molds, mildews, mice, book-eating beetles, dust mites, clothes-munching moths, and on occasion her boyfriend, but that is only when the Martians invade his mind when he is too tired to prevent them from encroaching. The way Izzlebug discovered these beings was simple enough, some of them make her sneeze. Who would have known a plain, old(er) person would be allergic to extraterrestrials?
Most of the time Izzlebug, her boyfriend, and their family of cats manage to live in peace with these invaders from another planet, but once in awhile one or more of them decides to take their true form and then havoc can ensue because the Martians' natural form is the same in structure and substance as that of human emotions, and sometimes not very nice ones. Fortunately, the incursions are few and no longer as successful as they once were and Izzlebug is hoping all of the Martians will eventually get so bored they decide to invade someone else's home.
The End
There you have it; the evidence. Of what I am not quite sure but there it is in black and white. Have a lovely evening and watch out for Martians - they're everywhere!
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