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Pieces…Bits and Pieces or WHEN

How quickly the quality of life changes from normal to abnormal

WHEN…

You shaved under your arms with a dull razor two days ago and now two days later your pits are burning

WHEN…

You apply aloe vera to the burning pits, feeling relief until you feel, the LUMPS

WHEN…

Survival mode kicks in, and you’ve been through this before with your mom and know the deal-time is of the essence, so they say, but when it’s happening to you, time goes on fast forward with you driving the train with a clutch when you only know how to drive automatic

WHEN…

Through the layers of receptionists at the doctor’s office and strategically planning, you finally get the receptionist who is willing to help you get that next day appointment

WHEN…

You go through a mammogram diagnostic (you don’t wanna know the details) and ultrasound on the day of your mother’s birth and you keep it on the down low, because your mom is 90 and can’t deal with the possibility of her daughter  being diagnosed with breast cancer, most especially when your mom went through the kidney bean episode  with her sister who died from it.

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WHEN…

You realize how YOU are the THREAD that holds your precious family (mom and fur babies) together and don’t have any provisions or alternative plans for them to follow if YOU should GO before THEM

WHEN…

The diagnosis is normal.

Nothing’s wrong.

No lumps.

Enlarged lymph nodes due to shaving.

And…

the doctor looks at you as if you have three heads but you could care less because being hysterically pro active when cancer runs in the family is far better than sitting back and wishing the lumps would magically disappear  overnight.

How quickly our quality of life changes from abnormal back to normal.

…Bye Felicia Razors…
Hello Nair!

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Curses and Blessings or Running around in Purgatory since Training is one step above Hell and one step down from Heaven…

Wowza, what a can opener of a title!

But…

Titles ain’t nothing but a bunch of words struggling to rise to importance above the mediocre of other titles with a bunch of words struggling…

Okay. I stop.

In between days or rather in between jobs trying to figure out where to go from where I’ve been. Vet medicine is amazing when things go right, amazing when things go wrong, amazing.

Except…

When you work with people:

-who wear fur coats

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– who abusively use anti barking shock collars on their dogs

– who state you are “too nice with the animals” when restraining

– who laugh at you trying to comfort an animal coming out of anesthesia

-who only croon over the ‘cute ones’ while the ugly ones continue to stress from fear due to neglect not only from the previous owners but now the vet staff

-who come in to work with the alcohol from last night on the breath stench

-who sip Irish whiskey while rounding

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Okay. I stop.

Ruminating about the past, sours the moment of the present and surely delays the arrival of the future.

So…

I return to Curses and Blessings, which have nothing to do with the career I once loved, now loathe and in the process of giving up, but to running.

Yes, running.

The one thing keeping me sane right now and out of this place.

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Have you ever heard of a runner going postal on the supermarket line or better yet going postal waiting for the subway?  imgres

Running (interval running in my case) gives me endorphins which are free, and produced by my brain (your brain as well). Endorphins are pain reducers and create within the body a feeling akin to morphine.

Are Endorphins addictive?

Not sure.

Ask Eminem.

2017 is the year of the 10k and the ½ marathon races. A graduation from the 5k’s of 2016. I have yet to run a 10k, (April 9th is the first one) and the ½ marathon is not until October. Nevertheless, it is the year for transition and changes, literally and figuratively.

Now. Back to the title, the can opener which began this work of words.

While I run I listen to an eclectic bunch of music which I classify as Curses (sex, drugs, rnr, rehab and Led Zepplin (sigh) ) and blessings (chanting, Buddhism, Catholicism and Godspell-the musical) all within the scope of: opera, classical, disco, rap, rock (old school) new wave, county and so forth.

Take Led Zepplin. Curses or Blessings?

How about Buddhism chants? Curses or Blessings? (careful with your choice here)

I run.

Through transition and changes, figuratively and literally.

I run.

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It’s been a long time…Part 2

It’s been a long time…

Since I swam endless laps in a deep-water pool.
Feeling the cool water massage my muscles as I swim backstroke, breaststroke and struggled through a front crawl. Gliding, swishing, breathing, in rhythm as the strokes are counted on a water resistant watch.

It’s been a long time…

Since I laughed until I cried.
Laughing away at some ridiculous joke or a comedy on HBO such as ‘Me, Myself and Irene’. Laughing till the stomach muscles tighten, taken by surprised at the sudden outburst of muscle spasm.

It’s been a long time…

Since I’ve been in love.
The kind of love that’s reckless, and fills the soul with puffy pink butterflies oozing with cotton candy, like the kind you tried for the first time as a kid.

It’s been a long time…

Since, I cried a good cry.
Actually, no, today I did, as I prepared Pucchi for his trip to the crematorium.
Pucchi, a maltese mix and client at the clinic had undergone 12 months of chemo and succumb to his cancer early this morning. I was there five months ago to meet him during my initial interview for the position I hold now and participated in his chemo treatment numerous times. His owner was heartbroken, as I was, but now Pucchi runs free of treatments on the other side of the rainbow bridge.

It’s been a long time…

Since I had a vacation.
Not the vacation the masses flock to but a vacation that is stimulating, active and engaging and requires allot more effort than lounging on the beach baking to look like a lobster, steamed and floating in butter.

It’s been a long time…

Since, I sat on the couch.
Reading, from my Kindle in the sunlight, all afternoon, listening to classical music on the radio and slowly sipping a glass of cabernet chased down with Godiva chocolates.

It’s been a long time…

Since, I fell asleep to the sounds of crickets chirping.
Under a star lit sky, where you could actually see each individual star, quiet, sleepy, cool night, no ac, no humidifier, silent, sleepy, sleep.

It’s been a long time…

Since, I had Pho.
Vietnamese Pho.
The kind of Pho you get in San Francisco, during a day when the fog takes a little longer than usual to lift away towards oblivion. The Pho served with shrimp and noodles, spicy, hot, comforting, warming like a serious hug,  uplifting. The Pho you can’t get in NYC.

It’s been a long time…

Since, I wore hot pants and platform heels.
Actually, let it remain, a long, long, long, long time I attempt to wear such a pairing again.
No, wait.
If I live to 90, let it be my celebration.
Ninety years old, posing in hot pants and platform shoes!!

Counting…

My days at work are numbered?

My days at work are numbered.

That statement no longer is the question I often turned it into when the thought of leaving this place first surfaced. Fueled by the unknown (can I find another job?), accelerated by the uncertainty, (how will I pay my bills?) and strangled by the fear of hopelessness and danger (NO HEALTH BENEFITS!), I remained at this depressive and stagnated job for two years.

The Director I adored working with is gone, driven out by VP’s who were not impressed with her leadership style and fancy excel data spreadsheets. She made the place tolerable and kept me busy with work, so busy that no time existed to socialize with staff I did not care to socialize with. She was fair and treated staff who gossiped about her horribly with fairness even though she overheard what they said. She understood my personal trauma, took the time to find out about its source and although we did not discuss it, it was understood that working at this place was in some way therapeutic.

The Director who took her place does not deserve to earn 70 grand a year but he is here and she is not. He had connections and smooth talking ways. He’s a peacock. peacock-new-zealand_10933_990x742[1]

All fluff, wearing all the colours of the rainbow suits lacking in substance. He’s also a pimp daddy for he wore a full-length mink coat all winter.

imagesCA3ZZ6SWTo wear such a get up to a homeless, mentally ill and substance abuse women’s’ shelter, in my opinion is disrespectful and insensitive.  But, I guess he can for he is the Mack daddy-who can’t work a Xerox! He gossips about staff, mimics the speech of clients’ in front of them, and passes his workload down the line of staff until it is all gone. Then time to sit back, close the office door and watch movies on the tablet.

I do not work for a city shelter. I work for a non-profit organization that is funded by Medicaid and the city. The ex CEO is under investigation for embezzlement of Medicaid funds and earned approximately 60 grand a month while the staff received no cost of living increases or raises. Our Christmas party was potluck!

I will miss the clients who at times are inspirational in their
accomplishments against such unfavourable odds.

I will miss my easy 2-mile walk to work.

Will I miss working for this company when my day comes? No. Will I miss my co-workers? No. Will I miss Big Peacock Daddy? H to the ell and n to the o!

Most importantly, I will not miss the metal detectors that greet me every time I step through the doors of the place I will not affectionately remember as ‘the place where I used to work’.

 

**Pictures courtesy of the internet.

 

 

 

Feeling groovy…

Groovy –adj. groov·i·er, groov·i·est Slang Very pleasing; wonderful.

In the realm of my being it is not very often, the feeling of ‘groovy’ in my world comes around.  Actually, it’s rare.  But when it does, it tends to stick on my shirt sleeve for about an hour or so before moving on to its next honourary recipient (depending on how one views this, for feeling groovy is not good for those who are quite content to wallow in misery).

Feeling groovy for me is as the definition above states: very pleasing; wonderful. For a few minutes I am in bliss, over an accomplishment, thought, a good read, a good piece of writing, a really good sermon or Pi Patel not engaging in negative dogspeak with the brown Piti at Ppark to name a few.

This is how I feel when I am feeling groovy as demonstrated by Pi Patel.

This is how the boys act when I’m feeling groovy. groovy

Their reaction does not matter for it is my groovy and not theirs. They feel groovy at biscuit time, bath time, Ppark time, feeding time, sleeping time and especially at belly rubbing time. Bless them, for they have no triggerings to get them to their state of groovy and once there, it lingers well past an hour before naptime.

I wish my feeling groovy was in sync with those around me, than a massive groovy fest could occur.

Unfortunately, groovy is as groovy does not as groovy as one wants it to be. When I feel groovy and others do not, I see them and their views as raining down on my groovy. I long to seek solitude and surround myself with incense and singing bowls in order to keep my groovy as long as I can while creating a chain link fence of spiritual strength to block out the ungrooviness of others.

Right now, at this time. I feel groovy.

Slow down, you move too fast, you’ve got to make the morning last
Just kickin’ down the cobble-stones, lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy

Feeling groovy

Hello lamp-post, what’s cha knowing, I’ve come to watch your flowers growin’
Ain’t cha got no rhymes for me, do-it-do-do, feelin’ groovy

Feeling groovy

I’ve got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me

Life I love you, all is groovy-Simon and Garfunkel

To be or not to be…

I am THE self-saboteur of the most unflinching kind. The irony in honouring myself with the title lies in my inability to realize when my self- sabotaging occurs. I guess that’s why I’m so good at it-it takes years to discover the outcome of the self-sabotage but only seconds to execute and dissolve what might have been.

At this time, going into specifics and personal details of my past self-sabotages, would only ignite sadness. Picking through the rubble of horribly made decisions and rediscovering the skeleton remains of their consequences is not a good thing for the alma (soul). A quick backward glance at the past does permit clarity and sometimes answers into the cause of the self-sabotage but as long as the glance remains a glance. Wallowing in the realization of the destruction caused by self- sabotage can do permanent harm.

‘Googling’ a fixed definition on what self-sabotage is, resulted in endless hits of personal sites with personal testaments too endless to write in this blog.

Instead, I will write my own.

The act of self-sabotage is personal and involves disrupting the outcome of a possibly good thing unfolding for the self. For example, take an attempt to climb the corporate ladder. The credentials and degrees are in place, the years in the biz accumulated and the references secured but the interview for the VP of such and such departments takes less than 10 minutes. By wearing sneakers and not removing the large silver hoops in the nose piercings, the candidate sabotaged the chance for promotion. One could say, the forgetting to dress appropriate is legit, but seriously, if you really want that job or feel you truly deserve it, you would not forget to remove the piercings and most certainly would endure the pain of five-inch heels or shoe tip pinchers to get the job.

Of course, this is sedate compared to how far and deep self-sabotage can go.

Relationships can be self-sabotaged when one wants more than the other wants and seeks to cement an inseparable bond as in a pregnancy, which appears unplanned though really planned.  Feelings of worthlessness and creating situations which reinforce these negative feelings are usually led by self-sabotage as in: I’m fat, so I’ll keep on eating, since I’m fat anyway, and I’ll never get skinny, I might as well keep on eating, Lay’s potato chips, one chip at a time until the whole bag is gone…and then since I gained 10 pounds, I’ll get another bag…this ends here.

Is there a solution towards ending the self-sabotage reign?

I guess acknowledging the sabotaging is the first step. Then a search for triggers, which is what makes it happen to begin with, and then analyzing the possible root cause behind the self-sabotage.  And finally, finding help in coming to terms with it. stop-self-sabotage-behaviour

For me, self-sabotage is about control and negative feelings. Often, my worried state of mind tends to frolic in the past, skip through the present and sit anxiously awaiting for the grass to grow in the future. It is critical for my state of mind to be in the present.

As the sage Oogway in “Kung Fu Panda”, said to Po Ping, “…You are too concern about what was and what will be… Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift…that’s why it is called present…”

 

*illustration from the web

Those who are full of themselves…

Full of themselves-to be full of oneself or one’s own importance-Word Reference Mine[1]

Those who are full of Themselves:

-are downright annoying if you are stuck in the company of one

– will make you meditate to Buddha for loving/kindness and throw in a prayer to the One and only if you are stuck in the company of two or more!

-are self-righteous and love to sit on imaginary pedestals of grandeur as the ‘ordinaries’ muddle about at their feet

– are the cause of severe trauma to the mind and ears for the mind will strain to dissect through the verbal bull and the ears will develop extra wax to block out the irritating shrill of their voice (this has yet to happen to me, but I thought I’d put it out there)

Those who are Full of themselves:

-believe they are the only ones who have talent of any kind

-believe the world centers on and revolves around their schedules, thoughts, needs, wants…

-believe their way is the way, the only way and the ONE’s way needs major adjusting

-believe they are the cream of nectar, do not smell and can wear the same underwear for days on end (not necessarily true, but who cares?)

Those who are full of them Selves:

-may lack self worth

-may be insecure in the most unhealthy way

-may be full of them selves due to the fullness of past abuse endured

-may NEED the most compassion, understanding and patience from a person who is not full of them selves can give

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