Being a Woman

Okay, y'all get to hear some graphic details now. Yay you.

Occasionally I get this idea, it rolls through my head and usually is gone soon thereafter. And no, it's not because I'm blonde. It's because my brain is made of swiss cheese. And so full of stuff that I can't keep my thoughts oriented on one thing for long.

So my mind pops up with many different things, probably about every few minutes or so.

And then this new thought. "Oh, that's a possible option." But it doesn't stay. Until a few months ago when it settled in with claws.

I'm talking about tubal ligation. Getting your "tubes tied", getting "sterilized", another word I've seen used. What a distasteful word.

About a year and a half ago (I think), I decided to get off the Pill because I didn't want to mess with hormones anymore. Mine are probably messed up enough as it is. Didn't want barrier methods. Uhm, hello, condoms? Eeww? Never liked 'em and besides, hello, married! Diaphragm, sponge, foams... boring, hate interrupting the... flow of things.

So off to my trusty and extremely perky gynecologist. I love my gynecologist. She's through Kaiser and even though she is so very perky, she is nice and careful and all that. For what is, any way you put it, a rather uncomfortable affair. We women sure do have a lot of bits to take care of. How annoying. At times.

I'd done research on IUDs (Inter-Uterine Device) even though originally when I was younger, had heard they were the Devil's work. Apparently they used to cause many awful problems for women. Something to do with the type of string used in its old construction. It bred bacteria which in turn bred very nasty things that do very nasty things to women. PID (Pelvic Inflammatory Disease) and such. But these days IUDs are made with a sort of fishing line type material which is not capable of such dastardly Devilish sort of work. Two kinds, the Copper-T and basically the Copper-T Plus. The Copper-T is old school, formed like a little T with copper embedded, wrapped around, whatever. It's the copper that creates an acidic environment in the uterus that makes dastardly Devilish short work of sperm. Dead. DED. It's good for 10 years or so. The Copper-T Plus (not it's real name, mind you) has hormones also embedded into it, progesterone, I think. That helps with the whole anti-pregnancy as well, rather like the Pill. That is good for 5 years, I do believe.

Putting it in hurts like a fucking son of a bitch, despite the whole numbing needle shot into the cervix crap they do, which, mind you, hurts like a son of a bitch. Plus, she warned me, my periods might get longer, heavier and oh, guess what, MORE fucking painful!! But hey, no worries about messing around at the hot moments to protect oneself, etc. But... she was right. It did make my periods longer, heavier and more painful. But after a while, it did ease a little bit. They are still long and heavy, not as painful. Until the beginning of this year when I started having this weird cramping at random times that seemed to spread from my abdomen into my lower back which made me think my poor kidneys were on fire. Off I go to the doctor (twice), getting the same nurse (twice) and being told (twice) that the major muscles in my back, just in that lower back area, were like iron bars. And that's all it was, back spasms. Here's some muscle relaxers, off you go.

You know, I'm usually a fairly good patient. I will usually do what my doctors tell me to do but in this case, I think I cry Bullshit! It's far too random and always starts in the abdomen. Plus when I exercised, it got worse, or I felt crampy afterwards.

So I started thinking of getting rid of the IUD since maybe this is the cause of these awful cramps, back pain and post-exercise pain. I don't seem to have any symptoms of copper allergy which, from what I've read sounds very awful. Although I wonder what the mild symptoms might look like. I remember when Marty and I had "Promise" rings during our "Year" test to see if we wanted to continue on. His was copper with two silver bands, mine was silver with two copper bands (his favorite metal is copper, mine silver), both with silver linings. His fingers were fine wearing his ring and his had way more copper than mine. The fingers touching the little, thin bands of my ring, on my ring finger, turned green. I didn't get rashes or other symptoms but always green. Yum. So who knows what the inside of my uterus looks like at this point. Maybe it's a build up of some kind, too much sensitivity or whatever.

So if I don't have the IUD, don't want barrier methods, what's left. Besides, hello, married! To hell with all that stuff minus the not wanting to get pregnant. No kids for me thank you very much. I can get one on loan.

So what options are there left. Well, hysterectomy. Take all that shit out. Gods awful if you ask me. Go to Wikipedia to read the horrendous entry on hysterectomies. So, fuck that option with a very long and wide pole. But tubes being "clipped", now there's an option. Apparently they just take up a little bit of the fallopian tube and make a little loop, slipping a ring at the base of this loop, effectively pinching it off. Both sides. No egg goes through, no sperm can enter. Do Not Pass Go!!

Now my father used to castrate kid goats by placing a tight rubber band around the base of the testicle sack. Blood flow gets cut off and eventually the testicle sack withers and falls off and the base is already healed. Apparently not painful. But for some reason, my cute, perky gynecologist says, the blood flow does not get cut off in this case, the pinched loop does not wither and die. She didn't really seem to know why but "that's the way it seems to work". Since tubals have been going on for years and years now, I'm inclined to believe her. But how strange.

So fallopian tubes sealed off. But ovulation still occurs as normal. Periods happen as normal. Hormones don't get fucked with. Don't have an intrusive copper/plastic uterine irritating device thingie in me. So hopefully my periods get shorter, lighter, maybe less painful. And really hope those weird cramps go away.

Doesn't seem like there's any side effects to it unless they fuck up. Have to go under, general anesthesia (I'll get to this) and about a two week recovery time period. Now why wouldn't I ask that Marty have the associated operation for his gender, although it apparently is an easier operation? Well, I want the IUD gone. Although I guess if I think about it, I could get the IUD removed if he were "fixed". But somehow the thought just makes me nervous. What if it didn't work, then I'd be wide open so to speak. Although if the tubal didn't work, I'd still be wide open because he wouldn't be? Errrgg, what a mess and now I'm driving myself crazy thinking about it.

And I haven't even gotten to the psychological parts yet. I'm having a hard time getting past the whole "general anesthesia" thing. It terrifies me. The thought of being "put under" just freaks me out. What if I don't wake up? That's the biggest question I have. Oh, yes, the gas they use is much easier on the system than earlier years, blah blah blah. Marty's been under at least two, I think three or four times in his life (three, I think), two while I've known him, for foot surgery. He described his first time as much worse than the most recent time. Oh, still totally nauseous and crying and shaking when he woke up but hey, still better. Uhm, yeah, great.

They USE a damn GAS to KNOCK YOUR ASS UNCONSCIOUS. I'm sorry but that just can't be good. And how the hell do they know that I'm not going to have a reaction to that CHEMICAL they PUT IN YOUR BODY TO KNOCK YOUR ASS OUT and not wake up? Plus, it's not in my control, so therefore, it is anathema.

So, I'd have to get past that particular fear even if I made the decision to go ahead.

Then there's the psychological piece beyond the anesthesia.

I am a woman, last time I checked. Oooh, wait, let me look... Yep. Female. And part of being a biologically born female is that I indeed have a, I assume, working uterus, working reproductive system. And my role, biologically, of my particular species is to bear young. It's part of what identifies me biologically as a female. Okay. I understand that part. Now, if you take that ability away, does that make me any less female than I already am? I also understand that this part is not the ONLY means of self-identity as a female. Of course there are the psycho-social bits to consider, what I have learned about being female in this society, which, I hate to say, still includes biological roles to some degree. But I've found this issue of "femaleness" in relation to biological role coming up for me as I contemplate this. Would I be less female, less of a woman? I don't think so, in the scheme of things but it niggles at me. And really, so what if I can't reproduce. There are women out there who can't and naturally. A possibly rising rate of those who can't because of... well, who knows what, pollutants or weird mutation of genes (possibly caused by... oh say... pollutants). I'm not talking Children of Men here and I don't know the actual statistics but it seems I am hearing of infertility or difficulties around getting pregnant and birthing more and more. Are they any less "women" because they cannot, not even by choice, reproduce? Of course not! So, why does this plague me? Plus another biological piece... I'm pretty damn sure I don't want kids. And yet, there's that little bit of me that says well, what am I giving up by not being able to have kids? Even though I don't want any. Will I regret this? Even though I really don't want kids. Is it just the mere of idea of not having the option anymore that bugs me? Because I REALLY DON'T WANT KIDS. No. Really.

So, then all the "advice" out there, on the forum boards and such, state that maybe if there is any doubt at all, you should wait. Well. Wait for what? I'm already 34 years old and I know there are going to be no kids popping out of any orifice of my body any time soon. So what am I waiting for? To get older and create even more problems the "both of us"? Hmm. I think not.

So basically, it's these little nagging things, the psychological questions and the anesthesia question that so far have blocked a final decision. Plus, I have to build up two weeks of recovery time, meaning for me two 22 hours shifts a week, 45 hours... x2, 90. Bah. But at least I can take that off of sick time and not vacation.

So... we shall see. And I shall report later.

Burning Man 2007

So I return from my second year visiting Black Rock City, Burning Man 2007.

You can go here for my recounting, which at the time of this posting is still in progress, but here's the link in any case so you can check back!

Or for something completely different, check out Marty's Burning Man snark entry and his photo entry.

Enjoy!

The Level of Bill

So, let me explain Bill Jacks to you.

Bill Jacks is a character from the show "John From Cincinnati" played quite brilliantly by former Married With Children star Ed O'Neill. He was the asshole dad/husband on M w/ C.

The character: He's a former cop whose wife died of some disease, maybe cancer and this apparently sent him over the edge. Owns a messianic, life-giving nanday conure parrot named Zippy (along with a few other birds) and to whom he monologues the shit out of. He's a friend of the crazed surfing Yost family.

And a total whack job.

He's quite neurotic, obsessive-compulsive, paranoid. It's the paranoid part that comes into play for this blog entry. Of course, despite all of his crazy failings, and like most David Milch characters, he has a heart-wrenching underlying sweetness and grand heart.

So I was sitting with my therapist the other day and I was talking about FEAR. And how my fear controls me so much that I really don't do a lot in life that I would like to do, nor does it (meaning myself here) allow me to even like myself much.

I was noticing the different types of Fear that I carry, some ranging towards my own version of Bill Paranoia. I noted that and described Bill Jacks to my therapist. My therapist, at the end of my session, reminded me to see if I could be aware of the various "Levels of Bill" over the next week.

I immediately loved this phrase!! Indeed how appropriate that Bill Jacks become one of my many "sub-ego fragments" or I've also called them little "sub-personalities" running around in my psyche.

And don't anyone freak out and wonder if I'm multiple-personality disordered or anything because, guess what, you've got 'em too. Inner Critic, Inner Child, however you want to name them, we all have these sort of "fragmented bits" running around. And they are just a part of you. My Fear is me. Well, it isn't ME, I am not Fear but it is a part of me. So, that cleared up, onwards!

That twitchy, hand waving, ranting paranoid side of Fear. Bill Jacks to a T!! And now, I too, can be a part of the Bill Jacks experience. What IS my Level of Bill at any given moment. Usually not too high. Usually high when I'm stressed out about something and just spinning it over and over in my mind until it almost becomes a part of my cellular makeup. This is also why I try not to drink a lot of caffeine. I'm often half way there (without the perks, just the jittery bits) in my regular day to day life.

I've seen some blog sites that offer a "This is my mood right now" icon you can select for each blog entry. Maybe it's evil MySpace that does that. (I say Evil because MySpace has got to be one of the ugliest sites I've ever seen, along with Flicker, and doesn't seem to offer many options to make it any less ugly).

I want a "This is my Level of Bill right now." icon to select for my blog entries. Yeah. That sounds good. Bill Jacks, Level 9!

Camping (Body Image)

I like nature and all. Nice trees, clear air. Bugs, dirt. All good, in the scheme of things.

So I went camping with Marty, his friends (and mine, but his first) Emily (American living in England) and Paul (living in Sacramento). Just Friday and Saturday, but in a little state park named Armstrong. We packed like we were going to "pack it in" but I realized that I would just about die if I had to carry a large pack on my back for three miles over rough terrain. So we ended up camping in one of the "moderate" campsites, you know with a flushing toilet structure, fire pit, picnic table. Etc. Still camping, just not as much in the "wilds" as maybe we wanted to be.

But we had a good time. We did the good old camp stove meals, burritos, spaghetti, etc. We watched the night sky and saw some good shooting stars. We chatted late into the night like when you had sleep-overs when you were little. Okay, maybe just the girls would understand that. I don't really know if boys have sleep-overs when they are little. Emily and I had a good girl talk. We all went hiking.

Which brings me to the body image part of camping. I am so out of shape. As we were hiking, I hurt, I was breathing too heavily, my heart was doing its weird arrhythmia thingie (I do believe Paul said we were fairly high up in altitude, which seems to set off my heart worse than just normal exercise).

I had already decided a bit ago that I was going to start my "No Wheat, No Sugar" thing again after Burning Man, basically at the beginning of September. Even though it sucks. Just the thought of doing it again makes my heart sink and my skin crawl. I hate the thought of anything that smacks of deprivation. And not being able to eat wheat or sugar is very much deprivation to me. Like trying to go off crack or something.

But so necessary. Because I can barely move sometimes. So here I go again. Bah. Sniff... I love bread and sugar.

But onwards!!

Desire

I recently have gotten into the television show "House, M.D.", about a brilliant diagnostician with an ill bedside manner; he basically hates people, but loves puzzles. So basically he's an asshole to his patients and his own assembled team of doctors who help him figure out cases and do the "patient stuff".

In Season Two, Episode 13, called "Skin Deep", there was this song played during the episode that so hauntingly echoed what was going on in the show. I looked it up and it ended up being this one.

Desire - Ryan Adams

Two hearts fading, like a flower.
And all this waiting, for the power.
For some answer, to this fire.
Sinking slowly. The water’s higher.
Desire

With no secrets. No obsession.
This time I'm speeding with no direction.
Without a reason. What is this fire?
Burning slowly. My one and only.
Desire

You know me. You know my way in.
You just can't show me, but God I'm praying,
That you'll find me, and that you'll see me,
That you run and never tire.
Desire

I was so struck by the music. And the lyrics. How the song relates to my feeling lost in life. Which direction do I go? Where is my fire? For me the song isn't really about another person, as in the show it wasn't quite either. But about the desire we have for many things: our leg to stop hurting (House is lame in one leg), our sense of passion in life, our direction in life. So, how keen this song.

I found many links on YouTube for this song, although could not find the original artist video, if there even is one. I did find people playing this song on their own, people taking the episode "Skin Deep" and putting together a montage of cuts from the episode to the music. But finally found this one, no video played, just the image of a heart rate monitor or some such, with the song. In it's purity. Because only folks who watch the show would understand what is going on in one of the clip shows. BUT, checking through my blog as I do periodically, it had been pulled by YouTube.com, so here's a live spot. (And found a different version again).

See God, Kai

After the trip to my Father's, during which we saw the phenomenon that was the ending of "The Sopranos", never mind that neither Marty nor I ever watched the series, (we just wanted to join the crowd), we saw an advertisement for another HBO show called "John From Cincinnati". Since we've upgraded to digital cable, we get this rather neat service called On Demand. Shows are saved up on the server, can watch them later, etc, sort of like Tivo, but only the shows that the cable company, Comcast in this case, chooses. As part of our upgrade deal (free for one year, blah blah), we got HBO On Demand. So since "John From Cincinnati" was created by David Milch, who created "Deadwood", Marty very much wanted to see it. I liked "Deadwood" too, so I was open to watching it as well. Yay, HBO On Demand.

So when we got back, the first and second show had already posted to the "server" so we eagerly sat down to watch the first. And then immediately following, the second. Because, oh my gods!

It isn't a show most people would probably like. Tonight is the season finale (and most likely, read here, Series Finale). Which we will get to watch tomorrow afternoon after both us dribble home from our various overnight shifts. Ten episodes. Sniff. No official announcement as of yet but looking like it's going to be canceled. Which is really, really stupid.

Imperial Beach, really fucked up surfing family with a rather fucked up circle of "friends" surrounding them. Enter into this morass of woundedness, John. From Cincinnati. With magic pants that produce money and credit cards and a penchant for artfully repeating back everything you have to say. Who merrily proceeds to throw a bunch of wrenches into the usual workings of this system. Sound strange and confusing? It is.

But oh, how it mesmerizes!! How it catches the heart with its moments of amazing sweetness. It's a rather hard show to describe. I'm not as great putting the feeling of the show into words. Check out Marty's blog entry on JFC, he's more the word smith than I.

I'm more frustrated than he, I think, with thoughts of the impending cancellation. I am so highly irritated that shows like JFC get canceled. That any remotely intelligent show gets canceled so drivel like "reality TV" can be shown just peeves me to no end. JFC got such a panning except by those who could really appreciate it. Perhaps one might say those who have achieved a higher stage of development. Although I doubt anyone except a Buddha type would really understand just what the hell is going on in even one quarter of the time in any given episode.

Perhaps the Finale will tell. Although probably not. My hopes are not high on that factor.

I don't know, Butchie instead.

But that is the Magic of John. In his Father's Words.

And Lately.... Part 1

Well, I haven't written in a while. I noticed.

I guess not much has been going on that I really want to write about. Or at least that I'm willing to share. Domestic issues. In process.

I did go to my father's place at the beginning of June. He lives in Virginia, near D.C. on about three and half acres in a small crossroads country "village". And I mean country. There's a post office. No store, no gas station. That sort of thing.

He is basically a homesteader, spreading the word about how the modern homestead can be fairly easily achieved and WHY people perhaps should be trying to do so. Or at least trying to understand what is happening to our food sources.

It's a gorgeous place, one I have a very special connection to, despite having only lived there for a couple of years in my childhood. Somehow I have made this connection so strongly that I consider myself a country-girl, rather than the rather suburban raised Chickie that that I probably actually am. I don't have the knowledge base that my father has, which is very considerable, about being a country-person, but I have way more than very likely most suburban raised persons have. When the Revolution comes, I am ready. I can kill my own chickens. Although if the 'Net goes down, I might be in trouble since I wouldn't be able to look up my father's articles on properly butchering a chicken. But I'd been present for many a slaughter and I'm pretty sure I could muddle my way through the first few times. It ain't hard.

So, I have the knowledge to keep (and if necessary, kill) chickens, point out a variety of plants (again no where near at my father's level).... but my father is (using Marty's favorite emphasis for the word), Ka-ray-zee!! about plants. Chickens too. But on our couple of walks out into the countryside, including part of the Appalachian Trail, he was constantly pointing out various plants, oohing and ahhing, "What a NICE specimen!" I like plants as much as the next person, maybe even a bit more, but I have to say I found this, to my eyes, extreme fascination, well, a bit fascinating (and I know he's reading this too... lol). But we all have our basic passions, no? So, a part of me understands. I'm sure I've waxed excited about something that another person has gone "Errr, what?" And another part of me says, "Errr, what?"

But I gamely used my trusty camera to take some of photos of these plants pointed out with such gusto and actually was quite surprised at my own reaction to some of the results. "Wow, that is rather a handsome plant." And since returning home, I have indeed noticed plants much more so than I had before. Plant Passion rubbing itself off on me, infusing me with Plant Awareness. May it be so for all. Especially since we really do rely on them more than we realize or take for granted their presence, importance of role on our Lovely Earth.

Father had made sure that a couple of clutches of eggs would hatch out on our visit. He tried to pull a fast one on my definitely suburban-raised husband, offering up a duckling that had hatched out from a broody hen. "Aren't these chicks cute?" And Marty going "They are cute." My father looking at me and trying to hold back peals of laughter until Marty says in a slightly confused tone, "Looks kind of like a duck?", basically giving him "country-boy" points in my father's eyes. And oh my, those ducklings were very cute! And the actual chicks, Cuckoo Marans (a breed of chicken my father favors), were "so cute, it's almost painful" as Marty put it, black balls of fuzz, cheeping so... cutely.

It's good to get out into the country-side, into (another Marty-phrase, "Nay-chture"). While it was not relaxing for me a vacation as Burning Man (what, with all that noise and craziness?!?!), including parental units and such, it still is very nice to not feel that constant buzz of Citiness in the back of my head. The one that tells me I am constantly surrounded by concrete and plastic and vaguely aware/unaware people. That does include myself before anyone gets into a snit.

Clean air and good dirt. Aaahhh. There's nothing really better than that. Oh, maybe mountains. But those have clean air and good dirt too. Just happen to love the Appalachians the best. The range near my father's are, of course, the Smokey mountains, which basically are the Appalachians. If only I could have Northern California with the geological features of Western North Carolina, I'd be in heaven.

Hear Me Out

Hear Me Out - Frou Frou

I join the queue on your answerphone
And all I am is holding breath
Just pick up I know you're there
Can't you hear? I'm not myself

Oh go ahead and lie to me
You could say anything, small talk will be just fine
Your voice is everything, we owe it to love
And it all depends on you

Chorus:

So listen up, this sun hasn't set
(I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling)
Just hear me out, I'm not over you yet
(It's love on the line, can you handle it?)

So how do I do normal?
The smile I fake, the permanent wave of
Cue cards and fix it kits
Can't you tell? I'm not myself

I'm a slow motion accident
Lost in coffee rings and fingerprints
I don't wanna feel anything, but I do
And it all comes back to you

Chorus:

So listen up, this sun hasn't set
(I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling)
Just hear me out, I'm not over you yet
(It's love on the line, can you handle it?)

So listen up
Look at me straight
Just hear me out
Don't make me wait
I'm not myself
I can't take this
Love's on the line
Is that your final answer

I join the queue on your answerphone
And all I am is holding breath
Just pick up i know you're there......

Chorus:

So listen up, this sun hasn't set
(I refuse to believe that it's only me feeling)
Just hear me out, I'm not over you yet
(It's love on the line, can you handle it?)

Not the official video. Video put together by a fan. Listen!

Bay to Breakers

Every year, San Francisco hosts the famous 12k foot race called the Bay to Breakers. It is a fabulous testament to the city of San Francisco. I don't feel like writing out the entire history so here's a paste directly from the run's official site.

Bay to Breakers History

At 5:13am on April 18, 1906, a devastating earthquake – that would become one of history’s most notorious natural disasters - rocked San Francisco. The subsequent fire and destruction were unimaginable, and many feared the City would be gone forever. But San Franciscans, displaying their typical fortitude and innovation, immediately began rebuilding the city and producing events to lift their morale. One of those events, the Cross City Race – known better today as ING Bay to
Breakers – was first run in 1912 as a precursor to the world-class athletic events planned for the 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition. There were less than 200 participants that first year and Robert Jackson Vlught was the first person to ever cross the finish line, with a finishing time of 44:10.

Since then, Bay to Breakers has prevailed as a testament to San
Francisco’s uniqueness and audacity. Each year, the race is a glorious
celebration of the human spirit – a giant wave of athleticism, fun, frivolity, and determination flowing across the City from the bay to the ocean. It is one of the largest footraces in the world with 65,000 + participants and 100,000 + spectators annually. As the race grew in size it even set a Guinness Book record, with 110,000 participants, in 1986. The course is challenging and beautiful, and consistently attracts top athletes in the sport. But it isn't just a race for the serious runner.

In the true spirit of San Francisco the race is a celebration for everyone. Thousands of costumed participants join with families, weekend runners and people just out for a stroll. As they make
their way through the heart of San Francisco they are cheered by thousands of spectators and live music along the course. They also have to dodge the "spawning salmon" who each year make their way from the Finish line, through the masses, to the Start.

Throughout its long history Bay to Breakers has been a showplace for the City's irrepressible color and its affection for eclectic traditions. Although runners come from across the country and all points of the globe, the race is still quintessential San Francisco and a true reflection of life between the breakers and the Bay.

Historical highlights:

1928: The Cross City Race moves to the last Sunday in January (and has been held on a Sunday ever since).
1940: The first female runner, Bobbie Burke, participates disguised as a man.
1940: The first costumed runner (other than
Bobbie Burke) takes to the course as Captain Kidd, and finishes last.
1949: The first year the race was held in May.
1963: The smallest Cross City on record, with only 25 registered runners.
1964: In it's 53rd year the race is dubbed Bay to Breakers.
1971: With a finishing time of 50:45, Frances Conley becomes the first official winner in the Women's Division.
1974: At the age of 10 Maryetta Boitano became the youngest winner in the history of the race. She also set the fastest women's finishing time at 43:22. She went on to win the Women's Division in 1975 and 1976.
1986: With 78,769 registered runners and 110,000 total participants, the Guinness Book of World Records awards Bay to Breakers the title of World's Largest Footrace.
1990: The Reebok Aggies set the men's centipede record with a time of 37:39.
1990: The Reebok Aggies set the women's centipede record with a time of 47:36.
1993: From 1993 to 1996, Bay to Breakers was the first official 12K National Championship recognized by the USA Track & Field Association.
1993: Ismael Kirui of Kenya set the standing men's record with a finishing time of 33:42.
1994: American runners were able to use their times to meet the standard required for entry into the Olympic trials.
1998: In 13th place, Jane Omoro secured the highest finishing position by a woman.
2005: With a finishing time of 38:22, Asmae Leghzaoui (Morocco) set a new women's world record and bested our course record,
set by Delillah Asiago (Kenya) in 1995, by one second.

This year was the first time I'd ever seen the race up close. Normally, I'm heading to work, sometimes having to cross the massive flow and crush of observers and runners at the designated crossing streets. This year, however, Marty had decided to run the race, his second since starting to run, months and months ago. I was not feeling well and had called in sick to work but I still had to give him a ride down to the Start line. And then ride up to the Finish line to pick him up so I could take him back home for a shower and so he could grab the truck to go down to his work. Race and work. What a day!

By the time we got down to the Start line, I was starting to feel the energy rising, and there was a Burning Man quality to it that started me grinning. Soon I was bouncing along side Marty, who happened to be dressed in a Guernsey cow suit in which he was going to run the race, drinking in the sights and the Energy of it all.

I love this city. I'm not biased or anything (*cough*) but this is the best city in the United States. That thousands upon thousands of people can swarm the city to do a foot race dressed in all sorts of hysterical outfits and hardly anyone blinks is so precious to me.

There were a couple of people holding large signs near the Start line saying "Jesus saves from hell" and "Homosexuals are sinners" or some such stupid-ass crap. I laughed at first until Marty stated that he thought they were being serious. Then I scowled. But the crush of runners, dressed in everything from KISS outfits to large cars (and Guernsey cows), just swirled around these few, pretty much ignoring them. No fights broke out. I may have laughed a little derisively as I passed by. Under my breath... or maybe a little bit out loud.

That shit seriously pisses me off. And at the same time, there's a part of me that says, "Everyone is free to say what they feel." Just like thousands of people can dress up (or not, since there are naked runners) and do this amazing thing in the middle of one of the best known cities of America. Which is, I guess, why San Francisco gets a sort of "Black Sheep" reputation. "Oh you're a Californian!?" people exclaim, probably conjuring thoughts of beach bunnies and sun and warmth. (This is Southern California, people). Then you say, "Yeah, San Francisco." For the most part, people are pretty excited about the city. "Oh! San Francisco! How cool!" although I note the topic changes pretty quickly. Evil San Franciscanites! How dare they vote No, hands down, on The Terminator at election time! How dare they want to protect medical marijuana and medical "Pot Clubs"! How dare they try to impose a 1% tax on each dollar made over a million to go to mental health programs! How dare they vote for anything socialist, green, democratic! Usually San Francisco is the one county in California to vote NO on all the anti-socialist, etc propositions/elections and uniformly YES on the pro props. So many cool and crazy things begin their lives here and spread out across the country, as well as continue to be fed within the City. The Hippy movement, Burning Man, big chunk of the Gay rights movement.

Plus a commitment to Green. And I don't mean the Green Party but that's a big deal here. I mean environmentally. Since the United States did not ratify the Kyoto Accords (is this a surprise? Hey, blame Australia too), it cannot be held to the boundaries set by the Protocol. Meaning, as usual, the US can do whatever the hell it wants with its highest production of greenhouse crap (in the world). So California itself became one of the first states to sign onto the Kyoto Protocol and San Francisco signed on as a city committed to the philosophy within.

Once dropping Marty off and walking with him up to the Start line, winding through the "shunt" that led into the main starting street, the street literally covered with tortillas (I don't know why), the occasional tortilla sailing through the air above the crowd like Frisbees, taking photos along the way, I kissed my cow good luck and he took off, starting his run across the City in the midst of thousands. You can read about his experience on his blog.

I took a few more photos and then headed out to my scooter to begin my trek across the City to the Finish line at the ocean. And I say trek because it turned out to be somewhat of a journey. Since the race runs a main "track", following some major city streets from East to West, bayside to oceanside, it effectively cuts the city in half, upper and lower. There are designated intersections where crossing is possible, police stopping participants to allow bits of traffic through but for the most part, those not interested in the race can get a little frustrated with the flow of traffic. Since I had parked south of the race, one street below Market and the Embarcadero, I pretty much had to stay on that side of the city. Of course, I did not have the map Marty had given me, having left it at home, so I asked one of the race staff where the finish line was. She showed me on her map, saying she wasn't sure really where it was or how to get there. Fortunately for me, having lived here for almost 10 years, I knew pretty much where it was and how to get there. But, on the OTHER side of the race. So, the normal route I would have taken was out. I sat on my scooter for a while, imaging the City in my mind, testing out different streets. Having something solidified, I took off. Heh.

I'm coming around a curve and suddenly am about to get on the freeway, going towards the East Bay. Not good. Especially since it's not where I want to go, and ESPECIALLY not on a little 150cc scooter! I pulled over and waited for cars to continue up the ramp and made my way down the ramp on the shoulder and off I went in a different direction. After some roundabouts, I finally hit a street headed towards the ocean, parallel to the race, although I couldn't see it.

But somewhere, I could almost Feel a special Guernsey cow out there, pacing along with me. The streets were pretty much deserted and a bit dirty (which is not at all usual for SF, it's usually a fairly clean city), bits of debris and papers. There was an almost abandoned quality to the city where I was. So my imagination, very rich and vivid, starts ticking away, and also being a serious Sci-Fi buff, I start feeling like I'm a lone survivor from some zombie catastrophe, trying to make way to the ocean where other survivors are hopefully gathering. Hehe.

After a few more turnabouts, I finally managed to make my way to the Finish line, trusty camera in hand. I had fun taking photos of the folks crossing the Finish, a band of mariachis, a fat, naked man in tennis shoes, a gaggle of Swedish milkmaids, a legion of Roman warriors, a bunch of grapes, a man who's been running the race for 36 years. I saw an ambulance make its slow way through crowd and learned later that someone had died. I didn't see my cow. But finally received a phone call from him (ahh, cell phones make these things so much easier!) and he had crossed the finish line on the opposite side from where I was.

Sweaty cow!!

He had run the entire race in the suit, although he had wondered if he might have to take it off due to overheating but apparently did fine.

He also reported a fairly cowless race, having only seen very few fellow bovines, one travelling with his milkmaid.

May the Gods look down upon San Francisco and Bless its amazing whackiness. May San Francisco continue to be the Bastion of the Strange, of the Weird, of the Socially Courageous! May San Francisco continue to offer to its citizens and the world, the opportunity to flout the repressive, the oppressive structures of the Societal Norm!

Keep running, San Francisco!!

And fly your Freak Flag high!

Scuba Diving

I love scuba diving. I don't get to do it very often but I really love it.

There's something intensely alive yet quiet below the water. Lots of life, lots of noise you hear travelling through the water, the ticks of critters, popping of bubbles. Lots of things to see, coral and sea life. And sand, waves of it, moved into those characteristic ripples by the motion of the sea.

You know, humans can be a pretty ugly race, capable of great destruction of beings and Earth. But, humans are amazingly creative and capable of fantastic things, love and compassion. And very cool inventions sprung from wild imaginations.

You want to fly like a bird, let's build it. Airplanes are born. You want to swim like a fish, with the fish? Let's find a way. SCUBA is born.

SCUBA = Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus. Naturally.

But these freedoms, to breathe underwater, do not come without a price. You can only stay down so long because you can only put so much air, even compressed, in a tank. You can only go so far down due to rising to toxic levels of nitrous in the blood, leading to the "Bends". The equipment itself is intense. Tight wetsuits with a bulky BCD (flotation device), your air tank with all its various hoses and such dangling off. Floppy flipper duck feet. And your weight belt. You think you sink if you jump in the water? Humans are far more buoyant then you might realize. And in order to get to where you want to go, meaning to sink down below and enjoy all the sights, you have to add extra pounds. For me, generally about 13 in warm water, twice that for cold water, which is way more dense at lower levels, higher pressure. Out of water, the entire get up is HEAVY. And really, I mean it. Fucking HEAVY. Ungainly, duck waddling heavy. Once you get into the water, things are usually fine. You let the air out of your BCD and sink down slowly, pressurizing your ears as you drop. Never stop breathing. Stop to make sure your inner air cavities equalize (inner ears, sinus, etc).

But once down, properly adjusted to the pressure, properly adjusted with your buoyancy (meaning you are neither rising nor sinking, but neutral, floating), enjoy yourself. There's so much to experience, even just the sensation of being able to breathe underwater.

So Marty's long old time friend made contact again after years and it was discovered that he was a Master Diver. So Marty and I, having been certified for Basic Open Water diving (down to 60 feet) on our "Honeymoon", set up a time to go with him diving at Point Lobos, near Monterrey. Cold water diving. Not cold as in needing a dry suit (which you need a special certification to use) but this is the Pacific. Cold. But with thicker wetsuits, it usually isn't a problem. So we set up for May 5th.

And off we go. We rent equipment, BCDs and air tanks, Randy having brought suits with him. You can wear thin nylon "skinsuits" underneath your wetsuit, it helps keep you a little warmer but also helps you get the damn things on too. Slippy slidy.

Me in the skinsuit before I put on my wetsuit.

Colder water wetsuits are designed thicker, with layers, and undersuit, sort of a one-piece leggings and tank top, like Marty is wearing. Then a top "jacket" with long sleeves and a hood, that stretches over the hips. Warm. You want your organs especially to be warm. Of course, over all this, goes goggles, gloves, boots, flippers, the BCD, tank, and weight belt. HEAVY. So we gear up.

Randy had brought his wife's old suit, thinking I would fit into it since she had worn it previously. Apparently his wife and I could both fit into it, when we were both twenty pounds lighter. But wetsuits, being all stretchy and stuff, can be made to fit. But it was tight. Very tight. But I gamely suited up, geared up and flopped into the water.

I had had reservations about the cold water. I hate being cold. But I was amazed, as I always am, for some reason, that my wetsuit was doing its job. The cold water slowly seeped in through the tight layers but warmed up pretty fast. So the cold water ended up not being bad at all. I love wetsuits!

But by the time I got into the water, I was already struggling. The suit was restricting my breathing a little and I wasn't feeling so confident. Apparently the cold water makes things constrict and the suit got tighter. I was quite reminded of the scene in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Black Pearl where Elizabeth is standing up on the wall and the Commander is starting to propose to her and she's struggling with the new experience of wearing a corset, fanning herself, gulping and gasping for air until she passes out and falls over the wall into the water.

If this is what wearing corsets was like, they are Evil. And whoever designed them should have been shot.

Plus, I didn't have enough weight in my belt so I couldn't descend. I got my head underwater enough to be breathing off my regulator and found that, which is normal, that I wasn't getting as much air. Air in the tank is compressed and doesn't act like regular air you can just casually breathe in, you have to work a tiny bit for it. And I wasn't getting enough because my chest and belly were so constricted. I was starting to really struggle for air. So, next to the very important rule of Never Stop Breathing, the more important is a Good Diver Is A Safe Diver. I had to make the decision not to dive. I could have pushed it and could have passed out. Which, underwater, is really not a good thing to do.

I was bummed. But Marty said maybe we could switch suits after he came back from his dive and so I waited on the shore. Marty had some issues which you can read about on his blog. By the time he got back, I was realizing I was wiped. My ribs hurt and I was exhausted with all the struggling.

So I did not get to dive. But rather be alive and not dive. Warm water diving and better gear for me please!

Decisions

The big Decision is always looming. Do I finish my hours and go for my MFT license? Or do I let it go? I've been lingering on this for over a year. I'm running out of time. Not in a massively serious way, but serious enough that I will start losing hours soon. January 2008.

I think I mentioned in my big letter that I was thinking of dropping out of my photography class and I ended up doing so. Marty apparently told his father about this, that I've become less stressed out about my photography since I don't have to deal with grades anymore; I just go and shoot. His father sent this back (accompanied by the little yellow ball that in the email danced around in a cheering fashion) and Marty shared it with me:

"That's funny about Heather dropping out of class. I've talked to and heard of artists who were really good and then they took a class on art and it really screwed up their creative perspective. Good for her. Kudos for Heather for knowing when to dump something that wasn't in her best interest. "

And wow, this strikes me to the core. And here's why. And yes, I'm pissed if you don't gather that from the following. So Aries horns to the fore!

While this is not always the case, I usually get a certain kind of response about this decision of mine when I tell others and I just told a whole bunch of people. And gist of these responses goes something like this: "You're so close, you should just finish! Just suck it up and stick it out!"

Really? I might argue that. Allow me to explain my situation as it happened to me through an analogy.

Let's take Marriage as an example. So, say a friend of yours meets someone, falls in love, thinks, "Wow, this person is IT!!" and they get married. For a while, times are good. It has its ups and downs but for the most part, things are going well. Then the relationship gets a bit bumpier, but mostly things are okay. And your friend continues go along, because that's what you do in a marriage. Then the ride starts going over jagged rocks, not just ups and downs, not just bumpy but heading towards all out hell. But slowly, mind you. It doesn't go there all at once, doesn't just change all at once. Slowly. And slowly your friend (and maybe you) might start noticing. But hey, you stick it out, because that's what you do in a marriage, right? Let's say things start getting bad all the time. And your friend is suffering for it. Somatic stress, problems of mental health, general health on a total decline. But hey, you're married right? You're supposed to stick it out. So your friend goes to all the counseling, does all the right things to try and stay on track and it doesn't get better. Your friend starts pondering the idea of leaving, maybe does.

Are you going to tell your friend to suck it up and stick it out when things are obviously not going to work out, just for sake of the principle of marriage? Hopefully you would be a good enough friend to say neither "Stay!" nor "Leave!" but rather "Ohh, honey, I'm so sorry you're going through this, what can I do to help?" And while it's true that being on the outside of a relationship (be it between two people or a person and a career, etc), gives us some benefit of seeing things the involved person cannot, sometimes people just need to hear the "Awww, poor baby." and saying Stay or Leave is to project one's own ideas onto someone else. I'm also referring more to those really long pondered decisions, not as much the spontaneous, in the moment ones. And yes, I know, you only want to do well by your friend, I do understand that.

Ultimately, it all comes down to an individual's choices, decisions. Yeah, we can point out, "Hey, you might regret this later on down the road if you stop now." and that might even be helpful to the other, but ultimately, we can't make that choice for another. And often, our saying, "Hey, you should stick this out." doesn't really serve the other person, but rather our own ideas of what we think others should be doing (or maybe even what we think WE should be doing ourselves).

Heh, and don't people just get pissed when you don't follow their idea of what should go down. Oh, they might not show it straight out. "Oh, so you've made the decision to stop? I see." Inside: "That is soooo stupid! You're being so dumb! I can't believe you would just throw it all away like that.", etc. Whatever different tracks people have about it. Maybe these things might even be said out loud. And sometimes this reaction comes out of a person's shadow. Perhaps they quit something and regretted it and so project that experience onto others. Maybe they are jealous because they themselves didn't make the decision to stop when they felt they should have. How often do people try to think beyond this reaction? "What might be some underlying reasons why this person may have decided this?" or even "What might be some underlying reasons behind my own reaction?"

There are always lots of different factors and reasons a person is examining in considering a big decision such as this. And likely it's a decision that is very, very hard to make.

I have a massively hard time making decisions. Marty says I'm terrified of making decisions. And he's right. I'm always second guessing myself. If I go this way OR this way, I'm going to make the wrong decision, hands down. I'm going to regret either way. I'm going to lose out either way. This is why it takes me.... well, years, to make even any headway into a decision. Often, I decide by not deciding. Time runs out, opportunities pass by, etc. And if there is suffering in both or just one decision... I've already made up for it by living in mini-Hell in the very struggle of trying to choose. I experience Impasse (being stuck between going forwards or backwards, stagnation of the truly stuck kind) to a huge Existential degree. I'm no good, I'm a quitter, I can't do this, what am I to do in life. Deep self-predations on my own soul. I eat myself up in a very bad way. I don't life life because I live in limbo. Marty says you have to make a choice and stick by it. Although I don't believe it fully (fearing I've made the wrong choice), he's right, it will free you up to put that energy elsewhere, to be free from the agony of Impasse.

I know I'm going to have to make a decision about finishing my hours for MFT. 3000 hours. Only 380 left to go. Then months and months of studying for the exams. For something I don't even want to do. I don't want to do private practice. If I want to use it in another capacity, say running body movement groups for women, I live in the best place in the world because I don't need a damn license for that. I could open up a counseling shop right this moment. Couldn't call myself a therapist, but I could basically offer the same services. Probably wouldn't get paid as much, but so what? This was not a waste of my time. I've learned a hell of a lot about myself and about other people. I'll ALWAYS have the training and probably even the mind of a therapist. I can and will always be able to see through that lens. Plus I have a Master's Degree. Only about 10% of the country's population have gone as far. That is in no way a waste of my time.

So I should suffer through months and months, probably about a year and a half, creating within myself an extremely unhealthy environment? I've been off my anti-depressants for months and I haven't needed to go back on them. I would if I went back to try and finish. I would hate my life every single day because I would be doing something I don't want to do. I should do this to myself for the principle of "finishing something out"? Fuck that.

What is one of the first questions people ask when meeting someone? "So, what do you do?" I've begun to start hating this question. But I'm want to reclaim it.

I want to answer this question thusly, "I dance, I sing, I laugh, I cry, I love. I live. I breathe." or maybe just, "I am."

I suppose though I should be thankful for this anger. And for Marty's father's email. It has given me the energy I was lacking before in my wallowing in un-decision. It has allowed me to really see that I am not going to finish this. While my fears still exist, that maybe I'm making the wrong choice, it still must be done.

My decision is made. I'm done.

Fucking Kudos to me, goddamnit.

The Trials and Tribulations of a Meat Eater

Well, meat.

I am an avowed meat eater.

I tried going vegetarian for a few months, I think in my late teens. I thought I was starving to death all the time. I was spacey all the time. Not that I wasn't spacey all the time when I was teen anyway, but this was worse. Finally, I had to go back to eating meat again.

I have said before that I do love me some meat. Red meat. Rare please. Fowl is okay, I don't mind eating chicken and turkey but I still gravitate towards the dark parts. I like it gamey, lamb and goat! If I could go out, charging through the wilds, running down my prey and eating it with both hands after dangling it for a small while over open flames, I would.

I wish I had the money to eat organic and farm raised, but alas I do not, at least not at the levels that I consume flesh. Because I'm not supposed to be eating wheat/starches or sugar, that leaves me with meat and veggies. So I eat a hand-sized piece of meat almost at every meal with some broccoli or other veggies. That's a lot of meat. Per day.

So, what's an avowed meat eater like me supposed to do when such a meat eater lives with an avowed vegetarian who hands down has stated there will be no cooking of the dead flesh in the house?

Well, at first I railed and grumped and butted my Aries horns about, to no avail. Then after sometime, maybe a year and a half or so, after I'd gone to a nutritionist who basically said, you need to eat protein every meal, he started allowing cooked meat to be heated in the microwave. So I slowly came to the conclusion I could buy my meat complement on Sunday, when I'm at work and cook it all up for the week at Eucalyptus House. I cook my big old pile of bleeding red meat with no frills, half cooked and package it up in a big Tupperware container and take it home. Then I pull out a piece, nuke it (cooking it the rest of the way, although still to medium rare), spice it up and have at, along with my veggies.

So far it seems to be working out fairly well. I'm still learning how much meat I should buy to make it through the week by having enough or having too much as I've had to throw some away.

Works for me. Here's my set up: big steaks cut up into portion sizes all piled up ready to go into the pan, meat cooking in the pan, cooked meat sitting out and cooling down in order to go into the container. Efficient and quick, takes me about 15-30 minutes depending.

Mmmmm, meat.

Seven Deadly Sins

I found this very silly "Rate your Sins" quiz on a friend's blog. Here are my results. Gee, I'm such a good girl!!!

Greed:	Low
Gluttony:	Medium
Wrath:	Low
Sloth:	Low
Envy:	Low
Lust:	High
Pride:	Low

The Seven Deadly Sins Quiz on 4degreez.com

Everywhere

My life at the moment.

Anywhere Is - Enya

I walk the maze of moments
but everywhere I turn to
begins a new beginning
but never finds a finish
I walk to the horizon
and there I find another
it all seems so surprising
and then I find that I know

Chorus:
You go there you're gone forever
I go there I'll lose my way
if we stay here we're not together
Anywhere is

The moon upon the ocean
is swept around in motion
but without ever knowing
the reason for its flowing
in motion on the ocean
the moon still keeps on moving
the waves still keep on waving
and I still keep on going

Chorus

I wonder if the stars sign
the life that is to be mine
and would they let their light shine
enough for me to follow
I look up to the heavens
but night has clouded over
no spark of constellation
no Vela no Orion

The shells upon the warm sands
have taken from their own lands
the echo of their story
but all I hear are low sounds
as pillow words are weaving
and willow waves are leaving
but should I be believing
Then I am only dreaming

Chorus

To leave the thread of all time
and let it make a dark line
in hopes that I can still find
the way back to the moment
I took the turn and turned to
begin a new beginning
still looking for the answer
I cannot find the finish
It's either this or that way
it's one way or the other
it should be one direction
it could be on reflection
the turn I have just taken
the turn that I was making
I might be just beginning
I might be near the end.

The official music video. Apparently a little out of lip sync.