Too stupid to die…

Few things get a rise out of me faster than someone dissing us left-handed folks. I am old enough to have had my hand whacked with the edge of a ruler by a manaical right-thinking nun in first grade penmanship class. (It was the only time my mom took on the nuns in my defense. They’d done the same to her years earlier and she never forgave them. In my case, mom won. Yeah, mom!) I’ve been fiercely pro-leftie ever since, criticizing rude righties and miscreant can openers as necessary.

ANYway, apropos of nothing…

I notice our new president is left handed. So was the one we just sent back to Texas with his tail between his legs. Now, based on personal observation – I observe lefties a lot – I’ve concluded that we lefties are either:
                       a) smarter than, or
                       b) stupider than
average. We lefties don’t tend to do in-between. I think there’s even research to prove the idea, but I’m not going to take time looking it up. Sure seems like Obama and Bush prove the point though.

Me? Where am I on the either-or scale? Wellllll… I figure I’m both smarter AND stupider than average. Depends on when and how you measure. (See title of blog above.)

Happy evening, people. Even you righties.

Two this week.

Orangutan patriarch

This was taken a few weeks ago during my San Diego visit. 
Orangutans fascinate me; I never go to the zoo there without visiting them. 
Anyone who thinks animals have no inner life hasn’t looked into these guys’ eyes. 

San Francisco weed

Also known as a Cala Lily. They grow here like, well, weeds.
This one’s in my back yard.

A short time ago a friend came by and we went out for a quick bite. I’d had a hectic and minorly frustrating day today and was complaining about it, as we are wont to do – most of us, anyway. After I’d vented and the conversation relaxed, my friend laughed.

I was puzzled. Neither of us had said anything amusing.

What’s funny? I asked.

You, he said. Listening to you rant about phone calls and classes and traffic jams instead of your medical  operations or test results or upcoming procedures. I haven’t heard you do that in years.

Ouch.

I was stung for a moment, even a bit ashamed. WHAT was I doing, fretting about such things? After where I’d been? Perspective, Ed, please! Perspective!

And then I rejoiced.

Did I ever expect to worry about such everyday problems again? Did I ever expect to have everyday problems again? How far I’ve come! And how damn amazing is that!

I deeply thank my dear friend for that lesson.

Waiting for sunset

From my Flickr page, the 365project.
While the rest of the country freezes or floods, in California we sit 
in springtime sun trying not to think about the drought and the fires
coming our way.

Taken at Bernal Heights, San Francisco, on January 13.

I’m being silly. No, that’s too kind: I’m being stupid. I desperately want to write, want to update this blog and take it to new places because I’m sick and tired of thinking – and writing – about being sick and tired (and maybe I don’t have to for a while!) and I want to work on my plays again and write the essays kicking around my brain and I’ve got this idea for a novel and…

But I don’t.

What I have been doing is everything I can to avoid writing. Photographing. Having an operation (again). Reading. Walking the dog. Recovering from said operation. And… uh… did I say photographing? It’s all just surgery-excused writer’s block.

Oh, my new photography obsession is a fabulous mania. I’m having a blast learning all manner of photo techniques, how to visualize the shot, taking classes and reading books on the subject. And of course snapping pics, hundreds, anywhere and everything, to the bored distraction of my friends, family, and dog. Somehow all the trauma and medications of the last three years left the visual parts of my brain functioning better – certainly more willingly – than the language parts. But photography isn’t writing. I need to write.

Well, the surgery excuse is now officially old. The operation succeeded – mostly – I’ve recovered – mostly – the dreaded bubble‘s gone – mostly – and I even made it to the gym this week – mostly. Time to put fingers to the keyboard. Before I shoot at the other writing goals though, I need to exorcise the health stuff.

So here, as a sort of mopping-up exercise, are three scenes from a surgery, which took place November 5th.

1. Nooo! I don’ neeed a kidneeee!     

In which the joys of pain meds reveal their dark side.

2. “Do you know why you’re still here, Mr. B?”

In which I learn you can wander the halls too long.

3. Terror.

Yes… well… there’s no other word with quite the impact of “terror” these days, is there? Yet I have to use it: all the synonyms I can find really just tell a part of the whole… totality we call terror. This post will be along shortly. Nailing down what I’m trying to say isn’t easy.

There. Medical demons exercised with the exception of #3. When it is done, I get to move on. Next posts, already in the boiler, will be on hypnotherapy and surgery, and just how much is a cure worth? Stay tuned.

For those who don’t know how most operations begin (may you long cherish that small bit of ignorance) here’s a primer.

You check in to a Pre-Op room hidden deep in a hospital. You are led to a little curtained-off cot, one of half a dozen in a row. Nurses come by with papers. You sign your life away, agreeing for the third or fourth time to the same procedures that landed you in the room in the first place. 

Your clothes, any dignity you might still have, and all other belongings are taken away to be returned “later”. Hearing the word “later” your mind substitutes “the other side” and tries to imagine what that might be like. You shiver uncontrollably. (more…)

I am now apparently  allergic to all pain meds no matter how they’re delivered. IV or pill, even the patch so beloved by many, every last one of them makes me puke. Lovely!. Not. Some people regurgitate like cats: casually, out of boredom, with no consequences. Not me: even thinking about it is a misery. So you can see how happy I was to spend my first conscious post-surgery hours desperately trying not to throw up and failing. 

The weird thing was, I had no pain. Nada. Just the usual post-op stiffness that comes from being artificially dead for a few hours. It wasn’t a difficult op and all the nerves in the area had been killed off during previous ops, so my body didn’t take too much of a hit. And I’d been training for this. No, really, I trained for surgery: at the gym, hiking with the dog, yoga, even hypnotherapy. Anything to get my body and mind in as strong a state as I could so I’d make it through this. After my last time getting chopped, I left no option that might aid survuval unexplored. And it worked. Something did, anyway. (more…)

My obsession with photography has led to my taking on Flickr’s Project 365, i.e., posting a picture a day for a year. Here’s the first one; it’s received a surprising amount of notice. I’ll put another one up here every week or so. If you want to see more of the project, click here. 

** New TSTD posts are on the way… **

Otto in the shadows

My first picture for Project 365. I was walking Otto at McClaren Park, San Francisco, New Year’s Day and the sun poked out. Seeing the beautiful light streams pouring through the trees I tried some practice shots and of course who peeked out between the trees but da pooch.