anger, fury, RAGE
Dec 19, 2006
heh. so much for my inner buddha. it'll be reincarnated one day, I have faith. like a phoenix, from the ashes
just for the moment, just for today
RAGE, VIOLENCE and DESTRUCTIVE IMPULSES. I wish I had the liberty of humongous, glowing, flaming, clawing, tearing text for this one journal.
Huge, ugly, sanity-rending sound
closer. NIN
dolby. it goes into the fabric of your entire meager existence.
I'm a danger to self and others, maybe.
probably not.
If I can press this fury outward enough, without taking action, it'll be ok. I'll be spent.
BUT
don't come any closer
remember the Tsunami?
remember the pictures of 911?
remember the GODFORSAKENSTUPIDITY of 'shock and awe'?
that's all in me today. embedded with a nugget of unmaintainable evil.
my boundaries are made of flapping plastic, rent with holes
i do not need a direction of flow, so don't let anyone give me one, please god. heh Funny prayer for a buddhist, right?
<mentalpuke, no purge in sight>
this morning I couldn't control the tears
no tears left
but my right eye won't stop twitching
and I'm wondering if I might have some kinda stroke or something
probably no such release available
this is the antithesis of creative energy
just as compelling
yin
yang
head stretching, brain quivering on the edge of implode
dark energy
if I look at it in my mind's eye it's a whirlpool of red and putrescent green, the color of life thwarted,dismembered,rotting
and black
i remember the other stuff, from a place outside my Now. that stuff flings outwards, the colors are in-lighted wonderment.
another day
it's new territory today
iwannafuckyoulikeananimalskeweryourgutsonaglowingrighteousspearoforder
for art. heh
iletyoucomplicatemedesecratemeconsecratemeviolateme
gotnosoultosell
theonlythingthatworksformeis
LET ME GET AWAY FROM MYSELF
my whole existence is gone
violate
desecrate
penetrate
complicate
help me
you bring me closer to god
youcanhavemyisolation
youcanhavethehatethatitbrings
youcanhavemyabseneceoffaith
youcanhavemyeverything
help me
to tear down my reason
youmakemeperfectessentialannihilated
help me think I'm somebody else
I'm not having a good day.
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Bliss grenades.
Sep 21, 2006
Yesterday evening the first coolish front of Fall passed through! It felt great to open my place and not feel sticky.  Of course, here in Florida (even central Florida) that probably means the temp was in the low 70sF last night. But it heralds the beginning of my favorite season, and now I live *here* there will actually be something that resembles my idea of Autumn. In Fort Lauderdale I kinda had a homeopathic version of the cooler seasons-- a molecule of coolness was sufficient to concoct a tincture of Fall, with all the accompanying accessories.
This morning I went for a bike ride along the bay, stopped for breakfast at the Lucky Dill deli downtown and then cruised the streets for an hour to see what's back there. I live in an *awesome* place! Suits me perfectly. I think I'll start biking to $2.95 breakfast a few times weekly. This morning gave me a totally new sense of connection to St. Petersburg.
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oops. I may *not* be immortal.
Aug 8, 2006
In this lifetime.
The Idea!
I'll figure out how to get my head around this one before I call my parents and friends with the news. Oddly, I'm much more concerned about having to *tell* people, to deal with emotional reactions, both theirs and mine, than I am about what my immediate and extended future might hold. I already pretty much knew that I was unlikely to have the best-of-all-possible diagnoses,(Ugly Mole, glad it's gone). And, having looked at some cancer websites lately I already knew that Ugly Mole was doing an incredibly polished and complete impersonation of Flourishing Melanoma. So it's not a surprise.
Now it's just a matter of how to manage this event correctly. So far everything has been put beautifully in place. I'm extraordinarily fortunate in this.
1) I moved from stress zone to ParadiseII
2) Brother lives nearby, and not only that, he's a surgeon and his fiance is a midwife. So they *know* about stuff and have been able to help me in ways very few uninsured people have available to them.
3) Moffitt Cancer Center is nearby, just a couple miles from my brother's place. Now I have a pathological diagnosis I can proceed through them, even without insurance. They have a very good reputation.
4) I practice Buddhism and am comfortable with the idea of life and death being a continuum rather than endpoints on a finite line, so the 'being dead' concept isn't deeply worrying. I'm more worried about all the projects-in-limbo, to be honest. I don't *like* the idea of leaving all those things undone. So I'd better get bustin' on 'em, just in case this game plays out more speedily than I'd been anticipating a month ago.  Now THAT'S a good outcome, no matter what happens with the bod. I'm lazier than I like to be, sometimes.
5) Well, I *said* that when I moved I was going to take my practice to the next level. Not sure I was thinking about doing it *this* way, but in any case I've been presented with an excellent tool towards self-development so I'll just use it that way. *ahem* That is a determination, in writing. I always have worked better under pressure, anyway.
6) It'll all be ok, whatever happens next.
I still dread telling my more emotional peeps.
1) PLenty of people survive melanoma.
2) Our family has 100% survival rate from supposedly fatal cancer in people younger than 50, so I'll just carry on the trend.  (My bro was supposed to die of a rare cancer before he hit adolescence, instead he's helping me out with mine, so that's a valid statistic in Britta's World.)
3) Moffitt is GOOD at what they do.
4) I'm GOOD at what I choose to do, and I will choose to bring together the finest in medical care, explore alternative health options, and chant like ze sonovabeetch for positive outcomes. That'll about cover the bases, I think. As to the rest, well, *nobody* knows what tomorrow will hold. That's no different for me, just I have a heightened awareness of it right now.
The last time I did this was when I parted ways with Blaise 3 years ago. I did the same thing, wrote it out, cried a little, looked at *what was*, at the things I'd been dreaming towards, and set some goals that I've achieved over the past 3 years. My mom and dad sent me a congratulations card when I moved here, it says this:
"...at last the ladder,
which had been built
slowly, slowly,
one hope at a time,
reached up to the clouds.
And the dreamer began to climb."
Funny, because it's only now, since I've moved, that I felt like I had everything in place to make it HAPPEN. And I shall. The Blaisequake led to a Great Adventure. I think this one shall too. And if I start to feel victimized by my circumstances I'll come back and read this journal and do what I need to. Because shit'll inevitably happen, but I'm pretty clear right now.
(I still don't know how to talk to my mom, though)
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- Latest reply: Oct 29, 2006
Insurance. *spit*
Jul 30, 2006
Here I am, moved to Paradise, the Sequel. http://public.fotki.com/BrittaMoG/st_petersburg_flori/
Life in Britta's World is even gorgeouser than I'd imagined it would be. EVERYTHING is going orders-of-magnitude better than I'd envisioned, and I *knew* it would be damned good.
But. There's one head-exploding taint in my universe. Insurance. Specifically, medical insurance. 
Now, I've avoided *dealing* with this for the past three years because I *knew* it would send me over the top. But, having made some major life changes, having moved to my new Paradise, and with a determination to be a Responsible Adult, I gave in to the inevitable. I figured it was worth it, if only *not* to have to listen to my mother harp on the subject incessantly. *sigh* She's not a nag, just persistent.  REALLY persistent. So I said, "Ok. I'll at least get catastrophic medical insurance, have that cushion of 'security' and SHUT HER UP!" Because, for some reason, my family don't agree that chanting for good health along with not doing stupid things is quite enough 'security'. Cool. Determination made, no problem. Right?
Well. *humph*
Here in Florida it seems insurance is totally unregulated. So ya go online, do a questionnaire to determine what kinda insurance will suit your needs, and then you'll be contacted. Cool!  I can do that! And I deed. 
All of a sudden I'm getting all these phone calls from insurance salespeople. Took me a day or so to figure out that they're not all from the same company, because the gobbledygook they spout *sounds* all the same. One very nice guy came by my place and we sorted out what I was looking for. He left me with a brochure which we'd checked off the blurb that pertained to bits of policy I was interested in purchasing. The others......GAAAAAaaaaaaa!
Hmmmmm. Seems it's definitely not the standard in Florida for anyone to actually have written information on exactly *what* the policy you're interested in actually offers. You're supposed to go on phone-based trust, because they're "the top salesman in their office". Hell, I don't care if you're God's Right-Hand Man, I wanna know what it is I'm buying. Exclusions, how long before what I'm paying for actually takes effect, whether or not I have choice of physicians or whether I have to drive to another town and wait six months before I can get an appointment with an approved physician, that kinda thing. Boy, I am one unreasonable wench!
Seems that's not how it works, here. First they want access to my checking account (over the phone! ) They'll suck my first payment out, then begin the process of determining whether they consider me insurable. This is done through accessing all my medical records online. (HA! So much for privacy of medical information! *I* can't have my records, in my hand, from a physician I've been visiting (protecting my privacy) but Bill-n-Bob's Roadside Lemonade and Insurance Scam/Stand can get it ALL with a tickle of a mouse. HUMPH)
Can you tell I'm beginning to become a mite irritable?
yeah.
Next step is I'm either approved or disapproved. If approved, I'm sent a huge packet of gobbledygook which "will take you two weeks to read and leave you feeling even more confused than you are now. At that point you can decide whether you want to decline our insurance."
Cool! I'm feeling confident now!
Arrrrrrrgh! 
Two weeks. For two weeks I've been dealing with this madness. I rant. I rave. I drink vodka tonics. And I keep reminding myself that I *promised* to be an Adult and do this thing. Because, if I hadn't I'd be in the fuggit mode, status quo. Reality is, even if I had the very best, most comprehensive, coddling insurance in the entire world, I'd still only go to a doctor if I thought I were dying AND I thought they'd actually stop it happening and I could carry on, in Britta's World, as usual. Because I have no desire to live a life that's subjugated to revolving around managing and meddling with some disease, anyway. That's not what I think I'm for, and I just won't. Period.
So, in a sense, this all seems like a humongous waste of time and energy. But then, what if my appendix burst? What if, like a friend almost 10 years younger than me, I had a heart attack? (I know, not gonna happen, but WHAT IF?) That's the bastard tickling lure of insurance, the 'what if?'
So, tomorrow, one way or another, I shall make a decision amongst these shysters. I shall be done with it. My mom will SHUT UP!
I get sooooo furious at the *spit* salesmanship going on in this industry. *I'M* a salesperson, and I sell something that's a totally created need. Cosmetics. And *I* can do it with pride and with integrity. I don't have to manipulate the latent fears of clients to sell like a sonovabeetch, just hook them up with the right things that'll do what they tell me they want. And that's goddam cosmetics! These insurance barstids are selling something that'll affect people's LIVES and they haven't the integrity of a makeup artist! That's scary.
I think I know what it's all about, though. <conspiracytheorysmiley> They want to drive us to head-expolsion BEFORE we're insured, whether it be a stroke, heart attack, or plain going postal-nuts and sinking our teeth into the face of the next insurance agent we run across in a casual setting.
I shall probably need another two weeks to detox from this madness. If you read about an insurance agent who had to have someone's teeth removed from his chin, well, I'm probably involved in that incident.
*sigh*
How much IS a Buddhist supposed to tolerate?
Lawdy, lawdy.
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Magic in a cowboy hat.
Apr 28, 2006
I have found my future Paradise in St. Petersburg, Florida. It's almost time to Head West, probably in July. I knew I wanted to be Tampa-ish, closer to my nephew and in a place with a different social dynamic than here. After working a couple days in Clearwater I spent Sunday with my dear friend Quintin who's just moved to St. Pete himself. He'd not had a chance to do much more than work, find the bank and grocery store, so it was an Exploratory Mission for him as well.
St. Pete just *feels* right. To get there from Tampa you bridge a few miles of glassy, gorgeous water. That in itself is awesome, a perfect way to start and end a day of work, so different from the madness of I-95. The town itself is lovely, lots of older houses with verandahs and gardens. It looks like human beings live there, as opposed to the Planned Urban Developments of obscenely huge and sterile McMansions and condo enclaves that are cropping up all over Florida. It shows character instead of zoning laws. There are plenty of parks, a thriving art community, and oldish architecture that's lovely to look at, rather than just whopping great clods of cement and glass high rises. Parts of it remind me of Key West without the seediness and debauchery, parts remind me of St. Augustine and the causeways feel like a better version of where I grew up.
I 'doused' our way to a laid-back restaurant on the water, found what we were looking for atop the pier. Ahhhhhhh. Guy playing guitar and singing, horny margaritas, fish sandwiches. Sun and lots of sparkly all around, but on the water rather than on the people. We got sunburnt, poor Quintin's head was glowing. So I decided we needed commemorative hats for the occasion, and Quintin wanted a cowboy hat. He decided that *I* look good in cowboy as well, and since I didn't already have one, why not? I'm Heading West, after all.
I decided that I'd start wearing this hat here at home as a reminder that I'm going to wide open spaces, a place where people default into considerate, and who you are isn't measured by whose logos you're wearing. I need to get myself re-balanced before I make the move, definitely don't want to import the aggressiveness that's infested me here to my new Paradise. So my hat is a reminder that I'm detoxing my soul in preparation.
There's a funny magic in cowboy hats, at least in places where they aren't done. It's easy to start conversations with people. I've decided that since I'll be leaving here soon I want to get out a bit, do some of the things that I used to enjoy before I got so caught up in making things. I want to leave this place with a feeling of fondness for it. So, last night I went for ice cream and cocktails on the beach. Sat on the wall and got sticky while watching a quite good Spanish guitarist playing for the restaurant across the street, then went to the Elbo Room, my old hang out, for cocktails. It's a dive, filthy bathrooms, live reggae, all sorts of people go through there. The ambiance sticks to your feet, but it still has it's own charm.
Vodka tonic in a plastic glass, ultra-hootered woman (she bought the jumbo size) in mini-bikini dancing on an invisible pole with anyone who'd buy her a drink, navy lads (town is filling up with military in prep for the Sea and Air Show) middle-aged, sunburnt folks from Kansas, tourists from all over the world, local boozers. It's a good place to people-watch. And of course, it's a good place to ambush innocent bystanders and convince them to participate in the Questions For God project.  Especially when you're wearing a cowboy hat. So I did that for a while, collected some fresh questions to meddle with, and in ambled the Guy in the Black Cowboy hat. His Sunday-go-to-meeting hat. I *knew* I'd be talking to him before the night was over. Sure nuff, just after the girl next to me mentioned that Cowboy was awful cute, a drink from him arrived in front of me. I tipped my hat in thanks, finished with the couple I was involved with, and went over to introduce myself. He seemed mostly harmless, for a redneck, so I invited him to come join us on my side of the bar.
His name is Ricky. He's from the northwest tip of Florida, down here for work, gobsmacked by the goings-on. He'd never *seen* such a place. He lives on 180 acres with his entire extended family, has no intention to ever live anywhere else and has never *been* anywhere else other than work missions. He's the 'bad boy' in the family because he doesn't always go to church on Sunday. He's a character from a Carl Hiaasen novel, incarnate. We talked about God, religion, politics (very briefly, that was *not* a good place for the two of us to dialogue) and life in general. Turns out, when I asked what kind of work he does, he's a grave digger and his out-of-town work missions involve corpse repo. He does his job with pride, and a sense of respect for the dead. He makes sure to wear a clean button-down shirt, doesn't like the idea of dirty, sloppy-looking gravediggers planting people. Just doesn't get much better than that, in a surreal reality! He was surprised that I didn't skitter away when I learned his profession, apparently almost everyone does. I dunno, it's necessary work, and there's no problem with job security. He said most people don't see it that way.
He told me about his initial difficulty coming to terms with the idea of the people in the boxes he plants, the heartache he felt when he was planting little, two-foot boxes, that he'd finally stopped thinking about the people when he learned that one of the boxes contained a young woman--younger than him!-- who'd blown half her face off in her suicide. From that point it was just about digging a big hole in the ground, putting one box into another box, then putting the dirt back where it belonged.
He told me about the time he learned that bulls can tap dance. He'd impulsively decided to participate in a rodeo, got thrown very quickly the first time, learned that everyone was given a second chance, and that time the bull tap danced on his back. His six-year-old son was there, watching. The boy wouldn't speak to him for three days because he thought he'd watched his daddy being killed by a bull. He doesn't do that any more, though he *would* if the right circumstances presented themselves. But he wouldn't bring his son.
He wanted me to tell him where to find a gay bar. Not to go in, just to look at it from the outside. He's never seen one. I didn't think that was a good idea. He didn't seem like a fag-tromping kinda redneck, but he obviously didn't think gays are just folks, either.
I told him he'd make an excellent character for a story and he gave me permission to use him, if I want to some day. I told him he has a story with boundless potential and he liked that idea. I don't think it had ever occurred to him before.
There's  in a cowboy hat. I'm looking forward to finding it. I think maybe Odetta Flambeaux has emerged.
Lawdy, this new persona of mine is gonna be a hoot in the developing!
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- Latest reply: Jun 14, 2006
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