The Waiting Game .....

I enter the change room and I am handed my supply of surgical appropriate attire : knee length green socks, paper booties, one robe that ties behind and the other is an overcoat that ties in the front. They have a sample hanging in the room as to how to assemble this wardrobe. I have mistakenly fitted the left foot paper cover on my head. I thought the extra was a spare. Neither of these items match in color or are color coordinated.


I wait on the gurney with the ~ever so private~ cloth curtain that divide patients. I have heard the entire life story of the lady next to me, how her sons are so fabulous and her "designated driver home"
begins to chomp on carrots because they run along the beach and she is already complaining about the wait time to return to her routine. I fart. I ask my husband loudly "Has Doctor Nowzaradan arrived yet?" because in that question I know my husband will laugh out loud and then start spewing inappropriate comments about fat people and weight and calories. 

Sometimes he is useful. 

After an hour or so I am sequestered at another area, where hubby has stirred up blasphemy by bringing a cup of coffee by my bedside " I won't share" he politely argues, but apparently it is not appropriate to bring smells of food to those who have had to fast for surgery. At this moment I am hoping my farts do not resonate garlic. He leaves to dump his coffee but Nurse Ratched has sneakily strolled me away .... no good-bye. No last kiss. No last ~smell you later~. I will learn that this has upset him quite a bit, but I assure him I will make up for it.

I am strolled into a room with real surgical stuff and spot lights, there's four nurses and an anesthesiologist and a table that seems to be suffering from anorexia nervosa, and they want me to roll onto it. There's no fucking way I'm going to fit onto that teenager sized maxi pad, but I evidently managed to roll onto the strip, as they brought out the arm extenders, IV on the left, blood pressure thing on the right ... the only part I didn't understand was the hole where I had to place my ass.

Then my Doctor comes in, she's wearing a blue wig and has a big, huge smile. "HELLO" But that may have been distorted by the oxygen mask on my face that eerily smelled like a smoker had used it previous. I'm still a bit blinded by the sunlamps tanning my face.

So there I lay, all tarped down, then suddenly I am awake. In a different room. I'm realizing difference. That's the odd part about the whole thing. I have been beamed up to my current position, but missed the journey. And there's some sort of sadness about missing the journey.

Winter Blues

Here's a great song ...
.

S

The Apple does not fall far from tree.....

Even in my youth I knew what to watch. Academy Award Winners, 1976 was no different.

My new friend and I took a bus downtown Vancouver. Now, this is something I didn't normally do being just 16 or 17 years old. I rarely left the backyard of sleepy North Delta let alone travel to a bustling city with crime and prostitutes and drugs and who knows what.

So we end up at some Hippie's house and they smoke lots of cigarettes and wear careless clothes, but they all talk about seeing the Nicholson movie. We end up at some worn out movie theatre, I'm nervous the entire time, then the lights dim. I watch silently in my seat, afraid of the Hippies, but then no more. 

 I am in a new place, a new brave world watching brilliance unfold, dialogue, laughter, hatred, joy & tears. I'm lost in a movie. 

 I tell my daughter this story ~her eyes roll back in disbelief~ then I watch her watch the movie. I tease her "you want me to change the channel, I can if you're not in to it". She says, "it's okay, leave it on". Sabrina cried at the end.

In the City, where I belong.

Collection of odd pictures

Collective Soul - The World I Know

Then I woke up ....

I was dreaming of a little girl who came to daycare, but in my dream she was older yet still cute as a button. I loved that little girl and often told her mom I thought she was the most beautiful baby ever born. Then my happy thoughts fogged over into crossing an isolated stretch of highway in the Arizona desert, high noon no less. I'm walking towards the cafe ~slash~ bus stop. I can feel the sand speckling my eyes and the gun barrel pressing against my groin. When I enter the cafe my memories of the desert vanishes. There are people here. Lots and lots of diners slurping hot coffee beneath Stetson rims. ~I'm thinking "Goddammit I'm in a Clint Eastwood movie"~ And suddenly, he's there, buying a bus ticket. Clint Eastwood is purchasing a bus ticket in the middle of no where and I'm next in line. Our eyes meet and I give him this ~we've met before~ sort of look, and I have a gun.

Paul McCartney invades the Graveyard Shift

It's so bizarre rockin' it in the office, all by myself, filing away ... but then dawn breaks and the office returns to it's slumber self, all quiet and lifeless.