run on sentences

My dad's dad, a rather serious Finn named Simon (I can't remember his middle name), has been dead for many years. Maybe at least 25. I was, for some reason, his favorite grandchild even though he never would let me drive a tractor cause I was "just a girl". Even in his somberness, he was more interactive and affectionate than my grandma O. who I remember as being always sure she was dying of something (and of course, eventually she was). The only time I remember her touching me was when she braided my hair in French braids that were so tight that my face stretched like the Joker in the Batman movie. Her name was Clara. She was never very positive but maybe it was cause she worked so hard her entire life and she didn't like my mom. I don't know anything about her childhood or her parents. Maybe this is because I never asked her about them. I never dreamed about her even though I loved her. I remember one gift from her. It was a music box with a ballerina that d...

A line of demarcation is where something ends and another thing begins. Literally or figuratively I suppose. The line of demarcation mostly referred to at my house is the spot where my butt cheek turns into my thigh - or where my butt ends and my thigh begins. Bruce has an affinity to this spot and even though I am half asleep, I feel his hand settle on it. He sighs and mumbles, "Ah the line of demarcation is still there". I don't know if he thinks it might go away sometime or maybe my ass will be have fallen over my thigh and there will be no line anymore. Or, my thigh could grow over my ass. So far, despite my not running for 10 weeks (yup I am counting them) this has not happened - thanks to an exercise bike and some other yoga type stretches and maybe to not having an appetite. There are other lines that have nothing to do with asses and thighs. Like the line you cross just when you have one more drink and you know you will be sick in the morning. Or... whe...

What is a banana bag? It isn't this. It's a mixture of vitamins, minerals and other things that get put in an IV bag and given to alcoholics in hospitals. It is yellow and thus called a banana bag. It is mostly vitamin B because alcohol in excess robs the body of B vitamins and alcoholics can get some bad stuff like Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome (also called wet brain Korsakoff psychosis, alcoholic encephalopathy, Wernicke's disease, and encephalopathy - alcoholic) is a manifestation of thiamine (vitamin B1) deficiency. It mainly causes vision changes, dizziness and impaired memory. I was thinking of these because I was at a meeting where they were discussing standardizing what is in them. Of course, being a pediatric nurse, we don't use them much so my mind wandered elsewhere during the discussion. I realized that I had first learned about them by watching ER. I guess this show taught me most of what I know about adult medicine because I have never ever worked...

Anyone who knows me knows that I am never! Speechless, that is. Well, I am now but it is because I am also voiceless. I need some Decadron, stat! Being the eternal optimist I am aware that some people have it a lot worse, but....come on! It is only March and already I have broken my leg and haven't been able to run since January 19th. I have had some, lets just say "unpleasant interactions" at work (don't want to write about work on this blog even though I am pretty sure only about 2 people read it regularly -thanks Bruce and Sis), and then last week I had a sore throat that felt like this voodoo d0ll in an old Karen Black movie "Trilogy of Terror" was stabbing knives into my throat relentlessly. On Friday I thought I was all better, but then I started coughing. My voice left me yesterday but today I sound like I have snorted helium repeatedly - I have the voice (or lack of voice) of a 90 year old lady. Shit, I say! Besides that I feel cranky too. I am goin...

Recently I ended my two year relationship with an SSRI (Selective Serotonin re uptake inhibitor). It had to happen sooner or later...it just wasn't working out for either of us, and I didn't really need a crutch so I ended it - trying to wean myself off at first and then just cutting the cord. Ironically I ended this crutch pretty much about the same time I threw down my crutches that I had been using for 5 weeks after I broke my leg. I am on my own two feet - emotionally and physically now. I am a happy person - known as an eternal optimist by some. But a few years ago, my dad died. Work sucked. I was becoming very negative. I found myself lying awake with palpitations and woke up with headaches. My blood pressure was higher than my inherited normal high blood pressure. My doctor suggested that this drug - Celexa or Citalopram by it's proper name, would be good and help with anxiety. Well half the people I knew were on some sort of antidepressant and even though I, being a...

So it is 5 weeks of not running so far. Jack the dog looks at me every morning to see if I am going to pick up the crutches and hobble to the bathroom. He then sighs and goes to lay back down. I notice my fabulous calf muscles turning to mush, like my brain. Despite knowing how lucky I am, I find myself reduced to tears easily - I don't have the running therapy but maybe it is also because it is almost a year since my mom died and I am gripped with the grief that sneaks up on me when I least expect it....like when I have to go talk to my boss. I noticed that invalid is also in-valid. Hmm. Just like if you take the word therapist apart - you come out with "the rapist". The rapist of the mind is maybe a good definition of a therapist but invalid is not such a good term for one with a broken leg. I still feel valid. I still need validation. But mostly I just need to go for a good long run to start feeling like a human again and to be able to deal with the er in February and ...

My friend Sid (84 years old), which is not really important but inspirational and also the same age within one week, that my dad would have been if he had not up and died at 81, brought me over a book called "The right to Write". The first thing it suggested was to just write three pages from where you are at the time and to not worry about if it made sense or if it was (were) grammatically correct. So where I am is sitting here with a fractured fibula, slowly mending, with 7 screws (typically 6 but one more for good measure) and a plate, stitches out, mild infection for which I am taking Keflex (when I remember) after having watched 4 episodes of "Lost". I am wondering if I should take a lortab before bed because my leg is starting to hurt just a little bit. I have a new scooter. I got a scooter to scoot around on at work but it is too big. Since, when you are injured, people do nice things for you like send you a bunch of cards, flowers, prayer shawls, food...