• Ho, Earthling!,  My Brain On Crack

    My Beautiful Broken Brain

    There is a documentary out called My Beautiful Broken Brain, about a woman learning to communicate again after her brain injury. I keep meaning to watch it. But I just realized I don’t need to watch it — I am living it. It turns out that I am not as invincible as I once thought. Repairable, yes. Invincible, no. I have permanent brain injury. Brain damage. My brain got jostled about during its two surgeries, and it was even shifted over to one side for a few months, which I am now told is a Bad Thing. Some people don’t recover well from it. I’ve beat worse odds than this…

  • Magical

    The Night I Died

    It was late. I was trying to sleep. My heart beat faster. I couldn’t breathe. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Breath exercises didn’t help. I kept telling my heart to slow down, to stop pounding. Take a breath! Now! Do it! I couldn’t. I couldn’t will myself to breathe, to live. I needed help. My heart felt like it was leaping out of my chest. I texted my beloved, in the next room. The text was garbled, a series of meaningless letters and symbols. rj3u92/, perhaps. Texting didn’t work. I called to him. Surely he would hear me. I called and called. HELP, I said, as loud as I could.…

  • Ho, Earthling!,  Magical

    Moonlight serenade

    Twenty years ago, a little more, I walked. Nighttime solo walks. Walks under the light of the moon. Walks to breathe cool air and smell the damp on cut grass and hear distant dogs singing to the sky. Almost every night, in all weather, but especially after a snow. It doesn’t snow where I live now. I don’t miss it, but I remember how I loved the sounds of snow shovels patiently scraping driveways, and I especially remember how quiet the world is underneath a white soft blanket. Those walks, those twenty-years-ago-walks, were my sanity and salvation, my private world-wide Quiet Thinking Space. I do some of my best thinking while walking.…

  • My Brain On Crack,  Time Machine

    Past Blast

    I’m holding a ring in my hand. Actually I’m not really holding it, since to type and hold simultaneously would be awkward, difficult, and likely result in larger than the usual number of typos. But I was holding it a minute ago. It’s large, gold and has a royal blue stone in the center. The ring isn’t mine, yet it’s been in my possession for more than 30 years. The ring belongs, in my opinion, to someone else. It was given to me once as a symbol. That symbol connected to things. Promises. But life got blacker and I fell down a rabbit hole and drank a potion making me…

  • Ho, Earthling!

    Hi, I have a blog

    Well no, I haven’t been kidnapped by aliens who sucked out my brains like Paleo man sucked the marrow from bones. Why do you ask? I’ve been BIZZY. RULLY RULLY BIZZY. With cancer and stuff. Doctors who cut things and then cut things some more. With discovering that despite the seeming accuracy and convincing confidence of a surly fictitious television doctor, Vicodin is not the strongest painkiller money can buy or that people will let you have and still walk around all legal-like and stuff (though I am cautioned not to drive cars or operate heavy machinery). With finding out that FEET are the foundation of everything. It all comes…

  • My Brain On Crack

    I must be dreaming

    You could not make this stuff up. I can’t really tell you what’s been going on with me lately because, well, I can’t really tell. I hate not being able to tell, because not only could I make it into a good story but there’d be a certain poetic justice in the telling that would be immensely appealing to me. Like chocolate cake. But I can’t tell. But this world I’ve been living in as a result of the [redacted] situation I seem to be in that is the fault of the [redacted][redacted] is surreal. Life is but a dream. Add to that the thing that is going on with…

  • Send in the Clones

    Proof of my powers

    An actual IM conversation with my son, 14. He had a headache and I said I could fix it for him: Karen: Go to sleeeeep, you are getting sleeeepy NW: yes Karen: look into my eyyyyyyyyes, you are very sleeeeeeeepy NW: yesssssssss i am sleeeeeeepppyyyyy Karen: you will do everything I sayyyyyyyyyyyyy Karen: you arrrrre in my powerrrrrrrrrr NW: yessss i will follllowwww commanndsss Karen: cluck like a chicken! NW: bock bock Karen, to herself: IT WORKS! THREE HOURS GO BY Karen: when you awake, you will not remember anything. You will not remember being a chicken, or robbing that bank, or running naked through the halls at school. But…

  • Rants,  Send in the Clones

    The time I blew my nose and brains came out

    I’ve been sick as a horse. Wait, do horses get sick? And how would you know? Whenever you ask them questions, they just say “neigh.” Ba dum bum. You can tell I am feeling better, because my really bad jokes only emerge when I’m feeling pretty good. So I went down to Portland a couple of weeks ago, the place that was built atop an ancient unicorn burial ground (I did not make this up — it’s on Facebook so it must be true — but they only bury the really really ancient ones so they leave the perky young ones to prance around and make rainbows)(unicorn euthanasia)(don’t you love…

  • Go Places,  Ho, Earthling!

    Sick no longer means sick. That’s sick.

    Seething with a virus, I stumbled on to a series of airplanes the other day that took me from northwest to southwest. I coughed and tried not to blow my nose with too much proximity to anyone else, but after a two hour drive, a parking shuttle, an amble through security (which really was an amble and was eerily quiet), and a wait at the gate my inner energy reserves had become depleted and it was Time To Die. Oh, figuratively. Whatever. So I brought my virus to my friends, who are cheerfully helping me either feed or quash the little buggers, I’m not sure which. I have been in…

  • My Brain On Crack

    Drifting

    I think this is what they call flow. Either that or I can’t be paid to care about much. When I say care, I don’t mean care. I mean get my panties in a twist. And that just isn’t happening. Nope, I’m afloat on the Wonder Barge of Life. Somebody up ahead (it might be me but I can’t be bothered to get up and go look just now to see for sure) is poling us gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily. And along the sides of the stream I see the things we slowly pass, but I’m not grabbing for any brass rings these days. It’s okay just sitting…