The Angry Dream

So I had this dream last night, and it made me angry. Which is strange - I mean, I think it was strange that my subconscious made me angry anyway. Maybe it's not so uncommon for others, but it seemed weird to me.

In this dream, I was in a hotel room. The check-out time was 10am, and it was about 9:30am. There was a dining room table - an oval one - near the door to exit the room, and it had six chairs seated around it. There was (oddly enough) another door on an adjoining wall (where the couch was) that appeared to also be an exit.

I was in the process of gathering my things. I don't know what I'd been there for, but there seemed to be a lot of computer-type bags that I was packing. And then, without warning or even a knock, the door next to the table opened and hotel workers walked in and started to replace a trash can.

I looked at them blankly and said "I have the room until 10am - and you could have knocked, yanno." They apologized, and left. I continued to pack, a little more rapidly than before, and suddenly there were workers in both doors, coming through with new furniture and whatnot and I gathered that my room was some part of a renovation.

I started to yell. I cursed ... loudly. There was a camera crew (???) filming the new and improved room and I took the camera and threw it into the newly-installed flat screen TV and I remember too that I picked up the woman behind the camera and physically removed her - not so kindly - out of the hotel room. "Stop it!" I was screaming. "Don't you understand how incredibly rude you're all being?"

I got on the phone, called the front desk, and asked for the hotel General Manager. I was asked if there was a problem, and I believe I responded with something like "you bet your ass there's a problem". I went off, and went between apologizing for screeching at the front desk attendant who was only doing their job to demanding security to keep people from entering my room.

The problem with dreams is that you don't get to decide when to awaken from them. This dream was "loud" enough, apparently, that it woke me up. The Awesome Boyfriend was stirring slightly so I mumbled "what time is it?" and he said it was about 6am.

It's now almost 12 hours later and I'm still a little miffed at ... well see, that's the part that is difficult. How can you be angry about something that occurred only in your head?

Tradition!

(and now you have "Fiddler On The Roof" playing in your head)

I come from a family of few traditions. Oh sure - there's the traditional Ramos Fizz on Easter Sunday before service, Black Russians on Christmas Eve, Champagne if it is on sale ... hmmm, quite a few alcohol-based traditions there. *shrug* What can I say - my family of few traditions IS, after all, Irish.

There is one tradition that is just for my mother and I. Entertainment Awards Shows. The real ones, 'tho - not the "best same-sex kiss in worst teenage movie" ones. I'm talking Oscar and his gal-pal Emmy.

I used to see a LOT of movies when I was in my teens and twenties. It was good entertainment, it was fairly inexpensive at just $5.50 for the latest blockbuster, and it was something that I really enjoyed doing. I know a lot of folks go to the movies to escape or to avoid doing something else - but I really liked just being entertained for a few hours. NOW when ya' go, it's about a $40 payment, the multiplex has paper-thin walls so you get to hear all the other movies around you, parking is impossible and if you haven't seen the previous four movies that this one follow and haven't bothered to read the book, the interviews, aren't reading the tweets and haven't "friended" the movie crew, screw it - you'd never understand the plot here either.

My movie-going came to a trickle for a lot of years, when there was no one would could go to the movies with me. (This is what happens when everyone you're friends with starts having a family.) So my mother and I started going together. We'd typically see either the latest Harry Potter (which, in fairness, we HAD read) or something fun and weightless - aka "the chick flick". Plus - as a bonus to seeing the current releases, we'd have someone to root for during the Oscar broadcast.

Ahhhh the Oscars. We'd been watching it together for yeaaaars ... long before Joan Rivers' kid was broadcasting. We'd discuss the dresses, the dates, the teases, the bad sketches, the host - oh, and the winners and losers. It was great fun.

When the movie-going slowed down, the show to watch became the Emmys. It was easier to watch the Emmys and to root for people because you didn't have to remember back in March which God-awful movie Ben Affleck had been in. These folks on TV - on the shows we'd watch - came into our homes each week. If the series was REALLY good, I'd even have the DVDs of the seasons - so yeah, watching the Emmys worked really well.

Tonight I was startled to see something about "2010 Emmy Fashion" online. I guess it had escaped my attention that the broadcast was tonight. I've already called my folks once today so I don't want to bother them with a stupid call to say "hey Mom - Emmy's are tonight". But watching them together was what we did. And since last years ceremony was broadcast in mid-September, I guess this is the first year we really won't watch and comment to each other.

It's a tradition I will miss.

(I still can't believe that Johnny Galecki isn't nominated. Jim Parsons had BETTER win.)

Let Us Call This Entry "Karma"

Since I was in my early 20s, I've believed in Karma. I may not have always known what to call it, and I didn't always practice in trying to balance my own karma but, for lack of a better word, I have honestly believed in doing what was right. Sometimes I did what was right to my own detriment, sometimes against my better judgement, and occasionally I did it very begrudgingly ... but still, I endeavored to at least TRY to do right.

I didn't always do what was right quietly, which I believe - for me anyway - should be part of the equation. Things that are done for the best intentions get tarnished when noise is made while doing them. And, yes, it's possible that the person doing "right" may be unfairly judged as being boastful or proud when, in fact, that could not be the case. When I was younger, I'm not ashamed to admit that I sometimes enjoyed the attention that came with doing right. I never once looked for that recognition, but I never walked away from it, either. I know now - for me anyway - that pride has no place in doing the right thing.

Like most folks walking this planet, I have had quite a few people - some who knew me, some who never met me - pass judgement on my "karma-driven" actions. And, like most folks walking this planet, I know I have passed judgement on others for their "karma-driven" actions, too. Damn that whole "being human" thing!

So it is because of all of what I've just written that I find myself in a state of confusion. If someone does something that is, in polite society, unseemly, should that person be surprised if karma smacks them around a little bit? What about if that person does something unseemly time and again ... are they still entitled to attention and/or support when things go badly for them? At what point does the individual providing sympathy sit down and say "yanno, Albert Einstein famously said that the very definition of 'insanity' was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results". In other words, when is it alright to wipe your hands of a highly-probable mess in the making and walk away?

I have known some people who only learn from their mistakes. I mean that they EXCLUSIVELY learn from just their foul-ups ... nothing else counts. It is difficult to not feel a little smug ... self-righteous ... or at least sing a verse of "I told you so" to yourself when the wheels fall from their cart. In the German language, they go beyond "smug" and call this sensation "Schadenfreude" - pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others. There is a whole huge industry built on this feeling and, if you think I'm wrong, then you've obviously never read a tabloid-magazine in your life.

Typically I try to wrap things up by this point, but I'm still chewing on the turmoil in my gut. I have empathy for people when things go wrong, and I have sadness when I realize that others are experiencing pain, loss, disappointment ... but the question still nags: "How did you not realize this was going to go badly?"

The trick, I think, is to realize that it is not my place to comment, not my judgement to make, and not my karma to deliver.

I'll Take "Movies About Driving" for $300 please, Alex.

So I was leaving my coffee shop today and heading back home. The shop is located in a strip-mall-ish kinda gigantic parking lot. The exit to the coffee shop is a left turn that is directly opposite parking for home improvement store, and after that left turn, there is a stop sign.

This stop sign is for folks driving around the parking lot. There is not a stop sign for the drivers that have just come off from the main road so cross-traffic DOES need to stop while the "fresh off the road" traffic does not. However I've noticed that nine times in ten, traffic in both directions does seem to stop and break down into a "I'm waiving you to go ahead", "No, I'm waiving YOU to go" sort of a battle.

Anyway as I said, I was leaving my coffee shop. I came to that stop sign and there was no one at the intersection. I started to shift Jake into first gear when I noticed a large white pickup truck coming in from off the main road. So I stopped because *duh* I legally am required to do so and also because while I could have gone sprinting across the front of this truck safely, I wasn't in a hurry. It was then that the truck turned his right blinker on, so I waited a moment to make sure that he was, in fact, turning and not going straight in front of me and then started to proceed through the intersection.

Brakes were slammed on immediately. The pick up, it seemed, had decided to not turn after all, but had neglected to turn off signal. The passenger in the pickup, a man who appeared to be in his 50s or so, rolled down his window and proceeded to tell me that I was a "stupid bitch who had no business being behind the wheel" and how women shouldn't be allowed to drive and that I was in the wrong because, after all, I had a stop sign and they didn't.

While this individual was yelling at me, I could see the driver trying to tell his passenger that he'd forgotten to turn off his blinker but the guy was in full rage mode so there was nothing to do but let him rant. The whole thing was an event that took less than half a minute, and they drove off (going straight) with the passenger giving me a hearty one-fingered salute. I rolled my eyes when I saw the bumper sticker on the truck: Passengers should sit down, strap in, shut up, and hang on. How appropriate.

I collected myself for a moment, and started to drive away, shaking my head at being yelled at for a mistake that was not mine when I noticed that Jake was now turning right. I don't actively remember thinking "that's not right and it's not fair and I'm gonna address this" ... but apparently I had decided to not just laugh it off.

By now, these two individuals had parked their vehicle and were exiting the truck so I pulled up in front of it and, in a calm and measured voice, I said "Yanno, I realize that you had the right of way. I've been at that intersection every day for the past 11 months and I know the traffic pattern there. But what you failed to see, Ricky Bobby, was that your buddy behind the wheel there had turned on his right blinker so I guess, me being a 'stupid bitch' and all, I actually expected him to turn right."

The up-till-now quiet driver turned to his passenger and said "See, I was trying to tell you that, Jason. She's right - I thought we were going to the loading dock so I had my right blinker on."

The passenger - Jason - turned to me and said "Oh wow. I'm sorry about that. Geez, I guess I didn't know ..." but I wasn't having any of it. "Of course you didn't know because you weren't behind the wheel. So, Jason, maybe you should just shut your damn mouth and leave the driving to actual drivers, like your bumper sticker says. Oh, and one more thing - giving me the finger?" Jason was now looking down at his feet, and I could see I'd made my point and may be starting to push my luck. "I'm willing to be 'a stupid bitch' but I am classier than resorting to that and THAT'S probably why women are allowed to drive, to keep the balance for little boys like you. Now you two have a nice day, alright?" With that, I once again put Jake into first gear and drove back to the stop sign, turned my blinker on and waved - with all my fingers, not just one - as I left.

And as I write this sitting safely at home, something occurs to me. I've never even SEEN "Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby".

Comin' Around Again

In all the ways that I am very typically Irish, there is one “typical Irish” trait I do not seem to possess ... I do not seethe. Which is not to say that I don’t fume (or whatever similar word you’d plug in here) when I’m upset. I just don’t pout for hours on end. I don’t chew endlessly on my anger like a wad of gum. I don’t see the need. It’d serve no purpose, it’d take energy and honestly, dwelling on being angry doesn’t CHANGE whatever it is that angered you in the first place. I get mad, I allow myself to vent however necessary, and I recover.

I can honestly say that this lack of never-ending rage is true of all the disappointments and letdowns and double-crosses I’ve experienced in life thus far (and friends, trust me when I say that there have been some real doozies). However, like a lot of “rules”, there is an exception.

My “hot” button gets pushed with one topic – something I’ve tried (and failed) to chill out about for five years now. A discussion where I cannot see both sides, I cannot see the truth in opposing points of view, I cannot tolerate … and do not tolerate … those who pontificate and sermonize with answers now that they have had half a decade to research and study and learn about a situation that they were never in, never experienced for themselves, and never responded to in any way.

I’m referring to August 29th, 2005. The day that Hurricane Katrina made landfall. And I realize that I am guilty of being too close to this topic to discuss it without being biased. I accept that, and I agree that I am VERY biased about Katrina and what the Gulf Coast experienced.

It has been five years.

I still cannot think about that place, those people, their homes, the neighborhoods, and their history without getting emotional. The thing I’ve noticed is that I’m no longer angry about the topic, but I realize that I will always be passionate about it. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think that having passion for something … caring about something so deeply that discussing it moves you, brings you joy, makes you think, or just gives you pause for a moment for you to catch your breath or wipe your eyes … that kind of passion is what helps form us as individuals.

As the 29th looms closer and the various news and media outlets revisit Hurricane Katrina, I may or may not watch their shows or read their headlines, but I have my own story to recall and revisit. I do not seethe, but I will remember.

There's A Name For My Pain

I get migraines.

I started getting them in my 20s, actually, but whenever I complained of having a really bad headache, my well-intentioned friends and family would say things like "every headache is bad" or "you just have a low tolerance for pain" (completely untrue), or "that's not a headache, that's a hangover" (occasionally true).

After doing a little research on what a migraine is, and knowing that a large population of migraine sufferers are women and that it can be an inherited problem, I asked my mother if she'd ever had one. She had not, and as far as she knew, no one in her family ever had one, either. I got the same answer from my father, along with "well, maybe your aunts get them but they're both nuts, too so let's hope you didn't inherit ANYTHING from them, ok?" They were not exactly helpful, but probably accurate, responses.

I started keeping a record of when my migraines would settle in, how long they lasted, and any other notes I could make. I had already changed my diet as much as possible, including the very difficult decision to completely cut out caffeine. Also, I had already recognized a pattern of what kind of pain it was ... located in the front right part of my head above my eye socket that would also block half of my nasal passage, it was a constant pressure sort of an ache, not a pulsating one. Semi-sensitive to light and very sensitive to noise, I'd apply an ice pack (or, in the early years, a frozen bag of peas) to my forehead and just concentrate on not worrying about the pain. I couldn't read, and would have trouble keeping a train of thought or carry on a conversation. My taste buds would be off and things would taste sour or bland in my mouth. I'd get muddled in my head ... starting something as basic as brushing my teeth and stopping after putting toothpaste on my brush. I'd look in the mirror and notice my eyes were bloodshot so I'd add some eye drops and go sit down. And then I'd realize I hadn't brushed my teeth and try to start all over again.

The ache would come in waves, too. For a few hours, I was inhuman and unfit to do anything. And then I'd get about 40 "good" minutes. I could still feel the pain - but I was able to be well enough to make food, draw a bath, get my mail, and MAYBE drive ('tho only for a short distance). I knew the "good" time would come to a close so I made sure to be as organized as possible and to use that time wisely.

Years passed and - honestly - I just lived with it. 2003 was the deal-breaker, though. In 2003, I had a total of 25 migraine-laden days. October alone was responsible for 5 of those days. I had reached my limit.

With my family history and my "migraine diary" with me, I finally made a doctor's appointment. I saw the doctor, showed her my records, and said that this had become a quality of life issue for me. She reviewed the symptoms, discussed the pain, and came to the same conclusion I had already decided upon myself - yes, they were for sure migraines; yes, they were mostly cyclical to my body clock; yes, they were known as "cluster" migraines (which explained why I would have waves of pain followed by minutes of clarity); and yes, they were nearly unavoidable. The good news is that she thought they COULD be managed.

After a few different attempts at various medications, we settled upon a two-prong approach. I'd take a daily blood-thinner (even though I have low blood pressure already) to allow for better blood flow throughout my body and, when a migraine would occur, I'd take a self-dissolving mint-flavored pill, apply my cold pack, and wait for it to pass. For several years, this worked wonders. I'd even allowed myself to have the occasional glass of red wine - after avoiding it for a time because of migraine-inducing sulfites - and it was as 'tho I'd been given a second chance at life. Even when a migraine did occur (and they did, from time to time), they weren't the multiple-day long types I'd been having and the secondary medication seemed to tame them quickly. In 2005, for instance, I had just two days of migraines. In 2006, I had no migraine days at all. In the entire year. It was nothing short of shocking.

But the body evolves and adjusts. In 2009, I had 5 total days of migraines. This year has seen 5 days, too, and I'll likely have more before the year is up. I'm not being gloomy about that - for me, I see it as a high possibility and probable fact.

But yesterday ... yesterday actually scared me. The migraine I had yesterday was the grand-daddy of them all.

It started first thing in the morning. (Well, really during my sleep on Friday, but I digress.) I had a dry mouth, a stuffy nose and it felt like my brain was on fire. The Awesome Boyfriend came in with a cold pack ... as he'd do about 10 times throughout the day. The cat wouldn't leave my side and her constant purring was a comfort - the only constant sound that I could really tolerate. Breathing hurt. Turning over in bed was an effort. Getting to an upright position was about a ten minute ordeal. My eyes wouldn't open for long periods of time and I know that I wasn't communicating very well. When the Awesome Boyfriend asked if he should run to the coffee shop for my usual order, I could barely focus long enough to tell him not to bother. When he later asked if I wanted lunch, I mumbled something but I don't think it was an actual cohesive idea. I felt like I had experienced a stroke followed by my head being deep-fried. My skull felt blistered. I kept touching my forehead where the pain was centered to make sure it wasn't bulging.

I knew that I should take one of my migraine pills but eating something - even something that would help ease the pain - made me queasy. I lamented staying in bed on such a beautiful weekend day, but I knew that I was deep in the throes of a serious head-buster and there was nothing I could do but ride it out. I finally ate some fruit snacks - slowly - around 1pm - but couldn't even eat one small snack-sized bag of them and bit off tiny pieces of each one, letting it dissolve slowly in my mouth before swallowing, and made sure that I was keeping that bite down before taking another small nibble.

At 3pm, the Awesome Boyfriend suggested scrambled eggs and some toast and I decided to try to eat. I managed to slowly sit up, trudge to the couch (half-naked, as I couldn't imagine the amount of energy it would have taken to try to get dressed), wrapped myself in a blanket (on an 80-degree day) and got down a single scrambled egg and a slice of buttered toast.

At 6:40pm, the Awesome Boyfriend more strongly suggested I take a pill and, having successfully kept down the eggs, I finally acquiesced. I even managed to eat a few bites of dinner but, most happily, I had an appetite for the brown butter chocolate chip cookies he worked on all day. (I ate one. It was incredible ... even for my still slightly wonky taste buds.)

For anyone reading this who doesn't have experience with migraine headaches, all of this may sound rather exaggerated. And I could see where some would think that my tolerance for pain is, perhaps, not as high as it could be. If that's your opinion, you are of course very entitled to it. However I know that I am, if anything, UNDER-stating how much physical pain is involved with a migraine. I wouldn't wish a migraine on anyone. When in the clutches of a migraine, I dream of scooping out my eyeballs to ease the pressure. My long hair feels like the roots are embedding themselves deep into my brain and I consider cutting it all off, in case that will stop the ache. Honestly, if I didn't know that there were options to stop the pain, I could see where having migraines would cause a person to lose hope of experiencing good health again. As it was, I did have a light crying jag while trying to get myself together before eating dinner, even as I knew that the medication I had taken was slowly beginning to help me recover.

My Saturday ended well. By 8pm, the veil had lifted and I was able say that the migraine had passed. I woke up today and stepped outside for the first time since Friday evening. And though the day is a bit gray and it will likely rain soon, the air outside ... the trees moving in the wind ... the bright skies ... it all feels terrific once again.

The Decade Of "Zoom"

It was the Winter of 1989. I had a reliable, if not boring, vehicle already that was trouble-free. However, I started considering having another one in my life pretty much from the moment I saw the first advertisement. It was a two-page spread inside the front cover of a magazine that was flipping through. It was, and still is, the first time I took notice of each feature and detail, every carefully designed curve and even the color. "Coming soon, to a driveway near you", it read. I cut the advertisement out and tacked it behind my company-provided Macintosh SE30 against the office wall. I memorized it.

I never made any proclamation or announcement about it. It's not like I dialed the company-wide intercom system and said "Attention co-workers: One day, this will be mine." In fact, honestly it never occurred to me that I'd be able to set aside that kind of spare income. Affording a "second car", when one is living in a studio apartment and thinks of steamed rice and a Pepsi as "dinner", seems beyond nuts ... it becomes ridiculous.

But when the whole "dot com" age erupted and I was making ... well, ridiculous money, suddenly the numbers seemed within reach. And since the vehicle had proven not just popular but almost instantly "classic", I was intrigued. Captivated. Driven. And so it was that one Sunday morning I stopped thinking and started doing.

When the salesperson approached, it was as tho' I was not there. I was alright with being ignored - he didn't know that I'd be the buyer and the extra time allowed me to check out the bells and whistles without being "sold to". When it was made obvious that the purchase was mine to make, we went on a test drive. (It was, in my eyes, unnecessary. I knew as I saw the car that I'd be buying it but I felt it was only polite to go through the motions.)

I hadn't driven a stick in several years but the gears were close together (aka "a short throw") and the clutch was tight and low, just as I'd always imagined it would be. I drove us onto the freeway as the salesperson started with a pitch that I remember verbatim. "The passenger airbag can be turned off by putting your ignition key in this slot here, making it safe for a baby seat", he said, sounding satisfied with himself. "Right" , I said as I slipped easily into fifth gear, "because this is, after all, such a great 'Mommy' car." I could feel him look over at me and, from the corner of my vision, I noticed his face turn red from embarrassment at the idiocy of his statement.

He was quiet for about a mile or so and when I heard him take a breath to get ready for another "selling statement", I stopped him short with a speech I'd actually rehearsed. It was said in a confident voice, not snotty or arrogant - just factual. "Anything you say at this point will only kill this deal. I will be buying this car and I know what my offer will be. If you are unable to accept it, I know of two other dealerships who haven't made their numbers for the season and I'm sure they will happily take my money. Let's just enjoy this ride, alright?" And so we did, in silence.

We returned to the dealership, where he showed me the number he had prepared and I handed him my pre-written response card, with the number I'd prepared. Mine was only about $450 lower and I was proud that I'd done enough research - and was taken seriously enough - that the delta was that tight. A few "extras" were discussed ("I'm not paying $80 for floor mats when I can get them for $20 at the auto store near my house" was met with "Oh, we'll happily give you those - sorry, let me remove that") and we shook hands.

I glanced at the odometer when I got behind the wheel of the car I'd just signed for. The digital number showed the mileage as 23. (I would later pace out the route I'd taken as a test drive and it measured at a distance of 18 miles.) It had been over ten years since I saw that first advertisement. That first tease. Showing a beautiful coupe sitting in the summer sun while the country was in the midst of a rainy, cold Winter season. "Coming soon, to a driveway near you."

I turned the ... his ... wheel to the right and pulled into the driveway. "Here we are," I thought to myself. "Home at last."
*****************************************
Jake will turn 10 years old tomorrow. Earlier this month, his odometer turned over to 47,000 miles. I don't know if the person who put those first 5 miles on him enjoyed the experience, but I sure have enjoyed the other 46,995.

And, like the other man in my life, he was more than worth the wait.