"WAITING FOR KARMA"

(a.k.a. "VITRIOL" - don't say I didn't warn you!)

I'm probably already sorry I asked, you idiot!

     Is it OK to hate everything?  I mean, will it screw up my Karma or something? 
     Yeah, yeah, I know...

     Being only human has it's drawbacks.  Even though some others insist on seeing me as such, Superwoman I am not.  Actually, I was Superwoman once, or a very convincing facsimile.  Now it's purely an aggravation to be viewed as a person who can accomplish anything and everything, and all alone to boot.  ARRRGGGHHHH!
     Here's the deal - because I remain somewhat competent, in spite of being disabled, I am called upon to help every human being I come into contact with.  It never fails to amaze me that I am more capable while handicapped than "normal" people are.  And it makes me angry, very, very angry.  And there is no outlet for this anger. 
     Day after endless day, I live in physical pain; pain that is sometimes so bad that it becomes impossible to do even the simplest tasks.  You ever been in pain for so long that you've forgotten what no pain feels like?  No?  When all you want is just to be able to sleep, but no sleep is possible because of pain?  I'm talking about days, sometimes weeks on end?  No?  What about continuous pain and lack of sleep that turns your brain into useless mush, aware only of pain?  No?  Can you drive to the store?  Can you wash the dishes?  Can you sit down?  Stand up?  Bathe?  Pee? 
     If the answer is yes, then go to hell.
 
     Yeah, yeah, I know... that's totally unreasonable!  It is not your fault that you have a functioning body and mind!  And it's not your fault that I don't, for God's sake, how can I be so bitter and unreasonable??
     Let me tell you.
     It takes years to get this way, and the reason is not pain and sleeplessness, brain mush, or dirty dishes.  It's disappointment.  Which, as years pass and nothing gets better but gets worse instead, causes a bitterness inside that I spend way too much energy suppressing so I won't hurt YOU.  And all the while, you, actively or passively, are hurting me.  "But, but... how can that be so?, you say.  I'm not doing anything to hurt you!  What are you talking about?"
     Ignorance is bliss, so the wise men say.  And that's when many of you turn away.  Having been unjustly accused, you shake the dust from your sandals and leave.  Go on with you then - get out of my face.  Go to your bliss while I suffer at your ignorance.
 
     Let me add one little item of note before I finish.  Note:  These are the very people that I have helped, oftentimes immensely, from the time before I became disabled right up to and including yesterday.  Befriended, defended, gave money to, housed, clothed, fed, rescued, saved from trouble, terror or ruin... and because I remain somewhat competent, and am not ignorant, I have no bliss?  Go figure.  Then just go away.

     Yeah, yeah, I know.  But is it OK to hate everything? Is it?  PLEASE?  I promise I won't tell anybody.

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"SIDESHOWS AND CARNIVAL BARKERS"

I've been thinkin' (dangerous in itself) about all the "stuff" swirling around in the news... added to the national weather reports (more disasters all at once and the worst I've seen in years) ... and ya know what I've concluded?  God is mad at us.  Mad at all the liars, fornicators, the bloated selfish, and idiots.  And Republicans.  Oh wait - I already said "Republicans".

Trying to take my mind away from all the crap for a while, I found myself contemplating a different kind of crap from a few years ago; hence this essay from 2006...

"ORDER IN THE UNIVERSE"

11/15/2006

Two days early. They were two days early and I should have known.  Traipsing away like the star-crossed lovers that they are, the newlyweds-to-be took off with a flourish for their wedding cruise, leaving the dogs behind.  Two days early.

Instructions would have been nice; that which seems natural to some may be a mystery to others, me being the other in this case.  Two big dogs and a cat – kitties are no problem, even this one who was purported to be cranky and self-serving – it was the dogs that proved to be my undoing.  Who could know that two dogs and a progressively unhinged human could alter the balance of the Cosmos?

Let me see... today is Wednesday.  The Disgusting Dog Debacle began eleven days ago on a Sunday afternoon, when an unsuspecting me realized that the dogs were at the door, masters in tow, for a reason; i.e. to be transferred into my uninformed and unprepared care.  “Of course I can do this”, says I to myself.  “What could be hard?”  And in truth, it began fairly well.

It boiled down to four trips across the yard per day, where the dogs were staying in a neighboring condo in the condo village where I live.  Open the back patio door, buckle dogs to their leads, let them out to do their duty in the grass.  Close the door with me inside, prepare the food, visit with the cat.  Open the door, command the dogs to “Go!”, close the door and wait.  Visit with the cat.  Rambunctious, muddy dogs blast back in through the door, managing to be vertical and horizontal at the same time.  Food!  Food!

Jet gets fed first, so that he won’t devour King’s food.  King is on a special diet.  More on this later; Jet wants King’s food and visa versa.  Did I mention how big they are?  Strapping black Labs, the both of them; seventy to eighty pounds each.  Jet especially, being young, is simultaneously a cannon ball and a battering ram, crashing into anything and everything including me.  I’m beginning to think that I look like a dog toy, chewed and battered.  I know I feel that way.

When the meal is over (“Eat it!  I mean it!  Finish your dinner, damnit!”), it’s off for another trip to the out-of-doors for that final chance to eliminate before the next period of incarceration begins.  If they are successful, I, poop-bags in hand, must venture out into the cold, wet, and now poopy yard to find the fruits of their mission.  So far so good – gross, but manageable.

Unmanageable began with a rude realization.  Opening the door, I smelled something wrong.  Unbalancing the Cosmos began simply, requiring only diarrhea to initiate the flaming demise of my sanity. 

OK, one day would be understandable.  Especially considering that the “special diet” King was expected to eat had spoiled without my knowledge.  Poor old King – he ate it anyway because he’s so obedient; twice in fact, before I was able to smell what was going on.  Now what to do?  Well, clean, of course.  Clean, clean, clean, help me Jesus, there is crap everywhere and I hate dogs.  And then go home and seethe at the world in general for having delivered this horrible day into my hands.  Fortunately, a friend helped me whip up a new batch of fresh food, and things were looking up.  Three more trips across the yard that day, more of the same and keep cleaning, it’s bound to be better now that the bad food is gone and by the way... did I mention that I’ve had it up to my neck and I hate dogs? 

The next day was better; the diarrhea began to go away in reality, though it had somehow permeated my body and invaded my own inner world.  It was everywhere!  No amount of cleaning made it go from my nose, and my prayers for serenity were smothered by the smell before they could ascend.  My vision was awash with it, be it physical or phantom; diarrhea ruled.   Clean, clean, clean, help me Jesus, there is crap everywhere and I really hate dogs.  And all the while the Universe is spinning further out of control, and I am none-the-wiser due to inhalant-induced brain damage.  Don’t you smell it?  You’re kidding, you can’t smell that?  It’s f*’ing AWFUL! 

An entire day passed and so did the diarrhea.  No pun intended – the brain damage is severe enough at this point that puns are beyond me.  It follows then that I, being mired in my own anger, disgust, delirium and anger (did I mention that I hate hate HATE dogs?), was again unaware that the Earth was about to flail madly out of it’s orbit and The Dark Lord of Eternal Diarrhea was overtaking the throne of reason. 

Two more days of darkness, and I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I can’t even see the tunnel, so filled with noxious brown chunky stinking sloppy goo is my miserable existence.  I eat, sleep and breathe diarrhea.  I wish for death, and especially for the dogs.  Even my tears are brown!  Life as I knew it has left the building, and Elvis is nowhere to be seen either; I wonder if he had any dogs?  The fumes have eaten what was left of my brain and all I can do is sit on my kitchen floor and cry into my poop-stained hands.  Order in the Universe?  You’ve got to be kidding.

All this time, the cat had been an angel, comforting me in her small way when I could find her under the lumpy liquid flow.  And it was another Cat who finally rescued me and restored the order I no longer could even imagine.  Praise be to the Goddess and her faithful servant, The KittyGodMother.   I don’t know how she did it, but on the third day of darkness I awoke with compassion in my heart for a poor old dog that was having an even worse time of it than me.  And, miracle of miracles, my compassion restored the balance of the Cosmos, bringing sanity and a trip to the vet for treatment and boarding in the process.   

“Behold the beauty of Order!” said the KittyGodMother.  And so I did:  King safely ensconced in the lap of veterinary intervention, Jet prescribed and given herbal doggy sedatives for his mounting anxiety (after all, he also lived in diarrhea), and the cat, or should I say the Cats – still, and even more so, are angels.

...and so you see, cats are wonderful, but even diarrhea is better than Donald Trump, 'cause at least I can make diarrhea go away.

(and no, I do not really hate dogs at all!)

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"FOR EVERY ACTION..."

Very few people actually know me, and even the handfull who might don't know this:  I actively participate in  letting my voice be heard for a number of causes that matter to me.  Animal and environmental protection are just two of these causes, and today I was (once again) astonished at the stupidity of mankind as a whole. 
We have the nerve to look down at birds because they "foul their own nests", and we... don't?  Oh Brother.
...And Sister, and Father, and Mother!  All of you!  As my lovely imaginary Chinese room-mate would say, "Please now to see the big picture!" 

Today I wrote the following as an addendum to a pre-written letter addressed to my government representatives.  Apparently, Gray Wolves slipped through the cracks in some dunderhead's proposed legislation.  They are on the list of protected endangered species - what could possibly be gained by taking them off?  They are still endangered - isn't that the point?  How much sharper does the point have to be for the dull among us to get it?


"FOR EVERY ACTION"

Again?  Not again... what don't people get about "for every action there is a reaction"?  If it takes much longer for us to figure out that every time we kill something that's supposed to be here, we kill ourselves, then we will indeed succeed in killing ourselves.  Where are your children going to live once you have destroyed this planet and everything good on it?  If you don't believe an individual species is important, you have never seen the big picture. Short-sightedness is it's own punishment.  Stop it! 


Alas, I fear that the old adage, "A word, to the wise, is sufficient." will hold true once again.  Whether the word is sufficient or not depends on the one who hears it being wise.

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"THE SILENCE OF FOOLS"

       Sometimes the craving for silence is overwhelming; without it my mind and body get wound up tighter and tighter until one or both of them is bound to snap and fly apart, shredding like shrapnel.  Today though, I have to avoid silence.  I need to make some noise, get some things done - and drown out the rising wail of pain. 
       Fifteen out of the last twenty days have been painful enough to limit my mobility, and limited mobility makes such a mess!  I try to at least keep the livingroom straighted up so that I have somewhere to rest my eyes that isn't in chaos.  I gave up on the bedroom months ago - my eyes are closed when I'm in there anyway.  And it's not as if I have visitors, eh?  In fact, that has become part of the problem.
       The visitors that I crave as much as silence are the helpers.  You know, the ones who come in on a regular basis and help me manage my disability?  Oh wait.  Yeah,  about that...
       I'm just one person, you know?  One little person in the nearly infinite sea of persons who need help somehow.  And my 'somehow' looks pretty insignificant compaired to the floods in Australia and the earthquake in Haiti.  Reality check?  Yes, and no. 
       If I knew that the people who could help me take care of myself and my home were giving their money or their time to help those in such horrible need, I would never begrudge them the time they don't have for me.  But they're not.  That doesn't make them bad; in fact, I'm sure that everyone I know does something nice to help someone else every day.  When it's convenient.  When it's comfortable.  Or when it's tax deductable.  I am none of those things.
       Quite the opposite in fact - I am uncomfortable twenty-four hours a day and it's damned inconvenient to be in too much pain to take care of things I used to take for granted!  And I'm certainly no-one's tax deduction!  No, instead I am alone alone alone for days at a time, and if I writhe in pain and the mess it makes, who's to know?  If "a word, to the wise, is sufficient", then I must be looking out to a horizon of utter fools.
       So I need to make some noise, get some things done... the silence of fools is more than enough silence for today.

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