Day 16 of 101

Tired. Watching Paul Schrader's 1980's version of Cat People. Partly because I've never seen it before, partly because today's the last day it will be streaming on Netflix for my viewing pleasure. So far, not bad. I'd be interested in knowing whether or not this particular film is regarded as having anything like a cult following.

I'm feeling a bit nervous for a variety of reasons. Although the beach is only fifteen days from today, the reality of what is going to occur only four days later is swiftly settling into my psyche. I'm a pragmatic guy, and I've weighed the pros and the cons of having this surgery. I only know for certain that I have to do something because the idea of continuing in my present state of constant pain is unfathomable. However, I really can't help but to worry about everything else that goes along with worrying about a surgery: the risks of anesthesia, the possible complications of any surgery, the 50/50 chance that this will either work or not work, the financial difficulties that could likely accompany being out of work for anywhere from two weeks to one month.

The last thing I can really afford right now is missing two full paychecks. It's times like these that I wish I had some rich and anonymous benefactor who would just suddenly unload a large sum of funds into my credit union account with the caveat that I use the money wisely and simply to get myself from point A to point B without so much as a pinch. Unfortunately, such things only happen in the novels of Charles Dickens or Jackie Collins, rarely in real life, and never in my life. Still, it's a nice, bright and very cool idea if not really a possibility.

The one thing that keeps me driven and in pursuit of the fact that the end will justify the means is the amount of overtime I'll be able to pull in for the second half of the summer and the amount of running and working out I'll finally be able to accomplish and the writing I'll be able to get completed in one sitting and the fact that I won't constantly be switching positions every ten to twenty minutes or having to stand up for an entire eight hour shift because to sit down hurts too terribly to endure.

Fifteen days till pleasure. Nineteen days till relief.

Day 14/15 of 101

"But there were no battles. There were only skirmishes of vague resolution. And EVIL did not wear one face but many, and all of them were vacuous and more often than not the chin was slicked with drool. In fact, he was being forced to the conclusion that there was no EVIL in the world at all but only evil-or perhaps (evil). At moments like this he suspected that Hitler had been nothing but a harried bureaucrat and Satan himself a mental defective with a rudimentary sense of humor-the kind that finds feeding firecrackers wrapped in bread to seagulls unutterably funny.

The great social, moral and spiritual battles of the ages boiled down to Sandy McDougall slamming her snot-nosed kid in the corner and the kid would grow up and slam his own kid in the corner, world without end, hallelujah, chunky peanut butter. Hail Mary, full of grace, help me win this stock-car race."
                                                                                                                  --Stephen King, 'Salem's Lot

I've had that page marked as something I wanted to write down elsewhere since tearing through the book earlier this month. My big plans of spending all my spare time reading and writing and working out my chest to have as perfect a beach body as possible have all sort of gotten a little bit tangled and spangled and snarled and mauled by the general vicissitudes of life. Other than 'Salem's Lot, I've only also read At the Mountains of Madness and most of Stephen King's Night Shift. I keep accumulating greater and higher stacks of books on my to-read shelves and only so many on the shelf to be cataloged on my GoodReads.com member site.

The plans to work out have been thwarted by pure laziness. In the morning, after work, I usually hurt too badly to think about push ups and working with free weights and the resistance band that has gathered more dust than it has gotten usage. In the evenings, when I wake up, I usually take at least an hour to become fully alert and oriented to even think of making my muscles burn before work. However, this blog is all about redemption and writing and creativity and honesty, so I'm thinking about plans for motivation. I've already gotten myself from 230 to 180 pounds from simply watching my diet and walking as often as possible. Adding a little cardio and some weight training at night when I wake up can't be all that difficult, it's just a question of finding the time to make the motivation to do it. Besides, not too many days left before the beach. Of course, you never know, miracles do happen (which just so happens to fall in line with the concept behind the short story I'm thumbing away at on a secret portion of my blog.

The weekend was a great one. I came home Friday and got to bed relatively early on the couch after watching an episode of the Masters of Horror series. This was "Cigarette Burns," and it was not bad (but really not all that great either...kinda reminded me a little of Coldheart Canyon by Clive Barker). My uncle had come in town, so I ran to grab us some Raising Cane's chicken and came home to devour a portion before tooling around online for a while and texting Tyler while he was at work. I got back into bed and fell asleep from eleven until about two in the morning. When I was up, I was up. I eventually got ready for the Saturday plans I'd made with Stephen and Stacy, and I went out to grab some new incense from the Peace of Mind Center and then journeyed over to The Thrifty Peanut in Bossier. I bought a lot of classics and a few more literary selections than I've been grabbing this summer, mostly out of the guilt I felt from the fact that Laura's recommendations list put mine to shame as far as books with merit go. After the Peanut, Stacy and Stephen and I went to The Book Rack where I grabbed a handfull of Agatha Christie and a piece of crap I've been wanting to read for several years, the sequel to one of my all-time favorites, Lace 2.

For lunch, we hit Which 'Wich, where Stacy and I both ate chicken parmesan sandwiches before she bought me a Cake Batter Shake at Coldstone Creamery (incidentally, the sandwich I could really take or leave; however, the shake....my God! literally, heaven through a straw). After lunch, I was fully prepped to lapse into a full-on diabetic coma, so I came home to nap before we met up at Tinsel Town to see The Hangover 2, but the 8:30 show was sold out, so we got tickets for ten o'clock before sitting down to remarkably reprehensible service at Applebee's (not really eatin' so good in the neighborhood). The movie was funny, but I found myself cracking up through some of the parts that no one else in the theatre seemed to really find all that amusing. For instance, while the Chinese drug dealer sings a rendition of Time in a Bottle while their elevator climbs to the roof of a building for an elaborately set up scene, I couldn't stop laughing, and I eventually had to take off my glasses and wipe my eyes. Nobody else seemed to think it was all that funny. All in all, though, I highly recommend the movie to anyone with no overtly Christian and/or easily offended sensibilities.

After the movie, I came home and did more procrastinating and time wasting online than I did really accomplishing anything that I'd set as a personal goal for the weekend. I guess I went a long, round-about way of explaining why I've lacked in adequate posts for the past several days. The few tiny additions that come before this one are self-explanatory. Personally, I blame Tyler Smith. He makes himself a little irresistable and difficult to part from when we're actually together.

Tomorrow, I plan to come home to balance my checkbook and pray. I'll probably have to move funds from one spot to the other and write down some sort of plan because I've been ultra lazy on paying bills on time and getting everything taken care of in that arena so that I have that to NOT worry over. Maybe I'll get off of here and work out. Maybe I'll work on my short story for a bit. Maybe get in bed and try to finish the collection of short stories.

Of course, my Netflix queue does have quite a few films that will be expiring tomorrow and I've yet to watch them.... le sigh.

Day 12/13 of 101

Wholly without intention, I've missed a day in the loop I'd been hoping to keep going, having hit my stride early in the single digits; however, several of my previous posts have been sparse in content and really only formed and uploaded in an effort to never miss a single day. I'm wondering now if it's better to miss a day or to merely post something as simple as "nothing to post."

...I totally meant to come back to add more, but....

Day 11 of 101

I can't post anything because there's some dude over at my house who won't leave me alone.

Day 10 of 101

Once again, another morning of nothing worthwhile to post. Maybe I'll be more motivated to do so later...after I've slept. I'm just really tired. Stressful night with work, and stress is an amazing motivator. Also, once it begins to fade, it takes all your adrenal energy with it. That's about where I am at the moment.

Day 9 of 101

Waiting for the doctors to call me back. Third business day in a row that I've left messages. Still no response. I'm losing confidence in this place. Nothing else to post this morning. Tired. And hurting unnecessarily, I think.

Day 8 of 101

Although I had a great weekend with my close friends, I am really looking forward to finishing out this week at work and doing as close to absolutely nothing as possible once Friday morning rolls around. The truth is, I feel as if I'm exacerbating my back pain with every additional step that I take between now and the surgical procedure scheduled to correct the underlying issue and alleviate the pain. After talking to a few people, I'm totally down on the idea of taking any form of narcotic medication until it becomes absolutely necessary, and I'd like to save that ordeal for the afternoon and evening of Monday, June 20 when I'm in surgical post-op and ready to start my road back to work.

I'd like nothing better than to just climb in bed and read myself to sleep, but I realize that I have to maintain my schedule, get a little writing under my belt, and try to squeeze in the remaining bits of my exercise routine that has been slimmed down to almost only consisting of intense stretching and push ups. Everything else totally jars my back and creates a form of leg pain that is otherwise totally avoidable. I learned this the hard way, and although I'm still very much focused on the physical aspects of my movement toward redemption, I've decided that I can wait until I'm fully recovered before I re-embark on the weight training and 5-K qualifications. That perfect body I'm striving to attain is going to be more likely to arrive closer to the end of the summer instead of the July 4th target date I'd originally set this past winter.

At this point, I'm really only rambling, and I don't think that these stream-of-consciousness, poorly edited posts really do much to enhance the content of this site, so I'm gonna get out of here. The most important thing is that I adhere to my commitment to post something every day for a period of 101 days. So far, so good, but I'm really not that far into the process.

Not only that, I really haven't gone into great detail about why I'm seeking redemption, what my steps are in the process, and what aspects of my life this matter entails. In brief, I will write that the idea is one that is wholly personal and beneficial to my soul in the long-run, but I'm doing it in a more public forum because I believe that an audience of my peers will be more likely to encourage and otherwise hold my feet to the fire with the goals I'm setting regarding my mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health. It's all about total self-confidence and self-awareness that includes -hopefully- a step up along Maslow's pyramid to get one bit closer to self-actualization. Aspects include more structured writing, journaling, meeting attendance, meditation, financial integrity, physical stability, pecs (and abs and really nice arms), routine exercise, professional credibility, maybe a raise at work, more time with me and less time for others, and the completion of a short story to submit for publication in a major national magazine or some other literary resource. The story I'm currently working on is called The Deal, and although it is still very much in its infancy, I believe that it shows promise and has the ability to instill a greater sense of confidence in my abilities as a writer. Of course, I'm nowhere near ready to quit my sinecure at the B-wood and starve as an creative talent with no financial certainty; however, every day in this preliminary 101 is putting me one step closer to achieving that very outcome....it just may be many phases of the moon before the time is within sight.

Day 7 of 101

With LE(G)B, Laura Elizabeth (Geltz) Brock, my little sister and best friend.

With the beautiful birthday girl, Tammy Jones. Like Laura, Tammy is also my best friend. In a world where we throw around that idea very easily, Tammy is absolutely everything that such a title suggests. She's smart, funny, stunningly gorgeous, full of positive energy, and always on the edge of any problem with perfect advice and to hold my hand. Laura's my little sister, but Tammy is the big sister I wish I still had around. Would you believe me if I wrote that this was her fortieth birthday? I wish I knew I will look as great as Tam in eight years.

Tammy showing off one of the pairs of new panties she was given in anticipation of the over-the-hill events to come. In addition, she received this same pair in multiple colors, a membership to AARP, Geritol, prune juice, several canes, hearing aid batteries, gas relief preparations, CALtrate, several adult diapers, denture cleaners and a long list of other products that I doubt she'll ever actually find use for in the years to come.

Dana Massey with LE(G)B. Dana has been a fixture between Laura and her younger sister, Meredith for years. Dana is pretty much one of the trio. She even sang when Laura married her dapper and charming husband, Evan Christopher Brock (no pictures posted yet, but I'm certain they're coming), last year.

The Overnight B-Wood Dream Team: TJones, RN, MJO, MHT, and LEB. The miracle workers. The people with the plan. The brains behind the business. The problem solvers. The triumphant trio. Without these three in operation together, who knows what hair-raising thing might occur? For three-and-a-half years, these three professionals worked together through crises, codes, PEC's, CEC's, admissions, discharges, searches, treatment plans, and phone calls from emergency rooms at every hospital in a three state radius. When the glue in the middle discharged himself for a little more than a year to focus on school, the two bookmarks stayed in close touch and continually begged him to return. Finally, after months of waiting for Miles to the Jay to agree, he's now back and more intensely involved than ever. May the three of us be together, in friendship, professional capacities, and spirit, for the rest of our lives.

Day 6 of 101 (A Second Post...Just in Case Today Really is the End of the World)

"This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper." --The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot

My day is winding down at the same time that most of the rest of the world is waking up and having their first fag along with a cup of java to stave off the shackles of slumber and welcome the fresh morning dew. I figured that I ought to post something a little more substantial for the day since all I've got to go on for today's efforts toward writing includes a grocery list and the captions on the photographs I posted earlier. If today is, in fact, the end of times, I sure wish that I'd done something a little more memorable yesterday instead of coming home from work and soon thereafter falling into bed to read a little of Stephen King's Night Shift (the latest title I'm soon to be crossing off the hundreds deep titles of summer reading fare; I've read several of the stories included in King's first collection, but never read the tome cover-to-cover), waking at half-past eight, and then spending the majority of my first night off cleaning, washing linens, and knocking out what had to be procured from my local Kroger.

The couponing I did tonight was anything other than extreme. I have some direction from my friend Laura, who is always on the look-out for a deal, and tells me that one can, in fact, knock off a huge portion of the total bill by having the clerk scan a stack of clippings; however, most of the coupons I've found are for items that I'm unlikely to ever buy. Why are there no coupons for fresh produce or dairy or some of the pricier items that I have to pick up from either the meat case or the frozen foods areas? Furthermore, why is it that after adding toilet paper, milk, and cheeses to the cart, my total tag suddenly gains a hefty twenty dollar sum? You'd think that the stuff you buy on a regular basis because it's constantly running out would be a whole lot cheaper, but you'd also think that a full tank of gas would cost less than 1/5 of a paycheck from two week's indentured slavery at the B-wood. My total savings after adding my card to the Kroger.com website and spending way too long looking for the specific brands and ounces allotted by the coupons was less than what I was hoping to hold onto for the amount of time and energy on what really boils down to a pointless, mundane scavenger hunt where the prize is that I've only spent ninety dollars instead of one hundred and six.

I suppose I'm in a bit of a foul mood because the old back is really getting on my nerves as the pain doesn't seem to want to stay at bay for any longer than maybe half an hour at the most. Last Friday, I called my doctor to leave a message that I definitely require something stronger and better acting than the Tramadol I've been taking, but it seems that there's nothing outside the narcotic spectrum that the most brilliant and celebrated medical minds in our world can come up with. On Monday, I called with the same message and was told that there was no record of me having called three days before. On Tuesday, I was told that something had been approved and that they were about to call it in once we ended our call. On Tuesday night, I called my pharmacy to find out that they had not received an order from my physician. And on Wednesday morning, I called and sat on the phone for more than twenty minutes before hanging up and deciding to call back shortly. Ten minutes later, a nurse from The Spine Institute called to tell me that the doctor had just approved a medication and she wanted to know what pharmacy I used. Interesting as this information was left with the messages from Friday, Monday, and Tuesday. The final day also being the first time I was told that the same doctor had just approved something that they were on the verge of calling in for me. The rigmarole doesn't inspire much confidence in some people I'm about to let turn me over and cut into my back to repair this whole mess so that phone calls and messages and orders for higher doses of medications will no longer be needed.

My deal with myself for taking a scheduled narcotizing medication has been that, when I take it, I'll lay in bed, read my Big Book or do some private journaling, or do some writing on some topic that I've been discussing with Juli recently, and I've upheld my end of the bargain. Unfortunately, the medication which is supposed to be treating and alleviating this intensifying pain is failing to uphold its promises. I'm frustrated and counting down the days until something is finally going to be done and none of this agitation will ever be required again. Of course, the doctors and his PA's did admit at my last consultation that my expectations may be a bit too high and total alleviation of all pain is likely not an option. I was told that I will, in fact, live with some degree of back pain for the rest of my life; however, they told me that it would be far less intense, much more manageable, and something that would only require me to take some ibuprofen if or when the flare-ups ever occur. I just want it all to be over because this morning, with the sun slowly coming into view deep in the recesses of a vastly overcast, gray sky, I realize why those with chronic pain issues are prone to anxiety and depression. One can only experience the non-ordinary state of being in pain for so long before one really starts to want to just stress and swear on a regular basis. I try not to let it all get me down, but this is ridiculous.

Despite the often times debilitating levels of hurt, I can't help but to hold onto a high level of optimism. Although my belief system falls far outside that of the hoi polloi of Haughton (so to speak, for alliterative purposes only), I do believe in the saying that one is never given any more than he or she can handle, and I know that this, too, shall pass (I hate that damn expression!); however, I can't help thinking that it's true. I have so much to be grateful for otherwise.

What's a little pain in the back, ass cheeks, hips, and legs when I have multiple other facets to my life that make me happy? I have a great relationship with my mom, something that most other guys (and girls) would never even dream of let alone be thankful for. I have an awesome job (with admittedly crap pay) that I love and look forward to clocking in to perform. I have a ton of friends that I can count on and bitch to and lean against, and I know that they don't consider me a drain or too much or too needy. I've been writing and journaling more recently than I have in almost three years. I'm working on three different stories right now, and the ideas and the words are just flowing like an eternal river of life. Despite some issues related to compressed discs in my back, I am in remarkably good health: no diseases, no erratic heart issues, no neuroses, no dependencies, great blood pressure. Most everyone that I know is also in good health. I may be poor, but I really never want for anything, and everything that I ever need is always somehow provided. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel for school and my future. And now, holiest of holy shits, I am becoming better acquainted with a guy who is beautiful and smart and funny and interesting and driven and ambitious and sexy and alluring and pretty much more than I ever would have thought to request had I been given the option to do so. What's more is that he seems to look at me and see equally impressive qualities exuded, stuff that I never see when I look in the mirror, but I'm starting to believe it all the more that I hear it and read it in his text messages and Facebook posts. It reminds me of that old Nat King Cole song, "Nature Boy." Something like, "the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." That's a really pleasant and calming thought, isn't it? Simple and straight-forward. I think I lose sight of that sometimes. I'm glad I have sight of it now. And I'm even glad-er to have the opportunity to get to know somebody who's helping me hold sight of it right now.

So, if the world ends today, I guess that's not a bad mood to be in when it all comes to a close: with the acceptance of the knowledge that really and truly, in the end, the only thing that matters is love. According to The Beatles, it's all we need anyway.

Day 6 of 101 (Photos from last weekend's Pink Party, 2011)

Stephen and Rhonda.

For some reason, this is my favorite photo from the night. I don't know what Tyler was telling me that had me listening so intently, but the guy has a lot of good stuff to say.



With Heather Roy. Rhonda's niece, Stephen's cousin.



Rhonda with Heather.

Tyler and me.



Shane Whitehead, the guy in the boa, has this really cool tattoo right at his waistline that reads "Fancy." He's a big Reba fan. Heather was showing off the mosaic that's slowly engulfing her back. She can't very well lift up her shirt, but she has tons of photos on her phone.



Stacy Stubblefield and Stephen Failey. If this girl ever asks you out to lunch, it's best that you get a black wig, pack a bag, get your affairs in order, and get the hell out of the country because it's not looking good for you otherwise.

Tyler and I again.

With Heather. I think that this was towards the end of the night.

Day 5 of 101

Notes from yesterday... some stream of conscious stuff I did before bed. Just now having the opportunity to post. After I get this typed out and published, I think I'm going to get in bed and try to get a little rest. When I kept my regular schedule two weekends ago, I had a much better outcome...

I am nearly seconds away from a Bachelor of Science, a degree in the study of Addictionology, the treatment of substance abuse and dependence, and an understanding of the recovery process for which I also have first-hand experience. I've been awarded the top prize of a scholarly arts competition for my submission of a short story that beat out the odds statcked against it, and I've worked as the editor of multiple professional publications.

Somewhat well read and ever seeking more gainful successes, I am always on the hunt to be better informed. I've been student of the year, member of the year, most likely to, and the peer reviewed employee of the year. By no means do I consider myself perfect, but I'm smart. I work hard. And I never give up until I've won Monopoly.

All that being said, I have an admission: when it comes to love and romance and knowing what to do to make something work, I'm a babe in the woods. A novice. A frightened new arrival at a middle school otherwise well populated by hundreds of millions of students who all seem to have matriculated to this point together since infany.

Everything I know about how to make a relationship work is what I learned from the everlasting bond between my parents, while all that I know about what not to do is that which I've witnessed in everyone else.

I was raised on Shakespearean sonnets and knowing that I'm to compare thee to a sun-stroked day, the odes, the Brownings, Jane Austen, and the Brontes. I still believe that Romeo and Juliet did the very best that they could have considering the circumstances and that just because Kate Chopin's heroine swam listlessly and soundlessly into the cold waters of the Gulf doesn't necessarily definitively imply that she wasn't subsequently rescued by the perfect cure to all that ailed her aching heart. I think that Rhett and Scarlett got back together, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were M-F-E-O, and somewhere, someday, somehow, once upon a time always concludes with a happily ever after parenthetically infused with the understanding of no matter what...because I know that people are basically good at heart. Good always triumphs over evil. No matter what, people always pull through when they stick together.

Maybe it's the rose-colored glasses I want to wear all day and all night - not only because I like that lovely shade of pink, but also because I want my world to actually be rose-colored all the time. Still, I confess that I really don't always know for sure that what I'm doing is right. Is it the right thing forever or just the right thing for right now? And where does the cynicism and uncertainty and long-list of green jaded questions come from that has me ever second-guessing otherwise? And why does it sometimes stick around and get it's nasty, hooky feet in every train of thought? I mean, it's like ever since I found out that I was lied to about Santa Claus and sat in stunned silence upon discovering that Pee Wee's bike wasn't in Texas because there was no basement in the Alamo, I have been forced to think sensibly, to act logically, and to behave in a reasonable fashion - none of which stands a chance when one meets someone worth the time and effort and interest to spend sleepless hours getting to know and thinking of before drifting off to sleep and losing oneself in a dreamy, rainbow reverie where one wonders if maybe it's okay to question or second-guess or re-orient and redirect from. Maybe, sometimes, it's okay to just feel and to enjoy and to get a little giddy and adolescent in one's thoughts and one's actions. Just because so many road blocks are erected for so many others doesn't mean that the real thing - that think from fairy tales and Wonderland - doesn't exist if we just open ourselves to allowing it to exist.

At first, I wouldn't even give this guy much more than a passing smile and thought. Then, I just figured he couldn't, or wouldn't, be interested. And then, I allowed the staunchly Republican inner critic (yeah, it's VERY deep, but it's there) to try to put a boot-encased foot down. And now - I'm not sure. But I'm sure that not being sure is surely just fine. And the negative voice that keeps telling me I ought not to even compose this post, let alone even post this post is something I've decided to ignore just for right now, for today, just to take a bit of a leap and to see what happends. That negative voice might have prevented the submission of an award-winning story or the publication of a paper or the decision to opt to endeavor toward a career of fulfillment in lieu of one that is more certainly financially promising.

It could also be that the negative voice would otherwise prevent me from allowing myself, the babe in the woods, to get past the trees through the forest to the sunshiny Shangri-La just over the next, densely packed hill.

I'm not all-together sure where all that started or even where it was going, but I wrote it, and I kept it, so I decided to post it and give it some time to mature. Maybe there are one or two thoughts in that overly journalistic diatribe that are more worth noting than they appear to be at the surface.

I'll have to come back to this later. Just as I'll have to consider some of the information that my beautiful friend Stacy texted to me the night before last, these things that my blog has revealed to her: that perhaps I need to officially name that for which I am hoping to redeem myself because that topic is a bit unclear, that perhaps I have been fighting far too hard and far too long to make up for a comparatively brief period of irresponsibility in my early twenties for which I carry undue guilt, and that perhaps I eat far more pasta salad than I realized.

Day 4 of 101

"It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth's dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests." - H.P. Lovecraft, At the Mountains of Madness

I've been playing around with some design and layout gadgets on my blog, and I'm currently not so sure whether or not I really have everything as I want it, where I want it, and how I want it. Thankfully, the blogger site is set up so that non-tech-savvy geeks such as myself are able to totally screw up the style and format and then easily go back to change the settings to a more familiar composure.

I'm home from work, and already ready to be back and have the week complete. Waiting for the seriously sexy neuroscience grad to wake up and get in gear to meet me for a little breakfast and conversation at Southfield Grill. I've been craving a hot plate filled with bacon and eggs and all sorts of other arterial cloggers that only make their way onto the food pyramid by stretching the limits of definable consumption.

Finished the book of Lovecraft short stories yesterday, and I have to write that I was much more impressed with the story of Gilman's lament in the witch-house than I was by the shocking discoveries of prehistoric implications near the mountains of madness; however, I can definitely understand why Lovecraft is such a renowned and impressive author to the horror and sci-fi communities. His prose is often dense and, at times, difficult to follow, but much of his work reminds me of Poe. The men have similar styles and characteristics. Additionally, both were quite fond of the darker realms of the human condition.

Perhaps a bit more after breakfast with the brainbiobuddy.

Day 3 of 101 - Another Post

This is the article that I published in Horizons, the newspaper I've been editing for the Louisiana Association of Student Nurses. The original title was "The Portrayal of Nurses in Recent Media: Getting Better One Thursday Night at a Time." It's not bad. I had to edit it down a bit to make it fit for the allotted space.

The publication of Ken Kesey’s acclaimed bestseller One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in 1962 permanently altered the public’s perception of nurses, albeit specifically psychiatric nurses, placing the professionals who comprise the filed in a somewhat negative and tyrannical light. Years later, the novel was adapted for the big screen and turned into a film that swept the Academy Awards, even bringing an Oscar to actress Louise Fletcher for her portrayal of the icy cold character, Nurse Ratched. One might assume that in the nearly fifty years since the release of the book, the media’s depiction of the field of nursing would have improved dramatically, or at least have become far more realistic…right? Well, not necessarily.


Every year, major professional nursing organizations come forward to review the best and the worst that our media-driven society has to hold up as public barometers for professional nurses. What’s more, many of the most popular movies and television programs fail to make the cut for being considered positive – or even realistic – interpretations.

Perhaps the greatest example of an incredibly well received television show that fails to supply the public with a true-to-life image of nursing is the hit ABC prime time soap, Grey’s Anatomy. Admittedly, the story has revolved around a group of wet-behind-the-ears surgical residents since day one, but many medical professionals may only find themselves able to suspend their disbelief for just so long before crying foul for inaccuracies. Known for its emotionally draining cliffhanger season finales (who could forget the night Izzey cut Denny’s LVAD wire and Dr. Burke got shot in the parking lot, or the season five shocker in which the same Dr. Stevens donned her prom dress and met with Dr. George O’Malley, who was dressed in his military cadet uniform, to walk with him toward the assumed hereafter) and sparklingly crisp dialogue (at times, one can’t help to notice that people don’t really talk like that) that seems to have woven its way into the middle American lexicon (seriously), the hit show is definitely not additionally known for showing all the right professionals performing all the right tasks.

The board certified cardio-thoracic surgeons are often shown doing most of the duties that would realistically fall within the scope of practice for nursing. The acclaimed neurosurgeons have been seen starting their own IVs and charting progress on patients that would normally be found on the face of a nurse’s note; however, at times, Grey’s Anatomy has succumbed to the public backlashes for having physicians playing nurses’ roles. In fact, the show has recently given its audience a totally-against-all-stereotype character who just happens to be a nurse.

Daniel Sunjata plays Nurse Eli, a surgical ICU Registered Nurse who has caught the eye of the sage and single Dr. Miranda Bailey following last year’s catastrophic cliffhanger that included a mass shooting at Seattle Grace and a terrified Bailey looking down the barrel of a gunman who was targeting every one of the hospital’s surgeons (ironically, Bailey was saved from meeting the fate of many of her co-workers by telling the killer that she was not a surgeon…she was a nurse). Finally, after nearly seven years on the air, Grey’s Anatomy’s creator Shonda Rhimes gave us a nurse with a strong and indelible presence. Instead of any of his co-identifying characteristics becoming his descriptors, the audience is being treated to a nurse who is every bit as credible as the men and women who comprise the surgical staff. What’s even better is that he’s proving to be every bit as sordid and lascivious in his extracurricular activities: his recent actions have included leaving Dr. Bailey dirty notes in her patient’s charts, something on par with the myriad days and nights of various hook-ups between the surgical residents in the on-call rooms.

Finally, those professionals who will be reviewing this year’s media portrayal of nurses might have one less program to shake a stick at for sub-par realism or showing nurses in a negative and stereotypical light. Now, Showtime’s wildly successful Nurse Jackie and Edie Falco’s eponymous role as the pill popping lead…well… that’s another story.

Day 3 of 101

Laura Nicklas, one of the registered professionals at the B-wood who works on the polar opposite of my visibly backward schedule (she works the 7 AM to 3 PM day shift, so she's just getting in to receive report while I'm ready to give it and jet), requested that I supply her with a reading list of what I have laid out for my summer. After I spent most of my break one morning last week feverishly writing out four or five pages of definitive recommendations along with the long list of authors I've been buying The Thrifty Peanut(s) in Shreveport-Bossier out of, she responded with a long list of her own. To be perfectly honest, her list of suggestions and must-reads totally puts my own to shame. I'm tacking these onto my already bulging list of books and authors that I'm dying to devour. Laura's list is by no means exhaustive, but pretty comprehensive. I've copied and pasted it here...only editing for some of the personal information she included in her email to me:

• Anna Karenina by Tolstoy (still waiting for my modern day Constantine Levin)
• Les Miserables by Hugo (Jean Valjean was my first hero)
• Moon and Sixpence by Somerset Maughn about a man who rejects his entire way of life, job, family to pursue an obsession. You really can't go wrong with Maughn. I love everything he ever wrote.
• The Complete Works of Flannery OConner. I am a Flannery fanatic. She has a nearly cult following. Her work is full of symbolism and her characters are eccentric, grotesque and flawed. I named my cat after her. Good thing I don't have children. Otherwise, poor kid!
• The Jungle by Sinclair Lewis about working conditions in the Chicago stockyards in the 1900's.
• Grapes of Wrath by Steinbeck about migrant workers during the Depression (I've actually read this, finished it after taking the exam on it my junior year in the famed Pardue-Wells Humanities block at Caddo Parish Magnet High School. I can't say that it would still make it into my all-time top ten, but it definitely would for the classics-only genre).
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee about a black man on trial for raping a white woman (also read this one, and I agree: Harper Lee is a great example of the greatest stuff a Southern writer can put out there).
• Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury about a future society where certain books are banned and how this affects thought. It has a great opening line "It was a pleasure to burn."
• Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton is set in South Africa. It is the story of a pastor and his son who was arrested for the murder of a white man during a robbery.
• One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez about seven generations of a family in Columbia. Also, Love in the Time of Cholera about a love triangle and it's frustrations.
• I love the short stories of Raymond Carver. Where I'm Calling From was his last collection. My favs are "Cathedral" and "Chef's House" (weren't these the basis for Robert Altman's Short Cuts???)
• A book that has affected me deeply is The Long Quiet Highway: Waking Up in America by Natalie Goldberg. It opened up my mind to the present moment and the beauty of what is. She has also written books on writing, Wild Mind and Writing Down the Bones. They are a little New Age if you don't mind that.
• Another of my favorite books on writing is Bird by Bird by Anne Lamont (When I got my father's permission to take a year off from school to write, this was one of the books a friend gave me to encourage my endeavor. I always wish that I still had the notebooks that I'd filled with short stories and the beginnings of a novel during those months of creative expression...some of the happiest of my life).
• Atonement by McEwan is one of my favs (this was my first selection for Book Club). I also like his On Chesil Beach about a couples anticipation of their wedding night and how they sabatoge the whole thing. Also, Saturday about 24 hours in the life of a man and how his plans go awry.
• I recently read William Styron's Darkness Visible which is the best description depression I have ever read. Sophie's Choice is probably the saddest book I have ever read. I read it on a beach vacation years ago. It was certainly not a beach book! I was not surprised to learn that Styron struggled with suicidal depression!
• Since you liked Prince of Tides you may also like Beach Music. it is very long, vulgar at times, but I loved it.
• The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven by Sherman Alexie is a good read. it is a darkly comic collection about life on an Indian Reservation.
• Mystic River by Dennis Lehane about the murder of a young girl by a childhood friend of her father, who as a child had been abducted and molested. I liked the book more than the movie.
• The Missing by Tim Geautreaux is about a man who survived his family's massacre as a child and now searches for a missing girl. The author is from Louisiana and the story in set in Louisiana.
• Vernon Little God by DCB Pierre is a satire of life in central Texas. A 15 year old goes on the run to Mexico after being accused in a mass shooting. I really liked it. It has been compared to Catcher in the Rye.
• Galapagos by Vonnegut is about people who get shipwrecked on an island while a deadly disease wipes out all the rest of the people on earth. It's about how they evolve over time. It's weird, but enjoyable.
• Family Inheritance by Deborah Leblanc is another book set in Louisiana. This was her first book she has written many others. This one is my favorite. It is in the horror genre.
• I am a long time fan of James Lee Burke's detective series featuring Dave Robicheaux. There are 18 books in the series with the first being Neon Rain. His characters are complex, colorful and flawed. I love the way he describes the Louisiana landscape and culture.
• Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson. The first line drew me in immediately. "We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold." It's crazy and druggy. Read it even if you've seen the movie.
• Under the Net by Iris Murdoch about a struggling writer in London is brilliant. It was her first novel. She was a philosopher and philosophical themes run through the book.
• The Falls by Joyce Carol Oates about a woman who husband commits suicide by throwing himself over Niagra Falls.
• Asylum by Patrick McGrath is about a wife of a psychiatrist who becomes obsessed with a patient who has murdered his family. Needless to say, it does not turn out well.
• Bleachy Haired Honkey Bitch by Hollis Gillespie is a collection of funny essays about her dysfunctional childhood which carried over into a dysfunctional adulthood. I really liked it. It's kinda like reading Sedaris.
• I love everything David Sedaris has ever written. You mentioned him. He's great to listen too on a long road trip. Start with Naked.
• I'm a big fan of memoirs. Some of my favorites are Angela's Ashes, Tis and Teacher Man by. Frank. McCourt. The Liar's Club and Cherry by Mary Karr, Daughter of the Queen of Sheba by Jackie Lyden, Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs, The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls.
• Other books on my shelves that I love include
• Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe,
• the Earth Children's Series by Jean Auel,
• The Complete Stories of Franz Kafka,
• The Fall and The Stranger by Albert Camus,
• Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy OTool,
• Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky,
• Kon Tiki by Thor Heyerdahl,
• Great Gatsby and Tender is the Night by. Fitzgerald,
• On the Road  by Kerouac,
• The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison,
• The Human Stain, Deception by Phillip Roth,
• Agony and Ectasy by Irving Stone,
• Dr Zhivago by Pasternak,
• The Awakening by Kate Chopin,
• Look Homeward Angel by Thomas Wolfe,
• Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann,
• all of Tolkein's books just to name a few.

Thanks, Laura. Once again, I'm reminded of all the great literary figures in the world. I definitely have my reading cut out for me.

Day 2 of 101 (Part 2)

Returned a copy of Black Swan to the library. Came home to make a ranch chicken pasta salad. Accepted the relationship link from the incredibly interesting, dynamic, and sexy Tyler Smith. Nothing could make this morning better other than climbing into bed and finishing this book.

Day 2 of 101

I really ended up doing anything other than productive activities. Shortly after formally posting to the blog yesterday, I grabbed a bite of some leftover spaghetti and meatballs before making the rounds that ended up in my bed. I'd really planned to at least read a little (currently reading "The Dreams in the Witch-House," the third story in H.P. Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness and Other Tales of Terror - nearly finished with this book, I'm ready to move on to the next selection although I'm not totally sure which of the hundreds I now have to pick from will make the cut), but I could barely hold my eyes open once I climbed into bed. I let sleep overwhelm me, and then I spent another fitful day of getting anything other than adequate rest, waking up often to re-position myself and find a more comfortable spot to try to alleviate this ever-increasing and near constant pain I'm having in my back, hips, and legs (the surgery, finally, is scheduled for Monday, June 20th - I'm ready to have it completed already).

I write that I wasn't productive, but at least I've got my blog going again. Of course, I need to start making stretches and exercise a more continued and intensive action to my daily routine. Every morning after work, I feel that I'm too tired; however, every night when I wake up, I'm in far too much pain to begin a regimen. Just more than a month from the half-week I'll be spending on the beach at Gulf Shores, I really want to tone up and firm out a little better than where I am at the moment. Although I am continually acknowledged for having trimmed down to a more svelte and physically fit appearance, I feel that I still have very far to go to reach my most desired goals.

Maybe more later.

Day 1 of 101

I'm going to try this again because I don't think that I finished this endeavor the last time I gave the art of redemption a little kicking around.

Where am I right now? Basically, a good place, a solid place with a really well-rooted foundation; less shaky and more steady than I have been in the past. Of course, I always have room for improvement. We all do.

I want to write more, read more, blog more, journal more, exercise more...smoke less, eat better, and waste a whole lot less time. I just never seem to be able to put more than a couple days together of really adhering to everything that I really ought to be doing in an effort to eek out a little redempt-iary worth.

Today's the day I'll start. Monday, 16 May 2011. In the middle of a very odd and very late cold snap. On the heels of the 18th annual Pink Party. In medeus res.

But - as everyone knows - my real day doesn't start until tonight...when I get up for my regularly scheduled shift.

May's Shame

I'm toying with the idea of admitting defeat on this sucker. Literally months go by with no updates. I open the link and pull up a screen that I leave open on my laptop with every intention of signing in to post something worthwhile and important, but then I just let time slip by the wayside, and I do nothing. Maybe I'll feel like posting something better a little later. Maybe tomorrow. When did I become such a great, motivation-less procrastinator? None of that's ever really been a part of my chemical make-up in the past.