Borderline Blonde

I Want My MTV

2006-06-16T22:54:00.001-10:00

Test post. Blogger is acting really weird.

Missing in Action

2006-06-01T20:48:00.000-10:00

I apologize to each of my faithful readers for not having posted in so long; unfortunately, I've been a victim of humanity this past month and have not had the focus necessary to pen one of my usual essays.

Thanks to all of you for checking in ~ I hope to have something written and published by early next week.

Let Thy Will Be My Will

2006-05-07T22:57:00.000-10:00

"She's gone." Those were my friend's words tonight, sounding eerily emotionless over the cellphone, telling me that my dear friend Jenny had died suddenly of an aneurysm related to the leukemia she developed in February. I am sad and in a state of shocked denial. Although I wrote about Jenny's remission from this dread disease in my last post, she soon recurred and recently participated in clinical trials at our local cancer center.

The treatments were ineffective, so Jenny was waiting to see if either of her siblings were matches in terms of bone marrow should she become eligible for a transplant. She passed away before the results of the blood tests were known.

If you read my previous essay on the power of prayer, you're aware of how confident I felt that God had answered the many petitions offered for Jenny's healing. For reasons I am perhaps not meant to understand, her respite from her illness was short-lived. "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away" ~ but why, we ask. Why reward our faith with a miracle, and then show it to be a failed parlor trick?

I've always tended to see God as anthropomorphic ~ like a kindly Santa Claus figure reclining among the cumulus clouds in His white robes, sporting the obligatory long white beard. Even though I've evolved spiritually far beyond this narrow perspective, when I really want God to hear me, I revert back to my Santa fantasy. I tend to forget that God's will is going to be done no matter what, and that's how it should be, but that is not always what I pray for.

So I have to accept that taking this vibrant, saintly woman in the prime of her life, who gave so much and still had so much more to offer, was the will of God. I study the words of many of the greatest thinkers the world has ever known, and I've never read even one viable attempt at an explanation of why God chooses to do such outlandish things. But then I don't believe He causes bad things to happen. That being the case, why does He allow them to occur? This is the inexplicable conundrum with which mankind has wrestled for ages, and I don't propose ever to be able to solve the puzzle, nor to witness anyone else doing so. I believe God is omniscient and we're not. Knowing all, He is aware of what is best for each and every one of us. Life is a series of lessons learned; maybe when you graduate from your earthly classes, God calls you home.

I like to think of Jenny being at home at last, in constant conscious contact with the Almighty, experiencing perfect peace. She was a steadfast Christian, and I envision Jesus meeting her at the pearly gates with His arms outstretched, ready and waiting to welcome her to the Promised Land. And yes, I know how naive and childish all this sounds, but I can't imagine her soul just hanging out in the ether waiting for another body to inhabit. Nor can I believe that Jenny is simply gone, her spirit annhilated along with her body at the time of her death. Maybe that's what happens when you die, but it's not a comforting thought.

Jenny, you will be missed by so many, many of your friends in the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. You were the one with the hand out for the newcomers, making the 12-Step calls, visiting the sick, helping the less disadvantaged in the program, cooking up a storm for AA Club functions, and serenely taking care of your beautiful young twin daughters singlehandedly. Your faith in God's grace was unshakeable and your courage downright intrepid. But I know that when you prayed for yourself, you prayed for God's will, not your own, to be done. And in the end, he took you up on your offer and it was His will that won out.

I'm not asking for any answers, but to be honest, I don't feel as confident about the "power of prayer" as I did while I was writing my earlier post on the subject. You see, I assumed God would do my will; never once did I ask for His will to supersede mine, nor did I expect it to. I've learned a lot about humility through this experience, and maybe a little about "magical thinking." I'll never stop my practice of prayer, but think I'll let God take the steering wheel instead of insisting on always doing the driving.

Jenny, my prayer for you now is that you rest eternally in the arms of your Savior. We will miss you terribly, and never come to a satisfactory understanding of why you were taken from us too soon, but will accept your passing with the grace you would have expected of your friends. I'll see you on the other side, and until then, as you never failed to tell me whenever we parted company, "Love you bunches."

Prayer Power: How It Works

2006-04-18T06:28:00.000-10:00

In Alcoholics Anonymous, we are taught the following in the Big Book of AA:

"We are not cured of alcoholism. What we really have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition."

(Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, 4th ed., p. 85)

Over the past couple of months, I have whined incessantly in my AA meetings, as well as in my online recovery forums, about what has become a constant struggle to stay in fit "spiritual condition." Until recently, I had always been a person with an unwavering faith in God and a rich spiritual life. The daily prayer and devotions in which I engaged on and off for years greatly enhanced that faith. Unfortunately, since the beginning of the year I've let that practice slide, as well as other wholesome habits such as attending regular AA meetings, staying in touch with friends, and other activities that keep me in step with the world and therefore give me opportunities for love, service and growth.

Well, something happened all of a sudden that ultimately had the result of increasing my faith tenfold. In February, a dear friend of mine from my AA home group was diagnosed with leukemia. She was given a 15% chance of survival, and then only if she underwent a bone marrow transplant. Hospice personnel came to visit her, but due to her intrepid nature and invincible faith, she refused to talk to them. Requests immediately went out to her many close friends and acquaintances in AA for prayers on her behalf.

I had no choice but to improve my spiritual fitness, fast! As a consequence of the devastating news, I found myself almost automatically resuming my daily prayer and devotional routine. My prayers became more intense and my meditation of the deeper variety. Had I not been stirred to pray around the clock for Jenny, I would not have received the great blessing of strengthened faith and trust in my Higher Power that quickly began to restore and renew my spirit.

Now Jenny is one of those people who are a blessing to all who know them, and she is known by many. As soon as I heard the diagnosis, I knew that our mutual friends and I were going to have to be vigilant about remaining positive when it came to her recovery. Negativity breeds negativity, and I refused to put up with any of the dejection, fear or worry that would normally accompany most people's responses to such bad news. I reminded my buddies of how important it was going to be for all of us to think only good thoughts concerning the situation, and to expect positive results from our prayers. Like many great thinkers from whom I have learned, I realize that one's beliefs create one's reality. I knew that Jenny was expecting a full recovery, and that it was all-important we do the same.

Much has been made of a recent study on the power of prayer conducted by a team of researchers at the Mayo Clinic. The project was designed to observe how intercessory prayer affected the incidence of major complications suffered by patients following cardiac surgery. The findings of the study indicated that prayer had no effect on preventing complications after surgery. However, the authors did admit to a limitation on the part of the research: the individuals who prayed for the patients did not know them personally. They also recited rote prayers provided to them by the developers of the study instead of using their own words, an agreeably necessary condition of the study, although it certainly must have had the effect of inhibiting levels of sincerity to some degree. Although all those who prayed belonged to either Protestant or Catholic Christian organizations, there also would have been no way to measure whether or not they truly believed their prayers would be effective. Finally, the study made no allowance for prayers said or left unsaid by those close to the patients, such as friends and relatives. Indeed, the far from perfect parameters of the study caused the researchers ultimately to concede that, "Private or family prayer is widely believed to influence recovery from illness, and the results of this study do not challenge this belief."

One of the modern pioneers on the subject of the power of prayer, Norman Vincent Peale, explained his views on prayer power in his huge bestseller, "The Power of Positive Thinking":

"When you send out a prayer for another person, you employ the force inherent in a spiritual universe. You transport from yourself to the other person a sense of love, helpfulness, support . . . and in this process you awaken vibrations in the universe through which God brings to pass the good objectives prayed for."

"Pray with the belief that sincere prayers can reach out and surround your loved ones with God's love and protection."

"Never use a negative thought in prayer. Only positive thoughts get results."

I wouldn't subscribe to Peale's principles if so many great philosophers had not foreshadowed his beliefs for centuries, and if the very same tenets weren't put forth in a much more sophisticated manner by contemporary gurus like Deepak Chopra, Eckhart Tolle and Wayne Dyer. But I like Peale's simple explanation of prayer power ~ we pray for others with genuine goodness as our intent, and most importantly we sincerely believe God will answer our prayers in the affirmative. Since it is a law of the universe that like attracts like, we pray for healing in a confident frame of mind, even to the point of claiming that it has already taken place.

In answer to countless of those confident, life-affirming prayers, Jenny is now out of the hospital and feeling fantastic. Her faith remains unshaken, and her heart is bursting with love for those who have patiently and repeatedly petitioned the Almighty for her healing. I have no doubt that, as a result of her experience, Jenny's faith has grown exponentially just as mine has. She is a living, breathing example of how prayer power works, and how it will always work as long as you truly believe that it will and if you trust in God to fulfill your humble requests.

I would never have wanted Jenny to go through this harrowing experience for anything in the world. However, if I've received a blessing as a result of her illness, I won't refuse it, especially considering its nature and how happy it has made both of us. That blessing would be the restoration of my faith, along with the renewed practice of my daily prayer, which keeps me centered and in touch with the Divine presence. I've also been dealt a vital reminder of how prayer power works ~ and I am therefore once more assured that my prayers for other concerns will be heard and answered.

I am especially fond of what Bill Wilson, the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, says in the Big Book regarding prayer: "We shouldn't be shy on this matter of prayer. Better men than we are using it constantly. It works, if we have the proper attitude and we work at it." (4th ed., pp. 85-86). In fact, it was in AA that I initially experienced the power of prayer, as I saw it change for the better so many, many lives before my unbelieving eyes, including my own. Prayer works, and Jenny's recovery is a vibrant testimony to that philosophy.

Finally, a Family

2006-04-03T07:15:00.000-10:00

To be perfectly honest, I've never cared much for children. Nor have I ever been interested in having a family of my own. When I was a kid, I observed what it was like to be a parent and it seemed like much more responsibility than I personally wanted to assume. Parenting required investing many years and a great deal of money into an all-consuming enterprise, the outcome of which was entirely uncertain. Why take the chance?

It's not as though my own mother was a poor role model, because she wasn't. She was the perfect, traditional, 1950's housewife and mom to my three siblings and me. Instead, it's the fact that she repeatedly told me that, if anything ever happened to one of us, she'd never, ever recover from the loss. Consequently, the idea of having, then losing a beloved child became for me the pinnacle of bad luck in life, akin to death in its darkening effect. After carefully considering my mother's words over the years, I naturally gravitated to a path of childlessness.

I've been married twice, and while I always pretended I wanted children for the sake of appearances, in the back of my mind I was terrified at the prospect. At that time, it would have been unusual (although not unheard of) for a couple to choose to remain childless. During both my marriages it was necessary for me to work and make a good living; how did one do that while contemporaneously caring for a couple of rug rats who mostly ran amuck and otherwise misbehaved, I wondered? All I knew is that I didn't want to find out, and therefore used my chosen method of birth control religiously.

But several years after my last divorce, when I began to feel like making new friends and maybe meeting someone special, I speculated what that intelligent, handsome, funny, and hopefully somewhat unconventional man might be like. By this time, I'd at least had more experience with kids and didn't dislike them quite so much as I did in years previous. I was mostly tolerant of babies and genuinely enjoyed adolescents and teenagers. The thought of a meeting a man with children was therefore pleasing to me; close to my age, his kids were certain to be older, and he wouldn't have custody of them anyway, right?

I met MBF on match.com. His profile indicated he had children, and in one of his initial email messages to me he described them briefly. Stacey, the oldest, was a junior at a major university. Melissa, the number-two daughter, was a senior in high school. And Nick was a 6'4" member of the freshman football team. I was enchanted.

We spent the first six months of our relationship in the bliss of unabashed infatuation, spending our date nights together alone at his small, new-bachelorhood apartment. I had the opportunity to meet the children on several occasions and liked them immediately. Then, all of a sudden, presto change-o! MBF was living in the deep suburbs with all three of his kids. Wha' happened?

I'll skip the circumstances which made the move necessary. All you need to know is that I ultimately moved in with MBF and two of his offspring (Melissa has her own apartment), and after seven months, have realized that I've fallen in love with a family. I can't think of anything I've ever experienced that has made me happier or been more fulfilling than sharing MBF's progeny with him, wholesome and intelligent youngsters that they are. Stacey made the Dean's List after her first semester in law school; Melissa is studying to be an elementary school teacher; and Nick will be on the varsity football squad when he's a senior next year, after which he'll be going on to college as well. I couldn't be prouder of them if I were their mother. Which I don't have to remind myself I'm not.

I've found there are many lessons to be learned when living as part of a family, and am still making mistakes as I try to master them. Patience is probably the primary personality trait that enables me to live here without inwardly uttering constant pleas for privacy for MBF and myself; tolerance is another virtue that I must continually work on. In AA, we claim that " love and tolerance of others is our code," and I try to remain loyal to that pledge. I find I get a little steamed when too many messes are made that are obviously intended to be cleaned up by me, and occasionally feel a pang of resentment toward doing laundry that isn't mine, but most of the time I perform these tasks cheerfully, so thankful for these young people who have stolen my heart. I find that consistently being of service to my family helps to remove my focus from myself, and that's always good for me. It also gives me a chance to work on overcoming my selfishness and self-centeredness, character traits of mine that constantly need monitoring.

The kids are a credit to their amazing father. Stacey is smarter than anyone has a right to be, beautiful, creative and funny. Melissa was born under a lucky star, is as bohemian as her big sister is classy, and keeps us entertained with her off-the-wall antics. Nick is a big, shy, easygoing boy, full of wonder and insight. Each is as different from the other as our relationships, which are changing and growing closer every day.

I feel as if I am the one who was born under that lucky star ~ fortunate enough finally, after years of being alone, to live within the bonds of a family which, thanks to MBF's remarkable parenting skills, is happy and well-adjusted. And although I'm not formally related to his children, I could not be fonder of them if I were. I call them my stepchildren anyway, laying claim just in case anyone wants to challenge their position in my life.

I love my new family. I love cooking for them, looking forward to seeing their faces when they return from work and school, cleaning up their disasters in the kitchen, and folding the clothes they should be folding themselves. I always thought MBF spoiled his children, and now I can understand why, as well as the reason any parent spoils a child, for that matter. I enjoy making their lives easier in little ways, surprising them with small gifts, and can't bring myself to act like an ogre and issue orders when rooms aren't clean and dishes are left in the sink. After all, they have a mother, and once again, it's not me.

If I had not ended up living with these fine, accomplished young people, I would not have known this love, this joy, this happiness at now being like my girlfriends who've had their own families for years. I can talk "family speak" now and feel at home and comfortable around my soccer-mom pals, instead of isolated and apart the way I did when I was alone. I even left my church because I felt there was no place for me: not young enough for the college singles group, obviously unable to join in the family activities, and not quite ready for the sewing circle.

Certainly this is the way God intended man to live, monogamously under one roof with his loved ones until they're ready to leave the nest. MBF calls himself a sapiens domesticus, which describes him perfectly and suits me fine. We live a harmonious, happy lifestyle in our little suburban home. As a result of his sharing his family with me, my life has been both enlarged and enriched. I used to think I didn't have enough love for more than a carefully selected few ~ but now, however, my heart has swelled with more affection and care than I ever thought myself capable. For this I have MBF to thank, who has made all this possible for me, and whom I love more than I love life itself.

So I understand a little better now about why people choose to have families, preferring to risk the unknown rather than miss out on experiencing life to the fullest. And I can also understand how my mother feels about never being able to recover should she lose one of her children. My family life has taught me about unconditional love, an emotion I didn't think I had in me. It's an indescribable feeling to care about the needs of others more than you care about your own.

I realize this essay sounds saccharine and schmaltzy, but that's the way I feel about my abrupt, yet most welcome change in circumstances. I regret all those years I felt so cynical about family life, and now realize the reason for my derision was plain and simple envy. But now I'm making up for lost time by enjoying the heck out of my quasi-husband and his adorable issue. My new life is a gift from God, and I am immensely grateful for the opportunity to feel the love of a family at last.

The Angst of Self-Denial

2006-03-23T19:08:00.000-10:00

For about a month now, I've engaged in a rigorous program of abstinence from nasty habits of all kinds. Some of you know that I recently quit smoking; well, now I'm dieting in an effort to lose the 12 pounds I gained while substituting food for cigarettes, a common phenomenon that becomes the bane of many an ex-smoker.

While by and large I have become accustomed to not smoking, I still have to exercise a certain amount of will power occasionally to resist buying a pack of cigarettes, generally whenever I've become depressed or stressed out for some reason. However, the withdrawal symptoms I experienced when, while still suffering the psychological pangs of smoking cessation, I began to deprive myself of my favorite foods, made the painful process of quitting seem benign by comparison.

I have not been a very nice person to be around during the past few weeks. My mood has been gloomy, and I've felt tired and drained. I bitch and moan and complain to anyone who'll listen. You have a problem? I'll find a way to make it all about me. Think I should "count my blessings"? Puh-leeze. My buddies tell me I need to make a "gratitude list." They're right--but instead of taking their advice I keep putting it off, just like everything else in my life that needs done.

I have no motivation at the moment, making me feel intense self-loathing at my laziness. I have no interest in anything at all except the usual paltry pursuits, and don't particularly care to conquer anything new. All I can seem to muster at the moment in terms of action is to continue to eschew the cigarettes and attempt to ensure that I don't end up obese in the process. My fellow ex-smokers over at Quitnet have assured me that these feelings are all normal and to be expected at this stage of stopping smoking (called being in "No Man's Land," the period of time that elapses between "quitting" and becoming someone who's finally "quit"), but sometimes I am almost miserable enough to resume puffing the nasty things.

As for the weight gain, I've decided that uncontrollable eating is the substitute for smoking most of us addicts (and smokers are indeed drug addicts) fall prey to once we quit. To be sure, smoking lowers one's metabolic rate, so a gain of about five pounds or so is inevitable. But for this victim of hyper-vanity, a gain of 12 pounds has proven absolutely unacceptable, so I've gone on the South Beach Diet (the one where you eat the "good" carbs and avoid the "bad" carbs). I'm going nuts without potatoes, bread, sugar, pasta and fruit, though. Despite the relative generosity of allowed foods on the diet, I find I'm hungry most of the time, making me feel deprived and irritable. I wasn't nearly this mean when I all I had to battle was the smoking; fighting off cravings for more than one substance has knocked me for a loop.

I've never been a viable candidate when it comes to self-denial. My self-will seems to win the war at every turn. Yes, my will is strong--when it comes to manifesting what I want, when I want it; unfortunately, what I want these days is generally something ultimately not in my best interest (food, a nap, a cigarette, more food...). But I tell myself that where there's a will, there's a way; I just need to put the brakes on and head in the totally opposite direction.

Stabs at positive thinking, if I can be consistent about them, do help out quite a bit. The problem is that I too often let my negative feelings overwhelm me and suddenly forget all about focusing on the glass-half-full approach. I've resolved, however, to continue to try to improve the quality of my thinking. Norman Vincent Peale, as well as many others, once said that we create our lives with our thoughts, and I agree with that philosophy. I find that I do quite a bit better if I can remember how I wish to feel, and believe and act as if I really do feel that way. It's not a parlor trick; it works if you make the required effort. It's like we say in AA: "Fake it 'til you make it."

I have blown my diet for the past three days but am not remorseful; it was either that or continue to cry uncontrollably. Today, I'm back on track and concentrating on how wonderful I'll feel when I lose these few pounds, and how good I'll look when I fit into my spring wardrobe. I'm breathing my way through the craves for a smoke like a yogi expert in the art of pranayama, and have no plans to buy a pack of "sickarettes." I'm faithfully chugging a portion of my daily 64 ounces of water instead of chowing down on that snack I'd like, and looking forward to a healthy meal falling with the SBD parameters.

I find I tend to over-dramatize my high-class problems. One blip on my psychological radar screen sends me into an emotional tizzy. But I now see how unnecessary this is. As long as I can remain reminded of the benefits of my current undertaking, instead of the deprivation I've chosen to feel, I can endure not smoking and reducing my food intake simultaneously without having a meltdown. The brain is not easily fooled, however; I must sincerely believe deep within that I can do this, and do it successfully, without putting the rest of my life on pause like some virtual VCR. At any moment, I can choose to be happy and successful, or miserable and a failure. The choice is mine to make.

Today, I choose to be content and at peace with my decision to quit smoking and lose weight at the same time. Doing so is no excuse for depression, moodiness or generally being a thorn in the side of others. I can do this, and do it with ease and grace as long as I sustain a positive attitude. I think I'll make that gratitude list after all.

The Bliss of Blogging

2006-03-10T23:04:00.000-10:00

There is nothing more I love at present than staying up until the wee hours of the morning blogging away on my trusty wireless laptop. I don't know why the urge to write something strikes me at some point after midnight, usually right before I'm ready to go to sleep. So I pick up the PC and think for a bit about what point I want to get across in my essay, search Google for an appropriate image, title the post and begin to write. It's an unhealthy method to say the least; but I have no control over the call of my muse.

I created Borderline Blonde in September of last year, and am genuinely surprised that I'm still posting on a semi-regular basis. You see, I have a reputation for not finishing things I start; but when I get bored with a project, I can't seem to bring myself to bring it to a conclusion. But this blog has been able to sustain my interest for six months now, so I can't help but be thrilled that it's lengthened my attention span when it comes to a hobby of sorts. Why am I still writing? I've written prose practically since I learned to use a pencil. I won my first writing award in first grade. I wrote all through grade school and college (majoring in English and philosophy), and stayed in college most of my adult life collecting credit hour after credit hour in the hope that I would eventually earn my master's degree. But I'm not in school by choice at the moment, and therefore have no forum for my writing. My blog has become a welcome substitute for term papers and other literary projects.

I've been urging a friend of mine to create a blog and realized as I described the process that blogging can be as easy or as difficult as you want to make it. You see, Blogger allows you to choose a background template from an adequate selection, which is customizable as long as you want to spend hours learning and writing code (assuming you don't know it, which I didn't). Customizing your template is great fun; using HTML and CSS, you can change background colors, text sizes, fonts, etc. so your blog won't look like ten thousand others on the Internet. I chose to teach myself code, and have had an absolutely amazing time learning about attributes and tags and style sheets and lots of other cool stuff. It isn't easy and I still have lots to learn, but I haven't been as challenged by a subject since I took a couple of courses in symbolic logic years ago.

Ah, but it's the writing that's the thing I look forward to the most--allowing the words to beam from my brain to the screen in a stream-of-consciousness fashion, followed by literally hours of careful editing. It's important to me that I've made a point of some kind that I think might interest a few people, or to which others might be able to relate. When I first began blogging I wrote about political topics but, despite my unwavering love of current events, have obviously drifted toward the personal aspect of life. I feel the need now to veer toward a completely different area but am not quite sure which direction I want this blog to take. I even looked at the ebay site map for ideas: Health and Beauty? Art and Antiques? Books? Music? Crafts? All subjects worthy of consideration, I guess, except that I'm not very "crafty." Most crafts are tacky, in my opinion, although there are, of course, exceptions.

In fact, I've enjoyed working on this blog so much that I created a new one based on my love of philosophy, entitled Quotes for Growth. My new blog looks gorgeous, if I do say so mself, and simply bears daily posts of inspiring quotations from philosophers of all eras and backgrounds. It's been a labor of love and uniquely satisfying. Even when half the blog disappeared completely and it took me hours to recover it, I must confess to enjoying every frustrating minute of the task.

I recommend to others who are bored and have a base amount of computer experience to blog. If they are fond of working with computers as well as like the idea of putting their thoughts out there in cyberspace for those they are lucky enough to have read them, they will have found a satisfying hobby that will provide them with hours of endless education and enjoyment.

I love blogging--it's the bomb. It's a habit to which I've grown accustomed that I hope I never abandon. As of today, I've had over 800 visitors to Borderline Blonde and can't help feeling a little smug. When I first began to write my essays, I thought it would take years to achieve that many hits. I can't tell you how nice it is to know people are visiting, and reading, and visiting again. I'm glad my guests now know my stories, and wish that I knew theirs. The joys of blogging are many and worthwhile--and very easily worth an occasional thoughtful, sleepless, blissful night.

My Virtual Communities

2006-03-04T11:38:00.000-10:00

Lately, I seem to begin and end my days the same way--looking in on my virtual friends and acquaintances in the two-dimensional universe of Internet forums. For me, it's become like a friendly neighborhood in the '50's, when folks dropped by for coffee in the morning for no other reason other than to chat. MBF says I have a computer addiction, but he's not quite correct in his assumption. It's not the machine I'm dependent on-- it's the close relationships I've made online, which I'm enjoying so much at present because there's no guarantee as to how long they'll last.

My love of Internet chat first began in the early 90's, when no one in my circle knew one iota about computers, much less owned one. But for some reason, I was fascinated by the worldwide communication so easily afforded by this awesome contraption. Based my desire to make virtual friends all over the world, I obtained some how-to books on using computers and the Internet, went out and bought myself an IBM clone and got going.

CompuServe was the primary commercial site back then, along with the smaller Internet pioneer FidoNet, but I had trouble figuring out how CompuServe worked and FidoNet seemed boring. I checked out Prodigy, the first site with a graphical user interface (GUI) and precursor to AOL, but was completely turned off by the relentless advertising (Prodigy was owned by Sears at the time). What I really wished to do was to chat with like-minded users in real-time, and finally found my niche at Delphi, a DOS-based site that I accessed via a communications program called ProComm. While Delphi didn't offer a "chat box," ProComm did, so users were able to create clubs and chat rooms and have a grand old time.

I joined the Trivia Club on Delphi, and was very active in the club for about two years, playing games from 7 p.m. until midnight almost daily, hosting my own "School Daze" trivia slot, and participating in the high drama associated with any close-knit group. I was truly a "computer addict" in those days; the sound of a modem dialing would cause me to salivate. But I made wonderful friendships at Delphi, and even attended a so-called "Trivia Bash" in New York City where I was able to meet my online buddies face to face. It was a night so heartwarming and full of camaraderie I'll never forget it (the event or the amount of booze we drank in the Hyatt Regency bar). I even wrote a thesis for a graduate class in Urban Folklore on the Trivia Club; a copy now lies in the folklore archives of the University. I figure sociology majors must be having a field day with this stuff, especially when one observes today the extent to which virtual communities have evolved.

The forums I'm involved in at present are all self-help-related (a result of middle age?). Actually, that's not far from the truth. I've reached that point in my life most of us do when old habits must die or do us in. Truth be told, I'd rather eliminate the habits than my health. The forums I frequent are full of immensely supportive men and women from all over the world. I've met countless other people who are quitting smoking; who are in recovery; or who live with chronic pain, depression or anxiety. Online friends are just like my good friends in the 3-D world-- they give me the advice I need to hear, they don't enable me, and they encourage me and pat me on the back when I do my best. In return, you can bet I do the same for them.

The forum I visit the most often by far is Quitnet, a smoking cessation forum where I have developed an unbelievable support group of some of the very finest folks I've ever met online. These are people on a journey--an unbelievably tough one--toward smoke-free living. Tensions are high, moods are often low, gratitude is great, and support and friendship are in abundant supply. I am thankful for the help I receive from my Q-buds, and happy that I am hopefully as helpful to them as they are to me.

I also sign on daily to BrainTalk Communities, a website featuring numerous forums dealing with every neurological disorder imaginable (I suffer from occipital neuralgia and its accompanying torment). I post in their Neuralgia; Smoking and Tobacco; and Addiction and Recovery forums. This site was created and is run by John Lester, BrainTalk's guru of sorts who is providing a priceless service for many suffering from much more severe problems than any I've experienced. The diseases for which some forums have been created have names of which I've never heard. But the friends I've made there have humbled me with their courage and inspired me to greater heights. MBF just happened to stumble on this site while researching occipital neuralgia, and it and its members have been a blessing in my life.

Another site where the people are absolutely marvelous is Woofmang.com, or Tales From the Quit. This site is the brainchild of its beloved webmaster, Kevin Foster, who compiled his riveting posts from the American Lung Association's Freedom From Smoking website and opened a stop-smoking support forum of his own, with the recommendation that quitters begin with the modules at FFS. It's a protocol that seems to work wonderfully, with enough oldtimers around to support the newbies. Although not as sophisticated (nor nearly so huge) as BrainTalk, the site enables members to use special fonts, colors, images and other attributes in their posts, making reading and writing a richer experience. Kudos to Kevin and his followers--I keep promising I'll drop by more often.

If I haven't made my point, it's that in many ways my online friends are much like my friends in the "real" world. I've gotten to know some of them well, so well it surprises me. What amazes me is how perfectly their personalities shine through their posts and mail messages. I can tell who's strong, who's weak, who's moody, who's easygoing, who's arrogant, who's selfless, and who is not. Whenever I've had the chance to actually meet an online friend, or talk to one on the telephone, while they may not look or sound as I expected, they seem exactly like I thought they would.

My virtual communities have enriched my world and increased my friendships exponentially. While I certainly have my "best friends" here in the city where I live and a couple of others elsewhere, I don't talk to them everyday like I do my online buddies. But I've had my 3-D friends for many years and fully expect to have them for many more; I can't say that of my online acquaintenances. While I know some people who have been active on certain forums for several years, you see many more drop out eventually, rarely or never heard from again. You don't have their email addresses--you may have never even learned their real names or exactly where they live. Online relationships are both fragile and usually temporary--I treat mine with care and respect for that reason.

For myself, I wouldn't go so far as to say that virtual friendships are identical to those in the 3-D universe, but I think a shut-in whose primary (and maybe only) source of friends is the Internet might tell you differently. And while the experience I describe is my own, I believe it is shared by many of my online comrades. We work, we play, we laugh, we cry--real activities and emotions shared with real people, all over the world, yet just a mouse click away. And while I suspect my role as a "forum junkie" will reverse itself over time as I veer toward some other obsession, I'm going for immersion at the moment. You see, in the forums, I fit in, and I haven't always felt like I've done so in real life. So for now, as well as the foreseeable future, I'm going to continue to value my virtual friends, and to feel right at home in my virtual communities.

I've Always Got Email From Annie

2006-02-19T09:33:00.000-10:00

Every day, rain or shine, I get email from someone very special to me. My correspondent is a woman whom I've never met, nor of whom I've ever seen a picture. A "pen pal," I guess you'd call her. When I was a child, I always wanted a pen pal (preferably one in an exotic, faraway locale who would write in a language resembling hieroglyphics). But my friend lives in the States (although not in mine), and speaks and writes in plain, everyday English. Her name is Annie and she reminds me a lot of myself.

I met Annie in one of the quit-smoking forums I frequent, and honestly don't remember how we began to send each other email on a daily basis. We must have somehow seen aspects of each other that reflected our respective selves, the way people do when making friends, even though we'd never seen one another face to face. At any rate, we've now gotten to the point where we carry on a seemingly ceaseless conversation through our many messages, all the way from morning until much too late at night, musing about various and sundry mundane matters including how we're feeling (usually tired); how badly we want a cigarette (depends on the day's stress level); what we'd like to do (we set modest goals); what we wish we had done (we leave much undone), and so on, and so on--you get the picture--the email exchange becomes a running conversation of what's going on in our lives and in our minds, and occasionally, in our hearts.

We have a lot in common, Annie and I--we're both supported by Social Security disability benefits; we both suffer from depression, anxiety and chronic pain; both of us take lots of medications, and as a result can barely remember whether we take any of them at all. We both live with partners and neither of us has children. Annie and I are diehard Internet forum junkies who post on several different websites dealing with topics such as coping with pain, quitting smoking and mental disorders. In addition, each of us tends to procrastinate when it comes to anything meaningful and often falls short in the area of commitment. We're not perfect; we know it and we don't expect it of each other. It's a mutual understanding that's somehow very satisfying, causing our friendship to feel much more than simply casual.

Our emails have enriched my personal life to such an extent that it surprises me. I have other, dear friends in the 3-D world to whom I actually talk on the telephone, with whom I "do lunch," see at 12-Step meetings and other social events. But my number-one buddy these days is one whom I've never even laid eyes on, much less treated to the delight of good conversation over a midday meal. But our lack of mutual experience doesn't seem to affect our friendship-- it's funny how our life's journey can be shared through the pounding of a plastic keyboard.

My bond with Annie reinforces for me the power of virtual communities, in which I first became involved way back in the early 90's, when online bulletin boards were the only methods of computer-driven communication available to nerd-wannabes like me. In my humble opinion, these types of relationships are as authentic as any in the "real" world, which might only differ by way of a plane ticket or a day's drive.

It never ceases to amaze me, especially in light of my quitting smoking and consequential immersion in the world of online self-help , how virtual communications have increased my relationships, enhanced my knowledge and enlarged my worldview. I currently have online friends in so many countries I've lost count. In the future, I'll be writing a bit more about virtual friendships. But right now, I'm going to check my email. I'll just bet I've got a new message from Annie.

Volunteering: Love and Service in Action

2006-02-06T17:00:00.000-10:00

Some years ago, I decided I should have a personal motto. I settled on one that I've never regretted nor been tempted to change: "Love God. Serve Man." I''m certain it was first uttered by someone other than I, and has, consciously or unconsciously, been the pledge of countless others who have gone before me and is that of others now. In my case, it simply means that my primary purpose in life is to love my Creator by serving His divine nature as reflected by my fellow man, in whatever ways He sees fit.

Before I became disabled due to chronic depression and anxiety, I had little interest in serving the needs of the community. I believed that the 40-hour week I devoted to my career was all that was required of me when it came to contributing to society at large. Besides, surely there was a plethora of other people with more resources, creativity, and better qualifications to meet the needs of illiterates desiring tutoring, AIDS patients needing care, and charity organizations with positions to be filled.

But thenI joined the church to which I still belong today, and decided that, despite my dread of meeting new people and tendency to be entirely too selfish with my time, I should find a way to get involved. Hence, I hooked up with the Altar Guild, a group of ancient blue-haired ladies who prepared the sanctuary for the celebration of the Eucharist. I enthusiastically polished silver chalices, washed and ironed delicate sacred linens, arranged fresh flowers and sneaked the pastors' heavy robes to the dry cleaners instead of laundering them by hand as prescribed by the Guild's strict rules. On Saturdays, I baked aromatic loaves of honey wheat bread, bits of which would be solemnly passed at the sacrament the next morning. There was something magical about my being in the sanctuary on a Saturday afternoon, with the organist rehearsing a Bach mass while I polished the baptismal font, that transported me all the way from Texas to St. Paul's. It was the beginning of a commitment to service that has grown increasingly essential to my life as the years have passed.

I next turned to the secular world searching for service opportunities, and was referred by a friend to a small neighborhood food pantry in need of assistance. After a few hours of training, I spent every Monday morning for the next year or so sorting groceries, stocking shelves, and filling orders for clients. I unpacked carton after carton of canned goods, broke down bushel bags of rice into one-pound packages, and chopped up meat into smaller portions for easier distribution. I presented stale, store-bought birthday cakes to five-year-olds, whose delight was so infectious it filled the pantry with laughter whenever it occurred. Likewise, the genuine gratitude displayed by the unfortunate who were forced to turn to the food bank for feeding was a tremendous reward, and an affirmation that my time was being well-spent. It was a backbreaking job, but one of the most meaningful volunteer experiences I've had to date.

Another volunteer position I held that was particularly enjoyable was that of working in the newborn nursery of a large hospital nearby. Being childless myself, I was terrified at first to hold the babies; I contented myself with utilizing the skills I had honed at the food pantry: unpacking boxes of formula, stocking shelves with disposable diapers and other supplies, putting together patient charts, etc. From time to time I would feed and rock a hungry baby, but the child would somehow quickly figure out that this person had no idea what she was doing and stubbornly refuse to eat. But I suddenly found my calling: making the cribs ready for the incoming infants.

Making up the baby beds was a complicated affair, involving the use of a thin crib sheet, two flat striped flannel blankets, four folded blankets, one carton of bottled formula, two disposble plastic nipples, a package of baby wipes, a pair of small socks and a tiny cotton cap. I practiced carefully until I could make up a perfect bed in record time, and consistently attempted to keep a row of ten cribs ready to go (which was difficult when babies were being born one after another and in light of my other duties, which took me out of the nursery from time to time). The nurses told me they'd never had anyone do a better job with the cribs, so I took pride in my reputation. I entered some sort of a zone making up those beds; you know, like the one they speak of athletes experiencing when they're performing at their peak. I felt like I'd played a role in the birth of all those little ones, albeit a small one.

In addition to the above, I've also volunteered as a cashier at a charity-based resale shop, as a member of our city's local animal-rights team, and with our city's foremost theatre guild. I've come to believe that my time is spent most effectively doing things to promote positive change either on an individual or a global level, which is where I now plan to concentrate my efforts.

You see, I'm without a volunteer job at the moment and, finding myself with time on my hands, am seeking out a new assignment of some kind. I have long wanted to help out the elderly in some way, and have investigated an opportunity that would allow me to do that. I have also recently assumed the position of Community Outreach Director of our local Democratic club. In addition, I remain active as a volunteer in AA, as has been my practice for the past year and one from which I have learned much and for which I am truly grateful.

I believe love of God and service to mankind to be our purpose in life. God desires that we acknowledge Him in those we meet along our journey. We do this when we apply ourselves, without thought of reward, to the goal of fulfilling others needs when they are unable to do so without help. Those of us who volunteer should give thanks to God for the blessings that enable us to serve others, as well as the very opportunity to do so--that is our divine compensation, along with not only understanding but experiencing the age-old adage that it is indeed always better to give than it is to receive. I recommend volunteering to everyone who complains of being bored or of having too much idle time; there is no excuse not to do so when opportunities abound everywhere to serve one's fellow man and honor God in the process.

On Being a Borderline Blonde--Part Two

2006-01-27T19:10:00.000-10:00

I was diagnosed with a mental illness designated borderline personality disorder when I was in my early 30's. During the previous 20 years and the following 10, I lived much of my life in anguish as a result of its life-disrupting, debilitating symptoms. In Part One of this post, I identified some of the criteria used to diagnose BPD and described how some of my most pronounced characteristics fit within the prescribed parameters.

Toward the end of Part One, I focused on the rocky relationships often fostered by borderlines. By way of example, my two marriages were stormy and short-lived, having in common my being overly-dependent on both my husbands, a situation which became extremely problematic since I had married men unwilling to give me any amount of emotional support. In return, I was often judgmental, mean and controlling in seemingly passive ways meant to manipulate. I was simply too childish when I was married to be capable of any sort of real love for a partner (and much less able to make a long-term commitment), primarily due to my egocentricity and long-harbored fear of abandonment.

There are hallmark traits of BPD that have produced cataclysmic consequences in my life, without which I can envision having become a much more well-adjusted, mature, responsible adult. But the unmanageable symptoms of the disorder became the bane of my existence, much to the continual distress of my friends and immediate family. With regard to what are considered the classic signs of borderline personality disorder, our expert, Dr. Corelli, in his article simply called Borderline Personality Disorder, writes that:

"There is . . . emotional instability with marked and frequent shifts to an empty lonely depression or to anxiety. There may be unpredictable and impulsive behavior which might include excessive spending, promiscuity, gambling, drug or alcohol abuse, shoplifting, overeating or physically self-damaging actions such as suicide gestures. . . . There are also identity disturbances with confusion and uncertainty about self-identity, sexuality, life goals and values, career choices, and friendships. There is a deep-seated feeling that one is flawed, defective, damaged or bad in some way, with a tendency to go to extemes in thinking, feeling or behavior. Under extreme stress or in severe cases there can be brief psychotic episodes with loss of contact with reality or bizarre behavior or symptoms. . . . The depression which accompanies this disorder can cause much suffering and can lead to serious suicide attempts."

Depression usually always accompanies BPD. My teenage episodes of dysphoria were inconsequential, however, when compared with the awful, overwhelming sadness that followed a bout with breast cancer when I was in my early 30's. I told my psychiatrist at the time that I'd rather have my cancer recur than go through another major depressive episode. He thought I was joking, but I wasn't.

Unless one has personally experienced the dark, numb gloom of clinical depression, along with the accompanying feelings of emptiness, loneliness and worthlessness which envelop one like a toxic black cocoon, one cannot imagine the gut-wrenching psychological pain it causes. Whenever I went through one of my periods of profound depression, while I knew it wouldn't kill me, I sure wished I was dead. My inability to bounce back from both my second divorce and my medical problems so devastated me that it sometimes took my breath away. I succumbed to self-medicating my morbid moods with alcohol, prescription drugs and compulsive spending, and found myself lurking in the back rows of AA meetings searching silently for help.

Six months following my father's sudden suicide, paralyzing anxiety overtook me to such a degree that I was terrified my life as I had known it was over. After years of searching my soul for the cause of this relentless, all-consuming angst, I ultimately decided that the main thing I was afraid of was myself and my constant attempts to eliminate everything of any importance in my life. Borderlines are noted for their self-destructive tendencies: they even slice their skin with razor blades or other sharp objects, hoping to finally feel the pain denied them by their frozen emotions. I was no exception when it came to this practice (referred to in the literature as "cutting"), and even today can see the faint scarring that simultaneously stung and soothed.

While there is no cure for borderline personality disorder besides, perhaps, the passage of time, effective treatments are available in the form of cognitive psychotherapy and medication (the most helpful "therapy" for me has taken place in hundreds of AA meetings). Hospitalization may occasionally be necessary, as it was for me several times, either as a respite from the pressures of everyday life or in response to severe instances of depersonalization.

In my case, I must cautiously yet happily report that most of the more severe symptoms of BPD from which I suffered for so many years have been finally alleviated by one or another of those miracle medications promised me by my doctor about ten years back. It is since I began taking these new, so-called atypical anti-psychotic drugs (e.g., Zyprexa, Geodon, Abilify) that I feel my life has begun anew.

I didn't intend to be so prolific that I had to divide this post into two parts (it's my borderline personality craving attention), but did feel the urge to ramble a bit about what it's been like to be mentally ill, have a couple of nervous breakdowns and be more than a little uncertain when deciding what is real and what is not. But when it comes to the crosses we must bear in life, I've stopped asking, "Why me?" I've ceased blaming having this malady on bad luck, on fate or on God. I can't alter my genes or my early years and my father is gone forever.

What I can do is my best to eliminate my harmful behaviors, try to love myself a little more, and maybe give myself permission to cry a few cathartic tears. I no longer have to wear a false persona like a Mardi Gras mask because I'm unsure whose face is behind it. I'm grateful that I don't have to decide who I want to be anymore--I now know who I am, and while flawed, I daily try to accept myself without judgment, even with the knowledge that I will always be one whose sanity, to some extent, lies dangerously close to the borderline.

On Being a Borderline Blonde--Part One

2006-01-23T16:36:00.000-10:00

Although I wasn't diagnosed as having borderline personality disorder until I was in my 30's, I began exhibiting signs of the illness once I became an adolescent, which is typical of personality disorders in general. While as is also the norm, I have outgrown most of this infirmity's more severe symptoms, enough milder effects have lingered long enough to cause me a certain amount of internal instability more often than is comfortable.

Since I had suffered distressing depression, panic attacks and terrifying phobias from the time I was a toddler, I felt anxious and simultaneously relieved when my psychiatrist pronounced me to be suffering from a dysfunction of sorts that actually had a name and a definition, albeit one somewhat nebulous. The diagnosis of borderline personality disorder has been a controversial issue for years (as have been other syndromes of personality dysfunction), with opinions about whether or not the illness even exists as an identifable psychological condition being offered from diverse perspectives. But at the time, the fact that the diagnosis wasn't based on exact science bothered me not in the slightest. I had but one question for my doctor that day: "What can I do about it?" My shrink assured me that, "Someday there will be medications to help people like you." My desperate reply was, "When?"

The knowledge that I apparently had a bonafide mental illness made no difference when it came to my occasional swift emotional swings and socially insupportable behavior. I pursued like a magic bullet the intensive (and in retrospect, pointless) Freudian psychoanalysis I had begun years before, knowing deep down its futility. Finally, however, over the course of many, many months and after much trial-and-error experimentation, I was prescribed a "cocktail" of medications by my persistent psychiatrist that alleviated much of my problem thinking and acting-out, thereby enabling me to begin my painful journey toward recovery. The years that passed while this process slowly progressed were hellish, replete with heartbreak, and hard to endure.

After perusing a few websites and articles based on BPD in preparation for writing this post, I found that one particular article by Richard J. Corelli, M.D., titled simply Borderline Personality Disorder, perfectly describes some of the characteristics of the illness as I experienced them during my 30 years of suffering from this curious psychological curse. Since Dr. Corelli's words so aptly paint a portrait of the person that I was during what I had expected to be the best years of my life, I'd like to quote a passage from his publication and make a few comments as they relate to my personal experience with BPD. Here is his partial criteria for making a diagnosis of the disorder:

"A person with a borderline personality disorder often experiences a repetitive pattern of . . . instability in self-image, mood, behavior and close personal relationships. . . . A person with this disorder can often be bright and intelligent, and appear warm, friendly and competent. They sometimes can maintain this appearance for years until their defense structure crumbles, usually around a stressful situation."

The above paragraph pretty much describes who I was and what I did from the age of about 12 until long after my father tragically took his own life when I was in my early 40's. When it comes to emotional instability, I've acknowledged the fragile nature of my nervous system since I was just a small girl. And the dissonance that echoed throughout my childhood dreams was, to say the least, disturbing. When I was about eight or nine and wondered what I wished to be when I grew up, I could never decide whether to become a buxom stripper or a cloistered nun. I considered aspects of both careers quite provocative (I was also envious of the intriguing costumes), but I wasn't aware enough at the time to realize that someday I was going to have to make a choice between the two. Even today, struggling between what my "bad girl" wants and what my "good girl" wants is oftentimes agonizing.

I don't recall my illness influencing my actions until I began junior high school and almost instantaneously became a rebellious, trashy, smart-mouthed brat. A brief stint spent on the "other side of the tracks" doing dope with other wayward adolescents (much to the horror of my middle-class WASP parents), was later followed by a religious conversion, along with spending endless hours at my small Lutheran church and enthusiastically witnessing for Jesus. All I knew was that I wanted to live on the edge--I just didn't know which one.

With regard to borderlines having difficult relationships, I've had many casual friendships and a few close ones throughout my life--I always believed that I "worked and played well with others." But in retrospect, I can see how my shaky psyche sabotaged some of the closer partnerships I formed over the years. Being overly-dependent, needy, undependable, irresponsible, inconsiderate, selfish, jealous, dishonest--these are personality traits that would surely damage any relationship, and mine certainly weren't immune from my largely unconscious attempts to end them permanently. A few of my more special friendships survive, mostly due to my stubborn last-minute refusals to banish them from my life as I have others. The continuation of these relationships is also due to the considerable degree of recovery I've been able to attain, and in addition, a result of the gracious understanding and forgiveness of my lifelong friends, for which I will always be grateful.

In Part Two of this post, I'll point out some of the hallmark symptoms of borderline personality disorder and how they literally rearranged my experience of reality, often causing me to forget who I was altogether. I honestly believed at times that my life as the person I had known myself to be was over, just like yesterday, never to be experienced again.

To be continued . . .

Conquering Addiction One Demon at a Time

2006-01-11T21:25:00.000-10:00

It seems as though I've been struggling with one addiction or another for as long as I can remember; certainly over half of my life. For years, I asked, "Why me? " Why do I have to constantly fight these life-compromising, self-destructive habits that continue to dominate my behavior day after day after miserable day?

After a comprehensive study of the addictive personality, along with a dozen humbling years spinning in and out of the revolving doors of Alcoholics Anonymous, I feel I'm finally making progress in what is an age-old struggle against my alcoholism; my addiction to tranquilizers; an obsession with caffeine; and a compulsive spending habit that has driven me to near-bankruptcy more than once.

And if you've read my most recent posts, you're aware that I've recently stopped smoking as well (it's been a month today since I smoked a cigarette). The process of of quitting has parallelled the one I went through when I stopped drinking so closely it's been amazing to me. Who thought nicotine could be as powerful an addiction as alcohol and, for most, smoking a tougher habit to quit??

Alcoholics are, of course, notorious cigarette smokers, and most don't realize that their nicotine addiction is almost as dangerous to their physical health as their drinking. Bill Wilson, the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, continued to practice his smoking habit once he stopped drinking and ultimately died of emphysema. And it's no wonder, since more than 90% of all practicing alcoholics smoke, versus less than one-fourth of non-alcoholics. Alcoholics also smoke more cigarettes per day than non-alcoholics, and almost all smokers who exceed two packs a day are alcoholics. It seems that smokers, alcoholic and non-alcoholic alike, drink more when they smoke. Research results has demonstrated that nicotine actually causes our brains to crave alcohol, which, if valid, shows how all of the above makes sense, from a physiological perspective at any rate.

Addiction to benzodiazepines like Valium and Xanax has skyrocketed as anxiety and stress become more pervasive problems in our society worldwide. When I succumbed to the malady of generalized anxiety disorder about a decade ago, my well-meaning psychiatrist, knowing I was a problem drinker, prescribed Ativan, one of the milder benzo's . No matter how benign the drug, however, the demon in my brain instantly recognized its addictive potential. So it wasn't long before I had another major problem on my hands, one that lasted for five long groggy years until I got sick of living in a cloud of sedation, went cold turkey and never looked back.

Now caffeine, as we all hear on the news, is actually good for us in moderation, but the addict wants more of absolutely everything, and the addict in me wanted so much caffeine that I actully went to the emergency room twice thinking I was having a heart attack, when it was really my colon in spasm from the effects of four pots of coffee and a dozen Diet Pepsi's every day. Indeed, one recent study proposes that caffeine addiction is a bonafide psychological illness, and suggests it be included in the next edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. So I am thankful that, while I still drink coffee, I've been able to cut my consumption of caffeine drastically.

This is just another example of how addicts lose power when it comes to controlling their need to get whatever they want exactly when they want it. What should be a matter of free choice becomes a compulsion around which eventually grows an obsession. Therefore, you might ask how I have made progress in my battle against these evil demons, one or more of which have possessed me for since I was a teenager. It has been through the program of Alcoholics Anonymous that I have addressed all my addictions, the Twelve Steps it offers as principles for living working equally well no matter what your drug of choice or other dangerous form of self-sabotage.

AA is a spiritual program which requires me to surrender my addictions to my "higher power," (which I choose to call God), so that His power can manifest in me and remove my addictive behaviors as long as I am willing to let Him. One of the basic tenets of AA is a paradox; I surrender my power to God and allow His power to be channeled through me, enabling me to do His will in my life. Therefore, by giving up, I gain strength, along with the miraculous intervention of a God who does for me what I cannot do for myself. It is a wonderful, infinitely satisfying way to live.

So, I begin the new year conquering yet another addiction, cigarette smoking. I've found that AA slogans such as, "This too shall pass," are just as effective against cravings for cigarettes as they are against the desire for booze. I still struggle with my compulsive spending and am trying my best to hoard every penny. I must continue to choose not to drink alcohol one day at a time, and work the Twelve Steps to the best of my ability. And no tranquilizers, ever again.

Living behind the veil of addiction is a sick, lonely, horribly sad way to cope with the world, reminiscent only of dementia. I've prayed on countless occasions: "Please, God. Take away my desire to get high." I'm saying yes to the experience of reality more often today, although it's not always easy. Some days I feel like I've been through an exorcism, and must learn how to live like a normal human being all over again. But the more time I spend in the real world, the more I like it. I think I'll stick around for awhile, especially since God's given me everything I need to help keep the demons away.

My New Year's Resolution is Not to Make One

2006-01-01T05:53:00.000-10:00

I've never liked New Year's Day, and don't expect this one to be much different from those in the past. The constant drone of of the televised football games gets on my nerves, and I find the post-holiday blues already hovering over me like a miasma. But every year for as long as I can remember I have dutifully taken the obligations inherent in the arrival of a new year as serious as a heart attack and set out to make my annual resolutions.

In years past, I furiously scribbled pages of resolutions (usually the same ones as the year before) on pink legal pads, which I typically found in late March under my bed covered with dustbunnies. I always became dismayed as I read over them quickly and realized that nary a one had even been attempted, let alone accomplished. This experience, repeated as it was year after year, made me feel both shallow and stuck. It is one thing to reel off blithely a host of changes you'd like to make in your life; it is another thing altogether to manifest those changes. And I, having the self-discipline of a two-year-old, annually end up feeling guilty and frustrated.

My number one resolution for the past 25-odd years has been to stop smoking. But since I did that very thing 21 days, 8 hours, 47 minutes, and 14 seconds ago, there is no need for me to make that resolution this year (assuming I will be able to remain smoke-free). And without the need for this perpetual resolution that has always been paramount over all the others, I don't intend to make any resolutions at all.

It's not that I don't think I can't make any other improvements in my life. It's just that I honestly believe that the benefits I'll gain from remaining a non-smoker will cover so many areas of my physical, mental, and emotional health that it makes making any other resolutions unnecessary. My resolutions are always about developing healthier habits, and since I finally realized that cigarette smoking and being healthy are mutually exclusive, the elimination of smoking makes improved health a given.

I'm already breathing better. And I don't feel groggy and still-tired when I wake up in the morning. And when I raise my hands to my face to blow my nose, my fingers don't stink of tobacco. I know I smell better, and thus I feel more feminine and attractive, which has proven to be a welcome, unexpected boost to my self-esteem. Quitting smoking hasn't been a piece of cake, but the support I've received at Quitnet and other sites has made it infinitely more bearable. What I'm hoping is that by quitting smoking I'll be motivated to take better care of myself in other areas, therefore fulfilling the remaining resolutions I might have made this year, such as exercising, eating a better diet, flossing my teeth (who does this?), etc.

So if you make any New Year's Resolutions this year, I hope you're more successful at keeping them than I've been . As for me, I'm going to refuse to disappoint myself and therefore not make any resolutions at all. Besides, I don't want to ruin the pride I feel in stopping smoking for three weeks solid, no slips, not one puff, with the help, of course, of lots of support from the folks at the Q and at BrainTalk (I'll tell you all about BrainTalk one day). It's been difficult, but rewarding, and I feel good about doing something so positive for myself.

So whether or not New Year's Day is boring and uncomfortable for me is a moot point. The fact is that it's the first time I've begun a new year smoke-free in 37 years, and that's a very long time indeed.

Happy 2006, everyone . . .

Qutting Smoking All Together at Quitnet

2005-12-17T09:14:00.000-10:00

You should have seen the bracelet I was allowed to create for myself after having successfully quit smoking for three days. It was, if I may say so myself, stunning. And if that weren't enough, if I can make it to Day 10 I'll be able to knit myself a pair of snazzy socks and show them off to all my pals. After 25 days of being smoke-free, I'll become a "Toddler," be fitted with big-girl pants and encouraged to wear them with pride. I never knew quitting smoking could be this much fun!

I wouldn't blame you if, in light of the above, you are wondering just what kind of serious smoking cessation program worth its salt would sanction such wacky traditions. The program in question is called Quitnet, and with the support of its tenets and its kind and committed membership I have not smoked a cigarette for a week (referred to by Quitsters as "Hell Week"). Naturally, I am grateful to say the very least, so wanted to post a few words about the phenomenon of Quitnet and the invaluable service it provides.

The oldest website devoted to smoking cessation on the Internet, Quitnet had its genesis in 1995 as a service of the Boston University School of Public Health (Massachusetts spends more money per capita on anti-smoking efforts than any other state). During the 10 years since then, Quitnet has flourished, now boasting thousands of successful quitters who have participated in its informal "program." While the site does possess a host of information and resources on the quitting process, the primary influence it has on quitters and quitters-to-be consists of the friendly, compassionate support of its members, many of whom quit years ago and stayed on to help and encourage newbies like me.

About six weeks ago, I posted that I planned to quit smoking on November 9. Well, obviously I failed to do that and afterwards, began to wonder whether I would ever truly be successful in my serial efforts. I checked out other online smoking cessation entities, but finding Quitnet to be such a busy, supportive, and lively site convinced me to settle down and stay there. In addition, they supply plenty of smoking cessation resources and information, guidance throughout the quitting process, medical support, "Q-mail" email, and a "buddy system" to ensure maximum one-on-one attention whenever necessary. Many quitters spend hours on the Q--it can be addictive with its forums, clubs and chat rooms, all of which are ultimately dedicated to ending the smoking habit. I've decided Quitnet is a bit of a subculture, with its members speaking their own special language, celebrating their countless inane traditions, and making the total elimination of smoking from their lives seemingly their highest priority.

I can't tell you how I agonized over quitting ever since my last attempt in August when I stopped smoking for three weeks. I think it must get more difficult the more times you try. This is my fourteenth serious attempt to stop smoking this year, and I plan, with the help of Quitnet, for it to be my last.

Oh, and I can't wait until Day 100, when I'll become an Elder, wear a silly hat and sit in the front row. Keep the Quit!

How MoveOn Got Me Moving

2005-11-30T06:26:00.000-10:00

I first heard about MoveOn.org during the Bush versus Gore campaign. I remember thinking them entirely too radical; polarizing, I thought. Bad for the party. I couldn't imagine how the organization could ultimately do any good for the Democrats, seeing how the Republicans failed to treat them with anything other than derision, vociferous insults, and contempt.

But apparently either in spite or because of their grass-roots, in-your-face tactics employed to generate real change in this country's agenda, MoveOn is still around, and somehow continues to positively affect the decisions of Congress. MoveOn.org Political Action was formed in 1998 by Joan Blades and Wes Boyd, two Californians sick and tired of the long and drawn-out Clinton impeachment scandal and anxious for the country to turn to other, more pressing issues. So they started a petition asking Congress to do just that, and quickly were able to garner hundreds of thousands of signatures. MoveOn.org was well on its way to becoming a political action committee composed of 3.3 million members of the general public, nobody special, just average citizens, and like me so frustrated with the incompetence and idiocy of the federal government that they had to find a way to have some kind of impact on the goings-on in Washington.

Whenever I used to get angry about a particular news story, I repeatedly told myself that I if I were to be any sort of change-agent in this crazy country, I was going to have to get involved--I just wasn't sure how. I knew that MBF belonged to all kinds of organizations: the ACLU, People for the American Way, Americans United for the Separation of Church and State, and the Democratic Party itself. I wanted to join a political organization of some sort, but I wasn't sure which group it should be. I don't trust the ACLU (it's the Man/Boy Love Association thing), the goal of the Americans United for Separation of Church and State is too narrow, and when it comes to the Democratic Party, I'm kind of embarrassed to be a Democrat right now, if you know what I mean.

And when I thought about it, I had to admit there was something that I did like about MoveOn.org--protest rallies! Call me a child of the '60's, call me an old hippie, but there's something about those waving signs and clever chants that warms my heart. I guess not many other things make me feel as patriotic as the right of free speech (threatened these days, you know), so I'm fond of those effigy-burning, marching throngs with the strength of their convictions and the courage to act on them.

So I joined MoveOn.org. I was nervous at first (did the CIA have files on all the members? Should I sign up under an assumed name?). But I remembered my goal of getting involved and typed in my real name and address along with my political areas of interest and made a small donation. Then, MoveOn got me going.

First, they invited me to write a letter to my congressman asking him to vote against the privatization of Social Security. This is an issue about which I feel strongly, so I was more than happy to do so. MoveOn even provided the text of the message. I just keyed in my personal information and hit "submit." Wow, I thought, amazed at the ease and convenience of the technology, it's easy to be a change-agent!

Next, I was encouraged to host a get-together for 15 MoveOn members for the purpose of viewing the new Wal-Mart documentary. They offered to send me a free copy of the DVD along with handout materials. I was awfully interested in hosting such a party, but wanted my Wal-Mart party to be attended by people of my own choosing (like, say, me and MBF) rather than any other unknown MoveOn members, so I passed. I at least, however, had the opportunity to sign a petition censuring Wal-Mart for placing the burden of health care for its employees on the taxpayers. I felt better--I despise Wal-Mart. I never can find anything I like there.

My most recent contributions to our nation's welfare have been to write several letters to my congressmen and senators begging them to reverse the regressive Robin Hood budget. Although the forms for these letters were provided by MoveOn's website as usual, I instead chose the option to write them in my own words and explain how the budget cuts would impact my life and those of others. (I've been awfully impressed at how easy it is to write letters to your congressmen even when you're not sure who they are.) I also wrote a letter to the editor of a local paper, using MoveOn's interface, as part of a letter campaign against the proposed, post-Katrina budget.

Overall, MoveOn.org is for me. I believe it accomplishes its mission of giving ordinary American citizens a voice when it comes to effecting measurable change in a government that seems at least to me to be quickly imploding, along with the administration that runs it. It's a privilege to join with like-minded individuals who make large enough numbers of small donations to enable them to compete with the bottomless pockets of the smaller number of powerful corporate lobbies. So I feel like in my own small way, I am being a change-agent, and I like the way Move.On brings items that need action to my attention and gives me the chance to vote on a position, sign a petition, or write a letter. Next on my agenda: I've volunteered to attend and speak at rallies in my local area.

So as you can see, I've changed my mind about MoveOn. What I used to believe a freakish embarrassment to the progressive movement I now acknowledge as an honorable, effective organization dedicated to serving the American public by giving it a say in the way this country is run. So keep up the good work, MoveOn.org. And if the CIA has a file on me, I'm proud of it.

Iraq to U.S.: Time to Hit the Road

2005-11-24T10:04:00.000-10:00

At a U.S.-sponsored conference in Cairo, Egypt on Monday, leaders of Iraq's various ruling factions (Shiites, Sunnis, and Kurds) issued a communique calling for the withdrawal of coalition forces from Iraq, potentially by the end of next year. In the meantime, Iraq would shore up its security forces, monitor its borders, and continue to fight terrorism. In other words: Yankee, go home.

Although merely coincidental, it is very interesting how the releasing of this communique so quickly followed U.S. Rep. John Murtha's (D-Pa.) recent controversial comments concerning an expedited timetable for the withdrawal of American troops from Iraq. Murtha agrees that it's a realistic goal for the occupation to end in mid-2006. Ironically, a pullout around this time would coincide with next year's federal election campaigns, meaning that a certain number of now-pro-war Republicans would take credit for finally ending the war.

As the Church Lady on SNL used to say: "How conveeeennnnient!!!"

But I don't think anyone will care at that point who does or doesn't attempt to add to their political capital with a declaration that they were instrumental in ending the war. Besides, the public's not that stupid. The right-wing politicians just think we are. But after witnessing the profound government ineptitude that has failed to respond effectively to the nightmare of Katrina, the hardship of exorbitant oil prices, and the daily bloodshed in Iraq, many of us have lost a sense of innocence when it comes to believing the government will provide for us in the event of catastrophe; respond appropriately as it watches our pocketbooks raped by big oil; and take timely action to end the daily deathwatch in Iraq. We have learned a difficult lesson, the knowledge of which will be reflected by the way we vote in the federal elections in November 2006.

So be sure to remember this year when you vote next year. And refuse, absolutely refuse, to be duped again.

Murtha Tells it Like it Is

2005-11-23T05:12:00.000-10:00

Last Friday night, I had the good fortune to be watching cable news and therefore able to witness in real-time Rep. John Murtha (D-Pa.) defend his bill recommending that American troops in Iraq be brought home immediately. Assigning a period of six months as the withdrawal timetable, Murtha seems to be the only one on Capitol Hill with big enough cojones to challenge Bush's Republican base, and as such is a breath of sweet fresh air

The unspoken is finally being uttered inside the Beltway, surprisingly by a little-known 30-year veteran of Congress and former Marine from a blue-collar district in Pennsylvania. Murtha, the ranking Democrat on the House Appropriations defense subcommittee, knows of war. He saw active duty during both the Korean and Vietnam wars and retired from the Marines as a Colonel after 37 years. He reprimands those who insist on remaining actively engaged in war without having ever experienced it firsthand. Murtha himself traveled to Iraq last summer in order to investigate conditions there, and was disturbed by what he found, stating that, "The military are suffering." Reasons for low morale include the lack of sufficient equipment and manpower, and don't, according to Murtha, include eroding public sentiment toward the war.

Murtha recognizes the rapidly disappearing support for the war among the public, along with the growing demand for withdrawal of troops, acknowledging that, "The public is emotionally tied into finding a solution . . . ." According to Murtha, an overwhelming amount of public support poured into his office via email and phone calls after the debate in the House on Friday, agreeing with his comments and plan for speedy troop withdrawal. And in his remarks on Friday, Murtha insisted, "The American public is way ahead of the members of Congress." Now, this statement is key. It's the lawmakers who are supposed to anticipate, acknowledge, and address the problems inherent in the war at present, not the public. At any rate, Americans are very in tune with how many American troops have died, and are growing more and more alarmed at the continuing death rate and seemingly unending senseless violence in Iraq.

This is because Americans do something the President obviously does not: read the papers and watch the news. Remember Hurricane Katrina? Bush is like some stubborn kid who covers his ears and eyes and sings a silly tune in order to avoid hearing or seeing whatever is before him. If his next speech fixates on 9/11 and the war on terror, like all his recent speeches (since he hasn't done anything right since 2001), I'm changing the channel. Will his aides be afraid to tell him about Murtha's publicly-applauded troop withdrawal plan, or will they wait until the last minute, as with Katrina, whispering the news in his ear as he steps off Air Force One straight from Asia? Who are these spineless "aides" anyway?

But I apologize; I digress. My point is that Murtha's position on the war as "a flawed policy," a "U.S. intelligence failure," and on our soldiers' presence there as a "catalyst for violence," is one I believe is held by the vast majority of Americans who are war-weary, tired of losing their sons and daughters to a meaningless war that should have been over long ago. We who fit into this growing category now have a champion in Congress: a principled, conservative Democrat who has lofty standards, impeccable integrity, and honesty sufficient to incite a Congressional riot.

I like Murtha's approach to ending the occupation, and admire the courage he demonstrated by standing up to House Republicans. But now we need more like-minded lawmakers to speak up, backing Murtha and echoing his beliefs about current Iraqi war policy. To that end, I urge you to call or write your U.S. representatives and senators and advise them that you agree with Murtha's stand (assuming you do, and I certainly hope that that's the case).

It's time to hand Iraq over to the Iraqis, their newly elected government, and its fledgling but growing security forces. As Murtha pointed out on the House floor, "Our military has accomplished its mission and done its duty." Now, it's time to bring our children home.

Numbers Often Ignored: Civilian Casualties of the Iraq War

2005-11-16T08:37:00.000-10:00

In late 2003, six months or so into the Iraq war, I remember mentioning to MBF that I couldn't think of a single occasion when I had read in the paper or heard on the news any figures related to civilian casualties in Iraq. So I began paying attention whenever someone on a cable news station announced the number of U.S. military casualties (on the rare occasions they did so), hoping to hear how the Iraqi citizens were faring by comparison. It was during the second phase of the war, after Bush declared "Mission Accomplished" in October 2003, that I noticed Lou Dobbs on CNN every evening citing the tally of U.S. military casualties in Iraq to date. I was sure glad somebody was keeping up with these numbers, since I was beginning to wonder if anyone was counting. (U.S. military casualties as of November 2005 approximate 2,038, with 7,250 more seriously wounded or maimed.)

Seeing as how I have been thinking a lot lately about the unspeakably sad futility of this war, and the tragedy of untold Iraqi lives either taken or changed forever in the pursuit of a conflict designed to free them from bondage, a battle, however, in which they never agreed to participate, I decided to do a little investigating concerning the number of Iraqi lives lost. Civilian deaths, of course, constitute what the military calls "collateral damage," a term meant to totally dehumanize the innocent men, women, and children whose agony has heretofore been ignored, and ultimately, to desensitize the American public to Iraqi suffering.

What I found out in the course of my research was grim. According to Iraq Body Count, a respected volunteer organization that tracks Iraqi casualties [the Pentagon does not--recall Gen. Tommy Franks' cold comment: "We don't do body counts"], a minimum of 26,982 and a maximum of 30,380 Iraqi civilians have been killed since the onset of the war. A recent dossier, released by Iraq Body Count in partnership with the Oxford Research Group, announced the following disturbing news:

Close to 20% of all civilian deaths reported were those of women and children.

The U.S. military was responsible for the deaths of 37% of all civilians killed, versus 9% being killed by insurgents and other anti-coalition forces.

Criminal violence following the initial invasion caused 36% of all deaths.

Explosives were used in connection with 53% of all civilian deaths; 64% of those fatalities were caused by air strikes.

The number of wounded civilians (42,500), when added to the number of deaths, produces a profoundly disturbing total of almost 60,000 fatalities and serious injuries among Iraqi citizens over the course of the first two years of the war.

I don't know about you, but to me, these numbers are utterly heartbreaking. We invaded Iraq to liberate its people from a dictator who was not our enemy, and in the course of that undertaking, killed, injured, or maimed close to 60,000 of its citizens. It saddens me to think that, when you add the number of U.S. military and coalition forces killed and wounded, this pointless war has ruined countless lives, and continues to do so on a daily basis.

What is even more upsetting is that the Bush administration refuses to keep track of these figures--how can they not see that each death, every maiming, affects countless additional Iraqi lives as well as a myriad of unknown variables, and in total, irrevocably affects the mood and morale of a country which has been left largely bereft of order and infrastructure. I have little doubt that many Iraqis desire freedom, but I wonder how many will recover from the cost.

My November Brunch with Nick

2005-11-13T12:49:00.000-10:00

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of attending a late-morning meeting of the Katy (Texas) Area New Democratic Organization (KANDO). The highlight of the small gathering in this affluent suburb of Houston was to be the appearance of former U.S. congressman Nick Lampson, who plans to run as the Democratic candidate against Tom DeLay in Texas' 22nd Congressional District race in 2006. I had planned to attend the meeting and looked forward to meeting Lampson and hearing him speak, intrigued as I was by the character of the man who dared challenge DeLay in his home district.

Prior to yesterday, while I had heard of Lampson I knew virtually nothing about him. His campaign photo doesn't do him justice. He is imposing, broad-shouldered, smiling, attractive in that middle-aged way, and like a practiced politician worked the small group with the identical energy and enthusiasm I imagined he would a lucrative fundraiser. Voted out of office as U.S. Congressman for the Texas 9th District in 2004 as a consequence of DeLay's infamous redistricting plan that resulted in more Republicans being elected to Congress, Lampson is ready to go back to Washington and believes now is the time. I couldn't agree with him more.

I was particularly interested in what he would have to say about healthcare, seeing as how I have no prescription drug insurance and, sickly as it seems my lot to be, have watched my monthly medication costs rise as fast as W.'s poll numbers have dropped. To my satisfaction, Lampson did touch on health issues among his talking points, along with veterans' benefits; the importance of shielding our children from sexual predators; pension protection; education; and how it is imperative that we formulate an exit plan for the war in Iraq. He didn't say much about his opponent, except to point out that there was no need for him to denigrate DeLay; the facts surrounding the Hammer's continual evildoings and his recent indictment in Texas speaking for themselves. I appreciated the absence of the furious finger-pointing to which we are constantly subjected by our squabbling Congressional representatives. To me, this speaks of class on Lampson's part.

With regard to healthcare, I was impressed by Lampson's record and approach. During his previous three terms in Congress, he worked to pass a Patient's Bill of Rights (enabling patients to demand a higher standard of care from their HMOs), and on prescription drug benefits for seniors. He has pledged to work to repair the fatally flawed Medicare Prescription Drug Bill with its payoffs to the drugmakers and punitive coverage gap. He understands that the problem lies with the pharmaceutical companies and their grossly inflated profits and seemingly unstoppable lobby. I agree with his take on the subject; finally, a Texas politician speaking sense.

So, as you can see, my breakfast with Nick Lampson was informative, impressive, and inspiring (I had a mini-pastry, fresh fruit and orange juice--I think Nick abstained from the generous KANDO-sponsored buffet). If anyone can beat Tom DeLay in his home district, I believe Lampson is the one to do it. I see him as a dynamic man of vision, wisdom, and compassion, along with having the ability to assess the source of a dilemma quickly and work tenaciously to resolve it.

Let's get Tom DeLay out of office, once and for good. No matter where you live, visit Nick Lampson's website at lampson.com and contribute a few bucks to his campaign to defeat DeLay. Do your part to raise the bar when it comes to ethics and morality in Congress by eliminating this powermonger from the picture. I am supporting, and plan to continue to support, Nick Lampson's candidacy, and strongly suggest that we all do the same.

I Can Quit Smoking Whenever I Want . . .

2005-11-06T20:15:00.000-10:00

. . . I've done it on a thousand occasions, eleven of them so far this year, all dismal failures. This kind of repetitive falling on my face causes my self-esteem to evaporate, my self-image and self-confidence to crumble, and, in general, my sense of myself, with each failed attempt, to become increasingly dejected. But due to health concerns, I have no choice other than to quit. Well, I do have a choice, but I choose to quit and quit for good, whether it's this time (my quit date is November 9) or another date in the future. I will never stop trying; after all, I make it a point never to say never (and always recommend to others that they do the same).

I'm ready to raise my potential. I want to stop wasting hours of my life preparing for the rituals required by this lethal addiction. I'd like to be healthy, and finally understand that cigarette smoking and health are mutually exclusive.

So, my next (and twelfth) quit date this year is on Wednesday, November 9. As Marianne Williamson, the contemporary spiritual teacher, points out, why do we cling so tightly to those habits which we've prayed to God for years to help us give up? It's not really a riddle; it's simply the human condition. You can read it summed up in this week's quote from Bill Wilson: my intentions regarding quitting smoking are intensely honorable; unfortunately my actions don't back them up. In an effort to develop some degree of integrity before I vacate this plane, I'd very much like my actions to reflect my beliefs and the standards I've set for myself; hence, accomplishing a fundamental change in my life which will bring untold benefits on so many levels will, I think, undoubtedly assist in this process. And as we also say in AA, as in every undertaking, what counts is progress, not perfection.

So wish me luck this week on beginning my smoke-free life. I prefer to imagine myself successful, but if not, even on my twelfth attempt, I'll have no choice but to try, try again.

DeLay and More Delay

2005-11-02T06:58:00.000-10:00

Tom DeLay has, as do all American citizens, the right to a speedy trial on the charges he's facing in Texas on money laundering and conspiracy, but in light of his ongoing defense, he obviously doesn't want one. On Tuesday in Austin, Delay's motion calling for the judge assigned to his case (Tom Perkins) to recuse himself as a consequence of his contributions to Democratic causes, was granted. A new (Republican?) judge is expected to be appointed shortly.

DeLay's defense counsel's call for Perkins to step down points to a fundamental flaw in Texas' age-old partisan system of electing rather than appointing judges. The fact that they must raise funds and campaign for "office" would seem to require that Texas judges be political animals of a sort, although it appears a bit unseemly to me for sitting judges to make anything more than a few paltry, perfunctory political contributions on occasion. Regardless of my opinion, Perkins was free to donate to whom he wished without being painted as a biased judge. SMU government professor Cal Jillson asked an interesting question regarding this issue which was referred to in Tuesday's Houston Chronicle. In the article by Clay Robison, Dr. Jillson asked whether it will be possible for a high-profile Republican defendant to receive a fair trial from a supposedly unbiased Republican judge.

It is time to eliminate politics from the judicial system by passing a constitutional amendment calling for appointment rather than election of judges. Appointed judges would have to run for retention and, if substandard, would have to step down and be replaced. True, a political atmosphere would still surround this process like a miasma, but at least it would eliminate the need for campaign donations and other pre-election favors that eventually must be returned.

And of course now DeLay wants a change of venue from the lovely, granola-crunchy, Democratic haven of Austin, Texas. Fine with me. He's going to have the wheels of this case turning so slowly he'll never regain his position as majority whip, nor the long-accustomed-to but fading worship of his constituents.

So delay, Tom, delay all you want. By the time this case goes to trial, you're going to be broke, tired, and all prayed out. Hopefully, prison will prove to be the longed-for period of R & R you'll so desperately need. Don't forget to write.

Doing the Next Right Thing

2005-10-31T05:18:00.000-10:00

As I mentioned at the end of my previous post, I wanted to describe my recent struggle to become a "Productive Member of Society" [capitalization my own], the pursuit of which seemed quite impossible due to my disabling headaches of the past three years. Supporting my quest was: a) MBF and his enduring love, genuine interest, and seemingly infinite patience and advice; and b) my AA friends at the Delta Club, along with the Program itself (e.g., going to meetings, working the Twelve Steps, performing service, carrying the message, etc.)

I needed a considerable amount of attention [the keyword here is "need," as in "needy"] from MBF, my family, and friends during the periods of excruciating pain and anxiety, even while taking copious amounts of Schedule IV drugs and having long fat needles inserted in my head and spine. The only fun drugs I was prescribed (after crying in my pain specialist's office) were Actiq lozenges, or as I referred to them, my "Demerol lollipops" (Actiq is actually fentanyl sulfate). Ultimately, however, I decided to come down from my opiate cloud and face and accept the pain, tension, and nerves. To paraphrase the Big Book, I decided it was time to relinquish my right to inner peace stoked by chemicals..

It's been an exceedingly difficult process (Step Seven stuff). The worst parts for me have been the feelings of self-centeredness, selfishness, and self-consciousness (all hallmarks of chronic pain), the lack of interest in the things that brought me pleasure, the disappearance of the joy I usually felt when serving others--my deviation, as it were, from the AA principles by which I had begun to live my life. I became depressed, unbearably anxious, developed worse and unrelenting pain, and rarely got out except on Wednesdays when I drove 45 minutes to the Delta Club to chair the noon "Caring and Sharing" meeting.

In light of my pain, lack of motivation, and by virtue of simply not being able to accomplish my ADL (psychiatric jargon for "activities of daily living,") including, for example, getting out of bed, my dear psychiatrist (an orthodox Jew from Venezuela), to whom I refer as my Guardian Angel, prescribed for me a new medication (an anti-psychotic used to treat schizophrenia) called Abilify (reminds me of "ability"). Consequently, I now race around the house doing lots of cleaning and baking. Last week, I had a project to do involving emptying out the kitchen pantry (which was infested with some sort of fruit fly, I think), bombing it, cleaning it out along with all the contents and organizing everything I put back in. I hoped to paper the shelves as well. With contact paper. Nothing too loud or too country.

I obsessed continuously about my inability to get going on this nightmarish undertaking for about a week before I began taking the Abilify. After taking the drug for a few days, I did an bang-up job on that pantry. And you know what? It felt good not only to have begun but finished a constructive, necessary task that was my responsibility, instead of sitting up in bed watching TV with a hot or cold Bed Buddy hanging around my neck like some invalid's appendage.

Thus, the metamorphosis of the pantry did wonders for my state of mind and reminded me that, yes, I can do that which needs to be done. Yet, it seriously troubles me that I have to take an "anti-psychotic" drug in order to feel normal, to feel like Janet, along with the rest of my anti-Janet drugs: anti-depressants, anti-anxiety drugs, anti-headache pills, anti-insomnia drugs; anti-stomachache tablets, and, and...I'm not naive; I do wonder what kind of brain damage is wreaking havoc within my grey matter as a result of taking all these psychotropic concoction. There's no question that these drugs must by their very nature work against the real me...who would I be if I quit taking the eight different medications I now ingest several times a day? To be honest, I'd be afraid to find out, and I find that sad. Should I revolt in favor of my health and against being made a pawn of the pharmaceutical companies by trying to live healthily on as few meds as possible? Or should I thank God and my doctors that grace has provided me with what I need to get and stay well? I vacillate between both positions--in other words, I can't make up my mind.

I've decided that the optimum path at this point is simply to follow the guidance of AA, which tells us always to "do the next right thing." If you can adhere to this most fundamental of tenets, it is amazing how easy and satisfying life can be, partticiularly in the area of service, which is spirituality in action, and always brings us closer to our Creator. And so I begin--no procrastinating allowed--to make up for lost time and become a valuable member of my new family, an equal partner with MBF, and an energetic, effective member of AA, the Democratic Party, and the community-at-large.

Hmmm... Sounds strangely akin to what I've heard described as Reality, the very existence of which is a question with which I've always struggled. But, you know, I think I'm going to have to change my attitude. I don't want to have such an open mind that my brain falls out.

A Pain in the Neck

2005-10-23T17:18:00.000-10:00

I am dismayed and embarrassed when I look at this website and realize that I have not posted anything since September 28, but I have a good excuse (making excuses for my behavior is something with which I've had lots of practice). The chronic daily tension headaches and excruciating, stabbing neck pain from which I've suffered for most of the past three years reappeared in August, and in early October I visited a neurologist at a well-known headache clinic who immediately admitted me to the hospital for intensive treatment of migraines (I do not have migraines, but I was so desperate to get rid of the pain, I would have had myself committed to Bedlam Royal Hospital if I had thought it would help).

But, I stayed in the hospital for a very boring six days and had headaches every day except for one. I was supposed to drink no more than two cups of coffee a day (caffeine can apparently trigger migraines), but being the incurable coffeeholic that I am, as well as being housed in a private room conveniently next to the coffee bar, I happily fed my caffeine addiction even more liberally than I do using my four-cup Mr. Coffee at home (this is what my ex-boss called "shooting yourself in the foot"). However, since the migraine meds and IV's full of steroids obviously weren't working, I figured I might as well have a cup of coffee (or two, or ten...).

For a few days following my release from the hospital, my headaches grew worse despite the very expensive migraine medications I was prescribed (such as Maxalt, running anywhere from $20 to $23 per tablet). I felt duped and frustrated. Later that week I went back to the doctor, who shot me up with 100 cc's of Botox primarily in my neck and forehead. It's been almost ten days now (it can take as long as two weeks for the Botox to take effect), and both the headaches and neck pain are much improved. I am so grateful and happy, and am finally experiencing a lull in the continuous pain, muscle spasms, and almost-daily headache nightmare.

So, as you can imagine, I haven't even felt like checking my email, let alone writing a post for my blog. But I'm back now, and hope to post two or three times a week (it takes discipline, and more importantly, subject matter).

For more on once again becoming a productive member of society, refer to the next post...

The Hammer Finally Gets Nailed

2005-09-28T15:45:00.000-10:00

Today is a good day. House Majority Leader Tom DeLay (R-Tex.) has been indicted on one count of criminal conspiracy for secretly directing campaign money toward the election of Texas lawmakers who could be assured to redraw districts in the state in such a way as to favor Republicans. DeLay has vociferously denied the charges.

Methinks he dost protest too much.

I have long waited for this sleazy powermonger to be charged with something - anything - that would expose his disturbingly avaricious psyche and the corrupt means by which he wields that heavy hammer. Please, God, send this nefarious Neocon to prison...

DeLay is, of course, to be considered innocent until proven guilty, but I choose to dispense with such petty legalities in his case. Besides, the mere thought of him actually beating this rap would erase the smile from my face and spoil my sunny mood.

Yes, today is a good day for all Americans who require honesty, morality, and integrity from their elected officials. It's a wonderful day, a very good day indeed.