Pocketful of Anecdotes

All I Want For Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 05:09:00 +0000

Is for my whole family to be together.

But, that's not gonna happen. Things are much different this year. Stuff has happened and I'm not gonna share it here. But, I wanted to write something.

Yet, I know there are people in my family who read my blog everyday, but yet, they don't call me, they don't text me, they don't write to me, they don't even care to reach out to me, but yet -- they insist on reading what I have to say.

So this makes for a very basic understanding of the human psychology of some people in my family; they're just scared-to-be-courageous, apathetic humans and I'm just an extention of their dysnfunction trying to make things right by writing out my wrongs and living for a future of my own.

I have changed my ways of thinking over the years and have learned to forgive. Yet, some of them remain unchanged. And it makes me so sad to think that I will never have a true loving relationship with certain people in my immediate family. Their brains have become pre-wired to misjudge everything and everyone out of the sense of learning not to trust from personal experiences which I will dare not share here because they're too difficult to write about, even right now.

I'm sure some or most of you have your own family dysfunctions out there. I'm sure everyone has a certain person or certain people in their family who live to ruin relationships because their childhood was messy and insensitive and now their sense of well-being is well-fucked beyond repair.

Thing is, it hurts my core and it breaks my heart that life has changed. It's not 1984 anymore. I can't pretend that things will be better one day. I cried a hard, long, cry last night because I miss a certain number of them badly. My eyes are the size of welted-grapefruits today and my spirit is attempting to push onward.

It's Christmas. It's a time to celebrate life with family and friends, with the people you know and love. And, I can only keep on being me.

If only they knew of the night where I stood over the double cardiac arrests that came into the ER while doing half hour repititions of CPR to human beings who are just like me, just like you, just like God created each one of us equally. If only they knew how fragile life really is when I watch them flatline. If only they knew what it was like to watch members of their family and friends coming to their bedside and crying, holding their cold hands, wishing they had more time together. I've seen it with my own eyes and I've felt it with my whole heart.

If only certain people in my family could lose their lifelong grudges against other certain family members for the sake of living a life worth, well,... living.

But, this Christmas, I've come to learn the difference between letting go and letting it be.

Happy Holidays to each of you, my dear readers and thank you for each one of your emails to me. I read every one of them.

I truly wish that each of you get what you want from this life. I know I'll be trying my best to make the most of who I know I am, who I have become and who I will forever remain until the moment I take my last breath.

Heroes and Cowards

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 01:42:00 +0000

I have learned from my own personal experience that it takes more strength of courage and spirit for the weakest person to change their lives for the better and that change within itself, when it happens, is downright heroic.

Tonight, I was confronted with a situation that allowed me to either cower in the face of a full-time grown-up bully for the second time around in three months or finally take a stand for my self-respect and remain living in the spirit of light, peace, faith, hope and love. I have to tell you, it wasn't easy, but I made it happen.

You see, I come from the school of belief that there is lightness and darkness in all of us. Some of us choose to bask in the light that God has given us the freewill to live within and then there are the sad lot of others who chose to horde their fears and bury their evils in the black cloud that dwells within their souls -- ready to strike their venomous xenophobic poison because their darkness both consciously and subconsciously recognizes the lightness in others and naturally feels the need for ultimate destruction.

Tonight, for the first time in my life, I told a certain human being to dare not ever disrespect me nor my ethics ever again. And it was a cruel and malicious disrespect that even you, my dear reader would cringe over. I'll save the details for the book. For now, I'll just share with you the anecdotes.

Thing is, this self-loathing human actually has grown children who are also at the age to be able to reproduce. God only knows what kind of life this person has taught their children to lead if this person is their leader of example.

Thing is for me, I don't have kids. Someday, God willing, I will have the opportunity to bring new life into this world. I will be a loving mother who will teach my children about the lightness and the darkness that exists among us and how to conquer people who fear those of us who choose to live in the light.

A wise soul once told me, "Only when true hardship arises do you learn the ultimate mettle of a person's true character."

People Talk

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 06:09:00 +0000

And in talking, people abuse communication. You know who you are, you've done it before, maybe you do it all the time. You can't keep gossip to yourself because there's something spiritually defunct within you that lets the loggareah flow. Your friends are likely your frenemies and you have zero tolerance for enduring pain of any kind, especially when it comes to you.

Next time you decide to share hearsay with another person, please think about how this may effect you. The karma you dish out will revisit you; it is part of this universal spirit world. It may not come back to harm you in 10 minutes, 10 years or 10 lifetimes, but it will always be there, waiting to strike your soul in order to retain the imminent balance among us.

Do something positive with your life. You have the choice, it's yours for the taking. As lifetime revelations have it: people like you will not grow into sagacious old souls unless vicious, vengeful gossip unravels like an endless spool of thread; happening to you, taking you down, making your life miserable, leaving you in wonderment.

If you truly want to change -- for you, not for others, but for the sake of actual self-improvement, you'll have the opportunity to see the light in knowing when to speak and when to listen.

You have the potential to change the world around you, one silent moment at a time. You have an intangible power within you. Use it wisely.

6 Swanboats and 1 Universe

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 03:00:00 +0000

Smiling to the groove of the rhythmic beats while my first digital jukebox selection of Boogie On Reggae Woman by Stevie Wonder begins playing, I walk into the main room where Henry waits for me, still seated at the bar. It's our first time to this place together and it feels right. Everything we do together feels right.

Henry's got a grip on his Stella Artois while a bevy of new company mulls around him. He has this way about him. Strangely, it's like watching the male version of me in action. People just feel easy around him, because he lets them. He's a man who has experience in life and death and just about everything in between. Although he's only lived nearly half-a-century, you could say he's an aggregate of a billion old-souls.

It's refreshing to watch him and at the same time, it makes me think for a moment that of the very few boneheads I've unwittingly chosen to keep in my company in my past, here's a good guy who just gets it. Guess by the transitive property of my last statement, I was indeed the real bonehead all along. Self-depricating humor. Gotta have it, to laugh it off.

I belly up to the bar and sit myself back down with the high backside of the chair facing our new group of interested bantees. There's a sallow-faced man in a waify gray jumpsuit sitting in a powered wheelchair who has already fancied himself a kindred spirit of Henry. The comraderie in their laughter says it all. And then, there's the 10" moustached man who sloppily jabs his way into the banter by claiming he sails race yachts when he's not running away from his ex-wife, all while swaying unsteadily like he's about to fall off his own two feet and onto the hardwood floor. 10" Moustached man won't keep his eyes off me and it begins to get disconcerting.

Just as I'm about to psychically kung-fu karate chop 10" Moustached man with my third eye, he looks at Henry, raises one brow and says, "I'll give you six swanboats for her." I look at the guy and laugh out loud, in his face. It was something akin to the loudest horsey mouth Julia Roberts laugh-cackle-laugh you can imagine.

My laugh was so outrageous that most of the fellow bar patrons look toward our direction. 10" Moustached man seemed perplexed that I didn't take his offer seriously. I tell Henry, "That's it? I'm worth just six swanboats?" Henry declines the offer and whispers to me, "What's a swanboat again?" And then I laugh, again and again, and again. I haven't laughed like this in about a year and a half and it feels so good.

While the blatently drunken moustached pimp daddy makes his way from us and to the bar, we watch as he gets refused service by the bartender. And then we watch him make his walk of shame out of the pub. On his way out he looks at Henry and says "Ok. Ok. I have a better offer. I'll give you Six Swanboats and One Universe for her."

Henry and I look at each other and laugh hysterically. I tell Henry, "I'll give you a penny and one crab nebula for your thoughts."

Making it Count

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 05:36:00 +0000

Photograph taken in October 2003 during a Florence, Italy outing. Whilst on route to a Tuscan vineyard, complete with circa built 1529 castle high on a hilltop, far away from all the things you purposely forget to think about while on holiday, I meet two of the coolest souls from the great Midwestern state of Minnesota.

Presenting Aileen and Stephanie. Two dynamo women with wit, candor and serious pizazz, not to mention Harvard Medical School's finest alum.

Reminiscing: I wanna get away soon. I want to travel again. I want to meet great people and explore centuries-old villages. I wanna meet life-in-the-moment again.

On December 31, 2008, I will make my toast to new beginnings. And in that moment as I reflect back on what this year has meant to me, I will know in my heart that I tried my best and in that same token, my very best is yet to come.

Ungroovin

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 21:42:00 +0000

I've noticed that when I don't write consistently, I lose my touch to let it all out, no holds barred, etcetera, etcetera. Kinda like what I'm doing right now. I'm writing, but it's not flowing. Writing, not flowing.

I skip a couple thoughts, ideas, try the free flow approach and just when it feels like I'm about to get even the slightest bit of momentum, I come to a screeching halt and realize, wait-a-minute, I'm back, or am I? You do it too. You must. I know I am not the only human out here who knows what it's like to get a case of writers block.

The key is practice, right? I've learned to find my own sense of perfection in practice. Argh. I can't write. I can't do it today. I'm trying too hard. Natural rhythm, gotta find my groove again. I was on a blogroll and I fell off my own course and voila -- it's gonna take some time.

In the meanwhile, thank you all for reading my drivel-o-the-day.

I tried. I'm human, and well, as I often say,...it happens.

Amazing Grace

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 01:38:00 +0000

That's what happened tonight at work.

A nurse came up to me and said, my patient is asking for you. She said that you helped her tremendously the day before her scheduled hernia surgery a few weeks ago. She called you her angel. The nurse smiled and said, "She's over in room 4."

I couldn't believe it. Camille was here tonight. Thing is, a few weeks back, the day after our first encounter, when I went looking for her in the hospital to see how she was doing after her sugery, nobody could help me because I didn't know her last name.

As I look to my right, there she was, getting ready to leave the ER by foot and cane this time. I walked up to her and tears welled up in her eyes. She called my name out and gave me the biggest hug I have ever received from a perfect stranger.

And in that one hug, I felt the love, peace and hope of that woman's soul. It was a blessing to reconnect with Camille. I had wondered if we would ever meet again.

And then it happened: Living grace appeared before my eyes.

Eleven-Eleven

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 22:23:00 +0000

A few days ago, I endured a frightening experience that I hadn't lived in well, it had been a long while. And when it was happening, I didn't think I was gonna make it.

No drama. No drum roll. Just that it was what it was.

The day began when I woke preparing to get ready for work. I felt a rush of panic which was likely precipitated from a variety of personal events. Events that had been steadily accumulating in my mind over the past couple months. I knew what was brewing. Yet, I hadn't fully realized that my proverbial cup was on cue to runneth-over.

And then it happened: I fell to my knees. Last thing I heard was my head hitting the floor and then darkness. When I opened my eyes, the room was a blur. I could hear the deafening throb of my racing pulse in my ears. I couldn't speak. My tongue paralyzed. The natural act of breathing became my omnipresent fear.

Rushed to a different ER than the one I work at, I learn I was having an allergic reaction to an antibiotic; the very one I began taking when I woke that very morning. Seems I caught an unsightly case of staph from working in a hospital environment and having an anxiety attack in the middle of having an allergic reaction didn't much help matters.

I'm resting now; something I haven't done in nine months.

I'm recuperating, taking it easy, taking my meds. Getting tons of overdue sleep. Rewiring my brain and thankful to be alive and almost well enough again.

Verge of Tears

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 01:41:00 +0000

Tonight, I'm going to have a good, long, hard cry. I need the release because I've been holding it in for far too long.

I've been working myself to the bone. I need to rest. I need to relax. I need to simply let go of being a superhuman junkie for a while and just pause, breathe and be -- Me.

Confidence Between Confidants

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 16:02:00 +0000

Tonight, I had the humbled privilege of experiencing a very in-the-moment spiritual encounter with a beautiful woman named Camille.

As my shift partner Jack and I transported her up to short-stay on the main hospital floor, she confided in us her fears of dying.

While wheeling her down the corridors on route to her overnight hospital room in preparation for her surgery to take place tomorrow, she lay weeping in panic and began speaking aloud without either of us asking a word of her saying "I don't want to die tomorrow. What if I did something wrong? What if I go to Hell? I just woke up from the worst nightmare of my life. I was having hallucinations that these horrific looking demons were attacking me. I've never dreamed anything like this ever. What if they come to take me away while I'm unconscious during surgery?"

She was absolutely serious.

As we approached the elevator, I leaned into the strecher and asked her if she believed in angels. She answered, "Yes, of course I do." With tears streaming down the sides of her face and into her ears, she let out a smile that wanted to beam through her fear.

I say to her, "You have no reason to be afraid anymore because your guardian angels are here protecting you right now. They're all around you. And those hallucinations that you saw, those are only the weapons of evil attempting to deceive you. Fear is only false evidence appearing real. God forgives. God is Love. And you're not going to Hell because God knows your true heart."

Just then, she squeezed my left hand so tightly and pulled me close into her. Jack looked at me as if he'd never seen any human connection so powerful before that moment. I felt this overwhelming sensation of peace flush over me and I could only embrace the moment for exactly what it was. Heaven sent.

As we arrived at her room and moved her from the ER stretcher onto her hospital bed, she looked up into my eyes and whispered to me, "You know, God placed you here for me tonight." Her words were golden. I smiled back at her and said, "Camille, God placed you here for me tonight too."

And in that moment, I saw the fear in her face being replaced with a calming sense of peace, faith and hope. I bent down and gave her a kiss on her forehead and told her that everything is going to be alright. As Jack and I were leaving the room, she called my name and asked me what church I go to.

I tell her, "The one in my heart, everyday."

Orion

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 12:21:00 +0000

I held a dead man's hand in my own tonight.

And as I silently asked God for the courage to allow me the strength to be who He has allowed me to become while being asked to help three other ER Techs in that trauma room, I prayed with all my heart for this man's soul.

There is so much more to share, but I sense there's no need to tell you more than this tonight; more than what I thought, what I felt, what I came to learn and know by heart.

And when I got home from work tonight, I looked up into the midnight sky and saw Orion's Belt sighing just above me. I'll never forget this night. I'll never forget the moment I learned the true value of a human's life.

Someone To Watch Over Me

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 01:04:00 +0000

Meet Baby Jedidiah.

At work tonight, I hear my name being paged throughout the ER requesting I head over to pediatrics.

Upon my arrival, I'm asked to care for an eight month old child. It was love at first sight.

When I asked the doctor where his parents were, she tells me that he is a foster child and that his foster mother couldn't be here because she has too many children at home to care for. Doc and I give each other that all-knowing, yet in-somewhat-disbelief look.

The joy that eminanted from this child was heaven-sent. This child was a testament that real love exists.

I walk over to the rocking chair in the room, sit down and begin singing the first song that comes to my mind,... "Someone To Watch Over Me".

Within moments, as he's cradled in my arms, head on my shoulder, he's asleep. There was such a calming sense of peace that washed over me knowing that this precious entity of new life was at peace in my arms.

For the past three hours, I'd been given the opportunity to share the same space with this beautiful baby boy.

Thank You Good Universe.

And when DSS arrived to take him back to his foster home, a piece of my heart was carried right along with him.

I pray to God that this baby grows into a child that is loved beyond words.

Juxtapositioning

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 16:41:00 +0000

Just stepped in a puddle of pee with socks on while helping my grandfather off of his commode. Not many get what it's like to care for the helpless.

Yesterday while working at the hospital, I began feeling an overwhelming strain of exhaustion that swept over me and pulled me under its tow.

There's more to share but I'm on the verge of tears and I need a good cry. Its been a while.

I'm A Big Girl Now

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 11:07:00 +0000

Taken October 14th, 2007. On a vineyard, on an island, on my 32nd year of life on planet Earth.

At the time this photograph was taken, I was on route to spinning off my axis for yet a galactillionth time. I had no idea what was to come for me because I didn't know what I needed to do for myself in order to start living a life of normalcy.

Ironically, although I've always had an incredible sense of direction when it comes to all-points geography, I had zero sense of direction in my life. I was living sideways, in a purgatory all-my-own. It happens, I'm human. And so are you.

One year ago, no way would I have imagined that I'd be here typing my words out into the great wide ether for all to read; on how I became smarter than a box of rocks by losing all sense of ego and gaining immeasurable knowledge by letting go of the wheel-o-life. Once I accepted my faults and claimed each and every miserable one as my own, things changed -- for the better.

You see, in 13 days, I can say that I know where I'm going and I'm not afraid of what may come my way in a year's time. I know what I love. I know what I want. I know who I am and my path ahead is crystal clear to me. I got my shit together for the first time ever and I'm not letting it go -- by choice.

Surely, people and places may come and go throughout my life, but what remains at the end of each day is a sense of gratitude in knowing that my efforts to be a better human being, living to help others who cannot help themselves, is the life I was born to live.

A life I can proudly call my own.

Hurry Up And Wait

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 10:37:00 +0000

Some people wear their poker face well. Some people wear *the tell* so well and don't even know it. I pride myself on giving good traffic face.

While idle on a major freeway yesterday, I got a kick outta watchin' the guy in the Porsche Carerra next to me dig deeper than the tunnel to China for his own version of fool's gold. Buddy, any deeper and you're gonna spring a leak the color of your crimson leather, likely-heated seats.

I'm about the only person I know that can enjoy a good pose for blog posterity during rush hour traffic. I got no road rage to rage about. I don't honk if I'm feeling horny. I just wait it out while coyly observing the very humanness that makes most of us squirm.

The Grand Converse

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 02:12:00 +0000

Tonight, one of my readers wrote to me online and in their post, included this picture of their feet dangling just above The Grand Canyon.

Although I've yet to visit this spectacular site, something tells me it's exactly as peaceful as these two sneakers testify to their story in black and white.

"Letter To A Young Poet"

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 23:06:00 +0000

I never made the connection,...until tonight. I'm having a rare day of television and I click onto one of my all-time favorite movies.

So, I tune in, although it's nearly halfway through the movie, its always been one of the most inspiring flicks to me because of a certain statement that's made from one mentor to one mentee, not to mention the vocal singing that gives me goosebumps and puts that lump in my throat, tears of joy building and welling in my eyes,...I know it's coming, so I keep watching.

A few years ago, an older, wiser man who found me through the good graces of the ether gave me a book of his to read called, "Letters To A Young Poet" by Rainer Marie Rilke.

Truth be told, I didn't read the whole book. In fact, since I was going through a tumult of life events, I couldn't even bare to read the ingredients on the side of a cereal box at that time. I was stuck inside of my own noodle and I needed help, but I never reached out. I never asked for guidance. I only kept my true feelings hidden, never to reveal any side of human weakness within. I was too proud. I was, sad. If only I read between the lines of that book,...

And now, it's the year 2008. I'm working on keeping balanced and being solid and true to my core.

And in doing this, something familiar hit me tonight when watching this movie:

The mentor says to her mentee: "Here, take this book. I want you to read it. It's a brilliant book written by an incredible writer named Rainer Maria Rilke. In this book, a boy writes to the poet Rilke asking him for advice on personal and moral dilemmas he's experiencing. The boy states he has always wanted to be a writer but he's unsure about it. Rilke writes back to the boy telling him that "If when you wake in the morning, if the only thing you can think about is writing, then become that writer because that is what you were meant to be."

Goosebumps all over my body. Just. Like. That. I've been sharing this same statement with people since watching that movie for the first time ever at age 16. I've been attempting to live by these simple, yet bold words of wisdom all along.

And now, here it is again, speaking to me, nudging me into remembrance with those tiny nuggets of sage that will always be with me, no matter where I go.

And when I wake in the morning, the one thing that I think of more than anything is becoming a writer known for being great at being me.

Fight. Score. Win.

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 20:50:00 +0000

Not that I wish to become one by take sides, saluting alongside with the football lovin' millions out there, although I've tried on numerous occasions; truth be known, I've failed to understand what many women pride themselves as being: The Football Trivia Goddess.

I'm sitting here watching a wholesome college football game on television with my grandfather on a Saturday afternoon and I just cannot find a way to not-think-about the game of football as the game-o-sex.

What you may see: Strong, fierce, brawny men ready to take on the world, one victorious touchdown at a time.

Insert deep-bellied diaphragm "HOOUGH!"

What I see: A bevy of sperm chasing the proverbial egg. Paramount to everything, the one male sperm of plenty who infiltrates the egg wins in victory. Right?

Would women be as interested in this game if it were played by all women? Why do women go bonkers for their team? What is it about the game of football that gives women that glorified sense of testosterone pride? Who are you women and what have you done with your excess brainpower?

Now tell me: What makes an ocean wave, wave?

Solstice

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 01:12:00 +0000

I love my friends. You know who you are. Tonight, I had my sweet friend and neighbor Emma over for a bake-a-thon. Yep. We baked to raise moolah for these kids living down the street from us whose family is going through a bit of a crisis.

Pam and Kaitlyn have cancer. They're four and eight years old and their family doesn't have much of anything with the exception to the single momma who loves them to death and the same single momma who is solely responsible for placing the roof over their heads. But, when we got word, we decided to put our noggin's together and make sumthin' happen, STAT.

As we were sitting together early this afternoon, the scent of September blew into my dining room windows and I notice that Emma also acknowledged the first day of autumn. She said to me, "You know, we should get a group of us together and head out to an apple orchard sometime soon."

I tell her, "Holy crap. I was just thinking the same thing."

Next thing that happens: We take off to the grocery market. First thing I notice, a giant bag of MacIntosh apples. I buy, among other tangible ingredients.

Back at the house, we delve into every apple pie recipe online and then I tell her: "Let's collaborate." So we do.

And it turns out to be some of the greatest tasting apple pie's we've ever baked. We head back down to the same market and begin selling our creativity.

We pass out slices to sample. First pie sells like proverbial hotcakes, ... the next handful, sold. Twenty-four in total, each selling at $20 a pop, always explaining to passerby's that we have a greater reason for the season.

With our immediate loot from our spontaneous creativity, we cash in.

Walking back up-the-hill to our street, smiling and singing and dancing like megadorks with the feeling of an invaluable sense of self for doing a good thing on a Sunday afternoon, with a $520.00 pre-paid grocery card in pocket, we step up to Pam and Kaitlyn's family home and ring the doorbell.

Hannah, the mom, answers. We hand her a pie, a card, smooches and hugs. It was the knowingness in her beaming smile that said it all.

Hannah, a couple months back,...baked our entire neighborhood the tastiest strawberry-rhubarb pies. For this, we are grateful.

For one woman's heart and her ability to persevere through the really tough life stuff, God Bless You.

Thank you for teaching the rest of us that in life, all things are possible.

Zofran or Cow

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 04:11:00 +0000

It happened in the break room over cow.

Tonight, an eight-hour string of events unfolded in the ER that affected me in a life-changing way and only confirmed my positive ambition to keep pushing forward in my career. I got noticed for my smarts, by a few mighty intelligent, no-nonsense nurses and physicians.

It took thirty-two years and eleven months and here I am: Paving my own way; Hallelujah.

My decision was made while sitting next to Nurse Kurt in the break room a half-hour before my shift was over. I ask him "How's the cow dinner? Adjacent to our table, one of the two life-flight nurses was finishing his conversation about nausea with Nurse Don which was easily overlapping ours within earshot. Kurt says, "You want some?" I tell him, "You askin' if I want Zofran or if I want cow?" He chuckles, "Cow". I kindly refuse having an already full belly of spinach salad and Tangerine OJ.

Kurt says, "Alright, if I'm getting mad-cow disease, then I guess I'm getting it on my own." I remark something about Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. Kurt gives me a head-cocked look of wonderment, a knowing side-smile complete with verbal affirmation and continues cutting into his prime rib. The life-flight nurse says, "Ah, there was a patient here in '93 that had CJD on the 7th floor. It was so sad to watch that man suffer."

I chime in, "Ugh. Transmissible Spongiform Encephalopathy" is no way to go. They both look at me and then at each other as if suddenly, we're all on the same human page. And then it hits me: the feeling of respect for being me. It felt so good to make a connection for having a treasure trove of trivia just waiting to explode out-of-the-box at just the right time for show and tell.

Truth be known, in '94, I read this incredible book by Richard Rhodes called Deadly Feasts. The book talks about the two scientists who discovered a cannibalistic tribe off the coast of Papua, New Guinea that feasted on the cerebral and reproductive body parts of their family members with the belief that their deceased would live on through their familial consumption.

Scientists Cruezfeldt and Jakob discovered the link between this tribe and the events that were later taking place in Europe where sick cows were being fed to other cows out of fiscal human farming apathy.

In lieu of feeding the healthy cows grains, they were being fed off-the-soil where the already sick cows were being buried.

As a result, the cow's CNS 'brains' turned to more-than-mush. Hence, the cyclic term: Mad Cow Disease.

It was a cultural rite-o-passage coupled by a vicious cycle of cannibalism which lead to the discovery of a chain of outbreaks in the very human population who were feeding off the sick cows who were feeding off the soil: The food chain rears its deadly head.

Later, while bandaging a patients' cellulitis puss wound, Kurt comes up to me and asks me, "So, when are you gonna become a nurse? when are you gonna be a doctor, already?"

I tell him. "Soon. It's gonna happen soon. I'll see to it."

So, my dear readers, this is it. I'm doing it. I decided tonight and it's final. I'm going to nursing school and then, when that pans out, I'm eventually considering medical school. One license at a time, right?

My lost element, found.

Thing is, I believe its been here all along, yet as my history has it, I just needed to fall that much off my pedestal before I could reconstruct the story of my life,...

Working Girl

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 06:16:00 +0000

I haven't been sleeping as much as I'd like, but -- I work at a hospital more than full time now and it's getting the best of me. This is my life. I work for the sake of helping others.

I cried for about 20 minutes this morning because I know things about my family that are heart-wrenching.

I won't go into detail, but I know that I'm living with the agony of knowing what close-to-the-end-of-life feels like and it's draining me dry.

I don't have a life. I don't go out. I don't do anything but work and care, they're interchangeable really. If you knew me even 4 years ago, you wouldn't believe that I were the same person. I used to live a self-centered life of luxury. Yep. The whole Pac Heights kit and caboodle. I was the girl that other girls wanted to be. Yet -- I didn't want my life like that. I didn't want what I had because I felt that ... because my family couldn't experience what I was living, it wasn't worth it to me.

And here I am, 2008. Waiting on life, waiting on love. Waiting to begin again because I know the importance of what I need to do in the now. It's been years since I actually thought of myself and making my way happen.

I need a break. I need a vacation away to have an outlet for personal expression. But, I feel an imminent guilt in breaking free from this life. I'm now a prisoner of my own obsessive feelings to do the right thing.

People Talk

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 14:08:00 +0000

Gone Fishin'

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 02:36:00 +0000

Things that make me happy: The Pacific Ocean. Fishing. I love to fish. Haven't done much of it in the past couple years, but once out on the great wide expanse of the great blue ocean, holy trucker, I dig a good yank and reel.

These photos were taken from a very early Sunday morning with my very good pals when we decided to take to Halfmoon Bay and go for a full day of Alaskan King Salmon fishing from 4am - 4pm. We had only one victim of motion sickness on our adventure, likely due to the kookoo late night, wee-early morning San Francisco partying that happened only hours prior to jumping onto this ship. Between our group, we caught 25 fish. That night, we celebrated the best sashimi dinner of our lives. I live for a good plate of sushi so much that I could live the remainder of my days dining on the esteemed cuisine of Japanese fare.

You see the bend in my line to the left? I fought that bend for 15 minutes. You see the guy to my right in the faded papaya sweatshirt? His name is Frankie. Frankie had a net and was waiting to scoop up my catch. And, we made it happen.

Best morning of my life. First time I caught a 10 pound breakfast, lunch and dinner. And, it won't be my last. At least, that's what Captain Jack told me. Captain Jack is the guy on my left who could just as easily pass himself off as Santa Claus as he could a giant cherubim. Although I happened to be the only female on the boat that day, I'm hoping to wrangle more women to join the give-a-woman-a-rod and let-there-be-dinner clan sometime.

By the way, that one victim of motion sickness, that was me. But clearly, I put up a good fight for hours in between.

Sunday Morning

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 13:19:00 +0000

Okay. I admit I got a lil' heated yesterday.

Thing is, I'm passionate about this life I've been living and when I lose my balance, I lose my cool.

And so, my words spew forth as they do from time to time and bottled up feelings burst to the surface, show their true colors and paint a colorful canvas, all their own.

And this morning, after consciously choosing to release past pain, I woke to love. Lots and lots of love and inner-peace. Amen. I'm back.

It took me a while to regain my balance after allowing myself to fall from the universal grid. I'm going to take this lesson and learn from it.

The Power of The Written Word

noreply@blogger.com (N. Francesca) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 16:47:00 +0000

I can't write for shit today. I can't do it. I'm here sitting at the keyboard and my mind is mush. But, I'm here. I'm here and I'm trying. And in trying, it scares me that I lost my touch. I've been working 70 hours a week and I am running on empty. Something else also happened that has left my well dry, so to speak.

Recently, I let someone back into my life and like clockwork, my nemesis rears its ugly, viral, head. I tried playing God with a demon and it didn't work. So, in my eight-hundredth attempt to rid myself completely of this negativity that has kept me away from what I love doing best, here it is.

I know there's a certain group of you likely out there reading this so let it be known, good people, this post is not about you but someone else. So without further editing adieu:

I have come to despise you. You're a vampire. Get lost. Piss off. Words of wisdom: You'll never find love because you don't love yourself and the fact that you still hate your parents goodness and still talk about it at your age, well -- you're screwed. You're a flawed human being (like the rest of us), yet you cannot accept yourself for exactly what you are because your pride blinds you.

You're still as arrogant as you were when we first met. I've always seen through your misery and I don't need your company. You jealous beast who infiltrated my most beloved relationship because you couldn't stand that I didn't want you: Never again.

Fuck. That felt good.

How I wish I could've said this to your face, but you had a vengeful hold over me like a rusty vice-grip and my mind and jaw were frozen stiff. And now -- poof, you're gone.

Well, almost.