I'm Losing My Keys; Am I losing My mind?

This first happened about a month ago. I was cleaning up a bit--doing laundry, emptying trash, tidying up, making trips from the little house to the big house to change the laundry from the washer to the dryer, bringing clean clothes into the little house to fold and put away. And somewhere between here and there, I misplaced my keys. I hadn't left home so the keys are here, somewhere, unless I tossed them in the trash when I poop scooped. I searched pockets and purses, I looked under furniture. I emptied trash and looked behind the garbage cans. Nothing. And all the while I looked I grew more panicked, more desperate. Two friends helped me look. Nothing. I finally gave up and started over getting a new set of keys made. Once I'd done that, I moved on, forgot about finding the old set and resolved to hang on to the new set. Well it's happened again, and in much the same circumstances. It's not like losing a key. This is a gob of keys on a key ring with a bright red plastic tag.

Keys are a metaphor for a lot of things, but the one that worries me most is my mind. Am I losing my mind?

Losing keys was one of the things my mother started to do when she lost her mind. She first lost her keys. Over and over again, she lost her keys. Lost keys was not the only thing that was going on with her, but it might have been the first sign. I wasn't living in Santa Barbara when all this loss began. But by all accounts of the progress of her illness vascular dementia, it began with her losing her keys and then moved on to losing control of her bowels and bladder and not even realizing it. So I'm terrified.

The Maze

This poem is what my childhood felt like. It's what my life as a young woman felt like. It's only now when all the rest are dead and gone that I feel safe. I can't claim that all women who were sexually abused within what should be a safe place, with family, at home feel like this, but I bet it's a lot. We could be a terrifying army of wounded women, who might have become just a little bit heartless.

Daddy was an expert at driving the lab animals mad
It was his job, it was his passion. Daddy had talent for it.
Daddy married a woman with a pretty child and no maternal
Instinct drove them to it. Unhinge that child Daddy, see what
She can take. The little whore becomes your slave until she is
Too old. Unhinge that child. What is she but a ticking time bomb.
Call her a liar and she becomes one, threaten the cage again, bind her
Mind with fear like Chinese women’s feet. Women are used to torture
The women her mother hates so much, apron wearing women, domesticated
Dumb cows. The girl will run the hamster wheel of repetition repetition repetition
Until she’s the only one left alive, alone at last. Talks about it like normal life, like
normal life
Like Normal life.

The Cost of a Childhood Stolen

Yesterday I felt compelled to write about Roman Polanski and the little girl he plied with drugs and drink and raped. I'm as shocked by his defenders as I am his own behavior. I think of him as a sexual predator who preys on children. The thirteen year old girl was not his only child victim. Jang-chub Ozer pointed out to me in a comment to that post yesterday, his next little girl was Nastassja Kinsky. At fifteen Kinsky was Polanski's sexual partner. Did he drug and rape her? I have no idea, but no matter the how and why of that relationship, it did lead to a Golden Globe Award for her role as Tess in Polanski's adaptation Tess of the d' Urbervilles the marvelous novel by Thomas Hardy. It was at the urging of her parents, that Polanski was prodded into helping her career along, perhaps keeping promises made. Two more parents who should have remained childless. A movie career doesn't make up for a childhood stolen. And who are all the people in Polanski's social circle who have no qualms about a middle aged man and his child lovers?

This is a topic I know a thing or two about. I was raised by a pedophile who used me sexually until I was too old for him at eleven. I was six when he started. My father was a psychologist and I was not his first child, I'm sure. But he knew very well how to gain my love and trust and how to keep me a compliant and willing victim. And it was my willingness that he used against me to keep me silent long after the sexual abuse had ended. It was his skill as a psychologist that transfered his guilt to me. I seduced him. I was a very provocative little girl. I begged for it. I never protested. I never told anyone. But I didn't need to tell anyone. Everybody knew. My mother knew. My grandparents (father's parents) knew. Family friends knew. Neighbors knew. No one intervened. No one tried to stop him. My menses was the event that made me too old for him. He liked his little girls very young. I sure I 'm not the only one who spent all her money on therapy. I'm sure I'm not the only one who tried to kill herself over and over. I'm sure I'm not the only one who failed at every relationship she ever had with a man. I'm sure I'm not the only one only feels safe alone.

Roman Polanski and the Little Girl

I was working for the Fat Bald Jew (that was how he answered his phone-more on him another day) in Denver while my last husband got his PhD at the University of Denver, when Roman Polanski got busted for drugging and raping a thirteen year old girl, whose mother had given permission for her daughter to have a photo session with the famous director. As I recall two other bad boys were on the premises at the time of her rape. I remember both Jack Nickelson and Warren Beatty were there that day. She should have had an adult with her. Notice I do not imply that any of the three men could be called an adult supervisor or agent/parent surrogate. I've never really thought of any of this trio of old bad boys as "adults."

I remember that all of the men I knew at the time, including the Fat Bald Jew and the graduate students at DU who were friends and acquaintances of my last husband, all thought it wasn't rape. "The girl looked at lot older than thirteen." "Her mother gave her consent to the photo session." "Come on now, rape, really?" Yes rape! No one thirteen is capable of giving consent ~ drunk, drugged or sober. There is no place in the United States where getting a thirteen year old drunk and drugged and having sex with her in several orifices is considered okay or legal. If she were your daughter and anyone, famous or not, got her drunk, drugged her and had anal sex with her, would you think it was "not worth prosecuting?" "Her fault?" Or any other bullshit rationalization for giving Polanski a pass? If you answered yes to any of that, you are not fit to be a parent. If, like this girl's mother you gave consent for her to go to Roman Palanski's place for a photo shoot without an adult chaperone, you are not fit to be a parent. But no matter how unfit the thirteen year old's consenting parent was, it isn't her fault Polanski drugged and raped her daughter. It's Roman Polanski's fault and it's illegal anywhere in this country. It's a crime and no matter how it's handled, there will be long lasting consequences for the child, now a mature woman. And there were nude, provocative photos taken. That makes it kiddie porn. So let's all stop bullshitting ourselves as to who's guilty of what. Roman Polanski not only pled guilty, he skipped bail and left our jurisdiction. He should be prosecuted for that. And I don't give a shit how talented or special he is. He's a pedophile in my book.

I had screaming fights with almost every man I knew over this case, when it was everywhere in the news and everyone had an opinion. However, not one of those men was a father of a girl. They argued that because she looked so sexy and mature the crime was maybe not such a bad crime. And they argued that the mother gave consent to the whole thing. They argued that it was a shake-down, that the mother and daughter somehow set the whole thing up to get money from a famous man. I did a lot of screaming of the word "Bullshit!" What was wrong with all those men?

Introducing Snarly Gnarly Miss Marley Honey-Fitz

But My Mental Health is Great!

I had a mental health summit today on very short notice. When I get bad news and or the days are growing shorter, I call my therapist to schedule a check up , much like I take my car in for winterizing and a safety inspection. If you're bipolar and you don't have regular check ups you're crazy.

While I'm waiting for test results on medical stuff it seemed quite possible that I might get depressed and as winter comes on not be able to pull out of it. I didn't expect that my call Monday would be returned this fast and time made to see me. Usually you need to make your appointment with the psychiatrist a couple of months in advance. Not this time. She skipped lunch to meet with me. And I'm feeling pretty good that both my mental health experts think I'm peachy in the mental health department. I've been doing the happy dance. Don't worry, it's just the happy dance not the manic dance.

Even My Horoscope's Crappy

You would be smart to exercise caution today because it's easy to set your sights on something you want and start off in a new direction before you think about the results of your actions. Additionally, nearly anything you do now has unforeseen consequences and there's no way to get around this dilemma. Delaying major decisions for a day or two may be your best strategy at this time.

I'm Slipping Down the Rabbit Hole

There have been things going on with me I'm barely aware of. But yesterday when I had to get up at 7:30 AM (a reasonable hour to most of you, but the middle of the night for me} and forego coffee to have an ultrasound of my liver and spleen it hit me that my low platelet count is a potentially serious problem.

A big storm is blowing in and I've been running around putting cushions and dog beds, rugs and baskets and garden tools in the shed. I still need to pick pears, cut my Pucchinis or Zumpkins, toss the vine. I have to pick a few more plums, put the ladder away, bag the debris and toss it in the garbage.

I grocery shopped earlier today and now need to reorganize my cupboards, clean the fridge. Anything to keep from thinking. I've cancelled scheduled dental work because I don't know how I'll afford it now that this diagnostic process goes forward. What looms on the near horizon is a bone marrow test. I've just had a couple of routine tests that are considered preventive and will be paid by Medicare which might be of interest in the search for solving the low platelet mystery. But none of the possibilities (and there are many) sound good to me.

I called my therapist to let him know that this morning it was clear to me I'm teetering on the abyss that is depression. I had no desire to get up today. I might have slept till noon or later, if Nick hadn't called and told me he was coming over in a half hour to pick plums. He's offered to be my medical trustee, to be he one with power of attorney to make sure my wishes are honored.

Ms M is talking about moving. This afternoon she's looking at a job as the maintenance person for an apartment building. There would be housing, but she has big Roscoe, a yellow lab who has spent most of his life here with a pack of dogs and a permanent baby sitter. He'll miss us and we'll miss him. And she won't have benefits. I hope she doesn't do this, but a landmark birthday looms and she's lived here a long time. Boredom is driving her now. Maybe a bit of fear as well.

I have no apatite for twitter now. I'm starting to look inward again. There's work to do. I am half way through a difficult rewrite on the novel. It is becoming a complex jigsaw puzzle. All the pieces are here, what is missing is a frame to hold them in tight frightening suspension. I need to finish, give it my best shot and then move on. When you think you see the end looming you want to tidy up all the lose ends finding that one tiny missing piece.

Then again, when it's cold and raining hard, I may feel smug, snug and peachy. You never know.

Life Like Twitter

What would it be like if we all said our tweets to real people in the real world? Watch this. This is probably how it would be.

I'm Not Feeling Well

It's funny that I was feeling well until I saw the oncology hematologist Friday. I thought it was only a one time thing that my platelet count was low. But it's been the last two tests (6 months apart) that showed a low platelet count. Now that I know it's been going on for awhile, I'm starting to worry a little. After my exam yesterday and talking to my new doctor, it looks like it might be more serious than I thought. How powerful is the mind that once I realizes it might be a more serious problem I start to feel ill. They took more blood to do other tests, more specific tests. It's now a waiting game to know whether it's bad or really bad.

Tomorrow at the crack of dawn I have to haul my ass out of bed to go get an ultra-sound of my liver and spleen. I have to do this fasting. This is tantamount to torture for me. No coffee with loads of milk and a bit of sugar? No dallying with the dogs? Out to pee and then breakfast for them and then I'm gone for most of the day. I have to drop my car off in the AM for safety inspection and to have it winterized. Then a friend is giving me a ride to the ophthalmologists for the appointment I should have made two years ago.

Again, I apologize for not visiting you at your blog to read and comment. I'm still rewriting the novel and tweeting. I've found that twitter is a powerful tool for lobbying politicians for healthcare reform. Now that I'm old and less inclined to do the boots on the ground work of real protesting, along comes twitter to make it possible to demonstrate online. It's a powerful tool. Not a social networking tool, but a power to the people network for societal change. I resist the "friending" thing. If I talk to you on twitter, your part of my network. You're all special to me, so "friending" seems silly to me. It is the friending aspect of FaceBook that turns me off, like high school cliques. Twitter is not like that. And I love the challenge of saying something meaningful in short bursts. I think in many ways this can only help with writing in general.

For the few of you who do still stop by, I thank you from the bottom of my shriveled little heart.

Let's have a passionate conversation about racism in America

Grayquill said...

The speaker seems very invested in keeping racism as a tool in his tool box. Some truth but mostly huge generalities made from a few extremists. I think he became in his talk the one he speaks against.

themom said...

I saw a little of what Graquill mentions...but the general premise is the point. I get more and more frustrated by those who state that this is NOT a racial environment. I beg to differ, and believe just about all the rethuglian mechanics of the moment are all to "stonewall the black man." When will this mentality go away? Not in my lifetime I'm afraid.

Ghost Dansing said...

for pete's sake.... we're talking about the rump core constituency of the Party that has been using the "Southern Strategy" for the last 30 years....

As a member of the Reagan administration in 1981, Atwater gave an anonymous interview to Political Scientist Alexander P. Lamis. Part of this interview was printed in Lamis' book The Two-Party South, then reprinted in Southern Politics in the 1990s with Atwater's name revealed. Bob Herbert reported on the interview in the October 6, 2005 edition of the New York Times. Atwater talked about the GOP's Southern Strategy and Ronald Reagan's version of it:

Atwater: As to the whole Southern strategy that Harry Dent and others put together in 1968, opposition to the Voting Rights Act would have been a central part of keeping the South. Now [the new Southern Strategy of Ronald Reagan] doesn’t have to do that. All you have to do to keep the South is for Reagan to run in place on the issues he’s campaigned on since 1964… and that’s fiscal conservatism, balancing the budget, cut taxes, you know, the whole cluster...

Questioner: But the fact is, isn’t it, that Reagan does get to the Wallace voter and to the racist side of the Wallace voter by doing away with legal services, by cutting down on food stamps...?

Atwater: You start out in 1954 by saying, “Nigger, nigger, nigger.” By 1968 you can't say “nigger”—that hurts you. Backfires. So you say stuff like forced busing, states' rights and all that stuff. You're getting so abstract now [that] you're talking about cutting taxes, and all these things you're talking about are totally economic things and a byproduct of them is [that] blacks get hurt worse than whites.

And subconsciously maybe that is part of it. I'm not saying that. But I'm saying that if it is getting that abstract, and that coded, that we are doing away with the racial problem one way or the other. You follow me—because obviously sitting around saying, “We want to cut this,” is much more abstract than even the busing thing, and a hell of a lot more abstract than “Nigger, nigger.”

Utah Savage said...

Interesting points of view here. I believe most of it is racist and isn't even coded. It's blatant. It's in-your-face. It's a view of itself as entitled to be on top even when one lives at the bottom: at least they think they're better than black people who they still think of as niggers. I think that's not even conscious. It's drunk with mother's milk and all of daddy's conversation. It's preached at the pulpit and taught in the schools. Texas school boards have been trying to find a way to take the negative parts out of the history books. What are the negative parts? White emigrant culture slaughtering native peoples and working slaves stolen from Africa. Yes, by all means lets take the history books back to the 50s before everybody got so damn uppity.

All this in response to this video. What do you think?

And They Say It Isn't Racism

Grotesque, Unprecedented, Bizarre, Unbelievable.

You guessed it. I'm talking about Sarah Palin. Those words were used to describe her "speech" in Hong Kong by attendee Robert Fisk.

"There'll be one or two self-deprecating remarks, a reference to healthcare, taxation, out-of-control spending and a poorly told joke,"

To prove her shining Republicanism, Sarah quoted Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. She quoted Lincoln. She quoted Thomas Jefferson. History and common sense were not on the side of liberalism and "utopian pipe dreams". But there'd been progress. In the past, we had the "horse and buggy business", she said, then Ford came along with the motor car and the kids sat singing in the back, but now the kids have headsets. And what happened to the Reagan legacy? "Many Republicans in Washington gambled it away."

She talked, of course, about the infamous "death panels" – a big smirk here from Sarah – and "market-friendly responsible ideas" (this must have been the speech-writer) and offered slippery advice: "We can responsibly develop our resources without damaging the environment."

She spoke too fast. She gabbled her words. Scatty was the word for it. We slalomed between the fall of the Berlin Wall, the break-up of Yugoslavia and 9/11. Then it started. The war on "vicious terrorism", the war against "violent fanatics who wished to end our way of life", our battle against "radical Islamic extremists" with "twisted vision". This was not a clash of civilizations but "a war within Islam". We slalomed again. Asia – "what an amazing place!" – was at its best "when it was not dominated by a single power".

What on earth was happening? Had Sarah just looked up from her podium and seen China? Addressing what was surely the neo-conservative wing of the Republican party, she could not "turn a blind eye" to Chinese policies that created "uncertainty", which supported "questionable regimes" and "made a lot of people nervous". America wasn't going to impose its values on other countries, but America was going to have to "ramp up" its defence spending.

I would have run screaming from the room, blood pouring from my ears. But there is this last tidbit from Mr Fisk: "Then family again. "I have a husband," she said. "I think I could have used a wife. He's awesome." This really floored the Chinese. Poor Todd."

Peach Cobbler for Cody_K

This is the simplest recipe in the world. You need four medium peaches or three large peaches.
Peel and slice peaches

In a mixing bowl combine:
1 stick melted butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup milk
1 cup flour
Mix well and pour contents into baking dish
Gently add sliced peaches evenly
Bake in 350 degree oven until golden brown.
(roughly 45 min, depending on oven)
Let cool on rack.
Serve warm with ice cream.
Yum!
Cody_K I ate your serving and enjoyed it for you. Your hips will thank me. My hips will hate you next time I get weighed at the doctors office.

It's Boob Squishing Time.

This morning I had a mammogram and a bone density test. I have no reason to suspect any problem, but this is part of the early warning system for a lot of women. If I still used the thing, I have my vagina looked into to too, but sadly, it no longer exists. It is true, if you don't use certain things they just close up shop, so to speak. Anyway, whether you use it or not, get your vagina checked out and you boobs squished and if you're old enough to be concerned about bone loss, or have had eating issues, get a bone density test. It's called preventative medicine. If your health insurance doesn't cover preventative tests, it's worthless.

I have medicare, so all this yearly checking, is part of how we keep healthcare costs down. Private insurance companies are all about making money on your healthcare. They know they're going to dump you when you get really really sick and finally need them, so why do preventative tests to catch costly illnesses early? You need to start thinking about this industry whose primary duty is to shareholders, so you can assess how good a job they do taking care of you. You need to examine the books. How much do they pay top executives? How do they come up with record profits year after year? How much do you pay them to deny coverage for your medical needs? Is it worth it?

Medicare does a very good job taking care of me. I've never had better healthcare coverage, and my last experience was with United HealthCare. I was paying them $1,000 a month so they could refuse to cover the specialists I needed to see to stay out of the hospital. Insurance companies don't like the sick.

I Want Some TARP

Jack Cafferty on Tom Delay's Dancing

Snark Alert!

"People are saying mean things about Health Insurance Companies."

Why Georgia

For my friends in Georgia. I woke up to news that Atlanta is under water. If Atlanta is under water, you, Lisa, Mathman and the spawn, and you, Kevin, might be having problems with rain water runoff and might be in trouble too. I hope you're fine, sitting high and dry. But just in case, I'll be thinking about you today. If you want to talk give me a call or look me up on twitter. I'll be here rewriting the novel or chatting on twitter.

Love,
Peggy

Outfoxed!