Tuesday, dec 30, 2008
I really have expanded my vocabulary since I became a new cripple and moved to the Ghetto Farm. I’m learning new words, spellings, pronunciations, etc. For instances:
White World vs. Ghetto Farm
Deborah (aka Debbie or Deb) --- Deborah (aka Masta D)
Therapist --- The Rapist
Atrophy --- A trophy
Invalid (crippled) --- Invalent
Okay, that last one was a debism --or debonics as Msh puts it.
About Me
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Cock
Monday, Dec. 29, 2008
Russell wasn't up yet, I think the cold weather may have kept him in for a while longer this morning. Maybe Russell was cuddling up with some of his chicks? Or maybe Russell is a one-chick-at-a-time kinda rooster and has a steady chick who he loves and adores and is fully committed to her? Nah, that‘s unlikely.
But what about maybe, just maybe, Russell was cuddling up with a new chick he picked up the other night at his regular hangout, I’ms A Pic-um, Yous A Cumin’ bar & grill. He’s a regular at that joint. The Chicks just love Russell. They are always bragging about how much they are grateful to him, saving their ass from being beaten up, tortured, and killed by some pimped giant who claims he likes chicks. That just doesn’t make sense?
The chicks also like Russell’s’ masculinity. They all want a bite of the Bro. Russell has made quite a name for himself. Besides his formal name and the common nicknames, Russell picked up some other nicknames as well. The Studroosta, The Roostin’ Rascal, and Russ n Crow are just a few, for examples. It seems like the chicks are very fond of the fella. They don’t even mind the boozing he does when he sometimes gets carried away in the liquor market. The chicks don’t mind the bar-roost at all. Russell can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Russell is rich, kind, healthy, talented, good -looking, charming & very desirable.
Russell, however, is not the brightest bird in town, but his schooling is not too noticeable in the Ghetto Farm. His wit, charm, and compassion are very endearing. They override any book smart bird at any time. Russell is definitely street smart though. He knows the streets in the Ghetto Farm.
Russell wasn't up yet, I think the cold weather may have kept him in for a while longer this morning. Maybe Russell was cuddling up with some of his chicks? Or maybe Russell is a one-chick-at-a-time kinda rooster and has a steady chick who he loves and adores and is fully committed to her? Nah, that‘s unlikely.
But what about maybe, just maybe, Russell was cuddling up with a new chick he picked up the other night at his regular hangout, I’ms A Pic-um, Yous A Cumin’ bar & grill. He’s a regular at that joint. The Chicks just love Russell. They are always bragging about how much they are grateful to him, saving their ass from being beaten up, tortured, and killed by some pimped giant who claims he likes chicks. That just doesn’t make sense?
The chicks also like Russell’s’ masculinity. They all want a bite of the Bro. Russell has made quite a name for himself. Besides his formal name and the common nicknames, Russell picked up some other nicknames as well. The Studroosta, The Roostin’ Rascal, and Russ n Crow are just a few, for examples. It seems like the chicks are very fond of the fella. They don’t even mind the boozing he does when he sometimes gets carried away in the liquor market. The chicks don’t mind the bar-roost at all. Russell can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Russell is rich, kind, healthy, talented, good -looking, charming & very desirable.
Russell, however, is not the brightest bird in town, but his schooling is not too noticeable in the Ghetto Farm. His wit, charm, and compassion are very endearing. They override any book smart bird at any time. Russell is definitely street smart though. He knows the streets in the Ghetto Farm.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The Gang Verses Suffer & Pain
Sunday, Dec. 28, 2008
Sometimes I forget I'm a cripple and stand up without being too careful, not using the nearby assistances to help me along the way. Oh my right leg, reminds me of the excruciating pain I feel when that happens! Sometimes when holding myself up with some type of support, I forget again that I'm a cripple and start to begin to walk. Well, again, my right leg continues to remind me to stay behind and find the nearest reliever. Sometimes I try to stand for a while on my left (good) leg to give Butt a break. And sometimes I try for a new position with Bed, in order to help Butt out as well. Butt, I'm not finding Change, at least in the bedroom, with Bed. Oh I try to find Change!! Butt, what I find, is just another agonizing painful position that I just can't bare to bed with. And once I'm in that often, painful position, I then have to figure out how to maneuver myself, slowly and carefully, from the hurting position, and place myself into the familiar non-hurting position, like Butt’s usual position in bed, with Bed. I try. Looking for Change isn't easy. I'm sure Butt is tired of holding up the Fort. (heehee) I'm always searching for some Change, any Change with Bed. Missionary is kinda boring when used as often as I use it.
I haven't found Change yet, I'm still looking, still searching for Change....lay on side, nope. Lay on other side, nope. Flip into the air and land on stomach like a=2 0pancake, nope. This latest attempt to find Change came about when I left temp toilet (TT) behind. Mentioned earlier in The Smell email, TT resides by Bed, my main squeeze. I was getting up from TT to sleep with Bed. (TT is used only when my body desires a quickie.) Searching for Change, I slowly moved forward, bending my upper body down to waist level, gripping onto TT's arms and leaning my legs forward with my knees slightly bent upon top of Bed's cushion. Slowly I moved my arms from TT and they crawled forward onto Bed’s matressed body and braced my body up against his Queen Size. My elbows pinned Bed down, and I was also able to hold Butt up in the air, like I was getting ready for a new exciting position. Doggy-style, here I come! Nope, can't do that one either! Can't do it without Pain & Suffer hanging out and watchin‘. Now, theirs a couple I can definitely do without!
The upper arms are getting stronger though, with lifting the body up and all, using the wheelchair or TT arms, a nearby wall or Bart for support. The pelvic pain area continues on a daily basis, but I'm feeling like my body is healing, getting stronger and better each day. Pain, he’s just a process. Pain uses his wits wisely though. The cringe of the leg muscles arrive. “TIME TO TIGHTEN UP, CONTRACT, AND LOCK-UP!!! “ Pain yells loud and clear to Muscles, an innocent bystander. And the loud howling sounds of Me make their appearances before Pain, before He decide s to leave. However, BLOODY MURDER screams were only heard in the first 10 days or so.
Sometimes I seek Pain to surprise myself. Bring it on, Bitch! And sometimes I’m unpleasantly surprised with Pain's appearance that He decides to make, without Me seeking Him. And sometimes I avoid Pain's surprises all together when Muscles tell me that Pain’s a comin‘--which in fact, isn’t a surprise at all! I make the quickest detour I can to avoid Pain at all costs. I don't try to go down that rocky road with Pain or Suffer for that matter, at least not by myself, if I can avoid it. Damn YOU, Pain & Suffer! Damn you both! Hmmm, what time is it? Is it time to meet up with Meds?
So there I was in the doggy-style position, looking for new action...any, some, one more, a little different, give me variety, flavor, whatever!....Give me any other position other than Butt’s position! Butt’s tired! Butt strives for another position! We team up together all the time, searching all over for our new buddy, Change...ever since the accident. (Psst, I hear on the streets...of the Ghetto Farm, psst, come closer, I hear you don't like him at first, you know, Change, but once you get to know him, you'll get to like him. He'll come around again...shhh, that's the word on the street.)
Thanks to Pain, I was ready to meet up with Meds and move on and get back fast to my tired, boring, getting wider by the minute ass, routine, missionary-style positi on. Butt‘s position. I had to act quickly toward Pain, (quickly isn't so quickly in my new cripple world! It's very slow, deal with it.) and remove myself from that uncomfortable, doggy-style position to find relaxation in my same day, every day, all day, all night, each and every night, for 16 days and 16 nights straight, Butt’s position, my reliable & stable buddy, Butt.
Butt, I’ll get there soon.
deb
Sometimes I forget I'm a cripple and stand up without being too careful, not using the nearby assistances to help me along the way. Oh my right leg, reminds me of the excruciating pain I feel when that happens! Sometimes when holding myself up with some type of support, I forget again that I'm a cripple and start to begin to walk. Well, again, my right leg continues to remind me to stay behind and find the nearest reliever. Sometimes I try to stand for a while on my left (good) leg to give Butt a break. And sometimes I try for a new position with Bed, in order to help Butt out as well. Butt, I'm not finding Change, at least in the bedroom, with Bed. Oh I try to find Change!! Butt, what I find, is just another agonizing painful position that I just can't bare to bed with. And once I'm in that often, painful position, I then have to figure out how to maneuver myself, slowly and carefully, from the hurting position, and place myself into the familiar non-hurting position, like Butt’s usual position in bed, with Bed. I try. Looking for Change isn't easy. I'm sure Butt is tired of holding up the Fort. (heehee) I'm always searching for some Change, any Change with Bed. Missionary is kinda boring when used as often as I use it.
I haven't found Change yet, I'm still looking, still searching for Change....lay on side, nope. Lay on other side, nope. Flip into the air and land on stomach like a=2 0pancake, nope. This latest attempt to find Change came about when I left temp toilet (TT) behind. Mentioned earlier in The Smell email, TT resides by Bed, my main squeeze. I was getting up from TT to sleep with Bed. (TT is used only when my body desires a quickie.) Searching for Change, I slowly moved forward, bending my upper body down to waist level, gripping onto TT's arms and leaning my legs forward with my knees slightly bent upon top of Bed's cushion. Slowly I moved my arms from TT and they crawled forward onto Bed’s matressed body and braced my body up against his Queen Size. My elbows pinned Bed down, and I was also able to hold Butt up in the air, like I was getting ready for a new exciting position. Doggy-style, here I come! Nope, can't do that one either! Can't do it without Pain & Suffer hanging out and watchin‘. Now, theirs a couple I can definitely do without!
The upper arms are getting stronger though, with lifting the body up and all, using the wheelchair or TT arms, a nearby wall or Bart for support. The pelvic pain area continues on a daily basis, but I'm feeling like my body is healing, getting stronger and better each day. Pain, he’s just a process. Pain uses his wits wisely though. The cringe of the leg muscles arrive. “TIME TO TIGHTEN UP, CONTRACT, AND LOCK-UP!!! “ Pain yells loud and clear to Muscles, an innocent bystander. And the loud howling sounds of Me make their appearances before Pain, before He decide s to leave. However, BLOODY MURDER screams were only heard in the first 10 days or so.
Sometimes I seek Pain to surprise myself. Bring it on, Bitch! And sometimes I’m unpleasantly surprised with Pain's appearance that He decides to make, without Me seeking Him. And sometimes I avoid Pain's surprises all together when Muscles tell me that Pain’s a comin‘--which in fact, isn’t a surprise at all! I make the quickest detour I can to avoid Pain at all costs. I don't try to go down that rocky road with Pain or Suffer for that matter, at least not by myself, if I can avoid it. Damn YOU, Pain & Suffer! Damn you both! Hmmm, what time is it? Is it time to meet up with Meds?
So there I was in the doggy-style position, looking for new action...any, some, one more, a little different, give me variety, flavor, whatever!....Give me any other position other than Butt’s position! Butt’s tired! Butt strives for another position! We team up together all the time, searching all over for our new buddy, Change...ever since the accident. (Psst, I hear on the streets...of the Ghetto Farm, psst, come closer, I hear you don't like him at first, you know, Change, but once you get to know him, you'll get to like him. He'll come around again...shhh, that's the word on the street.)
Thanks to Pain, I was ready to meet up with Meds and move on and get back fast to my tired, boring, getting wider by the minute ass, routine, missionary-style positi on. Butt‘s position. I had to act quickly toward Pain, (quickly isn't so quickly in my new cripple world! It's very slow, deal with it.) and remove myself from that uncomfortable, doggy-style position to find relaxation in my same day, every day, all day, all night, each and every night, for 16 days and 16 nights straight, Butt’s position, my reliable & stable buddy, Butt.
Butt, I’ll get there soon.
deb
The G
Sun. dec 28, 2008
Bart passes thru my room in the shotgun house that resides in this Ghetto Farm.
"what up G?" I said, with a quick head nod and index finger lift, acknowledging Bart at the same time.
Bart stops and says "Yes?"
"what up G?" I repeated, doing the whole cool movement bit again. "You know what I'm sayin."
"What are you talkin?" Bart tried.
"nah man, it's 'what you talkin bout?' "
"Well what does the G stand for?" Bart questioned the Masta D.
"I don't know?" I broke out of character.
Bart passes thru my room in the shotgun house that resides in this Ghetto Farm.
"what up G?" I said, with a quick head nod and index finger lift, acknowledging Bart at the same time.
Bart stops and says "Yes?"
"what up G?" I repeated, doing the whole cool movement bit again. "You know what I'm sayin."
"What are you talkin?" Bart tried.
"nah man, it's 'what you talkin bout?' "
"Well what does the G stand for?" Bart questioned the Masta D.
"I don't know?" I broke out of character.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Pat
December 26, 2008
--Pat
I call the Ghost, Pat. I don’t know if Pat is a Boy, Girl, Man, Woman or an It for that matter. But whatever Pat is, Pat made a reappearance the other night. I’m laying in bed, early morning, still dark outside, staring at the Casa Blanca wall, and a light comes on. No, not an electric light from above or the lamp that sits in my room. This light was a glowing greenish tone dim light that covered the window and part of the vacant wall near it. It was on for a few seconds then disappeared. Okay, now that’s spooky. I’m a little scared, well maybe not. I’m not scared of a ghost, a little spirit, come on!?
If there was truly a ghost, I would welcome it. I would welcome Pat to join me and get high on these drugs with me. I think these drugs must have taken me for a ride to the haunted house again.
I still stared at the window and empty wall beside it to see if the light came on again. No, it didn’t. Just that one time. Just like the one whisper I heard the other day. There must be a simple explanation. Maybe the light came from the outside. Maybe a car drove by. No, I didn’t hear a car drive by. It’s like 5am or so. I think Russell is the only one up and rolling at this time in this Ghetto Farm. Maybe the next door neighbor’s window is near and turned her light on to get her day going. No, the lig ht was from the inside. The light would not have braced against the inside wall near the window. And plus if it was from the outside, the shadow of the tree would appear. Maybe it would look like the shadow of a ghost, maybe it would look like Pat. No, this light provided no ghost silhouette shadows. This light was the shape of a rectangle.
Russell continued to crow and I moved on and fell asleep.
--Pat
I call the Ghost, Pat. I don’t know if Pat is a Boy, Girl, Man, Woman or an It for that matter. But whatever Pat is, Pat made a reappearance the other night. I’m laying in bed, early morning, still dark outside, staring at the Casa Blanca wall, and a light comes on. No, not an electric light from above or the lamp that sits in my room. This light was a glowing greenish tone dim light that covered the window and part of the vacant wall near it. It was on for a few seconds then disappeared. Okay, now that’s spooky. I’m a little scared, well maybe not. I’m not scared of a ghost, a little spirit, come on!?
If there was truly a ghost, I would welcome it. I would welcome Pat to join me and get high on these drugs with me. I think these drugs must have taken me for a ride to the haunted house again.
I still stared at the window and empty wall beside it to see if the light came on again. No, it didn’t. Just that one time. Just like the one whisper I heard the other day. There must be a simple explanation. Maybe the light came from the outside. Maybe a car drove by. No, I didn’t hear a car drive by. It’s like 5am or so. I think Russell is the only one up and rolling at this time in this Ghetto Farm. Maybe the next door neighbor’s window is near and turned her light on to get her day going. No, the lig ht was from the inside. The light would not have braced against the inside wall near the window. And plus if it was from the outside, the shadow of the tree would appear. Maybe it would look like the shadow of a ghost, maybe it would look like Pat. No, this light provided no ghost silhouette shadows. This light was the shape of a rectangle.
Russell continued to crow and I moved on and fell asleep.
The Smell
December 25, 2008
The Smell
The cloud of a stinky odor possessed my presence. The enclosed casing caved into, and my nose now became part of the outer layer of the foul, sniffing the bad stench. Not poo. Or pee. Not those two P buddies who visit on a daily basis. Though this smell wreaked also. And this taunting smell was Me! I really wreaked bad! I had not bathed in 13 days, since "The Accident." I can't shower or lift myself into a big wash bowl. I haven't had a sponge bath either during the 13 days, what was the point? Not any visits yet. Butt everyday, I would wash my hands and butt though. I would use (still using) individually wrapped Purell sanitized hand wipes {that kill 99.9% of germs (had wipes since Katrina Hurricane)} on my hands, and also use the adult-sized flushable freshmate wipes on my coochie and ass. But other than that, I did not clean myself. What was the point if I didn't mind? Butt now, my private parts don't get clean as much as they use to. Not for the last couple of days anyway, not since I graduated to TT, the temporary toilet, and left the PP pan Behind, which both hang out with my main squeeze, Bed. U dig? I continued to inhale and whiff my skunky-smelly self that day, all day, that Christmas Day of December 25, 2008. I'm not quite the Cool Cat I thought I was. I can’t lick myself!
I think I know how to grow dreadlocks too. I always thought dreadlocks consisted of unclea n, uncombed hair for weeks, perhaps months. Well I'm on my way to having that look, if that’s the road to having a gutter punk look. My hair is tangled up in curls and the loose particles are mixed in with the stable ones. In some ways, I think I’m a gutter punk too. I get free stuff. food, room, a rolling chair, and some money too.
“I’m a Mooch!
I'm the Gutter Punk of the Ghetto Farm.
I’m a Mooch!
I don't bathe and I don't shave!
I'm just a stinky Dreadlock Babe!"
It helps when you are wearing a black splinted bracelet to showoff when you fold your arms.
Maybe my hair just feels like dreadlocks but maybe it really looks like a Jheri Curl, with the teamed up tight rolls and the thickness it feels and possibly projects. I'll be lookin' real fine in the Ghetto Farm if that’s the case. I don't have a mirror to check out my new Doo. Bart has only one mirror in the house and it’s on the medicine cabinet above the sink in the bathroom, the mirror I can’t quite reach now.
My ears are full of wax buildup too. q-tips nowhere to be found here. I've often wondered how people clean their ears if q-tips were not used? Is that why my hearing is not that good? What, what did you say?
And not only my underarm pits share the wreaking and well-deserving smell, but there are these grass-like creatures growing in the dark, damp, stinky swamp it resides in. And there's also=2 0unwanted weeds sprawling up out of nowhere. And someone crapped in my nose! But I have to say, I don't think there are any whities and blackies living on this head-block of mine. No, not since "The Accident". My face has cleared up real good since there aren't any available mirrors to pick my face in this castle of mine. Otherwise,
--"If I could, then I would: Here we go, here we go, here we go now:
'grace my face with dabs and scabs.
Yea, I'm a Picker. Now a littl' Sicker.
I'll pick it, nick it, stick it, lick it.
I'll get it out, I'll punch it.
I'll pull it up, I'll pop it out. 'til it bust, uht.
Pop the pimp, push the pulse, splat the poop onto the looking glass. Yeah!"
Man, th’s shits poetry!
And then the cartoon characters from The Ren & Stimpy Show pop into my mind: Ren, the temperamental, steaming, fuming, and abusive Chihuahua, says in his Mexican accented voice "Sniff, sniff. Stimpy, what's that smell?" Stimpy, the not so smart, but lovable & adorable fat cat, smiles and replies , “Well, it’s me, Ren, it‘s me!”
The Smell continued to linger & hang out with me for the rest of the day, all day and all night, and into the early next day. I was tired of entertaining It. The Smell finally went away when I met Sponge Bath on day 14, December 26, 2008.
The Smell
The cloud of a stinky odor possessed my presence. The enclosed casing caved into, and my nose now became part of the outer layer of the foul, sniffing the bad stench. Not poo. Or pee. Not those two P buddies who visit on a daily basis. Though this smell wreaked also. And this taunting smell was Me! I really wreaked bad! I had not bathed in 13 days, since "The Accident." I can't shower or lift myself into a big wash bowl. I haven't had a sponge bath either during the 13 days, what was the point? Not any visits yet. Butt everyday, I would wash my hands and butt though. I would use (still using) individually wrapped Purell sanitized hand wipes {that kill 99.9% of germs (had wipes since Katrina Hurricane)} on my hands, and also use the adult-sized flushable freshmate wipes on my coochie and ass. But other than that, I did not clean myself. What was the point if I didn't mind? Butt now, my private parts don't get clean as much as they use to. Not for the last couple of days anyway, not since I graduated to TT, the temporary toilet, and left the PP pan Behind, which both hang out with my main squeeze, Bed. U dig? I continued to inhale and whiff my skunky-smelly self that day, all day, that Christmas Day of December 25, 2008. I'm not quite the Cool Cat I thought I was. I can’t lick myself!
I think I know how to grow dreadlocks too. I always thought dreadlocks consisted of unclea n, uncombed hair for weeks, perhaps months. Well I'm on my way to having that look, if that’s the road to having a gutter punk look. My hair is tangled up in curls and the loose particles are mixed in with the stable ones. In some ways, I think I’m a gutter punk too. I get free stuff. food, room, a rolling chair, and some money too.
“I’m a Mooch!
I'm the Gutter Punk of the Ghetto Farm.
I’m a Mooch!
I don't bathe and I don't shave!
I'm just a stinky Dreadlock Babe!"
It helps when you are wearing a black splinted bracelet to showoff when you fold your arms.
Maybe my hair just feels like dreadlocks but maybe it really looks like a Jheri Curl, with the teamed up tight rolls and the thickness it feels and possibly projects. I'll be lookin' real fine in the Ghetto Farm if that’s the case. I don't have a mirror to check out my new Doo. Bart has only one mirror in the house and it’s on the medicine cabinet above the sink in the bathroom, the mirror I can’t quite reach now.
My ears are full of wax buildup too. q-tips nowhere to be found here. I've often wondered how people clean their ears if q-tips were not used? Is that why my hearing is not that good? What, what did you say?
And not only my underarm pits share the wreaking and well-deserving smell, but there are these grass-like creatures growing in the dark, damp, stinky swamp it resides in. And there's also=2 0unwanted weeds sprawling up out of nowhere. And someone crapped in my nose! But I have to say, I don't think there are any whities and blackies living on this head-block of mine. No, not since "The Accident". My face has cleared up real good since there aren't any available mirrors to pick my face in this castle of mine. Otherwise,
--"If I could, then I would: Here we go, here we go, here we go now:
'grace my face with dabs and scabs.
Yea, I'm a Picker. Now a littl' Sicker.
I'll pick it, nick it, stick it, lick it.
I'll get it out, I'll punch it.
I'll pull it up, I'll pop it out. 'til it bust, uht.
Pop the pimp, push the pulse, splat the poop onto the looking glass. Yeah!"
Man, th’s shits poetry!
And then the cartoon characters from The Ren & Stimpy Show pop into my mind: Ren, the temperamental, steaming, fuming, and abusive Chihuahua, says in his Mexican accented voice "Sniff, sniff. Stimpy, what's that smell?" Stimpy, the not so smart, but lovable & adorable fat cat, smiles and replies , “Well, it’s me, Ren, it‘s me!”
The Smell continued to linger & hang out with me for the rest of the day, all day and all night, and into the early next day. I was tired of entertaining It. The Smell finally went away when I met Sponge Bath on day 14, December 26, 2008.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
A New Cat in Town
Dec 25, 2008.
I like being a new cripple these days. Sure, walking is great and all, but when you can walk, you're not King anymore. You don't have a servant at your beck and call. I'm definitely the Master in this Crib, my new Pad. Although not the Master at where I used to live. Nope! Stinky, Cloe, and Fraidy Cat are the Masters there. I waited on them hand and foot. All they had to do is just call for me once in a while for food or mess pickups, but generally, I knew when meals and pickup times were. My cats and I are very similar now. They sleep a lot. I sleep a lot. They're served food. I'm served food. Their litter is changed. My litter is changed. Yip...cat life is great!
Meow,
Deb
P.S. "Meoweewwrryyy Meeechrsmasowwww!"
I like being a new cripple these days. Sure, walking is great and all, but when you can walk, you're not King anymore. You don't have a servant at your beck and call. I'm definitely the Master in this Crib, my new Pad. Although not the Master at where I used to live. Nope! Stinky, Cloe, and Fraidy Cat are the Masters there. I waited on them hand and foot. All they had to do is just call for me once in a while for food or mess pickups, but generally, I knew when meals and pickup times were. My cats and I are very similar now. They sleep a lot. I sleep a lot. They're served food. I'm served food. Their litter is changed. My litter is changed. Yip...cat life is great!
Meow,
Deb
P.S. "Meoweewwrryyy Meeechrsmasowwww!"
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
The Thinking
I CAN’T STOP THE THINKING!!! i can’t control it. MUST STOP THE THINKING!!! all i want to do is rest. LEAVE ME ALONE!!! i can’t fall asleep. i can’t catch up. STOP THE THINKING!!! stories, thoughts, ideas, oberservations, new discoveries rush in! 4 or 5 on the backburner! STOP THE THINKING!!! i need to watch tv and rest the mind. damn, no tv. I CAN’T STOP THE THINKING!!!
Road Trip
Tuesday, Dec. 23, 2008
I get to go outside today! yay! I'm excited about my road trip. To see the Doctor. It's been a week and a half since the accident. Second time I'll be going outside for just a little bit. First time was last Tuesday on a stretcher to Doc’s when workman's comp ordered an ambulance service to pick me up to enter into the corporate town of Metairie. You see, I live in New Orleans. And Bart lives in New Orleans, but Doc is in Metry. I work in Metry, use too. Off for 6 weeks, maybe more. Because I fell in Metry, at my job. So today I'm going to the suburbs. In a wheelchair! A nice black 9000 SL fits just fine in the Ghetto Farm. ‘Yeah, u right. U know what I'm talkin' bout, u dig? It dun not have the hubcaps and all that, but man, the two wheels in the back, uooooweeee, smokin'. See what I'm sayin'. And don't shame the front ones either. Nahhh, maybe be small, but tough as rubber. You can turn left. U can turn right. But I knows it's about the steerin'. U dig?’ The service is picking me up soon. I'm ready. I’m ready, willing, and waiting. I can see thru the outside door for the first time in my 9000 SL. Yes, the door is open, but the gate is locked. Bart lives in a raised house, 5 steps up. I can't quite make it outside without any assistance. It's a 3 man job to carry me out. So I'm waiting for my cab, my personal driver, my main gig, my ambulance...to haul=2 0me off to Doc's. As I wait, I stare at the black Santa across the street. A Christmas decoration on the house. Then a tall, slim black woman, not really a woman, walks by. She didn't notice me, she didn't look to her right, inside of the house. Another few minutes go by and a young black man comes from the other direction. He sees me and says hello and keeps walking. I feel safe. It's daylight, the gate is locked, Bart is playing the piano in the other room. who would want to rob a cripple anyway? If they did, sure, let them, it would just take me forever to open the gate, much less find my purse.
So now I'm in the vehicle and leaving the Ghetto Farm. I'm putting faces to the sounds i hear every day. I see a young mom, holding her baby, while 2 small kids are walking with her down the street. I see young boys playing kickball in the street, their yard. And older boys throwing a football down the corner from them. There's a guy on a cell phone sitting on his front porch, looks like a tight fit. And 2 guys walking their leashed Rottweilers. And a beautiful young girl with pretty curly, above the shoulder, hair crossing the street. Man, I love my Ghetto Farm neighborhood. I wonder where Russell lives though. I didn't see him. I didn't hear him but only twice this morning. He usually sings for an hour or two, but this morning, I only heard him twice. I wonder if he is sick?. You know there is a bad case of sickness going around out there b/c of the20weather change and stuff. I had bronchitis about a week before the fall. Msh, I heard, was sick during that time too. As well as Julie and Brandon and oh, my carpenter, Shawn, that I know of. So maybe Russell is sick too. Maybe he has a case of laryngitis? He does sing an awful lot. Worse case scenario, he was murdered. Noooo, not my rooster! Someone blew his head off?! A crazed neighbor? Maybe the neighbor wanted to sleep longer and the callings were making him mad. Crazy mad. He couldn't put up with Russell's shit anymore! Maybe Russell was warned. 'U knows if u wake me up, u goin' pays the price,' I'm sure the neighbor was just having a bad morning. I'm sure Russell is fine and just went into hiding for the day?
I didn't hear Russell, the rooster, later that night either, in the Ghetto farm, Our Ghetto Farm. He sings to His Hood nightly before he heads off to bed. I missed that. I was still at Doc's.
Recovering, deb
I get to go outside today! yay! I'm excited about my road trip. To see the Doctor. It's been a week and a half since the accident. Second time I'll be going outside for just a little bit. First time was last Tuesday on a stretcher to Doc’s when workman's comp ordered an ambulance service to pick me up to enter into the corporate town of Metairie. You see, I live in New Orleans. And Bart lives in New Orleans, but Doc is in Metry. I work in Metry, use too. Off for 6 weeks, maybe more. Because I fell in Metry, at my job. So today I'm going to the suburbs. In a wheelchair! A nice black 9000 SL fits just fine in the Ghetto Farm. ‘Yeah, u right. U know what I'm talkin' bout, u dig? It dun not have the hubcaps and all that, but man, the two wheels in the back, uooooweeee, smokin'. See what I'm sayin'. And don't shame the front ones either. Nahhh, maybe be small, but tough as rubber. You can turn left. U can turn right. But I knows it's about the steerin'. U dig?’ The service is picking me up soon. I'm ready. I’m ready, willing, and waiting. I can see thru the outside door for the first time in my 9000 SL. Yes, the door is open, but the gate is locked. Bart lives in a raised house, 5 steps up. I can't quite make it outside without any assistance. It's a 3 man job to carry me out. So I'm waiting for my cab, my personal driver, my main gig, my ambulance...to haul=2 0me off to Doc's. As I wait, I stare at the black Santa across the street. A Christmas decoration on the house. Then a tall, slim black woman, not really a woman, walks by. She didn't notice me, she didn't look to her right, inside of the house. Another few minutes go by and a young black man comes from the other direction. He sees me and says hello and keeps walking. I feel safe. It's daylight, the gate is locked, Bart is playing the piano in the other room. who would want to rob a cripple anyway? If they did, sure, let them, it would just take me forever to open the gate, much less find my purse.
So now I'm in the vehicle and leaving the Ghetto Farm. I'm putting faces to the sounds i hear every day. I see a young mom, holding her baby, while 2 small kids are walking with her down the street. I see young boys playing kickball in the street, their yard. And older boys throwing a football down the corner from them. There's a guy on a cell phone sitting on his front porch, looks like a tight fit. And 2 guys walking their leashed Rottweilers. And a beautiful young girl with pretty curly, above the shoulder, hair crossing the street. Man, I love my Ghetto Farm neighborhood. I wonder where Russell lives though. I didn't see him. I didn't hear him but only twice this morning. He usually sings for an hour or two, but this morning, I only heard him twice. I wonder if he is sick?. You know there is a bad case of sickness going around out there b/c of the20weather change and stuff. I had bronchitis about a week before the fall. Msh, I heard, was sick during that time too. As well as Julie and Brandon and oh, my carpenter, Shawn, that I know of. So maybe Russell is sick too. Maybe he has a case of laryngitis? He does sing an awful lot. Worse case scenario, he was murdered. Noooo, not my rooster! Someone blew his head off?! A crazed neighbor? Maybe the neighbor wanted to sleep longer and the callings were making him mad. Crazy mad. He couldn't put up with Russell's shit anymore! Maybe Russell was warned. 'U knows if u wake me up, u goin' pays the price,' I'm sure the neighbor was just having a bad morning. I'm sure Russell is fine and just went into hiding for the day?
I didn't hear Russell, the rooster, later that night either, in the Ghetto farm, Our Ghetto Farm. He sings to His Hood nightly before he heads off to bed. I missed that. I was still at Doc's.
Recovering, deb
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
a new sound
Monday, dec 22,2008
It's a little after 3pm. the cats outside my window are howling. getting some action. at least somebody is. noise of enjoyment, noise of organisms. no fake about it. I don't think cats fake it like humans. this sound goes on and on. my phone rings. it's my carpenter, my "right hand" man of the house project. The cats still keep going at it. I imagine it's doggy style, where the male is humping the shit out of the female, slapping into her while bracing his paws on her hips. I know that's not how it really happens, but I imagine it that way. The carpenter and I discuss our business. I'm on the phone with him for 18 minutes. And i hear different notes, different keys of the animals. some are higher than others. wow, not just one organism, but many. the sounds continue. The aching, howling, loud sounds continue after i leave the phone. i guess if i can't hear sharing shotgun wall neighbor action, then maybe i can stay tuned to cat action. Some action, at least. The sounds went on another 5 minutes or so and then stopped. I imagine again that the two are cuddling, spooning, like Stinky and Fraidy Cat, my 2 cats back at home. My cats are fixed, some say broken, but nonetheless, they have found true love between them. They pet (lick) each other, play with each other, sleep with each other, and hug/spoon/cuddle with each other. I know that's not what these 2 cats are doing, just after they had sex. it was probably a one time fling. they departed, didn't even smoke a cigarette, not even a kiss goodbye. it was probably "late-a, bitch" in this ghetto farm that i live in now. Perhaps, there was no word exchange. She got what she wanted, he got what he wanted. done. move on to the next gig. Perhaps, just maybe, the female was raped by the male? it happens. Her sounds were a call for help, not the sounds of enjoyment, but sounds of screams for someone to call the cat police? Maybe it was an ex-boyfriend, "get the hells out of me you fuckin' needle prick!" who really knows in the mind of a cat?
The usual daily sounds of the day start to begin up again. The dogs barking in the far background. The kids getting home from school, playing in their yard, the street. The yelling of the kids, the yelling of the neighbors, the loud cars go by. the music blaring as the car humps slowly down the street for someone to take notice. My car alarm goes off from either the loud sounds of a car or the kids missing a thrown ball as it bypasses them. The annoying music tune eventually ends after one or two rounds. My car alarm sound is now in the mix of the daily sounds of the Ghetto Farm. It is becoming the norm. Russell, the rooster, will be singing his nightly song soon in this Ghetto Farm that I live in now.
It's a little after 3pm. the cats outside my window are howling. getting some action. at least somebody is. noise of enjoyment, noise of organisms. no fake about it. I don't think cats fake it like humans. this sound goes on and on. my phone rings. it's my carpenter, my "right hand" man of the house project. The cats still keep going at it. I imagine it's doggy style, where the male is humping the shit out of the female, slapping into her while bracing his paws on her hips. I know that's not how it really happens, but I imagine it that way. The carpenter and I discuss our business. I'm on the phone with him for 18 minutes. And i hear different notes, different keys of the animals. some are higher than others. wow, not just one organism, but many. the sounds continue. The aching, howling, loud sounds continue after i leave the phone. i guess if i can't hear sharing shotgun wall neighbor action, then maybe i can stay tuned to cat action. Some action, at least. The sounds went on another 5 minutes or so and then stopped. I imagine again that the two are cuddling, spooning, like Stinky and Fraidy Cat, my 2 cats back at home. My cats are fixed, some say broken, but nonetheless, they have found true love between them. They pet (lick) each other, play with each other, sleep with each other, and hug/spoon/cuddle with each other. I know that's not what these 2 cats are doing, just after they had sex. it was probably a one time fling. they departed, didn't even smoke a cigarette, not even a kiss goodbye. it was probably "late-a, bitch" in this ghetto farm that i live in now. Perhaps, there was no word exchange. She got what she wanted, he got what he wanted. done. move on to the next gig. Perhaps, just maybe, the female was raped by the male? it happens. Her sounds were a call for help, not the sounds of enjoyment, but sounds of screams for someone to call the cat police? Maybe it was an ex-boyfriend, "get the hells out of me you fuckin' needle prick!" who really knows in the mind of a cat?
The usual daily sounds of the day start to begin up again. The dogs barking in the far background. The kids getting home from school, playing in their yard, the street. The yelling of the kids, the yelling of the neighbors, the loud cars go by. the music blaring as the car humps slowly down the street for someone to take notice. My car alarm goes off from either the loud sounds of a car or the kids missing a thrown ball as it bypasses them. The annoying music tune eventually ends after one or two rounds. My car alarm sound is now in the mix of the daily sounds of the Ghetto Farm. It is becoming the norm. Russell, the rooster, will be singing his nightly song soon in this Ghetto Farm that I live in now.
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Whisper
"Bart" someone whispered. I'm wide awake. It's roughly 6am. The rooster has made and is making his sounding rounds. I haven't gone to sleep yet. I keep musician hours since the accident. I go to bed normally around 4am and wake up anytime between 12pm and 2pm at my leisure now. However, the last 2 nights, bart and I have stayed up until 5am. Kinda late to go to bed, even for bart. but that's the way it goes sometimes when you watch some great funny comedy shows like The Office and Curb Your Enthusiasm. It's the LD (Larry David) 3rd season who is keeping us up late the last 2 nights. I know we could have cut it off and wait until the next night to see the last 2 episodes on the DVD, but we didn't. we were really enjoying them. Bart sleeps in the other room since I can manage to pee on my own now. he's a light sleeper. any movement, any sound, he will wake up and be up for hours. he doesn't go back to sleep like a baby once awaken. I'm not like that though. I can sleep anytime of the day. cat naps, long naps. hours, minutes, whatever you throw me, I'm up for the challenge. you can wake me, and then i can go back to sleep with no problem. Hey, I can sleep thru a gun shot fired directly below me, but i am known for being waken up to couples making love next door though. But I'm not asleep now. Bart left the room an hour ago to find sleep. He tends to talk in his sleep too. I don't remember what he says, it's different each time. Sometimes it's French. Sometimes, he can jump from one conversation to another. I don't remember b/c for one, I am sleeping and for two, there is never a notepad at the side of my bed when he decides to have these intriguing conversations with his dream buddies. But now it's going on 6am and I am laying on my back, staring toward the ceiling fan above me in the dark. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can clearly see dark images and know what they are. I feel safe in my ghetto farm. I have my musician man in the front part of the shotgun house. Bart's house almost fits the design of my Burgundy Bend shotgun house. However, Bart's house is a single, not a 4plex, like mine. And Bart's bathroom is the last room of the shotgun and the kitchen is the last room of my shotgun. anyway. I'm staring at the ceiling and the Casablanca wall before me, and I hear a whisper, "Bart". Okay that's not Bart. he's in the other room. and Bart would not just leave his conversational talking dreams to walk to his old bedroom, my new bedroom/bathroom/office to whisper his own name to my ear and quickly disappear in the night without any noisemaking sounds or footsteps. why would he do that? wouldn't Bart say "Deb" or "Debbie, you awake?" Bart's known for talking, but not sleepwalking. Bart's in the front room now, two rooms ahead of this one. yea, i hear bart talk in his sleep, in fact, he was talking during the whisper episode. But he was far away, the whisper was near or in this room. this is strange. I'm wide awake and someone just whispered "Bart" to or in my ear. I look toward the clock and it said 6:07am. I know it's a few minutes fast, so it's around 6am. but I go by the clock's time. And then I looked onto the window. I just stared at the window and the curtain in front of window in the darkness. the curtain has little bitty seemed holes where the light/moonlight can shine thru. No one can see in. I can't see out either, but if something was there, then the shadow of the creature would cast over the moonlit holes. The rooster made another sound. It was still dark outside. I laid there in silence, i still felt safe, even though someone may be outside or inside? Whomever or whatever it was, he/she/they/it can't see me from the outside. The bed is below the window sill. Bart took off the bed frames the night of the accident. I lay there, still. No more whispers. Curtain moonlight holes didn't move. It's 6:22am now. A little rain, a little wind whispers. Water droplets from the leaf/leaves of the tree that stands by this bedroom window hit the window sills . Branches brush against the house from the whispers of the wind. Could this be my imagination? am i hearing things? I know I'm taking pain killer medication, but I heard a whisper and it was of Bart's name. Was it the wind? the wind never met Bart, not that I know of. "Bart" the one and only one time I heard the whispering sound. and I am wide awake. maybe it's the neighbor who wants to wake up bart and doesn't want to disturb me due to my injury? Why wouldn't he just call? oh, i know, he knows that bart keeps his ringer off when he sleeps due to his light sleeping disability. Nah, this neighbor wouldn't just decide to whisper bart's name and then quit after one try. we'll have to ask the neighbor if he did whisper bart's name at 6am , this Sunday morning. Just before the whisper, I heard a kitten meowing 6 times for food or comfort or both. A door opened, then shut, and then a minute later, i heard the whisper, "Bart". And then my mind wondered off again and thought it may have been bart's deranged psychotic lunatic ex-business partner stalking him. So now I'm thinking this man is outside the window, whispering "Bart". I'm not sure? But this definitely was not the wind talking. The wind doesn't know Bart's name or where he resides. I did nothing. It's 6:37am according to the fast clock. Is there a ghost that I don't know about in this hundred year old house? I'm still not scare. i can't do much anyway. can't move fast. can't run. I'm kinda stuck here. this whispering sounding ghost will just have to haunt me or kill me, but not scare me, as i lay here. He or she or it can't scare me tonight, this early morning I mean. I'm not alone either. Bart is still talking in the front. maybe the ghost is entertained thru the night during Bart's sleep talking conversations? Maybe the ghost thought I was Bart? Maybe that is why I heard only one whisper? The Ghost doesn't know that Bart doesn't sleep in this room anymore, for now. The Ghost figured out that I wasn't Bart and left the room, searching for conversa tion? I didn't answer the ghost. Why should i answer the ghost?! The whisper just made me alert for another 30 minutes. I just laid awake there until i laid awake there no more.
Alerts at the Ghetto Farm,
deb
Alerts at the Ghetto Farm,
deb
Sunday, December 21, 2008
the girl-character development
I play the girl in this character storyline wall story. Her name is Catelin. And she's from England. She's a performer. She sings, dances, and even does stand-up comedy. Due to a minor injury setback, she has added writing to her repertoire. She never made time to write. She's a busy lady. Too busy, traveling and studying abroad. She studied tap and jazz in New Orleans, and tango in Buenos Aires. She's explored cultural dances in Peru and Brazil. And when she travels, she also works. She's work in plays in Paris, stages in London, and Broadway in New York. Chorus lines, main acts, plays, movie sets, performances. Dancing is her true passion. She's good, real good. She's even taught a few dance classes here and there, although supplemental income, that's not where Her money is made. She's a Performer rather than a Teacher. And Morocco is her choice of stay at the present moment. She landed a position with flexible hours, flexibility to Her schedule. She can work when She wants, She calls the shots. She's 39, but looks 29. Well, maybe a little bit older. Her body, amazing. She's never had any children, I'm sure that is an affect on the way she looks now. She's kept good care of herself. Doesn't smoke. No drugs. Hardly drinks. Although she did drink heavy for about a year in New Orleans when she was tapping and jazzing. She likes the new Morocco atmosphere. She likes Bogie. And she likes to travel with Bogie. Bogie went to Greece without her, this time. That's okay. She has limited mobility right now. She was injured one night after a performance. She was reaching for a nice bottle of cabernet when the club was closing down for the night. The bartender was in the front, serving the last customers. She didn't want to bother the bartender, he was doing his closing duties at the same time and waiting on the last couple. Catelin went to the back where the wines were stored. Got on a ladder to reach a nice cabernet and lost her balance. She fell about 4 feet and landed on her right side. After the screams of horror, the bartender, Johanna, and Bogie came to her rescue. She fractured her pelvic bone and wrist. Laid up for 6 weeks. So she can't dance for a while. She can't do stand up for a while. Well, maybe sit down comedy might be her new thing now. She sings too. Not her strongest suit. She offers comedy with her singing. She's a bit out of tune, but she makes people laugh. She's completely tone death. It's interesting that she has rhythm and timing in dancing like no one else, but when it comes to singing, she can't catch a tune. So she sometimes throws her singing parts into her comedy scenes. The Deltas and Me-Rae-Does are 2 of=2 0her singing comedy acts. She also does comedy without the singing such as Not The Time I Wanted Off, Poo-GRAPHIC,and The Difference. And Pee-GRAPHIC, Toilet Training, I Got a Migraine, and 9 Days Since a Bath are upcoming acts in the works. With this new temp life, new setback, new injury, she's explored some writing. Never made time before, but now time is all she's got. She's done some serious writings and short stories as well. Mind Games, All Over the Place, and Dark Experiences are few examples. She's even started a novel. Hasn't named it yet. She's at the beginning stages of character and setting development. It's coming along just fine. She's becoming well known in the small community too. Marty Charles, editor of African Lifer , quotes "...it's like I'm reading a Virginia Woolf novel with her stream of conscious". Lucky Lad Works describes her writing "...really good. So intense and passionate." Gina Stones of Mushroom Magazine would like her story. Mushroom wants her to write an autobiography. The magazine even sent a recorder to get things started. Many of her fans thought she always led an interesting life anyway, and maybe it should be told now. She's been invited to a club too. A club called Faces behind the Scene. Interesting. Maybe she'll tap into her jazzy thoughts and tango toward the new group of friends, fans, and writers.
the difference
I live in the hood now. the Ghettohood. 7 blocks from my house. i call it Treme', but Bart seems to call it the New Marigny. a different kind of musical noise entertains me than my usual. At my house, the Bend, Burgundy Bend, lots of drama. but hardly any noise. the occasional sharing shotgun wall neighbor yelling at his girlfriend every couple of months. And before he lived there, I shared the wall with 2 lesbians and heard their love making sounds. I can handle that, but other than that, i didn't hear much. And even when i'm asleep, someone could blow their head off right below me and then 20 cop cars can circle the house with their lights and sirens on, trying to figure out the head explosion mess, and i wouldn't even notice. I could sleep thru that. Well...I did sleep thru that. That happened a month ago. A girl shot and killed herself in front of my neighbor who lives below me. directly below me. My bedroom is directly above my neighbor's den where she decided to play with a gun. 'Lets see, ummmm, I wonder if there are any bullets in the chamber? oh, let me test it out. I'll just put the gun to my mouth. hmmm, sounds like a good idea. I know20i'm loaded, but maybe the gun isn't.' At least she didn't aim toward the ceiling. I may have been a goner. And I slept thru the mess. that bloody mess. Well now I'm at a safe place. the ghetto. the Ghettohood. No drama here. Just noise. there's a rooster. every early morning and every early night, the cock-a-doodle-doo sounds and the dogs barking in the far background. do i live on a ghetto farm? I hear the daily yells of the neighbors being neighbors "i kick yur ass, girl friend. gimme that. com' make me. its mine bitch" something like that. it's very soulful. I imagine the 2 girls are fighting over a baby doll. Maybe it's crack?? yea. this neighborhood is different. At the Bend, cars I hardly heard go by. But here, cars are louder and faster and there's more of them. i didn't realize bart lived on a busy street. or maybe the bend is just a zone for quiet sounding cars. Here, there is loud wrap music playing in their bouncy cars as they stroll down the street, looking for some action, i guess. At least that is what I imagine that the cars bounce up and down to keep to the noise beat. Vibrations rocking the house. A lot of different noise. i hear sirens often. Police cars chasing to the scene or chasing the criminal who may have broken into someone's place or robbed or mugged someone. Maybe it's about drugs. They got a tip and they are pursuing the live action. Or maybe someone has been shot from a nearby drug shooting.=2 0I haven't heard any gun shots as of yet, however, bart has assured me that he has heard them in the past. On the bend, I don't hear a lot of sirens and gun shots. I just hear stories about a murder or suicide that has taken place in the neighborhood. A Buffa's bartender murders his girlfriend by strangulation, then chops her up and stores her in his kitchen appliances to be eaten for dinner or later eaten as a spicy dessert. Bartender throws himself off the Omni rooftop building for a splattered death. Note in pocket. Reads something like, 'check out my apartment. you'll find Addie.' Addie was his strangled girlfriend. And then there's the pure suicide. LJ, a nearby neighbor hangs herself. Found in her apartment when friend had not seen or talked to her in a couple of days. And then another murder. Buffa's cook & boyfriend murdered in cold blood in bed while sleeping. All were affiliations somehow to the Bend. To our neighborhood. They either worked near or lived near the Bend. Either way, an affiliation. So in the ghetto, I hear noise, but I don't hear of noise. I don't hear the drama of my neighbor getting his jaw cracked in half from a crazy military maniac swinging the Club, crushing my neighbor's jaw. And his roommate getting arrested b/c he wouldn't play the quiet game with the cops when the cops saw the pool of blood of the cracked jawed neighbor that he was swimming in. Yea, those times. those dramas. I would get high off of cough medicine and then wash it down with a few beers as me and my neighbor friends hopped from one bar to the next. We would start and end up at Buffa's many nights of the week. We would make our rounds to Cosmos, Molly's, and Frenchmen St. as well. Ahhh, the times. You don't hear about my dating disasters of me falling for a young Mormon or a psycho deadbeat dad. what was i thinking?? No. No drama here, just some noise. Different noise. Different action. Different drama. Just the usual you'll hear in a ghetto farm-like kind of neighborhood.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
story wall continues
Charlie's name has been addressed in the scene now. The bass player has a regular gig at the club nightly. This club, not much action now, but it'll get some hits. The club's hours are 3pm to 3am. Johanna, aka Smokin' Joe, (changed from Mr. to Smokin') runs the club. He does the books (accounting) during the day and runs the club at night. Bogie and the girl travel to Greece often. A picture of Greece fits nicely in the storyline wall as well. They just hop on the plane, (ceiling fan blades often used as airplane propellers in the travel scene) and frequent the getaway.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
subject matter-POO GRAPHIC!
so have you ever pooed laying down? and how successful were you? it's kind of hard to do. i first was poo shy, well lets backup a bit. I was never pee or poo shy before the accident. but I recently became shy with both. I'm use to a toilet, not a pan. i just couldn't pee or poo on command. but now i'm an expert. i can pee on command. no shy about it. and I poo once a day now too. and i must say that the poos are rated very high. today however, i only got a 6, but that was my lowest score. one of poos scored off the rector scale and with an impressive 11! I would have to say 9 is probably my average score. Though that 6 brought my average score down, but i didn't eat much yesterday. anyway, so have you ever pooed in a pan laying down? you should see if you could do it, no sitting up, no help with your elbows, just lay on your back. it's hard to maneuver. and when the poo finally decides to move out, it may be long and may have to be cut off-by tapering or by something else--well, you get the picture. sometimes your poo may get stuck and won't come out and you have to grunt, sitting up would be an easy solution, but remember, you can't. you're just stuck for a while and can't move. you have to figure it out. wait and wait and wait for 30 minutes or so. but now i am getting stronger and i can use my elbows for support and it does help a bit. it helps when you slant your body upward with elbow support. sometimes you have to push hard to get poo out, but sometimes it just slides right out. The best is when you are in that slanted position and your pan is tilted a little up off the bed, your strong long solid poo, the subject matter, won't break off, it just moves the pan downward toward the bed and curls up like a snake.
just a poo-ing deb
just a poo-ing deb
characters and setting
We're in Morocco, Africa now. although he may be Mr. Joe in New Orleans, his African name is Johanna. He could make the scene of Casa Blanca, and Johanna would match the Humphrey Bogart character look with the slim built, the daze eyes, smoking a cig, but it's my scene now. Johanna is just a side kick, a background extra, for scene purposes. It's the perfect setting, from my view. not a martin sheen view anymore. ceiling fan still exists from above. but room is filled with smoke, along with jungle safari attire. An couple of palm trees or sago palms needed to finish off the look. An added bass player now in the mix, but not a "play it again", Sam piano player. but another happening player, an upright bass suited player silhouette supportive role painting that fits this storyline. a 1930s storyline. I'll have to ask Bart to pick up my 1930/40s grandmother's Ingrid Bergman Casa Blanca hat when he visits and feeds the cats tonight. that too will be a nice featured asset to the storyline wall. Bart could be a character in this story too. the younger Michael Douglas hasn't shaved in a couple of days. With his hat and glasses, he could join the club. the night club. although he's a great piano player and can play like Sam, better than Sam. Bart, character name Bogie, will be one of the strong/main characters. someone who falls for the girl, but has his own life to live.
the jumping storyteller deb
the jumping storyteller deb
a new friend
The walls are mostly bare. there is a safari hat and an African mask on the wall where i greet every day with the ceiling fan rotation just above on the high ceiling. no wonder i'm in the beginning scene of Acopolye Now. i'm in that scene every day. how depressing can that be. Bart went to my house to find some interest to add to the wall. now a man smoking joins Indiana Jones and the African. he fits in nicely with his colors added to the pale mint green wall background and the browns of the hat and mask. I'm going to call him "Mr. Joe". he reminds me somewhat of my neighbor. It's a painted figure on a picket fence piece of a slim man with a hat on, smoking a cigarette from his big lips, checking out 'who the hell is this Jones character and this African? and what about the girl on the bed, what is she crippled or something? what, she can't make it to the bathroom to do her duty? damn, i need to light up 'nother or something. lordly, lordly, it's goin' to be a long day! where's my drink?' maybe he rather hang out with the 3 cats instead of this chaos? but i need the company.
the lonely,
deb
the lonely,
deb
all over the place
i was sad all day. depressed. i cried. a lot. i haven't bathe since friday morning, dec 12, 2008.(that's not why i was crying) i started on saturday, dec 13. i brushed my teeth yesterday, first time since the accident. i didnt eat today either. wasn't hungry. and i did not take my pain killers. i wasnt in pain. i didnt move much today. i usually try to move a little in the bed. I only lifted my butt 4 times to put the pan underneath. yea, i'm a pee pan natural. and a poo one too. this was the first day that bart was gone nearly 5 or 6 hours to run his errands since i am able to manage to pee on my own. i did some email. and then the night started to settle in. i laid down and turned the light off. then it got scary. silhouettes of dark images that seemed to move in the night. but i stuck it out. i kept the light off. emailed in the dark. and then continued to lay in the dark and the "silence" crept in: the faucet drip, the cracking of the old house, the click of a unit turning on. the little sounds we ignore when faced with light, interaction, tv, and chaos. i just laid there, tears. sadness returning to me. i was doing so well when the injury first happened. i was "cracking" jokes about it. thinking that it would be for a couple of weeks or so. thinking it could have been worse. i could have landed wrong and been crippled for life. but i just fell into misery. i can't do much right now. i feel like i am in prison. I feel like a trapped animal (indoor pet) waiting for their master to come home. waiting for food and affection and attention. but i wasn't hungry.
depressed deb
depressed deb
dark experiences
it is dark and i'm alone. bart left to do his neglected errands since my injury. i'm in his house and i am not too familiar with it. my cats are not here. i turned off the light and laid down, of course on my back. it's scary. dark unfamiliar items come into existence and sounds u don't pay attention too all of sudden become loud when it is quiet. i'm scared. probably the best thing to do is to turn on the light. (bart doesn't have a tv) but i decided to write this email as it is happening, with only the computer used as my light. it's just my imagination that is getting the best of me. no one is inside, other than me at least that is what i think.
2 nights ago, bart had a music thing. we left the bedroom window and curtain open from the day and it ran into the night. he left around 9 or 10pm or so. he would be gone the most 2 hours. so i decided to read. imagine that. me read! i was reading not a scary novel at all. the light was on as well. so there i am reading and i hear the wind blow. okay, no problem, but then i heard foot steps and then the foot steps stopped. i know the difference b/w wind and footsteps. i heard footsteps! so i quit reading and called bart, but it went to his vmail. so i called the neighbor and asked him if he could check it out for me. meanwhile, i am crying and i can't move. i can't stand up to close the window or curtain. and this peeping tom can see me. and i can't reach to turn the light off. and then bart calls me and i tell him. well he rushes over here. and then i get another phone call from the neighbor saying they heard someone too and that they just called the police. so now i have a broom to close the curtain, and fuck the fresh air!
scared deb
2 nights ago, bart had a music thing. we left the bedroom window and curtain open from the day and it ran into the night. he left around 9 or 10pm or so. he would be gone the most 2 hours. so i decided to read. imagine that. me read! i was reading not a scary novel at all. the light was on as well. so there i am reading and i hear the wind blow. okay, no problem, but then i heard foot steps and then the foot steps stopped. i know the difference b/w wind and footsteps. i heard footsteps! so i quit reading and called bart, but it went to his vmail. so i called the neighbor and asked him if he could check it out for me. meanwhile, i am crying and i can't move. i can't stand up to close the window or curtain. and this peeping tom can see me. and i can't reach to turn the light off. and then bart calls me and i tell him. well he rushes over here. and then i get another phone call from the neighbor saying they heard someone too and that they just called the police. so now i have a broom to close the curtain, and fuck the fresh air!
scared deb
why the chosen
Acopolyse Now.
my mind wondered into that movie b/c sheen and i have the same movie set in the opening of that movie...bed, ceiling fan, 4 walls. ironically, it could fit my situation.
Somewhere in Time
a beautiful love story i saw years ago. bart's music sounded like it would fit into that kind of movie. maybe, i saw the movie 15 or so years ago. ironically, reeve plays in it.
dried-up deb
my mind wondered into that movie b/c sheen and i have the same movie set in the opening of that movie...bed, ceiling fan, 4 walls. ironically, it could fit my situation.
Somewhere in Time
a beautiful love story i saw years ago. bart's music sounded like it would fit into that kind of movie. maybe, i saw the movie 15 or so years ago. ironically, reeve plays in it.
dried-up deb
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)