on men, employment, getting rid of things and west nile virus

..more stuff I wrote a little over a month ago on one of my many myspace profiles.



July 17, 2007 - Tuesday
I'm already wanting to start deleting. I am resisting.
My only hope to not delete is to lock myself out. And then start fresh again on a new account. What, what's wrong with that? Who says you have to stay on the same darn page for centuries? I don't know how people do that.
Think about it. What would it be like if I had ALL of my thoughts on one profile. The reader would end up SO CONFUSED. It's better to stay organized. Dreams on this one. Real life stuff on that one. Turbulent and emotional letters containing everything you ever wanted to say but never did, on another one. And then a short and sweet one just saying the facts, on yet another. (This one you list under your maiden name. For the people who haven't talked to you in 20 years. I mean, come on now, do you really want THOSE folks knowing everything?)
And now, here's this one...what was supposed to contain my official documented journey back to society. But I can't do it. I can't stick to the subject. I am trying. But I cannot bring myself to think about such dull matters.
I'd rather tell you about some more things that happened to me that you probably wouldn't believe, but I get such a kick out of telling them anyway...such as, the time I was about to crash right into an 18-wheeler, not even a spare second in which to scream, so I just looked away and prepared for the crash...but next thing you know, I'm on the other side of the truck. No, see, you wouldn't believe me if I told you about that.
Nor would you believe me if I told you about the dream that came to me in the middle of the night in '05, that showed me of something terrible to come, in vivid, terrifying detail, and it came to pass, exactly as it was shown to me, a year later. It involved my daughter, and something she did. But because of the dream I was able to understand what really happened, on an unseen level, and pray accordingly. You wouldn't believe me if I told you about it. Who can I tell?
See, I want so bad to share the miraculous. But just as soon as I go there, I get all self-conscious, and start deleting.
I think I am going to have to go ahead and lock myself out of here. And start over. To save what I've written. Because my words are all I have right now. I have to save them.
Maybe the next account will be anonomous. I'll try it and see how I do with it. If I get lonely, and want my friends to come read again, I'll put it under my real name. Or not.




If you're from the 80's, just the sound of those three words will warm your heart. Black Leather Jacket. How could you have gotten by without one? And to wear your boyfriend's, oh I can't even go there. It always smelled like smoke and had all kinds of hidden treasures in the pockets. Notes. A lighter. A gum wrapper. A condom. A condom wrapper.
The best black leather jacket I ever owned was a tiny, cropped little thing, with a few silver chains here & there. It was really nice and really expensive. I didn't buy it, though.
In 1989 I worked at a music store. One day, my co-worker was like, "Amy! Look at those crazy guys! Oooh, look at the dark haired one!" I turned and observed these guys that she thought were so cute. Nah. No big deal. So I kept working, as my co-worker waltzed on over to them, and in her flirtiest voice imaginable, said, "Hey there, can I help you with anything?"
When their friendly responses came out in an Australian accent, she just about lost it. Got all giggly and did her very best to flirt. I watched this pitiful scene from the corner of my eye. What a fool she made herself to be. And then I noticed, the dark-haired one was staring at me. And that's how it all started.
Turns out, these guys had saved up money for two years to come and tour America. They started off in California and were working their way east. This was the very first stop they made in Dallas. Mr. Suave from Down Under then said, "I like your hair. It's different." My hair was totally whacked off at the time, sort of in a slanted cut. Almost shaved on one side, then slanted around and stopped at my chin on the other side. Turns out he was a hairdresser. Which I found hillarious. I tried to convey to him that here in Texas, if you like women, don't go telling them you're a hairdresser. He didn't get it.
So anyway, he then informs me that he "Really wants someone to show him Dallas. And would I like to go out with them?"
Well, I sort of did. One look at their vehicle should have been enough to deter me. It was a long, olive-green station wagon from, say, 1974. All beat up and quite frightening to look at.
My co-worker wasn't able to go that night, so I called up my friend Tiffany. I said, "Hey, stop what you're doing and get ready, I met these crazy Australians and we're all going out tonight."
So when we get to Tiffany's house, I ran up and knocked on her door. She opened it cautiously and peered out. She saw this ...beast of a vehicle. And then she saw these two long-haired crazy smiling laughing stoned guys sitting in it. Waving at her. She looked at me and said, "OMG Amy, I'm not getting in that car!!! It's AMERICA'S MOST WANTED!!!!" I laughed and talked her into it.
So anyway, for the next few weeks, I was a Dallas Tour Guide. Guess that's all I should say about that.
But before they left, the dark-haired one wanted to buy me something. A present. He insisted! So, ok, I thought long and hard about it. I decided that what I wanted the most was a new black leather jacket.
So we went to the West End and he got me the cutest one ever. I loved it. I cherished it. And then these guys left. But not without first dragging me off to a payphone, calling his parents up, all the way in Australia, and saying, "Hi Mum! I'm in Texas!" And then he turned to me and said, "here, would you mind saying hello to my mum? And can you say "ya'll?"
I'm not kidding. He really asked me that. So I did. In my sweetest Texas twang, I greeted his parents. They were dying laughing for some reason.
So I kept my jacket for a few years. But in '91 I became a mom, and stopped dressing a certain way. The jacket was stored away in a closet.
One day in '94 I saw an ad in a magazine for an organization of Christian bikers. I know, hot, right?? I read all about what they do and looked at the pictures of these guys. Scruffy and bearded and rough and lots of leather. *sigh*
And then it hit me. That's what I can do with my jacket! Rather than keep it stored away, I can donate it! So I packaged it all up, and put a little note with it, saying, "Maybe there's somebody you know who needs a new jacket..." And I sent it off.
About three months later, I get a letter in the mail. It had the CMA logo on the bottom. It was typed. It was an official thank you note from them!!! It said, "Dear Amy, thank you for donating your jacket. The timing was incredible. One of our members has a wife who has decided to start riding with him, and she needed a jacket. They were unable to afford one, and then, yours appears in the mail. We knew instantly that this was for her. What's more, she's a very petite woman, and your jacket was the perfect size. Thank you, and God Bless!"
Yup. I was floored. It made my day. When Tommy got home, I showed him the letter, and he was like, "What is he thanking you for? A jacket?" I realized that I had forgotten to tell him what I did. So I told him, and he goes, "What on earth? You just sent your leather jacket off to strangers?" And then he remembered where the jacket came from, and was like, "oh, nevermind! Good! Glad you finally got rid of it..." hee hee... I get away with so much.
Ok, so the story doesn't end here. A few years ago, I found myself in a situation where I really needed some prayer backup. In a major way. Sometimes I meddle in spiritual matters, no, not in the dark side, but you know, pray for people heavily, and sometimes end up tangled up in all kinds of warfare. This particular situation I really needed help with, but seeing as how I was single, and nobody to pray with me, I asked God to send me help. Sometimes, you just need a big gruff man to help you pray. But I didn't know anybody (still don't.), so I said, "God, I need backup here!" And then...I remembered the jacket, and the CMA. A whole pack of praying scoundrels on wheels. So I sent them an email.
I told them that several years back, I had donated my jacket. That I was glad it came at a good time. Blah blah blah. Then I got to my point.
I told them I had a prayer request. I gave them the low down on the situation at hand. I said, "please help...."
And they did. I wish I could go into further detail here. But I'd get busted. But it's just a little something I did.
To this day, when I see the CMA on the highway, with their black leather jackets, all rumbling around, I get covered in chills. Man those men are HOT!!!!





I promised myself that I wouldn't talk about the opposite sex, but seeing as how normal people don't remain single forever, they actually do the right thing and join forces with somebody, then that makes the topic a practical one, right? So the topic of men DOES fall into the category of life's basics and things that normal people do.
I just try to avoid the subject because when I go there in my head, I get lost in the dark woods. Because I am so pathetically inept in this area.
I reflect on my six years of marriage. Tommy should have known from the very start that I'd be a handful. When, before our wedding, he sweetly asked me to wear my hair down.
Because of this, I wore it up. Just because of the principle of the thing.
Hopefully I have come a long way. I wouldn't know, because I have not participated in a normal relationship since then. And that was a decade ago.
I hear all these women talk about "what they want in a man." This cracks me up.What, are men like menu items, custom-prepared just for us? Moreover, I'm a Christian. Yes I do take God's Word at face value. Yes I do believe that woman was created from man. And, although this is difficult to swallow, I accept the fact that we were created as man's "help mate." I cannot stand that term. Help mate? Help with what? The term "mate" is even worse. Makes me think of animals blindly drawn together and procreating.
Anyway. I don't have a problem with any of this, at all. Like I tell my sister, when you choose marriage, you choose that role. Go with it and do it and enjoy it. Let him lead. Crazy women, all trying to take the reins. Pure stupidity! Why would you want that burden in your life? Why?
I have been holding on to my own reins and my own team of horses for a decade. And I have driven myself into every muddy ditch along the road.
I feel bad for men, always having to make the practical and common sense type decisions, such as, where to live, etc etc. All the real world stuff falls on their shoulders and they have to figure it all out. I would never want to be a man.
Women have it made. Especially me. Because no matter how pleasant and peaceful I may be, going along with all things practical, there's nothing that can penetrate the inner workings of my head. My thoughts and ideas and words, all mine. It's like my own claimed territory that nobody can even attempt to set foot on. So you see, I aim for a healthy balance. I'll do whatever makes the most sense, on the surface. But don't touch my mind or the way I think. And don't even attempt an argument with me if it has to do with God.
My ex-husband can testify to this. He said that the most frustrating thing in the world is when I get my mind set on something. That there's no negotiating, and I see to it that it happens, no matter what. He said I am impossible. But he was laughing when he said it, so that should tell you something: I am the good kind of headache.
So now that I fully admit that I'm no feminist, and I know pretty much who I am, I stop and try to think like the nutty women who seem to think they know what they want. I think, "if I had my pick, what type of man would I choose?"
Can't do the bad boy anymore. Too much chaos and trouble. Can't do the older guy/I'm your Daddy thing either. Makes me nervous and they never listen to you. And if they do, they just sit there and smile. Why not go ahead and pat me on the head and throw me a bone while you're at it. I'm nobody's pet. Can't do the interesting musician/intellectual guy anymore. They're off on another mental planet that's even further away from earth than MY planet.
I want solid man who lives on Planet Earth. Who is strong enough to be with me but not overbearing. He needs to be able to listen. I think at this point in time, to request a man who actually understands is really pushing it. So for now I'll settle for simply being able to listen. Or not. Maybe that's what blogging is for?
The most important thing is, he can't take me too seriously or get frustrated too easily with me. Not hang on my every word and take issue with it. Because I will never shut up, and I will never, EVER modify myself or beliefs to fit in with a man's perspective. I would very much like to be matched with someone who it all just...flows. Fits together, with the greatest of ease. Where we can both just be ourselves, and that's more than enough. I get him. He gets me. Period.
Then we live and laugh and love and walk off into the sunset together.
Don't laugh. I know what I'm doing. I am, contrary to all outer appearances, the smartest girl in the world.




Oh, by the way, notice these blogs are comment-free? That's because I am currently in my "one-way street" mode. This means that all I have to say is the final word, and other people's thoughts would only be a distraction.




I wonder how much I've written in my lifetime. If I would have saved any of it, maybe I'd know. I can't save anything I write. Makes me feel clogged up. Same feeling I get when I've done a painting, and it just sits there, on the wall. I don't think our own creations are meant to remain with us, whether it's art, or music, or writing, or even your kids. Everything that comes from you is supposed to go through you and out into the world. If I hold on to things, I get depressed.
I've only met one person in my life who has the urge to get rid of things worse than me, and that's a lady I worked with several years ago. She was known for being very emotional and tempermental, but this took the cake: I walked into the break room one day and saw one of the chairs...just....sitting on top of the trash can. One of the chairs that we used at the table. Every day. To eat.
The chair looked very sad, as if someone had tried to throw it away, but discovered at the last minute that break room chairs do not fit into trash cans, and just gave up. And left it there, perched on top of the trash can.
I was standing there, observing this, wondering who on earth did this, and why. The chair was not damaged in any way. Then, in she walks. My coworker. I said, "Will you look at this! There's a chair in the trash!" And she said, "Yeah, I did that. I hate that chair."
I looked at her, thinking she must be kidding. I laughed. But no, she was dead serious. She then said, "It's ugly!"
I looked at it more carefully. Maybe she had a point. After a careful observation, I decided that this chair was no more ugly than all the rest in the break room. I said, "Um, that's one of the chairs that we use!" She then started cussing and said something to the effect of, I can pull it out if I want to, she didn't care one way or the other...
I remember this woman and think, thank goodness, there's somebody out there with a worse compulsion to throw things away than I have. At least I don't get rid of other people's things.
Well actually that's not true. But I can't tell it here, because in the rare event my ex-husband gets desperately bored and stumbles upon this blog, he might see it, and then I'd be busted. I can say this: it has to do with family heirloom silverware, brought over here around the turn of the century. It was hidden away in an old laundry hamper, wrapped in old sheets. In the garage.
And I had a garage sale one time. And donated everything left over. But I swear, I know nothing about that blue hamper with the folded white sheets that was sort of unusually heavy for a mere hamper with sheets in it.*
But about getting rid of things, I really do want to stop. And I want to stop getting rid of everything I create. No, I don't want to be normal, just a little more mature. But only in the areas that matter to me.
Most people have the problem of holding on too much, and have trouble letting go....but I have the opposite problem. I suppose both are equally bad.

*it was an accident, I promise.





Wait. About work...
What on earth do I do? Go back to selling vitamins? Do I even remember what all the vitamins and herbs do? At this point, no. Or, I do know, but there's like a ten second delay, and then it comes to me. Would this be ok with the customers?
That's also how it is when I log in to anything. It's the password that gets me every time. I sit there and wait...and then it comes. I've discovered that if I just relax, and don't get frustrated, it comes a few seconds sooner.
I was thinking, maybe I should start off doing something really, REALLY easy, just at first. Like being a cashier again. You know, there is nothing like the sweet peace of mind one gets as a cashier. Seriously. There have been many times in my life that I've relied on cashier work to get me by, and it's always like a little fun vacation job. You always have the funnest co-workers. Never mind the fact I'm usually old enough to be their mother. And it's all so easy, and fast-paced, and all you need to do is smile. And scan. And before you know it, the day is through. Your feet hurt, but you can sleep in peace. There's no need to toss and turn over work-related issues, simply because there are none.
Back to my career options. I could work at a little vitamin place that's just right around the corner, I actually worked there a few years ago. But it's a little awkward, because I sort of set the manager up with my mom, and it kind of worked, and then they started dating. But he's my friend too. Guess that makes it even stranger. Well, not really. Everybody's all one big family anyway, right?
It's the middle of the night and I can already see where this blog is going. Downhill.
There's a Wal-Mart nearby. I've been in it twice. The first time to use the bathroom when I was sitting around talking with this guy. What an embarrassing night that was. Could hardly keep my eyes open. Had the conversational skills of a tree stump. (me, not him.) I wasn't really prepared to grace a man with my presence at the moment. Not at all. And what's worse, I was wearing a sports bra. Yes. You heard me. It's all I had! Because I threw out everything remotely uncomfortable when all this first happened. So what's strange is, the second time I went in to that Wal-Mart was to redeem myself just a few nights later. I called up my friend AJ and was like, "You need to help me. I need a normal, pretty bra." So she picks me up and I got something cute. Was quite proud of my self. I think it was at this very moment that I subconsciously decided to come back to reality. It has just taken a while to manifest.
And then I showed her how to really get rid of something you don't want. Right there in the car, I pulled off my sports bra, and threw it out the car window. Into the Wal-Mart parking lot. I never want to see it again, ever, as long as I live.
I am supposed to be discussing serious matters. Work. But see, the way I see it is, all this thinking I do IS work. It's my kind of work. I do all the hard thinking, and report back to people who don't have time to. See? I think it works out beautifully.
I still don't know what I will do. Whatever is easy and doesn't make me feel like an idiot. And it has to be nearby. That leaves the vitamin place, and Wal-Mart. There's also a book store, that might be a good option. Whatever I choose I'm sure it will be nice. Just to feel like a part of the world again. To see other people every day. To talk to people in person and not online. To do something constructive.
All kidding aside, I don't think I'll ever complain about my job again. It's a really good thing to have.






First off, I promised that this page would stay on the subject of everything practical. Common sense stuff. Health. Money. Car. Job. Basically all the real-world stuff that I haven't really minded putting on the back burner for a while.
I really love my neurologist, Dr. B. She's so nice. She treats me like an intelligent human being, not just another patient on the conveyer belt that runs through the medical system. (I'm going through a state-funded hospital, need I say more?) So today, I'm sitting here thinking, maybe I should find out a few specifics to my situation, things I've been meaning to ask her, such as, 1) was the west nile detected in my blood, or my spinal fluid, or both? and 2) were just antibodies discovered, or was there live virus found as well? and 3) why on earth am I being sent to the neurosurgeon? ...I think these are all valid questions, mainly the one about my blood. I really need to know if my blood is funky or not. Because I'd kinda like to go to the dentist. But I'm SURE not going if I have to be like, "Oh, yes, excuse me...you might want to use an extra layer of gloves...and a mask..." How embarrassing would that be??
So I call the neurologist's office this morning, and find myself on hold for about fifteen minutes. Finally I get to talk to a human. This is the official transcript of our conversation:
"Neurogkfjgdkgk"
(me) "What?"
"Neurogkjfgkn7&3"
(me) "Is this the neurology department?"
"YES".
(I just don't understand these people who answer the phone at this hospital. It's worse than a fast-food drive through.)
(me) "Yes, I'd like to leave a message for Dr. B, please."
"Who?"
"Dr. B....I'm a patient of hers..."
"She isn't here anymore."
(silence)
(me) .."She...isn't there??"
"No. She left."
"Left? Well, she's my doctor!!"
"She graduated."


(silence, processing all of this, silence...)
"MA'AM? Are you there?"
(me) "Well, I have some questions for her! I need to talk to her."
"What's wrong?"
I quickly tried to explain my questions, but before I could finish, she cuts me off and goes,
"YOU HAVE WEST NILE VIRUS??? HONEY YOU NEED TO GET TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM!!"


*sigh*
I said, "No, no, NO!!!!" Listen to me!!! I have been treated by Dr. B for months...I'm fine...I just have some questions!!"
"Well when are you coming back in?"
"My next appointment is August 7."
"I think you have a new doctor. Yes, you do....His name is Dr. C."

so here we go again. Will I have to re-introduce myself to this Dr. C? Will he want to order more tests? Even if he does, I'm not doing it. In fact, as soon as I got off the phone from the neurologist's office, I decided to take advantage of the situation. There was an EMG ordered for me to have done next month. A horrendous procedure. But after hearing that Dr.B is gone, I just called up the lab and was like, "Yes, this is such and such, I'd like to cancel the EMG scheduled for ......" They were like, "OK."
Hopefully the EMG was just a bad idea of Dr. B, and the new doc won't think of that.
Oh, I did manage to leave a message for my new doc, and he's supposed to get back with me next week to answer my questions.
The funny thing is, I haven't really cared until now. I just haven't wanted to know the specifics. It's all been like a dream, and I've just been passively floating along...
But after hearing the good news the other day, that it's just my memory that's bad, and not my whole brain, I am overjoyed, to say the least. My energy is through the roof. But nothing to do with it, except write.