Wednesday, February 3, 2010

LOST and wine ( A beautiful combo)

Wow. Thats really all I can say right now. Wow. This past year has had unbelievable highs and awful deep, deep lows. A year ago today I could not walk. I had no feeling on the surface of my left leg from my knee down, the pain was inside. I could not stand in the shower. I was out of work becuase of this. I was facing a very scary surgery. (no one knew I was scared shitless)I had a great job that I couldn't go to. I was with an amazing woman that I am still in love as I type this and I hope she knows it. I had a cane that all my friends signed that I have since burned and destroyed to forget the awful, crazy memories. I doubted my health. I hadnt done Bikram in nearly 6 months at this point. I was crying from pain and fear on a cold xray table while some short-statured doc stuck a needle into my spine. In a nutshell I wondered if I'd ever be like a had been in my prime. Healthy, happy.

Today- I walk EVERYWHERE. I work 13 hour shifts and leave work pain free. (knock on wood) I lovingly touch the 6 inch scar on my lower back that I have learned to love and adore really. I feel my calf just to remind myself that I have feeling. I do Bikram with reletive comfort at least twice a week. I have amazing friends that have stood by me giveing love and support. I am no longer with the amazing woman. I still have her in my life. I am proud to say she is still my best friend. The one I can say anything to. The one I still love immensely. Not changing anytime soon. (sorry future gfs. Deal with it. I do) Clemintine still eats likes a human, with 2 hands. Good girl. I still like pinot noir best.

I still have the same regrets. But alas... Now we can talk about them and grow.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Come on in...

The state I'm in... A good one :)

I was looking at my past posts and I loved the first song I blogged about. So...alas (because I'm not terribly original) here's another one to seize the moment's thoughts.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Stream of consciousness

Promised myself I would write whatever thoughts came into my mind and post regardless of what it said. So, enjoy the randomness. And please, give it a try. It feels good.

In a rut. A rough patch. (awful term) A well.....a well. Friends are losing jobs because the economy sucks. Out of work for another 2 weeks prolly. I need to work soon. Too much time on one's hands makes Case a boy. So yes, economy...I hate you at this present time. Going through a very difficult breakup with someone I love immensely. When it rains it pours. Hard. Cancels plans. Waiting for the back to heal. Good progress so far. Very happy with that. Enjoying much wine of late. I had missed it. Not that I had ever ingested alot of it but nonetheless, missed it. Keeping busy and staying healthy and positive. I believe that it is through times such as these that we ALL become more amazing, more important in the grand scheme of things. I have faith in myself, my friends who have lost jobs, my past flame. We are all great people and I know we deserve and will enjoy amazing things. Been writing alot. I have found it helpful. Its a private thing that somehow purges one of their frustrations. Never knew it worked that way. I am learning everyday. Schooled. Friends in town this eve. Excited. Yea for awful grammar. Yarn. Pomegranite. Gay friendly bartenders in Tribeca playing sad music all night. ha. Yeah I'll end it there :)

Monday, February 9, 2009

Why not?

My awesome girlfriend says that blogging for her is a great outlet. I believe her. I'm not a terribly emotional person. I don't often emote (is that how you spell it?) But hey, I'll give it a very brief shot.

The past month has been really tough. It's odd how one thing can really derail ya before you know it. I really like my life most of the time. I have a great family, great girlfriend, great friends and am finally slipping ever so nicely into my job. I'm finally seeing some sort of fruit of my labor. (that sounds lame i know) All in all, life is swell.

I have a fucked up back. Thats pretty much the brunt of it. I've always had back problems but it has steadily progressed to the point it is now. I wont bore you with the details, because frankly Im sick of thinking about it, but I need to have surgery. No biggie. Really. I am pretty good with this notion. The past month or so my back has declined at a crazy rate, surprising the hell outta me. Wait lemme back track a bit.

I knew something was wrong with my back for awhile. I have had crazy pain down my entire left leg for the better part of six months. With nubness in my foot. But it was always fairly tolerable. It hurt, and I suppose in private i probably bitched about it a little but all in all I could get around, work, play, 'play', go out occassionally. All the things I took for granted. But the pain progressed. I finally got it diagnostically looked at with an xray and MRI in Dec. Showed some 'not so great findings' but I was managing jsut fine. I started physical therapy, which I had never done before. Within 3 or 4 weeks of starting it I knew I felt worse, but I still diligently did them everyday, multiple times a day. I never wanted to end up like those sorry saps that come into my ER screaming with pain in their backs. So i did my therapy. But as I mentioned it definitely got worse and I definitely took notice of it.

An amazing attending Dr in my ER noticed i was in pain and asked me what was up. I had been keeping it to myself for the most part at work for fear it would effect my employment. I told him what was going on and he slipped me a sheet of paper with a Dr's name on it. 'Go see my friend and tell him I sent you.' What is this the maffia docs? I reluctantly went. The Dr told me that perhaps down the line I may need back surgery to correct my issue but to go for pain management in the meantime to facilitate healing with the phys therapy. I went. I had my first steroid injection into my spine almost 4 weeks ago. No help. Just more sore. and it kept on getting worse. Fast. Now I should mention that I am very against personally taking narcotics myslef. I don't like the fuzzy feeling so I lived on my Advil cocktail most days.

About a week and a half ago i was in Oregon vistiting my family and I aggravated my back. Let me clarify, I woke up and literally could not move without an elctrical muscle spasm in my left leg. I had never felt such pain. I VERY reluctantly asked my brother to bring me to an urgent care to get pain meds. The ones I HATE taking.

After spending my vacation on the couch I flew home. Very uncomfortably. By the way on a side note, F U to the bitch who would not move to my row (which had no one else sitting in it and amazing leg room, just so I could lay down to relieve the pain. F U lady. Anywhooo. I get home and immediately make a 2nd appt for another steroid injection. Sometimes, when they work, it takes multiple visits. I went in. I was at this point in a lot of distress which my DR noticed immediately. He instanly told me that he was going to recommend surgery. GREAT!! Lets go. Where do I sign? But first the 2nd injection. I wont go into the details except to say I feel the past few months of emotions/pain came forth upon me while on the cold table I was laying on. It really caught me off guard. Not expected. Injection didnt help.

I have an appt with the surgeon this Wednesday morning thank God. I can't work. I cant walk to the deli without....well you know. Its infuriating. It makes me feel inadequate. Its a feeling I am not familiar with. Its tough to get around. But I made myself a promise. I was going to let it affect me as little as possible. But unfortunately it affects me alot. But I am remaining positive.

I will no longer take anyting for granted. Anything. Walking. Jeez that sounds ridiculous but its true. I am sorta proud at myself for how well I've held together the past couple weeks but the cabin fever is high. Soon I will see the doc and all will be well. I am very confident. I will remain positive. Thnak you to all those who have expressed concern. It is HUGELY appreciated.

Besides, there are 1000's if not millions of people who have things much worse.

So yeah there it is. Just thought I'd take a page from Knight and put down my thoughts on paper (screen). I dont do that alot if ever. It feels good. I feel good. I feel better. Thanks hun. xoxxx mwah!

Oh and the surgery has a 96-98% success rate. SWEET!!!!

Friday, May 9, 2008


Wrote this about 3 1/2 years ago. Such a 'sad' lad. No longer very relevant, but I like it.

A large bulk of my 28 years on this planet have been inundated with something. Something that all of God’s creatures possess. Something that only the ultimately lucky can learn to respect and completely control. I personally don’t know any of the people. I’m not even sure that they exist, although I’ve been told that they do. Lucky bastards. The concepts I write of is fear. Fear, on some level of everything. Fear of success, fear of failure. Of living. Of dying. Of not being loved and of being loved too much. I don’t generally consider fear a dominating factor in my life, but as I reach into my pocket, the item I grasp brings forth memories. Memories cloaked in emotion. I feel that in my life I have learned to respect and control my own happiness, after all, I am generally considered a very happy person by most. But these objects brought forth, in a very subtle way, bring a sense of fear, something that most of us have no control over.

The first thing I touch are my keys. The keys to my domain. The things that unlock my little bit of heaven. The place I feel untouchable. My home. Our home. I have what I like to consider a great apartment. Top floor, tall ceilings. At 28 I’m not doing too bad. Status!! The concept of status creeps into my head. Something that I deserve to relish in, but won’t. Not yet. Something that my prominent father has tarnished for me. Something that reminds me of growing up around my dad. A man, whom when I was younger stood tall as a symbol of the dangers of wealth. A man who based and bases his life on status. Career, home, cars, everything, including his ‘redone’ trophy wife. He’s always had such an awful attitude about money and status. It consumed him until there wasn’t enough room inside of him to be the truly important man he should be. I have spent so long trying to be different than him.
You know what I want? I want to possess a huge key. A key that anyone can barrow at any time. A key that allows people freedoms in their lives. Understanding, honesty, love and above all else, the freedom of fear.

On this key ring is also a mailbox key. Question. Why is it so much smaller than all the other keys? Is the locking mechanism smaller, less complicated, less important? Just curious. Why is it that the things I want and need in the mail are always late, if they arrive at all? And the things I have no desire to even see aren’t only on time but usually show up early. The piece of paper that Con Edison sends me every month is always, 100 percent of the time, in my mailbox early. But the piece of paper I send back to them with payment is quite often lost or late. How is this possible? Why is it that the letter, from the only girl I’ve ever loved, “lost” in the mail? But the monthly notice for my college loans from 5 years ago are never, I repeat, never lost in the mail. 5 years and not once did it get lost on its’ way to me? That must be some sort of record.

But I’m not going to worry. The fear comes in small doses with these keys. Fear of a bill I don’t want to pay. Fear of the credit card application that, if I think about, I shouldn’t fill out. Fear of the social status I might someday attain. Ah... forget it. After all, they are just a set of keys, and they just happen to be in my pocket, mixed in with the lint.

Saturday, April 19, 2008


Bobby had always been warned about this. It was one of the first stories he can remember his mother telling him. Late at night, while trying to sleep, the drunken sounds of the colony elders could be heard through the thinning dirt walls. He would lay up for hours struggling to listen to their tales of bravery, death and survival. Mr. Johnson, the oldest and most decorated soldier could be heard almost perfectly. “I remember it like it was yesterday”, he would loudly grunt for the other eager men to hear. “To this very day I don’t know how I survived. But I did. And, as I stand here before you now, I can tell you quite honestly that no one should ever have to experience what I and countless others have gone through.” A tiny tear pooled at the bottom of one of his eyes, until it finally dropped to the floor. The other men could only look on with ah and respect.

So how was it that Bobby found himself in the exact same predicament? He had followed all the rules. He had heeded his mothers’ parental advice, or so he thought. “Don’t lag behind. Don’t show off. Work hard. And above all else, stay away from the boy!” Where did he go wrong? What missteps had his young, strong legs taken? He was being pulled every which way. It hurt. It hurt a lot. The two tiny metal tweezers the enemy held in each hand held tightly onto Bobby’s limbs. Bobby had seen this enemy before. The 5-year old little boy holding Bobby captive lived in a house an hours’ journey away. Bobby had been warned of the enemy’s previous attacks toward the colony. How, with one stomp from his size two, he had eliminated entire families. Also, there was the one time he had poured an entire glass of Sprite on the workers, ruining their entire day. Bobby had learned to fear the enemy with every fiber of his being. And now here he was, his two front arms being pulled one way and his hind legs being pulled another. How long could this torture last? Eventually something had to give. Either the strain on his arms would pull them right off, or his legs would go. He was sure of it. He was positive that, at the very least, he would be marred for life, if not killed. “It can’t end this way,” thought Bobby. The pulling. The strain. The twisting. He could hardly stand it. It was most definitely going to be one or the other. Any moment now it’s over!

And then . . . silence. Time seemed to stop for Bobby. No sound. No smells. No time. His feelers were feeling, but felt nothing. For a fleeting moment he thought he might be dead. “Am I dead?” said Bobby aloud. “No, I’m not dead.” And indeed he wasn’t. It was in that moment that Bobby knew there was a choice to be made. Not a choice necessarily made by him, but a choice nonetheless. Very shortly, either he was going to lose his arms or his legs. So, as time stood still, Bobby wondered which it would be. If given the option, which would he choose? Bobby thought.

Bobby’s short-lived life as an ant had been filled with a myriad of memories. True he had only been alive for a little more than 2 weeks now, but he had already lived a lifetime. Bobby loved his life. He loved his thousands of friends and his entire family. “Being an ant was awesome,” Bobby thought. And now, given the possibility of losing his limbs, Bobby was at a loss. As everybody knows, ants need their limbs. Bobby was proud of the strong legs that made him run faster than all of his other friends. He was even more proud of the muscular arms that helped him carry more dirt than anyone else in his class at school. How could he choose which would go?

He obviously needed his mighty legs. After all he was an ant and “we ants are runners” his mom always told him. He would be lost without them. Forget working with his friends during the day. Whoever has heard on an ant with no legs? He’d be the laughing stock of the colony. Bobby used to make two or three times as many trips from ant hill to ant hill as his buddies did. He was fast, and everybody knew it. In fact, some of the elders had taken note of Bobby’s incredible speed. Even Mr. Johnson had been over heard saying, “That boy has potential to outshine even me someday.” Bobby had heard him saying it one night as he lay awake in his bed. It brought a huge, proud smile to his face. If he lost his hind legs, that would surely slow him down. The thought of not being a quick little ant put pits in his stomachs.

Bobby thought about all the times he would play with his friends. It was generally known that he was a prankster. His pals always had to be on the lookout. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of one of Bobby’s jokes. Bobby’s favorite prank to pull on his friends took place while they worked during the day. Because Bobby was so fast he would zoom past the other ants at lightning speed, kicking up the earth behind him. They would have to duck to get out of the way of the flying dirt. He could remember one time in particular. Without looking he started to fling dirt behind him as he ran. He was running as fast as he could without a care in the world. He wasn’t looking where he was going and he ran right past a gathering of the colony elders covering them in mounds of dirt. Bobby stopped instantly realizing what he had done. An ant was never, ever permitted to show disrespect to the older ants. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around. Behind him he saw three men covered in dirt from head to toe. “Oh no, what have I done,” he thought. Work along the ant trail ceased as everyone’s focus turned onto the spectacle. The men started to dust themselves off, cursing under their breaths. It was then that Bobby realized the magnitude of his mistake. The last ant to dust himself off was none other than Mr. Johnson. Bobby swallowed hard. He was a goner for sure. Mr. Johnson slowly looked left, then to the right. After he was sure he had the attention on everyone, he looked Bobby straight in the eye, gave a slight grin, then a wink, and went on with his business. That instant, Bobby became a hero. That exchange between old man and young boy sent Bobby into a whole new level of anthood. All because of his strong legs. And now, in this moment, he could lose them forever.

But he could just as easily lose his arms. His arms that carried all the dirt, leaves and other debris. “What good would I be without being able to carry things,” Bobby wondered. He used his arms everyday. He would wipe his eyes when he woke up in the morning. He would fix his antenna when they fell in his face. After a long hard day working, he would come home to his friends and give everyone high fives, congratulating each on a fine day’s work. Without arms he couldn’t do this. Also he would have to eat using only his mouth. His mother would never allow this. His legs were important, but it was the little things in life that he would not be able to do if he lost his arms. No more high fives. No more hand shakes. No more arm wrestling with the other boys. (He was this close to beating the strongest kid in class) No more blowing kisses to his sweetheart. No more hugs. He loved his family and friends so much. If he couldn’t hug them it would destroy him. His mother's arms held him when he felt sick, or just when he was tired, and he would hug her back. Not any more. The thought made Bobby wail with fear inside.

Bobby decided it was the little things he would miss most. If given the choice, he would choose to lose his legs. The legs that propelled him past his friends and impressed the “higher ups”. But the mere thought of not hugging his family tore him apart. He would never be able to touch anything or anyone ever again. Bobby started to cry. He cried harder and bigger tears than he ever had before.

Back to the moment. Bobby was being pulled and stretched. Through the struggle, for an instant he was able to look down toward the ground. And there, below him, he saw the most glorious sight he had ever seen. Standing on the ground under him was his entire family. There was his mom and his dad. He could easily see all his brothers and sisters. Just behind his parents he saw Mr. Johnson. They were all screaming in terror. “Let him go you monster,” they yelled with passion, tears streaming down. The looks on their faces of love and admiration overwhelmed Bobby. He couldn’t stand the thought of not touching them. This was the moment. The decisions he made right now would dictate the rest of his entire life. Bobby tugged his legs. He could feel the force on his limbs. “Please not my arms!” Bobby screamed. At that moment, the clouds, which had been threatening all day, opened up. An enormous clap of thunder boomed, accompanied by drops of rain. “How fitting,” Bobby thought. Bobby looked up at the enemy. The boy was becoming soaked from the falling rain. It was like something out of a movie. It was the final battle between good and evil occurring in the middle of a storm. The rain fell harder now. The enemy’s mother could be heard calling the boy to come inside. A look of disappointment filled the boys face. So, at that moment of desperation, the boy had no choice but to abandon his torture. He dropped the tweezers incarcerating Bobby and ran to his home. Bobby fell to the Earth. Just as the Sprite that the boy had dropped on the workers ruined their day, the rain falling on the boy had ruined his. Instantly, Bobby was surrounded by the other ants. Hugs from his family bombarded him. He looked down to see that he had been spared of losing any limbs whatsoever. He had lived to tell the tale of survival. He felt as he had never felt before. Through the hugs and kisses from his family he quickly caught a glimpse of Mr. Johnson. Mr. Johnson, the oldest and wisest of the colony. The ant that Bobby had looked up to his entire two weeks of life. Bobby didn’t know what he would find in Mr. Johnson’s eyes. Mr. Johnson could say nothing, nothing at all. He just stared at Bobby, gave him a grin and a wink, and went on with his business.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

But where were his shoes?

Ahhh... The A train. I love it. Love it. Express all the way from 125th to 59th. It's a beautiful thing really. It gets me to class really fast. So, why weren't we moving? We had been stopped at Columbus Cir for about 1 minute. (A lifetime in the train during rush hour) I did notice some lady screaming on the platform, but over the volume of my IPOD I didn't know what she was yelling. I figured she was pissed about the delayed train as was I. I removed my headphone and heard further screaming. 'Is anyone a doctor or a nurse??!!' Now, I'm not...yet. God willing I'm about a month and a half away from being an RN. I exit the train and run all the way to the other end of the platform and enter the car. Male, 35-40, African-American, fit, dressed in a business suit briefcase by his side sprawled out flat. CPR. Some stranger with an accent (British perhaps) and I. People screaming for EMT. No pulse, not breathing. Nothing. Where are his shoes? CPR for about 5 mins till NYPD arrive. (The only reason I know this is cause I happened to look up and saw about 5 of them watching me) He's dead. I know this. He was just on his way to work. Unknowing. Family? Friends? EMS arrives and takes over. One EMS guy pulls me aside to ask what happened. 'He was dead when I got here.' MI? Aneurysm? (sp?) Who knows.

I clean my mouth with an alcohol swab I had in my backpack. Looked at the man who was no more. Give the cop my info, etc. Where the hell are his shoes? We pull him to the center of the car. Still no shoes. WTF??!? Never to be worn by this stranger again.