I finally broke down and started telling people about my travails. I chickened out and sent emails—it was much easier than having 20 tear-stained conversations that could have no conclusion; makes it easier for the person at the other end to react in whatever way they feel appropriate without having to deal with me, too. I suspect that there will be a flood of replies murmuring the right things, then their duty is dispensed with. In the final analysis, it frankly really is my problem, and I have spent the last five years cutting ties and closing myself off from most of these same people. Who knows-- I could very well be surprised at the response.

I'm feeling a little depressed today. I should say honestly that I'm a lot depressed. I feel desperately alone, and yet as I wrote my missives, I thought of each person and how they would react. I know in my heart that these people have cared about me at some time and still do, in some way. It just doesn't mesh somehow. The battle that I have to fight doesn't make any sense unless I have some reason to want to fight it. I have to keep toting up them and going over them again and again.

I remembered when my mother died, how betrayed I felt. I wasn’t done with her yet. There were things that I needed her for and still things to share. For the last nine years that feeling of being orphaned was something that kept me from just sticking my head in an oven when it got bad. If I felt like that at 35, over something I had not control over, then what would it do to Chris—a mere child?

I have to learn to want to live for myself. I know that wanting to live for my family will provide a huge impetus for me, but it's not enough.

I used a phrase in a story, about the gray internal landscape of a character's mindset—and a reader whom I know and respect commented on that very phrase. It was a feeling that I know well. I spent years not having any hope, nothing to look forward to but decades and decades of gray drudgery. The fun, the zest, the essence of life had dribbled out of me. That veil, the black pavilion is slowly floating over me again. Indeed, was it ever truly gone?

Oh, this is getting depressing. I discovered that the radio tuner that wasn't working when I left Houston is perfectly fine now, and I am pulling in the classical station run at UALR. The Pittsburgh Symphony played their final concert for the season last night and the program was Mozart, Messiaen and Beethoven. The conductor was a last minute replacement, and he had to sort of fill in the program; and he gave great thought into placing a modern piece in with the 9th. He said that both of the composers were voicing their opinions on the universe, raging against it in a way. Beethoven's 9th was a more broad, open, humanist approach to the view of the universe; while Olivier Messiaen's piece was a more private, intimate conversation with God—but they complemented each other in a way that made you listen to each piece more carefully. (Paraphrased)

"Mozart, of course—you never have to apologize for Mozart."

I have to agree. I know that my classical education was sparse as compared to others in my family. Perhaps I'm being a little silly, but: the odd confluence of Beethoven and Mozart, along with the conductors' comments on the program on the heels of my repeated watching of "Immortal Beloved" and "Amadeus" really pinged me. It was what possessed me to turn the radio on last night. I heard the Mozart piece, #35-the Haffner, on the way home from the office (another late night doing diagnostics on the VPN server); and I couldn’t bear to miss the piece the conductor discussed in length and to hear the whole 9th!! It was what I needed. This morning I got the "Morning" suite from Peer Gynt, another favorite from decades past, and Bach's piano piece, "Ave Maria". The only piece I ever learned on the piano.

I have to drag myself out in the rain, and go to the store and start cleaning house. The weird thing about the rain here is that it sort of just drizzles on for HOURS. Not like So.Tx where it would drop 3 inches in a hour and go away. This freeking rain started last night and it's still just pouring. Yeeech.

The only way to describe the news from the doctor after my first visit is guardedly not pessimistic. He thinks if it was cancer it would be a very very slow growing type, since the MRI actually shows the lesions as being smaller than the Ultrasound did. Meaning what ever they are, they haven’t grown at all in 3 months. So that is sort of good news. I still go for a biopsy and a chest CT—I had tuberculosis as a child and I guess they want to get a look at it, and do the biopsy under CT as well. Susie is coming in for a visit: yay!!

It was kind of scary at first at the lab in the oncologist. I followed the receptionist to the lab, and the room was literally filled with blood drawing stations, and they were chock full of people. Lots of old, sick people that looked like they were going to keel over at any second. But they seemed to be moving them out of there fairly fast. One woman came in and sat across from me, she had a port in her chest, like my mom had, so that it would be easy to get blood and give medication. She was not too much older than me, and she seemed in good spirits. She asked lots of question, talked to the lab folks, and greeted them by name, commented on hair cuts—from the 6 inch thick file that was sitting next to her, I gathered she was a very familiar face. But the fact that she wasn’t droopy and depressed was a good sign. At least I’m taking it that way.

And the woman who took my blood was absolutely first class good. One poke, got the vein, didn’t blow it and it bled beautifully. I was very impressed and I told her so. It’s always been such an ordeal in the past. I got stuck three times and STILL have bruises from where the MRI tech missed!

Dr. Nair is very nice, very young looking. He managed to answer all my questions, and was appreciative that I had done some research and brought the MRI films with me. All of the staff was great. Devon is Nair’s lab guy, and he introduced himself, and then Andrea as she came in, the LPN. Andrea mentioned that Dr. Wigewardane and Dr. Nair had been chatting about me—this really is a small town, after all…

Oh, and a funny point to high light that. David (the neighbor) mentioned that he had been checking on me at work! He had bought a ticket from one of the ladies in the travel depsrtment, and he asked about me--- the one that moved here from Texas. They said oh yes, that was Shelley. So, I’m standing there truing to figure out HOW he knew I worked at World Wide Travel, until I couldn’t stand it, I asked. Angel, the neighbor between us had already told him all the scoop about me! LOL so, you see, he must be quite the busy body, or else he’s interested. Wouldn’t that be fun?
I’m still at work, nearly 9PM. I have a fabulous project that I can’t believe I got to get my hands on. They had to install a new Virtual Private Network Server for a client in December, and since we have it, we are going to start migrating people over to it. I get to design the user groups, got to define the Subnet for the TCP/IP address we’re using and then install all of it in there and create the client packages that I’ll send out to the users. Very exciting stuff. I also got to show off some of my Novell skills too. There is a user that has a Novell client to log into a specific subset of printers, and I had to explain how it worked to her, so she could log in.

It’s been a long day and I think the animals are dying for me to show up with food, so I’m going to hit the store and maybe get something for dinner.

Finally, back to Today, with the blog set the way I want it--took 2 days of them being down, or me being occupied in other frippery. I made a little web page yesterday that made me happy-- bimbo girl. The wav file I find so hilarious. I've had it for years and I managed to keep it through 2 crashes and the move. I wanted to think about something innocuous for a while.

I'm off to see Dr. Nair today, armed with the research I did last weekend. I'm sure they will want to draw a ton of blood and interrogate me. I'm feeling a little resigned today. In one way I have a very good idea of the terrible time I'm in for, but on the other hand is that such a great role model? The outcome was less than satisfactory. I'm in somewhat better health all around, and 20 years younger. For a Stratos-dweller that inhabits the land of the clouds, this cold dose of reality is a sickening shock.

And I have to do something about car insurance and the like. Chris's little adventures this year moved us into county mutual insurance and it's over 3 grand a year now. I have to register the car here too, what a disaster. Is it me, or are all the events of the world conspiring to make my life as difficult as possible?

I had a chat with S Tuesday about the blog. I had been seized by the need last weekend, but by Tuesday I was regretting it. But, talking with her always seems to clarify things, (they don't call her Doctor for nuthin!) the need to vent is real, and so I'll do it.

I also met one of my neighbors on Tuesday, David Cardwell. He's good looking, intelligent, great sense of humor, employed in a decent job, single and not gay. I'm trying to figure out what is WRONG with him, as I find him nearly perfect! He runs a pirate radio out of his house; he is a musician and seems to have a broad range of interests. One of which is his 7-year old daughter whom I have seen, but we’ve not met. He said he was looking forward to the summer to get out of the house so maybe I'll bump into him—which means I have to get out of the house more often…. Eek!

Time to go to work. Promised a lady in Atlanta that I would come in a little early and have her help me repair some drivers that have been left uninstalled since she had a nasty crash in December.

from 25MAR02

Woke up this morning thinking about the little aches and pains I had ignored over the last half year. Prone to ulcers, so I ignored those little twinges here and there, because I was like, ya know, working 70 hours a week trying to keep my head above water after the 9/11 thing. Could have been nothing—still don't really know anything except: lesions too numerous to count worrisome for subcapsular metastatic disease.

So, maybe research isn't such a great thing. I've gone down the line of thought that celiacs are more likely to develop T-cell lymphomas in the stomach that are resistant to radiation; and frankly that's pretty scary. Hard to treat and already spreading out to other organs.

And poor Chris. I haven't the guts to tell him. I will of course eventually, but I think that in person is better than over the phone. I guess I'll be making that trip to Houston after all. I know my mom didn't have to tell me—she finally succumbed to the bile poisoning and was admitted to the hospital, so it was like a production. We would all come and visit here instead of the house, it was a little exciting in a sick way.

But I recall the time spent with her as she was dying, I should have been there more, but I know she was grateful for when I was there. Jesus, how awful is that, to have rationed out visits so that she was fucking grateful for when I was there? Sounds bad. It was bad. I couldn’t bear to see it. This proud brilliant person was whittling away to a handful of skin and bones until finally it just stopped. What a blessed relief, what a wound it rent in my soul that still bleeds.

I was also thinking this morning that I should go and have a picture taken now, this week soon. While I still have the long hair that I've been cultivating, and some resemblance to me. And I really need to crack down and organize some pictures around here too.

On a side note: A in her jacket and cigarette reminds me of my mother, painfully so. The attitude, the willingness to assume a persona and carry it off. I cried when I saw that picture, it was that part of my mother that was my favorite.

Another side note. I' thinking like a 12-stepper. I was thinking of my old friend J, and how I should probably finally write to her and explain my sudden and total disappearance. I think I will if it comes down to the worst. I guess I'll give her the boxes and boxes of SF convention memorabilia I saved over the last 20 years. Won't she be thrilled? My last revenge.

But I have to dry up the water works, and go to work. That's a subject for another day.

from 24MAR02

This is the beginning of a journey.

The road will be long and torturous, filled with pitfalls, pratfalls and waterfalls. There will be side trips, too—down the long dusty hallways of time, and perhaps a flight of fancy on occasion. I know I walk it alone, but it's my hope that I can con you into keeping me company here and there. I also do not know how long this road is, either.

A need to blog has seized me at a vulnerable moment. Is it hubris? Probably. A pitiful attempt to connect and share? Definitely. But after all I am only human, despite my decades of trying to overcome that frailty.

It is not a new concept to me, I had run across blogs here and there in the past 5 years, and I found them all most unappealing and ridiculous. But a few weeks L mentioned a specific blog that had raised some furor, and I went to investigate: I found a wild and tangled web of daily honesty, fear, doldrums, rants and snippets from people whom I have adored from afar in the last 3 or 4 years. What a revelation! The elusive A has touched me deeply with her blog—I can only hope that you feel the same after mine.

I have threatened to keep a diary of sorts for years and years. K and I had a discussion about the ephemeral nature of electronic communication—that in 200 years, there won't necessarily be the same body of written correspondence to illuminate the past. The John and Abigail Adams' of the 20th century will be lost to future archeologists by failed hard drives and cell phones. So, here I am starting to chronicle what is possibly the last year I am alive in an electronic media that will disappear at the whim of a canceled email account.

The irony seems fitting somehow.

Welcome to the blog.