12 steps to no ice

Alrighty then. I went to the dentist today to have some old filling re-filled.

"You have the teeth of a 50-year-old," she tells me.

Why? Because I grind and because I chew ice.

When she told me this I had the rubber dam thingy in. Apparently I was the only person she's had who actually carried on a long conversation with it in.

"A 50-year old?" I asked, rubber-dam filled (I hear lesbians use dental dams too for um - something else - but this story is not about that.)

I have a horrible addiction to chewing ice. Anytime, anywhere with anyone or preferably, alone. I chew in the morning at breakfast, in the afternoon, in the evening. It calms me, makes me have that vague feeling of happiness that I so desperately need in my vat of nothingness.

"I will go cold turkey on the ice chewing," I announce to the dentist, "a 50-year-old?"

First, the glocosamene (sic) for the knees and now this teeth thing. My the downward slide into death and maggots eating your body and brain starts early.

Can I do this? I went to Subway tonight to get, well, a Sub. If you get a fountain drink you have the option of first adding, you guessed it, ice. I looked at the machine, stared at it actually. I had to run out, go get pizza instead. It was too much for me. ICE!!! I think I will need to throw out my ice trays. If you happen across me on the street, please do not offer me ice. I'll have to avoid places that have ice or people who chew it. I'll have to make sure I'm not hungry, angry, lonely or tired (the great HALT from A.A.) I have a few friends in AA, maybe they can sponsor me. I am powerless against ice.

Lest you think I am mocking AA, I am absolutely not. I've worked some of the steps before for other things and it is amazing. But I don't know how to stop the ice thing.

Maybe I'll start eating chips instead when I get the ice craving. Or, I don't know, something else, I could chew maybe cement.

"You have the teeth of a 50-year-old," says dentist.

"Oh yeah, well you are still older than me," I tell her. I've known my dentist for 17 years.

"Yes, but my teeth are younger than yours are because I DON'T CHEW ICE," she says.

I need the ice. Oh my god especially the crushed ice. People who have that crushed ice option in their fridge - that is like a fantasy isn't it? Don't you think?

In freezing my mouth today with the needle, the dentist hit right on the nerve in the cheek. That apparently happens every 16 freezings or so. Holy mother of ice that hurt like a needle has never hurt.

"F - - -" I intoned, well, screamed. It does speed up the time it takes for your mouth to freeze though.

Now I'm unfrozen and that side of my mouth and jaw hurts like a thing that hurts. It's getting on my nerves (hee hee, funny pun there). I need to put some ice on it to ease the pain.

Trout Lake, etc., etc.

My fan has requested that I update my blog. So this is for Melanie. Not work Melanie but Toastmaster Melanie.
Anyway, I was sitting in my little basement apartment this evening listening to Dr. Laura. Yeah, yeah, I know.
Bored, tired, hot. It's hot here.
Trout Lake Park is a beautiful wee park just a 5-minute walk away for me. There's a wee lake, wee sand, a concession, a dog park area and trees, etc. You get the picture.
And yet I never go. Tonight, because I'm insomnia-tired (my physical condition must always be mentioned, due to a rather extreme case of hypochondria) I definitely didn't feel like going out. I even passed on a Toastmasters meeting and a trip to Costco (I enjoy the Costco toilet paper packs). And I became obsessed with buying popcorn. That white cheddar popcorn thingy. Finally I dragged my butt off the futon-in-the-bed position and went to the Park.
I'm not so good at just relaxing in a park by myself. I tend to get all lonely. But I sat on a log in the wee beach part and watched people. Cute children were everywhere, I put my bare feet in the sand, I decided not to go try and find popcorn. Shockingly, the concession stand had chips but not popcorn. I did not indulge.
There was a drum circle and picnickers and nice trees and a lifeguard and water with a chloroform level of 130, whatever that means.
I only stayed about 20 minutes, but it's a start I figure.
Insomnia. I sat awake (lay awake) last night from 1:30 a.m. until 5:30 a.m. I counted sheep and everything. I'm hoping the Trout Lake outing has relaxed me a bit.
Eeek, this blog is far too self-absorbed. Well heck. That's not good. Extreme self-absorption can lead to a loss of my fan base. They will be turned off and head to other, less self-absorbed blogs. They'll look for Mother Teresa type blogs. Can you imagine if Mother Teresa had had a blog? Her profile would have been interesting. 80-year-old nun. Hobbies - dancing, baking and reading Danielle Steele novels.
Tangents. I have just bought a bottle of "stress-ease" Vitamin B plus other stuff. I have so far taken it for two days. I notice no change yet.
I have also bought Glucosamene in an attempt to save my knees.
Oh, I got all self-absorbed again.

running, knees, chasing

So I ran - well jogged - today. Just 30 minutes. Jogging is the only thing that helps me maintain my weight (losing seems impossible) and keeps me a bit saner.
However, my knees are bad bad bad. How bad? asks my fan base of four. Well, they've been going for years and years. But they crack crack crack - up and down stairs, when I sit down and stand up. They hurt a lot now too.
So, really, running should be out. The stairmaster too. But my body and mind need the jogging, need it. My cardio needs it too. Swim, you say. That takes too much effort and too much chlorine. Jogging I just go out my door to the park two blocks away. It's a beautiful park too - lots of dogs and people and trees and vague happiness. Almost 7 years ago I'd never really worked out with any consistency before. Then I made a decision to try. Started at the gym with the stairmaster and finally to jogging. I'd never been able to run before in my life, found it torturous. But then I could run for 30 minutes, then 40 and finally up to 90 minutes. My body re-shaped. I felt calmer, people told me I was calmer too. When you're plagued with an anxiety disorder, that's a pretty amazing thing. 90 minutes was doing bad things to my body so I cut back to 60 minutes as my maximum. I was proud of myself, proud of my cardio system.
Then the damn knees. I should go to the doctor or to physio or something.
"Don't run," my ER nurse friend tells me.
But I must really. Even though bone seems to be meeting bone in my knee joints, I must.
A note about chasing. I have this odd and messed-up habit of chasing after people who don't really have any interest in knowing me. I heard once that if you go to a party for example, 1/3 of the people will like you, 1/3 will be indifferent to you and 1/3 won't like you. So I chase after the latter 2/3s. A person could be standing in front of me, you know the 1/3 that likes you and I will look past them and run after those who are indifferent are in fact, don't really like me. I picture it like a track and field oval. Me chasing, people running away. Odd really.
Oh yeah, I'm even more disgusted with Hollywood than ever. I met someone who knows a bit of Hollywood and told me some yucky things about a few stars. And another friend who works part time in retail at a high-end yoga clothing shop, told me of the rudeness of a former Flashdance star. Hmmm, no names though!
No more People magazines for me.
And Jude Law? Don't get me started.

apple, big

I'm going to New York City! Yee haw. I have a wee three-week vacation in Sept/Oct and have friends who live in Richmond, Virginia. I've never been to the east coast of them United States of America and hey, now I'm going. I'm going to start in New York City for a week or so and stay, I think, in the Gershwin Hotel. It's a cheaper dorm-style hotel that is supposed to be very cool. My friend's New York boyfriend, up here for a visit, mentioned it. And sure enough it sounds awesome.
New York! I've always, always wanted to go there. See an off-off-Broadway play (finances, you know), visit the museums, check out Times Square, etc. etc.
If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere.
Then, after a week or so, I'm going to take the six-hour train to Richmond, Virginia. Hang out with the six people I know there (two of those six are children) and head to Washington DC which is only two hours away and is where I fly out from.
Yee haw, I'm all excited.
In other news, I'm rather bored. And my knees are in rough shape so I can no longer jog and shouldn't do the stairmaster. This leaves . . . boredom.
More excitement later.

a little spiritual thought

A Sinead O'Connor concert is on TV! Yeehaw I love her! Must be old because I heard that she retired a while back.
If you've read my earlier postings (and bless you if you have), you'll know that I have mixed feelings about god and jesus and all of that. jesus is okay I think, the rest makes me - well - sick (to re-cap briefly).
The first will be last and the last will be first. That I can't let go of. The disposable in society will be first. I'm verklempt, as Rosie O'Donnell would say.
Friends of mine have had a community house in the Downtown Eastside for the last 12 years or so. Anglican-type Christians, they hang out with some of the people in the area, get to know them, have open meals a few nights a week, etc.
For my multitude of fans not from Vancouver, the Downtown Eastside is the poorest area in Canada with lots of drug addicts, prostitution, etc.
Anyway, the "disposable" often come over and I've gotten to know a few of them. Some have been hanging out for years, still drug-addicted perhaps, still a street worker perhaps. Doesn't matter really. They can still come, they are still welcome.
One of the regulars died recently. He'd been coming over for years and years. Randomly really - a lot for a while, then not at all, then a lot. He was 52 years old, horribly thin, a drug addict and mentally ill. Dual diagnosis. The community's phone number was found in his belongings after he died, so the community was contacted.
The RCMP wouldn't tell them until the end of the conversation that he was dead, and even that took prodding.
"Will he be coming around anymore?"
"No," said the RCMP officer, "he's died."
Massive heart attack apparently after 3 months in rehab.
Don't think he had any family to speak of, none that kept in touch anyway. Maybe I'm wrong but it seems to me that the community was quite a family for him. I've been there a few times scrounging my own free meal (hee hee) and he's come over. They welcome him like a long lost friend or not to put too fine a point on it, a brother.
He's a society throwaway of course, a disposable, a little collateral damage maybe.
But Jesus said the last would be first. Turns out my community friend believe that and act on it. Now, lest you think we're in la la land here, there's a lot they say and do that I don't agree with. They're far more conservative in some areas than I would like.
But really, I remember hearing in those Christian church years that I've abandoned, about being Jesus' hands, feet, mouth, love, blather in this world.
God knows Mother Teresa wasn't perfect either but she did that.
And to this man who just died, the community house people did that for him.
That touches me in a place beneath and beyond my thousands of criticisms of Christianity.
The last will be first.
Imagine if you (or me, of course) were one of society's disposables. Not in my backyard and all of that. Get away from me you smell and it's gross and get a fucking job you idiot. And get off of drugs, for goodness sakes. Lazy, lazy, lazy, living off of my tax dollar, etc.
The last will be first.
There's nothing deeper, in my humble opinion.

when I'm not the anti-christ, it's quite nice

I feel the need to say a few positive things about my work place. I do enjoy the job quite a lot, most of the time. Well, sure, some of the students wear garlic around their necks to avoid me, but that's not every single day. And besides, the garlic also keeps them healthy.

I like the ESL school I teach at. There are three main reasons for this: 1) the teachers' union. 2) the Director of Studies 3) the other teachers.

The union is actually numbers 1-100 of reasons, mainly because it ensures a decent living wage and keeps you from being fired from looking at a student the wrong way. I have worked at a few too many schools that paid crap and treated you like crap. Hence there was no morale among the teachers. People mainly complained and when they weren't complaining they were stealing pencils. There was little curriculum to speak of and yet, students still came. Odd that.

I worship the union. I bow down to it and sing churchy-type songs to it. "Union, I lift your name up high, I long to sing your praises . . . I'm so glad you're in my life, I'm so glad you came to save us . . ." If you've ever been in an evangelical church you'll be able to sing along to that in its original form. But seriously, the union, developed at this school a few years ago, apparently turned it around. Turnover is low now.

The Director of Studies. I've mentioned her before, in my I am not the anti-Christ entry. A good DOS makes all of the difference. I remember another school where there were two female DOS and they were both so condescending it was painful. It was their idea not to allow printers in the staffroom lest we used them for personal use. I was subbing one day and the teacher's lesson plan had already been done by the students. So, I asked DOS #1 what to do. "Oh, anything you want," she said, looking annoyed.

The DOS at my school has a rather thankless job - getting crap from students, teachers and higher ups. Yuck and yikes. And yet she keeps amazing track of who is where is what and in difficult meetings with um, me, shows more than a modicum of compassion. She's not perfect, of course, and I have a healthy and unhealthy dose of fear of her, but on the whole, she is never, ever allowed to quit.

And finally, the other teachers. There are two staff rooms - a big, stuffy (temperature wise) one and a smaller, more air-conditioned one. The smaller one attracts an interesting and cool crowd. Always interesting conversation (I've recently learned more about why Scientology is a cult (sorry, Tom), the care and feeding of homestay students and other things. The teachers, on the whole, are supportive of each other. Oh sure, there are cliques that I don't belong to and try obsessively to get into and some teachers who keep to themselves due to a general feeling of superiority masking their real feelings of inadequacy. But that is trumped by the quirkiness and coolness of most teachers. It is the quirkiness that I like the most. Some teachers (and I fully include myself in this) are just on this side of coping mental health. Most teachers have other careers, often in the arts. Since I like to call myself a writer, I love that too.

So there you go, I may be the anti-Christ to the students but in the staffroom, except for the cliquey ones, they always know my name.

Marlon Brando and the show Big Brother

The show Big Brother. I didn't want anyone to be confused with Big Brother the Orwellian idea. This entry will not be that intellectual.
Brando. By the time I was born, Brando was past his prime. And yet I have a couple of black and white postcards of him from the 1950s in my apartment. My god, my god he was hot. Smokin, was he not? He started up that whole rebel thing. Well, sure, there was James Dean but he had that tragic death thing. Brando. - "Stella!" "I coulda been a contender." I've seen A Streetcar Named Desire but not On the Waterfront or his other classics. I should.
The mumbling, the leather jacket, the sneer. They say he re-defined acting and that he tragically squandered his talent. Yeah, he got very, very weird. Bought a Tahitian island and began to propagate zillions of children. Well, not zillions but that rhymes. Then his son, Christian, killed his daughter's lover. Then the daughter, Cheyenne, killed herself. And Brando got huge and huger. I saw a few of his later works - Don Juan DeMarco in particular. That had Brando and Johnny Depp. It's hard to believe the Brando of that was the Brando of "Stella!"
Sigh.
Big Brother. Oh my god I'm hooked again. I think it's Big Brother Six or something. I remember the first one, with some gorgeous people but also some more normal looking ones. Eddie, the one-legged guy won, as I recall. Now, they only have the beautiful people. The oldest is 33 and she was lauded by the others for how good she still looked. That was creepy. Bikinis are the most popular outfit. There's the token gay guy and I think a token lesbian. There's more scheming than before. It is so disgusting and is the lowest common denominator. And yet - I've watched it already. You used to be able to, for free, get a 24-hour live feed off of the internet. Now you have to pay so I do not do that, I'll have you know.
But - I don't know, there's something I find soothing about it. Relaxing. Like the skies are always sunny there (it is California), the people are always freshly made and the tensions created. It's no The Apprentice but in these lean summer times with this terrible summer weather, I need something.
Apparently my fan base has grown. This can only be exciting. Perhaps we should hold a convention at a restaurant where my meal is paid for and the fans get to meet each other. Maybe the convention should be in Rome. Or Chilliwack. Let me know, growing fan base of four! what you prefer.

I think I'm not the anti-Christ

I've always wanted to be grist for the rumour mill. That's a great word, grist. When else do we use that word, except with rumour mill?
If I were rumour mill grist, then I would be important. My name would pop up in all kinds of conversations. The popularity would be overwhelming, I'd probably need a bodyguard.
Unfortunately, I didn't get to choose which mill or which rumour. Funny that.
I teach ESL to (sort of) adults at one of those private schools. This school is a cut above mainly because it has a teachers' union, an actual curriculum, and a great director of studies. I've worked at schools without any of those and believe me, you don't want to.
Anyway, a couple of students not liking me has snowballed into students who have only met and been taught by me once to comment "Karen is a terrible teacher. You don't learn a thing with Karen." Etc. I taught a class, then was away sick for two weeks. The snowball, well, snowballed in that time to my current anti-Christ status amongst some of the students. An agent from Japan was going to fly to Vancouver to observe my class. Luckily, my boss put a stop to that.
An ESL school student rumour mill is a fast moving thing. Very fast.
My boss imagines the rumours will last awhile and then, over a few four-week sessions, eventually go away. I think it's something like a bad virus (which I still have) that comes and goes and just when you think you are rid of it, comes again.
If you could pick a not good candidate for this type of thing, that would be me. I'm not thick-skinned enough or confident enough to take it. I know a few teachers who are far better able to handle this sort of thing.
For my fan base of two or three, you have realized by now that the last few weeks have been tough on this blogger- friends dying, nieces not arriving, sickness and rumour mills.
But fear not, life goes up and down and I will soon return to the humourous blogs you all live for.
Rumour has it Tom and Katie are getting married at the headquarters of Scientology next month. Perhaps I'll attend.

Colleen

A woman I used to know fairly well was found dead in her car. I just found out today, two weeks later. She was apparently found in her car, beside a Catholic Church. The car was in the reverse gear and her foot was on the brake. She had apparently been dead for a number of hours when she was found.
The autopsy of this woman I used to know fairly well will determine the cause of death. Another friend who used to know her doesn't think it's suicide, even though she had been struggling with depression apparently for years. I think she probably didn't feel well and pulled over. Then maybe she felt a bit better and went to leave.
Colleen was about 40 or so, I think. Or maybe a bit older or younger. Apparently in the last few years she was in and out of the hospital with depression.
When I knew Colleeen she had this amazing and beautiful long hair. She had a great apartment in North Vancouver with a roommate. A few years later she would begin to move from apartment to apartment, suburb to surburb. But back then, she was pretty settled. She had various jobs - the cleaning of a non-profit is the only one I can remember at the moment. She was sharp and loved life. Loved it. Loved God too Colleen did.
Colleen stayed in love with God longer than I managed to. She always had great integrity about it and great intensity. I think she came to love God as an adult and that she had experienced a lot of tough times before she did. Loving God and believing it was like breathing for her, there was no need to question it.
Her obituary listed 7 brothers and sisters, all on the other side of the country. i didn't know she was from so far away, I didn't know.
Life is short, is the cliche. Life is short and this damn virus I've been battling for two weeks has moved to my stomach and my head. I'm dizzy, so I'll stop writing.
Colleen, I haven't seen you in years but I remember when you moved into an apartment across the street from me and I walked over one December evening when the snow was piled up and it was hard to walk.
I miss you, my old friend.

Things I've been noticing

So, in addition to various hypochondriacal perseverating (hee, hee, there's a word for you to look up. My former friend, Tanya, taught me that word. Too bad she's former but that is a whole other story, better not told, due again to those pesky libel laws) I have also learned more disturbing things about television.
I have been an avid tv watcher my whole life. I loved those 70s shows like One Day at a Time, MASH, and others that I can't seem to think of now. Those were the days. 'This is it, this is it, this is life, the one you get, so go and have a ball!" And then they would show Valerie Bertinelli with a basketball. I wanted to be Barbara Cooper. Mackenzie Phillips was always distressing-looking though.
Blather.
Anyway, since you now all know of my near-death experience and my resulting need to stay at home for 7, count em 7, work days (well, one of those days was July 1st, but still). This is a whole lot of tv. Sure, I also read, slept, bathed, obsessed, ran back and forth to various doctors, bought soup, etc. But still, 100s of hours of TV was watched.
I have come to the conclusion that entertainment tonight is, in fact, an evil show. I've often thought that over the years but now, I know it. Know know know it. Entertainment Tonight is basically a pimp for the celebrities. And also Access Hollywood. Some Access Hollywood reporter named Billy had an exclusive interview with Tom Cruise. He had carte blanche to ask him anything about Scientology. Billy threw one soft ball question at Tommy and called it a day.
I've noticed, by the way, that Tom Cruise says the reporter's name a lot. He must have learned this in Scientology School. "Well, Billy. Billy. Billy." And also with that tense interview with Matt Lauer of the Today Show. "Matt, Matt, Matt. Matt, I know psychiatry. You don't. Matt, Matt."
I've always known these shows were pimps for the celebs but somehow 7 work days of watching it has clarified this for me. Why, then, did I keep watching it? Well, it's also comforting in a sick way.
I would like Tom Cruise to do a real interview about Scientology. With the BBC say, or with the CBC's Fifth Estate.
What else? This is far more profound in my brain than it is coming out here. Is there anyplace in the world where we are not fed this well, crap, about celebrities? I have a couple of friends who don't - gulp - don't own a television. They seem much less subject to this kind of stuff. But giving up my TV is drastic, I think. I'm not ready for that.
There are a few good shows on TV - The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, King of the Hill, and oddly, Becker, now on only in repeats. And MASH reruns have aged fairly well.
Speaking of aging well and not so well. Brooke Shields. Someone pointed out to me a while back that she is starting to look more like her mother, apparently not a good thing. Poor Brooke. She does indeed seem to be aging, well, oddly.
Blather. My brain is not completely back on track yet. I have far more meaningful things to say about TV but it's just not coming out right tonight.

thoughts

My sister and her family - including my 8-year-old niece, Cheyenne, were going to come to Vancouver from Ottawa for a 10-day visit. Cheyenne was born here but left when she was two and so doesn't remember it. Sherri and Scott were going to show her all around, including Victoria, I think.
I reconnected with Cheyenne over this past Christmas, when I went to Ottawa. I hadn't seen her since she was 2 and a half, so it was quite remarkable. She is adorable and at the perfect age now. "Auntie Karen, do you want to play Scrabble?" Yup, I sure did.
Because I am single and almost 40 I look at Cheyenne as my only wee relative. But they are not coming, I find out, because their cat, Furball (eeek, I think), is very ill. Something about vomit and IVs and $1,000 vet bills. So their trip has been cancelled.
I wonder if I were married and had this laryngitis how things would be different. My husband would come home from his job, a job that supports us both, and ask me if I'm doing any writing.
"Nah," I'd say. "I have chronic laryngitis."
He'd lead me to our home office, with plush carpetting and comfortable couches and two big desks with great chairs and plunk me down.
"Write," he'd say, "I'll go make some tea."
Then he would come back and write too.
Random thoughts.
Luther Vandross just died.
Rosie O'Donnell apparently had dinner at his house once.
I never did.

a tale of not so near-death experiences

First of all, I just heard two seconds ago on the news about another shark attack. Let's stay out of those waters, unless it's your bathtub and you have checked thoroughly.

Okay. I had a sinus infection for a week and now, for the fifth day in a row, I'm struggling with laryngitis.
I'm actually sick but I'm also a hypochondriac. Put actually sick, hypochondria and days and evenings of sitting around, not going to work together and you get the following. These were/are some of my thoughts:

1. Upon learning I had a sinus infection: I'm near death, I knew it. Why don't I have green mucus? I thought you were supposed to have green mucus! Those walk-in clinic doctors do not know what they are talking about. This is a strong antibiotic, why is it so strong? What can that mean? That must be why I'm so nauseous? Where is the green mucus.

2. After almost a week at home, then returning to work for one day, only to lose voice competely the next day. No more work until better(I'm a teacher of sorts, voice required): This is the worst laryngitis I've ever, ever ever had. Why do I now have laryngitis? What can this mean?

I go back and forth to two walk-in clinics (is that called double-doctoring? Can they arrest you for that?) and finally to my own doctor (well, sort of, long story). My own doctor gives me an inhaler with steroids. Warns about thrush in mouth.

3. I've had laryngitis for three days. Can this even be possible?

A quick check on the internet introduces concept of "chronic laryngitis".
The internet: a hypochondriac's worst enemy and best friend

I will never speak properly again. I will have to get a job where speaking isn't important. Where speaking isn't important and where you can go home after four hours, because I'm sickly.

Sickly: On day three of laryngitis, I pop into a friend's, because I'm bored and no longer contagious. She tells me I look sickly and sound awful. I have to dash home and lie down. I spend hours deciding how pale I look.

My new job will be blogging. I don't have to talk and I can take lie-down breaks.
Perfect.