Thursday 30 August 2007

Personality tests results - for Aubrey and John

Idealists, as a temperament, are passionately concerned with personal growth and development. Idealists strive to discover who they are and how they can become their best possible self -- always this quest for self-knowledge and self-improvement drives their imagination. And they want to help others make the journey. Idealists are naturally drawn to working with people, and whether in education or counseling, in social services or personnel work, in journalism or the ministry, they are gifted at helping others find their way in life, often inspiring them to grow as individuals and to fulfill their potentials.

Idealists are sure that friendly cooperation is the best way for people to achieve their goals. Conflict and confrontation upset them because they seem to put up angry barriers between people. Idealists dream of creating harmonious, even caring personal relations, and they have a unique talent for helping people get along with each other and work together for the good of all. Such interpersonal harmony might be a romantic ideal, but then Idealists are incurable romantics who prefer to focus on what might be, rather than what is. The real, practical world is only a starting place for Idealists; they believe that life is filled with possibilities waiting to be realized, rich with meanings calling out to be understood. This idea of a mystical or spiritual dimension to life, the "not visible" or the "not yet" that can only be known through intuition or by a leap of faith, is far more important to Idealists than the world of material things.

Highly ethical in their actions, Idealists hold themselves to a strict standard of personal integrity. They must be true to themselves and to others, and they can be quite hard on themselves when they are dishonest, or when they are false or insincere. More often, however, Idealists are the very soul of kindness. Particularly in their personal relationships, Idealists are without question filled with love and good will. They believe in giving of themselves to help others; they cherish a few warm, sensitive friendships; they strive for a special rapport with their children; and in marriage they wish to find a "soulmate," someone with whom they can bond emotionally and spiritually, sharing their deepest feelings and their complex inner worlds.

Idealists are rare, making up between 20 and 25 percent of the population. But their ability to inspire people with their enthusiasm and their idealism has given them influence far beyond their numbers.

The Four types of Idealists are:

Healers (INFP) | Counselors (INFJ) | Champions (ENFP) | Teachers (ENFJ)

And, yep, Aubrey - INFP alright. At least today. Everything's in flux cuz of the recent life-fuck, but I felt comfortable with those answers, so I'll take them.
Also, apparently, I care not who reads this, but I have no idea how to put the links in for anyone else - Aubrey, help!

Tuesday 28 August 2007

Facing the future

It is almost impossible to think of tomorrow while stretched out on a hammock feeling the sun like a blanket and the breeze from all sides. It has been a lovely respite from attempting the impossible, being here. My mother mows in a straw hat with a black band around the crown. She has cleared something like 4 acres of yard and mows it in sections as often as she can. My father has potted plants and planted flowers all around the house. He bought mums for the pots on either side of the driveway. The cats give love and chats with very little meaning to me or any other human. The feral cats adore my mother and her gentle voice and manner. They stand still and let her pet them, rubbing against her ankles and throwing me dirty looks.

I walked out into the world of the trees last evening and watched the clouds rush in, changing and growing and billowing and going gray and white. The sound of the rain and the flashes of lightning filled the room in which I sleep. It is the room in which I slept when I lived here so many years ago. I thought it was green, maybe it was, now it is tan and the bed is much smaller and while I am not sure how well I will take to being in the world again, I miss my bed and my room.

I am dreaming oddly, the hospital dreams have stopped, but there are more people than I am accustomed to and last night there was a man on my arm, and it was good. And Brad was stocking up on water cooler jugs filled with wine and there were smoked turkeys and platters of fruit and I asked if he was throwing a party and said if he was I'd like to know so that I could not be there and he said something about how O'Neill was always saying how if anyone's hungry he's the one to feed them and Brad was pissed and decided he would feed the hungry for a while and see how O'Neill liked it. I thought he meant Thanksgiving and was even more confused as it is not yet September. Upon waking, I thought I would have to remember to ask Brad if he was talking about Jack O'Neill from Stargate or someone that I've never met. Then I fully woke up and realized that wouldn't make any sense at all.

As a younger person I always resented the reality of chores, the day-to-day crap of job and laundry and dishes and cleaning my room. Now it is going to be my life line. I do not know what has happened to my brain, but something is different, bound to show up at some point on the scanner. I have a guess, but I know too much about electrons to believe it can be all true.

Have decided to cut back on the ibuprofen. It works to cut my pain, but my pain is no longer great. I am tired and somewhat more stiff than I would like, but in no way incapacitated or stalled. The only real issue with me being tired is that I am now much more emotional than I am used to being. Still fragile. Not in the mood to fight it anymore.

It is odd to think that today next week I will be thinking of different things, sitting in a different place, using a different computer, reading different books (okay, maybe not), facing the future as me, still, but differently. Why that strikes me today so much more strongly than it has struck me in the past is quite beyond my comprehension, but then, right, there are many things which are.

I am looking forward to the world and the me that I am become, mostly because that's the way my feet are headed.

Monday 27 August 2007

In honor of today’s adventures...

Old Style does go skunky. I know, I know, it seems a statement of the obvious condition of Old Style, but trust me, I know of what I speak.

After days of spending time wandering like Horace from one soft place to sit and read to another, finding the hammock again, getting run into by grasshoppers mistaking my skull for a bouncing board (maybe not mistaken, who knows?) and having quiet moments with the deer just beyond the fence, I ventured today into town with my mother. The objectives were simple enough: lunch with friends and then to the house to take care of some potentially loose ends in preparation for my eventual return.

Lunch was accomplished with grace and style and good conversation, followed immediately by plans for world domination and cheesecake. One of our number is not of age yet, so there was no rampant drinking to celebrate the event. Though we have been promised a Part II. I am hopeful. Full of hope.

Given my need to go to places I enjoy with frequency, I was fortunate to run into two of my acquaintance whereupon I was given hugs. I enjoy hugs from friends and will accept them with very little chagrin (most of the time) especially now as I have a reason to be hugged with abandon.

The time at spent at the library was filled with pleasant conversation with understanding folks. It's always a crapshoot when you go to the library hoping to see certain people, because you never know who will or won't be on the schedule for that day. Much like Lincoln bar life. There are certain people who are always out. And then there are the people you want to see. It's a crapshoot. Opportunities abound and it pays to listen to the people who know what and where they are. Received a gift of unexpected kindness. Still reeling from that, but I will recover.

And then there was the adventure of the key. I now have a copy of the key to the back door of the house. I am pleased about this on many levels. Except. The part where my mother's car decided that it didn't want to let her turn the key in the ignition. Many many phone calls were made. And then: the mechanic at the service station suggested that she hit the key with a shoe.

You can imagine the mirth. Particularly because it worked. The Shoe Solution.

The end of the day involved a trip to the grocery store for wine and garlic (mother outside with the car running. just in case) and now the wait as meat and potatoes cook and we drink well-earned glasses of wine after a day that will be followed by two days of rest and light reading.

I define light reading as The Muqaddimah by Ibn Kahldun. An Introduction to History. He likes Bedouins. I do, too.

Saturday 25 August 2007

Morning in Crete

The coffee I had this morning is all that's keeping me awake right now. I am not moving much - typing is not an intensive exersize (sp?)(Learning French totally screwed me up on that word - I haven't been able to spell it in any language since I was eleven. My second grade teacher couldn't spell spaghetti. She was okay with it. She had a home and a family and a career. It didn't ruin her forever, it was just something she had to admit to herself and everyone else. Forever. I think she must have been happy when we all started eating pasta.).

I was not all that familiar with Crete when I lived here, oh, 9 years ago, but I did shop in town and go to the movie theatre (alone! shock of shocks!) and ate at the local diner (PK Bach's, no longer extant) and drove around a lot. I had a car back then. It's the only car I've ever owned. Someday I will have to remedy that.

9 years ago the downtown area was losing businesses left and right, there were more empty store fronts than not, and the little 'mall' across from the library was empty but for one take-out Chinese place that I never tried.

It was kind of depressing to drive through.

Now it is a different town. Every store front along the main street is filled, and almost every store front on the streets crossing that one is filled also. There are people downtown, driving and walking around. Which creates no end of chaos as there is one stop light with no turn arrow and one 4-way stop sign and the rest is pretty much luck of the draw. Glad it's not me driving.

My mother knows everyone who works anywhere that she and my father spend money. Everyone. She knows about their kids and their vacation plans. We went to breakfast at the 9th Street Grill (assuming it's on 9th street, although lately my assumptions have been way off, so who knows? I blame the drugs, and the tireds, etc.) and she knew who was working and who was on vacation and why. It was a beautiful thing. She was explaining to us why there were only 2 people on as my father went up to grab our menu. I don't think they would have batted an eye if he'd got my cup of coffee at the time, but I didn't say anything. Didn't want folks thinking I was desperate for it, even though it had been over 2 weeks.

Been 2 weeks since I smoked, as well. I'm healing. I haven't quit. Don't go there with me.

Shopping with my parents was more than entertaining. Particularly the parts that involved driving across the street to go to the Pamida (boycott Wal-Mart) and then driving across the street to go to the Sun-Mart. We repeated the less than a block long drive from the post office to the gas station (that one I get) to the library, which has redone itself in the last 9 years and is much less standoffish than the one that I remember. To be honest, I don't think I could've made it, not after all that food in the morning time and then missing my 11 o'clock nap.

The library did not have the Bourne Identity, though it did have the Bourne Supremacy, and as I am feeling the need for espionage/spy type stuff, I went for it. Diving into the Ludlum. Save me from Tristram Shandy for a few hours!

Crete wouldn't be a bad town to live in, really. Particularly if they can keep Wal-Mart at bay and on the outskirts and maybe even gone away for lack of profit. I hope that they can, it's a nice little town that seems to be taking care of itself.

It does need a coffee shop.

Thursday 23 August 2007

What the Dr. Said

My incision is healing just fine, I get to take the tapes off as they start curling up. My scar will be very neat and tidy, I think, with a little tear drop at the bottom.

I am very tired, which is what my life will be for the next 5 weeks, I am told. Particularly given "what you went through." There are only so many times a person can hear that from members of the medical profession before wondering just how bad things were that I am not expected to be fully recuperated a week and a half after surgery - it's just an appendix, right? So, I asked:

"How bad was it?" (this from me)

(my doctor said) "It was bad. If you'd waited any longer, you might not have survived the surgery."

I keep remembering that the important thing is that I'm alive, and that everyone involved in making me not die was good at their job and available at the time. However: I'm an emotional, mental, spiritual and physical shadow of my former self, I cry at the drop of a hat, my temper is shorter than a bald man's hair and I miss my cat.

Today is one of those days when I really wanted a sweetie, someone to tell me that the important thing is that I'm still alive and loved. Just to keep me from dwelling on the melodrama of "how close was it?" you know.

I am told that this all takes time. I am unused to allowing for time. I nap all day and find that eating takes more energy than it gives. I feel that this is become whining, it is all new to me, I am uncomfortable with my present state.

I am allowed to go back to work in about a week. I will have to start looking for jobs again.

My father, the person to whom I am listening for the first time in my life, suggests that it is more important to focus on healing than on anything else. He offered me the chance to come out here to rest and recuperate in safety and relative silence. I think it didn't hurt that I was bawling at the time and needed more than I could articulate.

This is just not my way. I need to be taken care of. Not emotionally supported, not believed in, not anything nice and intangible and cheap like having people around who have faith in me. I mean actually taken care of, with the laundry and food and reminders to bathe and a room in which I can sleep that is removed from the rest of the house and gentle conversation and time, lots of time.

I don't need to tell you that I am reminded of the people in this world who do not have the friends and family that I do who have been available and who have been gentle with me and given me space and safety and silence. I cannot imagine what the lives of people who do not have time to recover from something like this must be, how tired and worn down they must feel. The bills will be bad enough, at least my day-to-day isn't piling up on me as well.

I am alive to complain and hurt and read and feel. One of these days it will sink in and then my temper will explode and the rest of my life with it.

Monday 20 August 2007

well, i’m home again

Before anyone asks - I thought it was gas. How often does an appendix burst in a person in one lifetime anyway? Once. Max. Scared the fuck out of me and not looking forward to doing it again. Ever. Hospital food sucks. Except for the Jello. I love Jello.

Doctors were nice. The ER doc was impressed that I had held out against the pain for so long. Go me for being stubborn and cheap.

Spent 4 nights in hospital. Then 3 nights at UlaRobie's. Now am home. Pushed myself too far yesterday in a fit of being really pissed off and not wanting to be anywhere near this place. Today I am tired and frustrated that there was so little sleep in the night times.

Now there is a lovely feline on my lap. She is confused about why I keep moving her paws from certain places. She has grown into such a lovely cat, 'specially now that her face has lost its kitten roundness. I enjoy that she's as demanding about pets as she is some days. Truly cat-like behavior. The other adult cat is crashed out on the landing upstairs. She's back to looking like a snake with no scales. She's mostly crashed out all the time, unless she's meowling for no good reason.

I was going to head down to the library today (bus passes make us happy) but I am tired and would rather stay home and play with fabric and lie about and try to remember why I wanted to come back here in the first place.

Saturday 11 August 2007

because i’m thinking about it

Why are some people so fucking blind to what's in front of them? Myself included, I guess, although, I have no desire to be corrected, thank you very fucking much.

Disrespect seems to come in waves, yes?

Still can't sneeze. Muscles won't let me. It would hurt them too much. Last time I couldn't sneeze, it took like three weeks.

Want to commit act of anger. Really do. Not sure what it oughta be. Not very good at outward anger (as has been posted before).

Don't like being all stooped over and tired and blah and blech. Don't like it at all.

Wednesday 8 August 2007

rainy rainy morning

Not having the best of luck with early mornings this week. Today the fun started at 4:15 with monster cramps. Some ibuprofen and cuddles with a heating pad helped, but I still didn't get up until after 8.
Stupidly read my horoscope. Bad dumb horoscope. No coffee yet and the mail isn't here. Theoretically, I have nothing to do. Fortunately, I know better and can find plenty of trouble to get myself into. Moving of bound volumes. ooooo. Yeah, don't ask, it's a library thing.
No coffee. This is a problem. The Coffee House isn't far away, but still. It's outside. Which means walking. No. No. I have no need to walk.
Oh, yeah, I forgot - Ribfest is this weekend. Or, as one of my co-workers put it: Porkapalooza. This makes me happy.
Odd odd dreams. Wondering at the significance of the number of espionage related dreams I have, especially considering my lack of understanding of all things spy.
The mail was hiding in the elevator. Wish someone had told me it was a game of hide and seek. I would have run home and found a nice spot under my bed. No one would ever find me there.

Tuesday 7 August 2007

ug and unh

I am finally beginning to feel rested, although I have been having very vivid and not entirely peaceful dreams. I would blame the novels I've been reading, but that would be a lie, and I'm feeling deceitful enough lately.
How could that be?
Well, because I find that not expressing anger, particularly at the person who behaved stupidly (no, not anyone who works for the city, never), is not honest. While I have no real compunction to obsessive honesty, I do have a need to behave genuinely. There is no room on my sleeve to display my heart - I like a neon sign, or tangible vibe. I do not want there to be a question. It's a thing. I don't like deceptive people. I do not particularly enjoy being deceptive. It makes my tummy icky and my mouth all bleckgue.
At the same time, I'm lazy. I don't really want to be the Person Who Does Stuff unless it has very minimal consequences that can be readily ignored by later generations. Only, my life sucks when I don't speak up. Trust me. And then I get angry. Only my anger tends to be directed at myself as I am not used to be angry out loud at people - are you seeing a pattern? I am. The emotion is there, only because it's not being directed where I believe that it belongs, it's getting directed at me, which leads to drinking and pathetic behavior and never getting around to telling someone how much what they are doing is accomplishing nothing good. Then it's back to being the Person Who Never Does Anything. Which is far worse.
Whine moan groan complain.
Please tell me that someone else is having this day?
Gotta be something going around, can't be just me.
Light at the end of the tunnel moment: kitten chasing tail, getting distracted by her shadow. Best part of the morning. Until I realized that I had enough punches on the cards for a free frou-frou drink at the Coffee House this morning. Good things still happen, and they just won't stop, no matter what I do. Sigh.

Saturday 4 August 2007

Good, long morning

The phenomenon of all three of us being up and relatively active before 10 on a Saturday morning has me smiling and wanting to hide in my room to read and write and make lists and pray and ponder and plan.

The kittens are being very adorable and running all about like the small bundles of barely confined energy that they are. The constant distractions of little grown-ups. And Anne moved the microwave.

Caved in and checked out yet another book before leaving work yesterday. I am reading through our collection of Jose Saramago. The libraries have only the novels that have been translated into English. I am pleased that there are about 10 of them, but am discovering that I would rather read them in the Portuguese. The story isn't hampered by the translation, at least it reads clearly and well, but the language is so specific that I wonder how much of the poetry is lost. I suspect that my feeling is mostly inspired by my desire to learn another language. The motivation to travel frequently brings this need or desire to the fore of my thinking.

Today is a good day. I am glad to be in it.