Nostalgic Ramblings of a Temporary Insomiac

It was one of those nights where you turn off the light and lose sense of almost all cohesive thought as your subconscious tries to overtake your conscious mind in a race to see who can keep you awake the longest.

You know the thing?

This came about at around the 4am mark, when I realised that the only way to shut everyone up was to switch the light back on and attack with a paper and pencil.

This purge has nothing to do with sleep in any form.

That said, I know exactly what it’s about.

If you’re very good, I might even tell you…

Maybe.

***********************

Bright lights and saline… the line feels flat. Flat. FLAT. Whoops, up we go again! Run over and spun…Clarity, what? Stabbed once and again with no penetrating point. Curtains, tilts and comraderie. Give me my rectangle and lake; orange plastic chairs and armour. Flowers are nice. Ducks are nicer. Wanna play pool? The cue has no tip and the table slopes, but it just makes sense that way. Shake and swallow. Swallow. SWALLOW, damn you. The paint dries. The bead falls. The glue sticks. Happiness is a coin monster with a belly of glass, sugar and salt. Poke, poke, POKE. Geez. Anyone home? You, not me. You only pretend to know; it’s your job and I wish you’d shut the fuck up. You can’t do that. WATCH ME. What’s my name? Why am I here? Function how high? For fuck’s sake, don’t do it again!!! It’s only death until someone dies… Is a hamster a guinea pig? No. Just you are. Say no to electrodes; play with power tools instead. Who are all these people? Scan me, why don’t you? Give me a few pricks; I love a good prick. My ball is better than your ball. Mine is squeezable. Mine is edible. Mine is coloured. You want help? I’ll choose the channel. Slops and clatters. Whaddaya want? Stand in line. Plug in the melody of teleportation. Code blue like the telephone called. Excuse me, I would like to tell you that the people in your walkman are lying. Excuse me, why are your surprised there is breakage from five stories? Excuse me, do you really think you have buggage? You must be very angry to rip the head off your teddy bear like that. You people are strange. You people are fucking insane. I just feel sad. They took that man away; then they took that woman. Did you know her? Where did they take her? Why did they take her? I hate this place but I don’t want to leave. You win. Outside, down some tracks, the hoodoo breaks. Look through it. Look at it. Embrace it. Break it. Kill it. Give it a decent burial with flowers and ducks. It’s nothing you need and nowhere you need to be. Put it away. Not again… Maybe; not. Not. NOT. Sometimes, say never. NEVER.

*************************

 

By the way, my Tumblr rules. This guy told me so.

Probably because I like to post pictures like this:

Pic via The Bunny House

 

 

 

Song Of The Day – Iggy Pop – Sixteen

I Am Not Dead (Yet)

I have been sick.

Sicker than sick.

As sick as sick can be.

I am still sick.

It’s been 13 days now.

I’ve had enough.

[cough, splutter]

At least I am no longer coughing up blood. That was not fun.

Tonsillitis. And the Flu. And a generalised infection.

I haven’t felt this sick since I had Glandular Fever (Mono). I was in hospital for two weeks. Mainly because I had Viral Meningitis as well, but I was sick for months that time.

I hate being sick. [grumble, grumble]

Thankyou to everyone who has missed me. It feels good to be missed.

This is me:

This happened a lot when I was at my worst:

Breathing made me cry. Don’t even talk about swallowing…

NOTHING helped (except the antibiotics). All these drugs are a ruse by the pharmaceutical companies to make a load of cash out of people’s suffering. Take note.

I have done nothing but sleep and watch television and movies for 13 days. This is what my eyes look like now:

Here is a list of movies I have watched. Some I barely remember due to my state of semi-lucidity, but I’ve seen most of them before anyway. Some of them more than a few times:

Mildred Pierce

T.I.S.M – Incontinent In Ten Continents

T.I.S.M – TV Primer

American Psycho

Bad Timing

The Virgin Suicides

Harold and Maude

The Taste Of Others

Sunset Boulevard

Inside Deep Throat

True Romance

In Her Shoes

ENRON – The Smartest Guys In The Room

Puberty Blues

Stoned

Love My Way – Series One

Monster

The 40 Year Old Virgin

I *heart* Huckabees

Shampoo

Don’t Look Now

Withnail & I

Hi Fidelity

Swing Time

The Birds

Shaun of the Dead

Thank You For Smoking

 

 

 

I will write more when I am able.

 

 

The cats always get the last word:

 

 

 

Song Of The Day – Tex Williams – Smoke! Smoke! Smoke That Cigarette

A Vibrating Addendum

I’m feelin’ the vibes, baby.

After my last post about vibrators, you ought to see how much search engine traffic I get containing the word “vibrator” now. Second only to “huge tits”, which comes in at around 100 or so search matches and climbing rapidly. The thing is, I’m still trying to work out exactly where I used the phrase “huge tits” anywhere in my blog. I assume it has something to do with the “Max Strikes Again” post, seeing as I did make mention of my bra size in that particular posting. Actually, it’s most likely in the comment section. Just like I get a tonne of traffic looking for the Sybian since Firm so thoughtfully mentioned it in a comment a while back. Sorry to disappoint you, people! Nothing to see here…

…although I daresay I’ve probably doubled my search engine traffic just by writing that paragraph. Hah!

Oh, the other thing about the “huge tits” result, is that I did a Google search on that very term myself and I was nowhere to be seen. Well, I gave up after about page 17, but who goes back that far? Must be some other dodgy search engine…

I have a couple of little gems for you. I meant to include them in the last post, but my wee pea brain forgot.

This advertisement is a cracker.

It is heartening, don’t you think, that the Hamilton Beach Vibrator is particularly helpful for “rubbing out the throbbing pain” and bringing “a tingling, cheerful glow that invigorates and refreshes”. But quite honestly, I don’t think I’d want that contraption anywhere near my delicate body parts…

Whilst we’re on the subject of sex toys that moonlight as household appliances, I recently came across (no pun intended, get your mind out of the gutter. Geez.) this little beauty:

It’s the (Vortex Vibrations) Vacuum Cleaner Sex Toy.

The inventor was cleaning her carpets when she noticed that a piece of rubber caught in the tube was gently resonating with the air flow. Next thing you know, she had come up with a prototype to jam on the end of her vacuum cleaner, that gave her an orgasm in ten seconds.

Ten seconds without even touching skin! It just works on air flow alone.

Well, that’s all well and good, but I’d think that would rather take the fun out of it. I mean, isn’t a large part of the joy in the journey?

Oh, but it can also apparently, give multiple, back-to-back orgasms lasting up to a minute at a time…

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE NOISE??

Seriously. I can barely stand being in the same room as a vacuum cleaner even when I’m not feeling like sexy time.

I think I’ll pass.

Here’s the commercial:

Why they got a man to give it the thumbs up, I’m still not sure. . .

Ok. I had other stuff to say, but I think that’s enough for today. And probably all I have to say on the subject of vibrators for a while. Maybe.

(Psst Tommy… Your wrapping instructions didn’t work…)

Song Of The Day – Mi-Sex – Computer Games

Vibrator = Hysterically, No Hysteria…

 

I’ve had an awful week. It did get better and yes, I am going to talk about sex toys, but first I’m going to have a little whinge. So, nerr.

It was so very awful at the beginning of the week that the pose I adopted for the whole of Monday was somewhat reminiscent of Cameron in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”, after he crashes the Ferarri; lying prone on the couch under a blanket with my eyes closed.

What was wrong? Oh, nothing I’d want to bore you with. Things were either going wrong, had gone wrong or were (in my mind) about to go wrong. You know how it is.

Interpersonal strife does my head in.

I also thought my cat had cancer. On Sunday night I discovered a huge lump that appeared to be growing out of his ribcage. I was (internally) quite beside myself. I love my cat. On Monday I took him to the vet:

“Who do we have here?”

“This is Bilbo”

“Hello Bilbo. My, aren’t you a big boy? What seems to be wrong with Bilbo?”

“He has a big lump on his chest. It’s really big. It’s internal, not on his skin”

“Ok, let’s have a look, shall we? Where is it exactly?”

[points]

“Here.”

“That’s his sternum.”

“Oh.”

[barely concealed smirk from the vet type person]

“I can still take an x-ray if you like.”

“Um, no thanks. I’ll be going now…”

So, there we have the latest addition to Vanessa’s Omnibus of Embarrassing Moments. I mean, I might as well have gone to the doctor and said “I’ve got a lump growing out of my foot”, to be told, “That’s your toe.”

Well, on the bright side, my cat doesn’t have cancer. Big huggles to Firm, who has not been so fortunate this week…

Today, I feel pretty good. Everything is sorted and working well. Nobody is pissed off with anybody anymore and all is well in the world. Amazing how things can turn around.

So, as is my wont, I celebrated with a bit of retail therapy.

And what did I buy?

Vibrators.

Plural.

I thought it was time I updated my collection. One of my old favourites (a bullet for those playing at home – mine was the blue one) died recently and it was definitely time to find a replacement. I didn’t want to buy another bullet, because I had, at times, found it a little difficult to keep hold of, as many women who have owned one may understand. Something with a bit more of a handle was in order.

I usually buy such implements in person at a chain of adult stores here in the city. They are staffed by women and everytime I shop there, I end up having a blast with the girl behind the counter. Vibrators, boxes and batteries strewn everywhere, because they don’t at all mind removing items from their packaging and handing them to you for a test run. Hah! I’m not kidding, although the testing tends to be more on the fingers and tip of the nose than anywhere else. I also think it’s quite fun to observe the men skulking around the dvd section, obviously quite intimidated by two women talking quite openly about their preferences in regards to the inclusion of pearls in a vibrator, or which stimulator provides more bang for your buck…

This time, for something different, I decided to surf the range of Australian adult stores online. It took me an entire evening and I almost gave up at one point because the range was so enormous I just about ran out of steam, until I noticed at one particular site that there were…. free gifts! Woohoo! I ended up buying not one, but three vibrators… and the free gift makes four. Go me!

I guess the free gift kind of makes up for the fact that my package didn’t arrive today. Which means that I have to wait until after the weekend. Which kinda sucks because I was going to take an abstract photo of my purchases to show you. So much for Overnight Express. Oh, well. Use your imagination.

So, whilst we’re on the subject, I thought I’d give a quick dissertation on the history of the vibrator. I’m sure most of you know that they’ve been around for a very, very long time and were orignally used to treat what was known as “Hysteria” in women. That is, sexual arousal and PMS (often go hand in hand – at least they do for me).

I saw a great little Australian doco on SBS a couple of weeks ago called Turn Me On: The History Of The Vibrator. You can watch it for yourself by clicking on the link – it’s only 17 minutes long, (I’m really taken with the music they used for the soundtrack, heh), but if you can’t be bothered watching it, I’ll relay a few interesting facts I gleaned from this short, yet very informative documentary.

• The Hysterical Paroxysm – better known now as the orgasm, was the temporary cure, or preferred outcome of the disease called Hysteria, which was caused by sexual deprivation in passionate women. Nun’s seemed to suffer from it a lot… And they talk about blue balls! In 200AD, it was recommended by the ancient Greek physcian Galen that massaging the genitals be used as a treatment for Hysteria. This was a strictly medical condition.
• Doctors only, were qualified to “treat” Hysteria until the early 20th century. Women were not to treat themselves, as masturbation was considered evil. Sex was solely considered to be penile penetration of a woman, by a man.
• Vibration was considered very useful to create the “Paroxysm” by the medical profession. Before electricity, doctors used enormous steam powered vibrators, pedal driven models (terribly tiring for the poor fellow), then came the handle powered models, which looked disturbingly like a manual drill.

This is one version that is not so much like a drill…, but still what a chore!

Those poor doctors…

Here is an air compressed model from the late 19th century:

Interesting attachments, no? Already looking vaguely familiar, yet still horribly speculum-like…

• The invent of the electric vibrator was a boon for doctors. They were overjoyed. If a doctor had an electronic vibrator, they could have women in and out of the surgery within about 10 minutes, thereby quadrupling their profit margin. It was a revolving door situation with women you see, because they were never able to be cured, due to the nature of the “disease”…

Here is a 1906 version of an electric vibrator. It’s not the famous Veedee vibrator, which bore a frightening resemblance to a circular sander, but it still has that drill appeal:

A bit bloody scary looking if you ask me…. Anyone up for a good drilling? Or a Paroxysm, perhaps?

• Advertisements for all these apparatus appeared in women’s magazines all over the world. Needlework magazines, journals, you name it. Doctors were treating women for Hysteria up until the 1920’s. It wasn’t until the 1950’s that Hysteria was written out of medical journals as being an official “disease”.

Here is an early battery operated vibrator, circa 1950’s (minus the various attachments). Of course it was marketed to smooth out those pesky facial wrinkles…

• During the documentary, an interesting modern-day observation was added by a middle-aged male gynaecologist: “A woman who has never climaxed is extremely unlikely to climax with anything but a proper vibrator.” Personally, I wouldn’t know, but it seems likely in many cases. I found my way to it in my mid-teens…

Are you vibrated beyond all recognition now? I would be if I were you. If it took you .001% of the time to read it as it took me to put this together, I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to lay eyes on another vibrator….. Bloody fiddly blogs.

‘Ave a bonza weekend, my sweet things… and indulge yourself, if you will…

Thanks to Vibrator Museum for the photos…

Oh, and happy first day of winter to my fellow southern hemisphere dwellers…:)

 

Song Of The Day – Frank Zappa – Dynamo Hum

Diary Of An Anal Probee

Disclaimer: This blog is not for the overly squeamish.  Enter at your own risk. 

Oh, it’s not that bad….. really.  I’ve tried to be delicate.

There are two good things about having a Colonoscopy.

1. A total detox of your digestive system
2. Pethedine
3. Pethedine

Oops.  Heh.

Ever since my late teens, I’ve had to have a Colonoscopy every 2-5 years.  It’s all to do with the fact my father had bowel cancer twice – first time in his 20’s.  

I’m a bit of an old-hand at the old Colonoscopy procedure, or at least I ought to be.  The fact is, it’s a horrible thing to go through, and it never, ever gets easier.  The actual procedure itself is fine – it’s the preparation that’s the problem.  It takes days and involves prolonged starvation and extreme diarrhoea.  It’s just no fun for anyone.  

If you’re not familiar with the procedure, in basic terms, it involves a doctor poking a 4ft tube with a camera attached to it, up your arse and all the way into your large intestine to look for polyps and cancerous growths. 

You even get to watch your innards on colour tv, if the pethedine doesn’t knock you out (which it never does, me).

So, follow along, if you’re up to it.  It’s quite entertaining.  You could even look at it as preparation – for it is most likely that you too will have to go through this charming procedure one of these days.  Although, if you don’t have a family history like mine, it probably won’t be until you’re over 50… (lucky bastards)

SUNDAY

4.30pm – Attend screening of Spiderman 3 at local cinema and spend duration of film gorging self with medium sized box of popcorn.

8.00pm – Read instruction sheet for colonoscopy preparation and realise that popcorn is included on the list of ’NO’  foods for 3 days before procedure.  It is now 3 days before procedure.  Oops.  

List of contraband foods: bran or muesli, vegetables, fruit, seeds, wholemeal bread, red meat.

List of allowed foods: strained fruit juice, rice bubbles, cornflakes, eggs, rice, pasta, chicken, fish, clear soups, white bread, crackers, low-fat dairy products.

MONDAY

Work.

Follow limited diet as instructed. 

6.00pm – Visit local shops to purchase items, i.e. day-before-procedure preparatory solution and assorted allowed items for Tuesday’s liquid fast.  Get a bit carried away.

List of purchases:

1 litre of Guava Nectar

2 litres of pulp free Orange Juice

2 litres of Apple & Mango Juice

1.25 litres of sparkling mineral water

2 litres of Mountain Dew

500ml of Nippy’s Lemon Juice

Packet of mango flavoured jelly crystals

Large bag of Barley Sugar sweets

1 sachet of Colonlytely (to make one litre of solution)

8.00pm – Consume final meal before procedure on Wednesday.  Feel cheated that bowl of pasta isn’t nearly big enough to sustain hungry girl for 40+ hours.  Curse husband silently.  It’s my last supper, dammit!

TUESDAY

Preparatory instructions:  Take a clear fluids diet only all day.  This allows you to take black coffee and tea, clear soups, strained fruit juices, clear jelly (not red), soft drinks (eg lemonade) and cordial.   Barley sugar sweets may be taken. 

Sleep badly, woken often by bad dreams and demanding felines.

8.23am – Jolted out of fitful doze by telephone.  Hospital calls to demand to know the whereabouts of Patient Admission Form and Waiver.  Agree to fax relevant papers from work.  Informed that given time for procedure is 8.15am tomorrow.  Heart sinks. Too early. Know from experience there will be at least a 2-3 hour wait.

Look forward to another shitty night’s sleep. 

8.50am – Mix up sachet of Colonlytely prep solution with 1 litre of water.  Recoil at familiar, synthetic lemon stench.  Refrigerate.

9.00am – Leave for work without breakfast as instructed [sob].  Stop on the way for further provisions.  Realise there is no such thing as a clear soup.

List of further purchases:

Packet of passionfruit flavoured jelly crystals

Packet of lemon flavoured jelly crystals

1 box of Pico Prep

9.30am – Arrive at work and regale workmates with tales of hunger and paltry list of permissable substances.  Take great pleasure in explicitly explaining upcoming procedure to young co-worker and in return, receive satisfying look of abject horror.  

Periodically descend staircase and cross shop floor to attempt to fax relevant papers to hospital.

10.30am – Halfway through litre bottle of guava nectar, come to abrupt realisation that fruit juice can never take the place of solid food.   Shit.  Another 30 hours to go.

11.30am – Feel lightheaded, tired and a bit cranky.  Stomach and headache.  Wish that the taste of coffee didn’t induce gag reflex.  Hum.  What else can I have?  Barley sugars.  Brilliant.  Even more brilliant had they not been left at home.

12noon -  Wonder if I can take a camera into surgery during the procedure.  Cheered by thought of grossing out blog readers with colour photos of large intestine.

1.00pm - Go home.  Drink copious amounts of fruit juice and water.

2.00pm – Feel very cranky due to lack of sustenance and jealous of cats stuffing their faces with biscuits.  Feel a bit better after stomping and huffing around the house for a few minutes.  Drink more.

2.30pm – Call hospital and manually feed (did somebody say feed??) surgery receptionist all personal information over phone due to stupid work fax machine not working.  Drink more.

3.00pm – Review contents of refrigerator.  Come to realisation that I’ve bought at least 10 times more fruit juice and jelly than could possibly be consumed in a week, let alone a day and a half.    Oh, well.   Drink more.

3.30pm – Call father-in-law to organise post-procedure pick up of doped out, anally probed daughter-in-law.

4.30pm – Feel distinctly over-hydrated.  Eat mango jelly which turns to liquid in mouth.  Continue to resemble a walking water-balloon.  

It is now 20 hours since last ingestion of solid food.  Half way there.  It is apparent I am not well suited to fasting.

Evening Preparation:  At about 5.00pm, drink the Colonlytely solution over a 1 hour period.  At 7.00pm dilute the contents of one of the Picoprep sachets in a warm glass of water and leave to cool for 20 mins before drinking.  Follow then with a further 2 full glasses of water and then continue drinking water at a rate of 1 glass per hour until you go to bed.  During the course of the evening you will have watery diarrhoea. 

HURRAH!

5.00pm – Begin drinking Colonlytely solution.  Feel an overwhelming sense of dread.  Curse father for having had bowel cancer at such a young age.  Curse other things, including door handle, office chair and cat.  Wait for inevitable explosion.

6.30pm – Stomach cramps and the “cleansing” has begun.  “Explosive” is one word to describe it.  As is “urgent”.

6.34pm – You do not want to know what just happened.

6.45pm – Ohhhhh….  [sob]  At least now I feel so nauseous that I’m not hungry…..

7.10pm - Mix Picoprep powder with water and note immediate resemblence to watered-down milk.  Also reminiscent of a medicine I once regurgitated.   I have a headache.

9.00pm –   I have the shakes, am sick with hunger and a weird and unpleasant combination of waterlogged and grossly dehydrated.  Kill me now.  One almost hopes that they find something, so it will all be worth it.

12midnight – Crawl to bed filled with hope there are no nasty accidents in the night.

WEDNESDAY (D-DAY)

Morning of Procedure Preparation:  at least 2 hours before your appointment time, dilute the contents of the second Picoprep sachet in a glass of water and drink it.  Follow this immediately with a further 2 full glasses of water.  Note: this may mean you have to set an early alarm clock if you have an early appointment time at the hospital.

6.00am – Rise to resume 3 minute intervalled dashes in general direction of the lavatory.  Drink second sachet of Pricoprep in water, followed by 2 more glasses of water.  Feel waterlogged all over again.  Am beyond hunger by now.  Feeling akin to nasty stomach flu.

8.15am – Report to hospital reception and stake out all patient toilets in vicinity.  Sit in waiting room nursing headache and listen to deaf woman “talk” at the top of her voice, whilst using sign language. 

9.00am – Directed by nurse to remove all clothing, including underwear.  Don attractive, gaping robe, dressing gown and paper booties.  Sit.  Wait.  Read.  Try not to think about food.

As far as I could get with the camera….

9.30am – Shown to hospital bed.  Ob’s taken.  All is well.  Have slightly tripped out feeling due to combination of lack of food, bright lights and soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar echoing throughout the ward.

10.00am – Place bets with anaesthatist on whether he is able to knock me out for the procedure. 

10.15am – Anaethsatist wins bet. 

10.45am – Wake after procedure, hooked up to machines and wearing oxygen mask.  Feel slightly disappointed at not seeing innards on television.  Thinks to self to ask to stay awake for next procedure.

11.00am – Feel wide awake (although slightly drunk from Pethedine) and insist I am ready to eat and go home.   Doctor C. gives all clear.  Feast on chicken sandwiches, yoghurt and fruit juice (not more fruit juice!).

11.30am – Father-in-law arrives to pick up doped out, anally probed daughter-in-law.

…. and now I’m home.  Still a bit woozy from the Pethedine, but you’ll hear no complaints from me about that. 

The good news is, that I don’t have to have another Colonoscopy for a whole five years.   I think I’ll go back to Doctor C. again.  He wasn’t pervy like the last one.

Now, where’s my bloody lunch!  I’ve got 40 hours worth of eating to make up….

Song Of The Day – Jesus Christ Superstar (OST) – Superstar

Extreme Splerkiness!

I’m back!  Yay!

The Monster From Green Hell has left my body for the forseeable future.

It’s been an expensive week:

1. 7 days of lost productivity in the workplace, between the co-habiter and I.
2. $270 to replace a door tarnished by a fist sized hole.

It wasn’t my fist that made the hole, and only two days off work for me. The hole and the other five days were caused by the co-habiter losing his voice from sheer force of YELLING.   Not so helpful when he reads the news on the radio for a living.

I take part responsibility, but men will never learn to not answer back when faced with a very pissed off woman on a hormonal spin….Especially when she has a valid point.

For what it’s worth, I’ve taken myself off the progesterone-only contraceptive pill I’ve been on for some time.  It makes no difference as far as contraception goes (make of that what you will), I was just taking it to bring my abherrant hormones into line.  Mind you, I was never tested to make sure that was what I needed….

I’m thinking it wasnt.

I stopped taking them two days ago and I’m back to my normal, calm, relatively cheery self.

It has been hell.

I humbly apologise to anyone I’ve pissed off or made even slightly uncomfortable in the past week.   Although it’s a backhanded apology, because I really couldn’t help it.

I have to tell you, I’m a bit more than over having adverse reactions to drugs.  So far this year it’s been the antidepressants, a nasty reaction to some antibiotics and now this.  I think I have no tolerance to pharmaceutical concoctions after 5 years of poisoning…

We shall see.

A huge thankyou and massive HUGS to the glorious Ranna for her words of wisdom and love during this time.  It was very lonely on my end, and I owe you a message and a whole lot more.  You were there for me in a very, very bad time.  You’re a special woman and I’m so happy to call you my friend…

NEXT!

My best friend lives on the other side of Australia.  Doesn’t that suck?  Her name is Jules.   

Jules also had a bad week.  

I was supposed to find her a box of Bex today (as a joke) whilst I was out shopping, but due to the sheer volume of stuff I had to buy for other people (I should have written it down), it slipped my mind.   Sorry babe.   I’ll try and remember next time, if you don’t get to Woolies first…

Jules and I are both trying to drop a few kilos and due to the week’s state of affairs, she confessed to me she had some choc chip muffins in her cupboard.   My response, (after offering her icecream) was to not eat said muffins because they are EVIL IN SPONGY CAKE FORM.

Next thing I know, I get this in my inbox:

I love that girl…

And if I could afford it, I’d buy her one of these:

Courtesy: Sexoteric 

Instructions: After turning dial to required setting, turn on and sit with legs out front. 

Humm…. I do have a couple of outstanding loads of washing pending…..

Psst, girls:   You can tell it was designed by a man, can’t you?

****************

Yah, this is a long one (long what?), but I did promise a couple of people a demonstration of my seemingly infamous “splerky dance”.

Some have an innate understanding, some are a little puzzled.

The “splerky dance” is what happens when someone calls to tell you there is no point coming into school/work today because it’s too bloody hot/cold outside, or when you find a package on your doorstep.

I’m sure you’ll understand: (and if you scroll down really quickly, it’s like a flick book..)

Step One:  Orrhhmigod!!

Step Two:  YAY!!!!!

Step Three:  It’s tricky to balance on one heel…(careful if you’re on tiles)

Step Four: Fling yourself about like you just don’t care….

Step Five:  Repeat step two and end with a big “YAHHH!!!”

 

To Firm:  Insert toiletries at appropriate um… moments.

Was there something else? 

I suspect so, but I’m too splerkied out to care….

Song Of The Day:  Bloc Party – Positive Tension

Drugs, guns and the whole bloody mess

I really, really didn’t want to write a blog about the massacre at Virginia Tech. 

However, I have a couple of bees buzzing around in my wee bonnet that need to get out.  I’m allergic to bees.

I’ll try and keep it brief.  Well, kinda.

I found out today that Cho Seung-hui was on antidepressant medication at the time of the massacre.  

Why does that not surprise me?  

It had already occurred to me that he might be.   In fact, I was just waiting for confirmation.

The reason it doesn’t surprise me, is that I am well aware of the statistics regarding violent and suicidal behaviour under the influence of SSRI’s.  (Selective Seretonin Reuptake Inhibitors).  SSRI’s are the most commonly prescribed type of antidepressant.

The following is a sample of school shooters known to have been taking antidepressants:

• May 21, 1998, Springfield, Oregon: 15-year-old Kip Kinkel murdered his own parents and then proceeded to school where he opened fire on students in the cafeteria, killing two and wounding 22. Kinkel had been on Prozac and had undergone “anger management” classes.
• April 16, 1999: Notus, Idaho: 15-year-old Shawn Cooper fired two shotgun rounds in his school narrowly missing students; he was taking a mix of antidepressants.
• April 20, 1999, Columbine, Colorado: 18-year-old Eric Harris was on the antidepressant Luvox when he and his partner Dylan Klebold killed 12 classmates and a teacher before taking his own life in the bloodiest school massacre in history. The coroner confirmed that the antidepressant was in his system through toxicology reports. Dylan Klebold’s autopsy was never made public.
• May 20, 1999, Conyers, Georgia: 15-year-old T.J. Solomon was being treated with a mix of antidepressants when he opened fire on and wounded six of his classmates.
• March 7, 2000, Williamsport, Pennsylvania: 14-year-old Elizabeth Bush was on the antidepressant Prozac when she blasted away at fellow students wounding one.
• March 22, 2001, El Cajon, California: 18-year-old Jason Hoffman was on two antidepressants, Effexor and Celexa, when he opened fire at his high school, wounding five. Hoffman had also undergone an “anger management” program.

Smells a bit funny, dontcha think?

I have vast personal experience of SSRI’s.  I was on them for five years and they cost me almost everything, including three attempts on my life.  I never would have thought in that entire time I was on them, that it was the prescribed drugs making me ill.   I only stopped taking them because I thought they weren’t working, after my last suicide attempt.  Not for a second did I expect that they were the cause of it all.  

I’m still putting my life and myself back together.  It has been devastating.  I only went to my GP once with a complaint about my arm and I happened to mention I was having a hard time at work and that I was very stressed.  She wrote me a prescription.  Boom.  Hello drugs and hello psych ward!  I had no history of mental illness or depression.  

But enough about me.  I’m just telling you this, to put my passion regarding the subject in context.  I am not in favour of these drugs.  They may work for some, but there is no way to tell what is going to work and how.  There is no way on earth to measure brian chemistry.   It’s all hypothesis and guesswork.  

Would you want people playing with your brain, knowing that they’re just guessing?

If only I had known.  I was so naïve.

There have also been a number of celebrity deaths linked with antidepressants: 

• Phil Hartman’s wife was on them and complaining of adverse side effects just before she shot and killed her husband. There is now a law suit against Pfizer, the makers of Zoloft, claiming it was the cause of her violent rage that induced her to murder her husband, before committing suicide.
• Michael Hutchence was taking antidepressants at the time of his apparent suicide in a hotel room.
• Del Shannon shot and killed himself on Prozac.
• Elliot Smith was on a cocktail of psychiatric drugs, including Avanza when he died from a self inflicted stab wound to the chest.   I mean, who the hell in their right mind does that??

I could go on…

Here are a few  more handy facts:

Dr. John Zajecka reported in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry that the agitation and irritability experienced by patients withdrawing from one SSRI can cause “aggressiveness and suicidal impulsivity.” In Lancet, the British medical journal, Dr. Miki Bloch reported on patients who became suicidal and homicidal after stopping an antidepressant, with one man having thoughts of harming “his own children.”

Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRIs) can cause anxiety and agitation, bizarre dreams, and akathisia. It is estimated that between 10% and 25% of SSRI users experience akathisia, often in conjunction with suicidal thoughts, hostility and violent behavior.

A 1998 British report revealed that at least 5% of SSRI patients suffered “commonly recognized” side effects that include agitation, anxiety and nervousness. Around 5% of the reported side effects include aggression, hallucinations, malaise and depersonalization.

In 1995, nine Australian psychiatrists reported that patients had slashed themselves or become preoccupied with violence while taking SSRIs. “I didn’t want to die, I just felt like tearing my flesh to pieces,” one patient told the psychiatrists.

5% may not seem like many people at first glance, but when you consider that there are approximately 1 million people on Antidepressants in Australia, that’s 50,000 people suffering adverse effects of these drugs.  That’s a LOT of people, and some are going to be worse than others.   Goodness knows what the figures are for America.

So, do ya think prescribed psychiatric drugs might have played a part in sending Cho Seung-hui off the deep end? 

I reckon so. 

At the very least, it’s worth investigating.

I keep reading about the media furore in the US, with everyone looking for someone to blame.  It’s obvious there are too many factors at play to point the finger at one entity, although I am utterly convinced that this would never have happened if it wasn’t for that young man being on antidepressants.

I see American gun laws as the other major player. 

Being an Australian, I find American gun culture a most curious thing.  It’s just so alien to what I know.  We don’t ‘do’ guns here.  After the Port Arthur massacre in 1996 (which is still the world’s worst.  Something to be proud of, eh?) the Australian government spent $500 million on a gun buy-back scheme.  640,381 personal firearms, including semi-automatic .22 rifles and shotguns, were handed in.  Now, some types of guns are banned altogether and you need a strict licence to own one, which involves background checks and giving a bloody good reason for needing a gun.  Such as being a farmer, law-enforcement officer, or sports shooter.

The only other people who have guns in Australia are the occasional well-off criminal, who can afford to buy one on the black market.

I don’t get the impression Cho Seung-hui was terribly well off.

I do understand that the psychology of gun ownership is far more complex in America.   I mean, just look at the Wild West.  The culture is way too ingrained to ever hope of pushing through legislative changes like Australia did after the Port Arthur massacre. 
 
I don’t want to go on and on about this, but I’ll leave you with some brief statistics:

Gun ownership in Australia is 5.2%. 

Gun ownership in the US is soomewhere between 38-50%.

Here is a comparison of US gun homicides to other industrialized countries:
In 1998 (the most recent year for which this data has been compiled), handguns murdered:

373 people in Germany
151 people in Canada
57 people in Australia
19 people in Japan
54 people in England and Wales, and
11,789 people in the United States

Note that these numbers account only for HOMICIDES, and do not include suicides, which comprise an even greater number of gun deaths, or unintentional shootings.

Even if you put the population of all the other countries together, which would roughly equate to the population of the United States, the death toll doesn’t even come close. Do you suppose it’s because the other countries have gun control laws?

Just, maybe.

Lastly, a disturbingly humorous video to lighten the mood:

Watch as this DEA agent shoots himself in the foot in front of a class of students.   Literally.  My favourite part is when he pulls out the bigger gun.  Oh, and when he says “I am the only one professional enough in the room to carry one.”   That’s a cracker.  I am however slightly disturbed that there are children in the room.  Check it out:

In other news:  Over 200 people killed by suicide bombers this week in Iraq.  Just thought I ought to mention it….

Other Sources: Citizen’s Commission on Human Rights, ICHV.org

Song Of The Day: Pop Will Eat Itself – Wise Up Sucker!

It’s true what they say about gardening…

I used to really hate gardening. I could kill a plant at 20 paces, just by looking at it. I used to joke that I had a brown thumb. It all just seemed like an enormous chore to me.

Then, at the beginning of this year, I went through a strange and rather complicated metamorphosis*, which saw me turn into SUPER NAKED GARDENER.  I had a sudden urge to take my clothes off in the garden and plant things, often.  Fortunately, I got really lucky with the costume. Gardening is a dirty business and a cape would just get in the way.  

I’d heard people talk in whimsical and reverent tones about the wonders of working with the earth for most of my life, but my utter self absorption and short attention span never allowed me to truly discover the deep satisfaction that is to be had by sinking your hands into the dirt and nurturing a plant into bloom.

It’s true what they say. Gardening is a form of meditation. There is nothing else (with the possible exception of having an orgasm, oh and skinnydippng), that clears my mind in the same way, or takes me to such a simple place of pleasure and sheer enjoyment of life.

Ok, the pleasure principle is somewhat different between gardening and sex, but you get my drift, right?

I love planting. That’s my favourite part. I love mixing the different soils and mulch. I love digging my bare hands into the soil and letting the dirt fall through my fingers. I love popping the seedling out of the container to admire and gently free its delicate root structure. I love digging a little hole and placing the seedling, just so. I love giving them water and verbal encouragement daily. It matters not to me that they don’t have ears. They respond to my care.

These flowers are blossoming in my garden right now. I can’t take credit for them, for the plants were here when I moved in — but if you click on them you’ll see they are very pretty, indeed.

I have discovered my true love is growing edible plants. Flowers are nice, but there is nothing like eating food you have grown with your own loving care. This is a photo I took of some baby carrots I planted on 1 April.

And this is how they look today, 12 days later. The rapid growth is almost like instant gratification, with a lesson on patience thrown in for good measure. I can’t wait to see what’s below the surface!

I adore rocket. I could just munch on rocket leaves all day. This is my rocket 12 days ago…

And here it is today. Growing like a rocket, no less! Yummm….! I’m having salad tonight….

I’m so excited to taste these cherry tomatoes, I can barely stand it…. but they’re taking so long to turn red! I mean…. HOW MUCH LONGER?? There are around 20-30 of them in that pot and I’m loving that specific, pungent aroma of the tomato plant. It takes me back to my grandparent’s vegetable patch from childhood…

Jalapeno’s anyone? I love chillies, but I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this many of them. There are about 10 on that one plant right now and more popping up every day. I guess I can always freeze or dry them… Don’t you love that green?

This little fella makes me smile. Look at the way he’s climbing up the trellis all by himself. I thought I was going to have to tie him up, but it turns out he’s a very independent and capable little snow pea plant! If you look closely you can see 3 snow peas of varying sizes…

I’m also growing a lot of other things, like various herbs, red onions, and a lemon tree in a pot amongst other things — but we’d be here forever if I showed you them all. These are my star performers.

So, it seems I may have a green thumb, after all.  Who knew?  I think I was always going to have to be in a still and quiet place of personal transformation for the growth of a plant to become something I appreciate deeply.  It’s quite symbolic.

I also love that when it’s warm, I can just turn around and dive in the pool to get clean.

It’s the simple things…

Now, I have a question for you:

I recently got hold of these rusty old buckets and I want to plant bulbs in them next week (jonquils, tulips and hyacinths). I’m really new at growing things and I don’t want to take any chances in terms of poisoning them, so I’m not keen on putting the soil directly in contact with the rust. Does anyone know of any product or method to coat the inside of the buckets to form a barrier between the metal and the soil? I’m thinking I might just have to line them with plastic….

I’d appreciate any ideas…

* My amazing metamorphosis may or may not be discussed at a later date. I’m a bit over talking about it for now.

Song Of The Day – Donovan – There Is A Mountain

Immersion

She removes her clothes and stands naked on the edge. The heat of the day has pushed her to it. It’s been a while and she’s unsure whether to prolong the torture, or follow her outstretched hands. She opts for the latter.

Oh!

She remembers the feeling. It snaps back to her in a shock of saturation and sudden charge of algidity.

She resurfaces and opens her eyes, acutely aware of all her senses. The taste of salt is on her lips. Not like the sea, just a subtle familiar flavour. She closes her eyes again and leans back to allow her whole body to rise to the surface. Lying in a Jesus Christ pose, her face drinks in the afternoon sun which is now tempered by a gentle breeze. Bright blue gleams through the cirrus, and the green of the palm trees is nature’s striking contrast.

She hears it. How soon is now? She hears it below the surface. She keeps her head low and listens, bemused that musical notes are still audible. Parts of her body start to move balletically under the water. She feels the sun filling her with an energy she can barely recall and she turns her body prone before kicking out and diving dolphin-like to the depths. She relishes the silence underwater more than any. Legs together and toes pointed, she thinks she could be a mermaid, could she take a liquid breath.

No, this can’t be so. She is far too bouyant.

Faster than she dives, she surfaces. Parts of her naked body want to float and are very insistant about it. She laughs at herself and twirls around, loving the gracefulness that the resistance of the water provides to her movement. She is dancing.

Nobody can see her and she savours the freedom.

She spreads her legs and arms and lies back, upheld by the bed of liquid. She holds the pose, then becomes vertical and forces herself under, before curling and tilting. One, then the other and over again. She stands on solid ground and watches her silhouette. The water creates fluid shadows and she manipulates their mutability, loving the lines and blurrs. She runs her hands over her skin and marvels at how her body feels in the weightlessness, pleasuring in the sensuality.

As the sun dries her body, she smiles.

She hopes it will be hot again tomorrow…

Song Of The Day – Kenny Rogers and The First Edition – Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)