Can't Sleep

Artist Franz Van Severdonck

Shh shh
she can't sleep
even tried to count some sheep
gears keep turning
no off button
wander far from fields of mutton
back to landscapes less serene
her brain a scattered time machine

what if, if only
constant gnawing
guilt inside is tearing, clawing
thought she killed that wicked monster
still its prey, some days it  haunts her
big mistakes bad decisions
crimson past like scarred incisions

start again forgive, forgive
perhaps some things she won't outlive
emotional ninny, basket case
spilling tears from place to place
wherever she goes
drip drip drip
from leaky eyelids tears will slip
leaving traces streaky face
and that salty, brakish taste

tomorrow, next year
leave the past
things start spinning sick-bag fast
endless list of things to do
don't let them down
they count on you

hush now, hush now
rest your head
think warm fuzzy thoughts instead
count your many awesome blessings
silence worries, worthless stressing
envision loved ones' precious faces
safe secure in warm embraces

oops she's saddened less consoled
those hands too far away to hold
brother over oceans blue
others might as well be too
not seas between that separate
but failure to communicate

she thinks of friends she misses much
regret and grief in losing touch
thank you cards she needs to write
her mind could go and go all night

ugh exhausted
need some zzz's
fuck off sun, go back down please

what to count now?
ducks ducks geese
upon a lake, a pond of peace
feather pillow floating down
grant her sleep or let her drown
sick of swimming she surrenders
sinks to sleep in silent splendor

Another Whamble (on neurologists, side-effects and protective custody)

I needed some good news. In Idaho people are pretty well convinced our country is going to hell in a hand basket. They're loaded with Copenhagen and conviction, as riled as i would've been had the alternative candidate come out on top in the election. A bunch of Chicken Littles squawkin around here.

We're considering moving again. We wouldn't go too far, and we have all intentions of returning to our lovely Moscow town, our little liberal oasis. As well-versed as i am in the exercise of boxing up all my belongings and schlepping them somewhere else, it's daunting. By the time i hit high school i'd moved 14 times (not including hippy hops to different houses). I've moved 4-6 times since then depending on how you count. I'd be fine with staying put a while. I swear i would.

Especially since the assimilation here was a such bitch. It'll be bushels easier having my sister with me this time around (i moved here a year or so before she did), but i hate the breaking-in stages of being in a new place. Yuck. We've had our growing pains, but there've definitely been times it seemed the only thing keeping me afloat was this community. People at all levels and throughout the system have gone to bat for me. That is priceless. 

On the flip side, however, there have been a few nightmares like the taser-happy cop, the a-hole paramedic and the local neurologist. In my quest for a pick-me-up, i called the neurologist's office to confirm the rumors of her imminent retirement are true. The receptionist gave me the glorious affirmative, YES! So at least there's that. Finally, nobody will suffer at the hands of this woman again (at least for the next month until the world ends).

Don't get me wrong, i'm overwhelmingly grateful for the competent, caring medical professionals out there. I'm indebted to them more than i can articulate. I'd take up arms and battle on their behalf if it came down to it.

But the bad ones... ooohhh the bad ones. My blood boils knowing now there are other patients who've had similarly terrible experiences with this medical practitioner. I've been to a lot of doctors. Neurologists seem to be a fairly kooky bunch, but mostly good, well-intentioned people. But this lady, this lady takes the cake. I'll go so far as to say she may be a demon incarnate. We're so vulnerable as patients and she seems to pray on this, picking on threadbare, insecure victims like a heartless predator with a sadistic, power-mongering God complex or something. 

It was traumatic. I think i have PTSD from this doctor. I was totally duped thinking she wasn't a wackjob and actually cared.  First off, she started me on 2 new drugs and glossed over the side-effects, basically, "you might have facial widening, gum hyperplasia and increased body hair", nevermind discussing potentially life-threatening side effects, but no worries, i can read the pamphlet.

Then, i saw her a few more times. Each appointment i waited at least an hour an a half to see her. Okay, i can understand a practice being busy. I won't fault a doctor for spending extra time with patients ever. We did routine blood-level draws of medications and scheduling EEGs; everything seemed pretty copacetic to me. (I was still having seizures, but she seemed to be working with me.)

Then it got weird. I was downtown and ate shit on some concrete. The EMT's knew she was my doctor so for some reason instead of taking me into the hospital, they called her and she agreed to see me in her office. They walked me there (i don't remember that part but afterwards, there's about 20 minutesish where i can interact with the world, but i don't remember any of it.) What i do remember is standing in her office puking in her sink, the kind where it feels like bucking broncos in your gut, bilious and violent and head splitting. 

I felt awful (both physically and for making a mess in her office). She had her receptionist walk me over to the hospital for a blood draw. I puked in a red wastebasket as they pulled the sample up into the vials. The receptionist told me i was free to go home. I did a couple circles in search of a bathroom, but i couldn't find one so i made a bee-line out one of the doors and hurled in a bush outside.

I made it home, my head spinning and slept on my couch for a few hours until i heard someone bang on the door. "Come in" i uttered from my prone position on the sofa. A cop entered. "Nevermind go back out!" (I didn't say.) I stepped outside. Three patrol cars were parked at the curb, lights whirling. They were taking me into protective custody. "It took three of you?" I didn't have energy to argue. 

Salmon River Winter '09

It was about 7 pm and they'd been instructed to take me into the E.R. where the lovely neurologist, had agreed to see me again. I was pissed, especially since she didn't saunter in until 11:30 or Midnight and wouldn't let me leave until i consented to a CT scan (even though i was no longer vomiting, my pupils were normal, etc., etc.). By the time i got discharged, it was 1:30 in the morning, but protective custody is a mandatory 72 hour hold in Idaho, so it was even more time-consuming rigamarole while my lieutenant friend got a hold of the district attorney and they finally let me go. By the time i walked home (a mile or two), it was basically dawn and i had a biochem exam at 7. 

It seemed about the least conducive strategy to reduce seizures (stress and no sleep). The doctor has both a secretary and a receptionist; they all could have phoned me, plus they'd billed me a number of times, so they knew my address, but instead they send the police. I should've fired her on the spot. It was definitely a red flag, but i gave her the benefit of the doubt on account that i was throwing up in her office after a blow to the head so cops or not, she was practicing some cover-your-ass medicine.

Against my better judgement, i saw her again. Her tactic was a nip-it-in-the-bud approach, and i was ready to stop eating shit and hitting my head so she added some new meds to the mix. I was on 5 (one was PRN, but as-needed was daily). She didn't decrease any doses. Usually side-effects abate for the most part after a few weeks, but after a month of not being able to walk straight i couldn't take it any more. 

I was pulled over every other day for public intoxication (and you know it's bad if people are reporting you in a fairly tolerant college town).  The levels would fluctuate throughout the day. My normally 10-15 minute walk home would take upwards of 3 hours. It was two steps forward, one step back. When levels peaked, my world would ass-over-tea-kettle. It was like Fear and Loathing minus the euphoria. Once i was at the farmer's market and it was all i could do to not take out small children or merchandise tables. (It's no wonder i can't land a job.) For weeks i looked like the town drunk. 

Frat boys yelled at me from their balconies when i mis-timed my stumble home with the end of a football game. I was afraid i'd veer into traffic if i tried to stay on the sidewalk so i attempted to negotiate my way across an adjacent hillside. The uneven ground proved an even greater challenge. They yelled and whooped when i fell. I was laughing too, which didn't help, but i knew how it must've looked. 

I had to cling to a chain link fence when i encountered some construction that blocked the sidewalk. Cars raced by as i waited for a break in the traffic, holding on for my life. I might have cried, or maybe it was just sweat and stress and the scent of metal.

I was miserable, desperate, couldn't ride my bike, couldn't play sports, couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, couldn't read. I finally had another appointment with the neurologist lady. It was at 1 o'clock, it was all i could do to make it the 7 or so blocks in the hour i'd permitted. I worked my ass off just to get there in time and then like usual, i waited. Then they put me in one of her exam rooms and i waited some more. I waited for hours. Every time i stuck my head out to make sure i hadn't been forgotten, they'd usher me back in with the same promise she'd be in shortly. 

Finally, 4 hours after my appointment was scheduled, she came in to see me long enough for me to explain i couldn't stay on the sidewalk and i was afraid of being hit by a semi. She asked, "are you having any seizures?" 
"Not big ones", i replied. 
She gave a self-satisfied "mm-hmm." Then she excused herself from the room saying she needed to take an important phone call. So again, i waited. 

I had to call a professor to reschedule a make-up-exam (holy shit biscuit). I was frustrated and furious. I scribbled a note with questions, waited some more. I peeked my head out again, saw her office was empty and learned from her receptionist that she was in with her next patient. So that's when i left her office for good. 

I found later that her clinician's notes claimed the day she had me arrested i had eloped (left against medical advice. I'm not even sure that term applies if you haven't been admitted.) The day i left during my last appointment she claimed i had disappeared and they couldn't find me(!) How infuriating. 

I was really concerned about the bash to my credibility.  Fortunately, though, i was since able to get a referral to a specialist in Spokane who's phenomenal (and knew all about this neurologist's reputation). Also, a look into her online ratings revealed a bunch of other dissatisfied patients. As much as i hate to know i'm not the only one, it was validating to know there were others out there.

The corollary to this story is if you have hard-to-manage epilepsy, see a seizure specialist. Also, if you're in medicine, become an epileptologist. We really, really need you (especially if the world doesn't end next month after all).

Missileanus

I'm overdue for some bra shopping. I'm at the point in the life of my non-sportsbras where the wires are poking through the outer material. "Why oh, why oh underwire?" I cry. Such a tender place to be prodded but, obviously, i need all the structural support i can get. And i'm kidding, but i do think this. Anycow, here's a clever advert:

Tech support

So i think i'll forgo the under-wires next time and order one of these:

I called finally and confirmed they've filled the position i applied for. He said they'll probably be hiring again in January so that would be a relief. I've been walking a dog for a few bucks every day and i'm petitioning the neurology gods it all continues to go successfully. Such a simple job is still a questionable endeavor for someone with epilepsy. I wrap the leash around my wrist and entreat the powers at be as much as i dare, that she remains tethered to my body and far from cars and death-delivering inertia in the street. I probably owe it to her owner to disclose my medical foibles and inefficiencies. But boy would i rather spare her the worry. 

I'm trying to keep my mind off my recent job-propositioning failure and staying as busy as i can manage.  It's pitifully easy for me to come up with excuses not to leave my house. I have to make a conscious effort to say yes. I've posted this before, and i regret at less than 50 posts to get repetitive, but i'll never, ever get sick of this:

Yesterday, i said yes, even though the question was ridiculous. I guess i was game for a distraction, so, oopsie daisy, if i didn't agree when my friend asked if i wanted to shoot a 50 Caliber rifle. You just never know in Idaho.

I don't really like guns, but i guess we're gonna shoot a big one.

We're definitely a couple of rednecks.
It was Hillbilly Make-A-Wish meets bucket list.
MS is threatening my friend's last somewhat-functional limb.
In any event, he was pretty thrilled about this gun business.

Don't rob Ben, our dentist friend; that guy has some really big guns.

I'm not a gun-nut by any means but it was more fun than i anticipated. We also shot a bump action stock-equipped AR-15 which i initially declined on account of the moral implications of putting my hands on such a thing (i won't even post the pictures), but i'm spineless and the guys goaded me into it, so i squeezed off a few rounds rapid-fire. It seemed so wrong, and then i shrugged it off, grateful to live somewhere safe and peaceful where law-abiding citizens own these things (whothehellknowswhy) and not baby boy gangsters in the streets. 

It's cold here and the air feels like a frosty scouring brush as it swirls through my very first cavity. Perhaps i'll pay a business visit to my new dentist friend who happens to be armed to the teeth.

More inappropriate humor to wrap it all up:

Ugh and Pictures

I know in my last post about the River Discovery trip, i implied i was done talking about the river for now, but i found a few pictures on my camera, so what the hay.

I'm longing for my life on the river today. I haven't been more angry with myself in a while. I missed a voicemail for an interview. I don't know how i managed it. It was a job i really wanted. It's the most elementary part of the whole process- make sure they can contact you. Duh, duh, duh. To make matters worse, it was 6 days later i discovered the message in my 'saved' box, i should've contacted the interviewer yesterday regardless, but i was too devastated. What do i say? I'm a dumbass? Ugh. A job! Benefits! I'm such a goddam space cadet. I'm ready to hibernate. Does anybody have a cave i could borrow for a while? Fuck. I should've been a bear. (Link to a poem- my in-dwelling poet is like six years old, so don't expect too much.)

Speaking of, i apologize i've been such a petulant potty-mouth lately. It wasn't my intent to come here and curse and complain all the time. Not at all. Thanks for being so patient with me. 

Lots of time driving in the rig. 

Our camp kitchen. My sister got to come on a trip.

Did i mention lots of time driving around in the rig?

with a big load

crew camp out before a trip

I meant to take more pictures on one of my favorite sections of river, but it's a little crazier, so i never had my camera out.

The toilet. Some guests struggle with this, but i'm a fan. When was the last time you took a poo and saw a shooting star? Hm?

Lots of love to y'all from your unemployed, rubbish-brained former river guide.

Autumn Romp

Photo credit: Julesoflondon

I intended to dump a bundleful of glum and dreary in the woods today. I was planning to bury it somewhere off trail in a cat hole, but even with the slick of the rain, i couldn't shake it free from my arms. It wasn't a big load, but i held it close to my heart and feared letting the weight of it down might leave me feeling terribly helpless and uncomfortably exposed.

I kept my cluster of worries held to my chest as rain fell down and soaked me and the dogs. I wished i could casually pass it off like the blades of grass foisting rain drops off onto my pant legs as i brushed by them, arcing, aloof, like careless ballerinas, oblivious to the storm, dancing. I couldn't fix these things. No matter how tightly i clutched them in my Amazon arms, or how often i worried them in my fingers throughout the day, they would never snap into manageable pieces or wear down the slightest bit or soften to the touch.

...

I know this. Yet, i can't let go of the sorrow. I try to sigh it away into the big, drab sky and bid it go play with the other shades of dark up there (in a busy street of speeding chariots), but it keeps slipping back into me in wisps of grey. 

Life is tough, for some the time on this planet is cut short, families are truncated of tender branches. Some are taken in ways that seem horribly unjust. My would-be-sister-in-common-law-if-Idaho-recognized-common-law's mom is slipping down the steep, merciless slope of ALS. She's staying here so she can go through another battery of doctor's visits this week. Our house isn't wheelchair accessible. I feel terrible. When you're at the stage in the game where every moment is precious, the last thing you want to compromise is someone's dignity. She's a great sport, but i hate that it's a struggle. I hate that the once-fiercly-independant woman is humiliated by her need for assistance. I hate that every time i see her, the rapid decline is apparent. She fights to breathe these days. What a dastardly, piece of shit disease.

Albeit a molehill, comparatively, mom is facing a tough situation too; after 22 years of unhappy marriage, she's finally calling it quits. She just moved out this weekend. While i know in my heart they'll be better off long-term without the often volatile marriage arrangement; it's going to be harder than a fossilized, anal-retentive velociraptor turd in the meantime. I wish i could take her up in a hug and not let go til it's over. I wish i lived closer. I can't stand the idea of my mom living in a one room apartment alone.

I have more ill-sorted (<<great word) worrows and concerns that buzz around and pop out of the darkness like a carnival "fun" house. I know most of them also fall under bullet number one in the Serenity Prayer, but sue me if i'm too chicken shit to admit that i can't change these things. Maybe i can't accept the sheer helplessness yet. 

...

I plodded down the trail til it opened up and plunked me back out near where we started. I love loop trails. The fall colors were contrasted like flames against the dark sky. The tamarack glowed yellow like blazing torches against a dark forest backdrop. An assortment of deciduous trees added to the fiery array. It struck me that maybe this was nature's way of saying, i know it's cold and dark these days, but here are my leaves in cozy tones to warm your exposed and vulnerable souls. It's gonna be okay one way or another; light and love will always win, eventually.

With that glimmer of hope, i took my dogs and my load and plodded the damp streets home.

Purple Gophers and Mustaches

In case you haven't heard, November is Epilepsy awareness month. I knowiknow, every month is something-awareness month and it's pretty dang overwhelming. There are so many worthwhile causes out there with symbols and colors galore, but purple is lovely and we definitely need your support. 

Granted i'm biased, but this is a cause that's in dire need of attention. Seizures aren't just a drag; they aren't merely a frustrating, humiliating, inconvenience; people are dying. 

More than 50,000 people in America die on account of seizures each year. That's 50 thousand devastated, heartbroken, grief-stricken families every. single. year. That's waaaay too many moms and dads burying their babies. If we bunched it all up, that's enough sadness to sink a goddamn battle ship, (and that doesn't even include the anguish felt by friends and caregivers of these individuals, and the anguish that endures year, after year, after year in everyone's hearts). Epilepsy steals more lives annually than breast cancer, yet the funding is about $35 per patient vs. $2,976 per patient (according to abcnews), respectively. 

It's staggering enough, but we also can't forget the millions of families who are waging war daily against seizure disorders. 3 million people in the U.S. have been diagnosed with epilepsy (that's twice the population of my home state). About a third of these people don't find good control with medications. So in addition to the thousands who succumb to the disease, there are at least a million more in our country who are robbed of quality of life and their most intimate sense of security. This results in a ripple effect of constant worry and fear and hyper-vigilance for all those who love somebody with epilepsy.

If we had a dollar for every time a mom, sister, boyfriend, daughter, etc. watched helplessly and begged and prayed and pleaded for convulsions to end, we'd have a mint to contribute to funding and research. But we don't have that money, and if we don't start talking about it, we never, ever will. 

While knowledge and understanding of the disease has improved, it's still widely misunderstood and seldom discussed. We've made leaps and bounds since the Salem Witch Trials, but the stigma is still there. People don't regard epilepsy as a burnable offense anymore, but popular culture these days tends to ignore seizures entirely, save for the occasion they're the butt of a joke or featured as a bizarre oddity on a Hollywood medical TV show. 

For more information, here's an article that appeared in Newsweek a few years ago: Epilepsy: Overlooked and Underfunded

While i vilify those out there who mock people with epilepsy, i realize i'm just as complicit in my silence. I haven't much talked about it outside of absolute necessity. I've run from it and done all i could to deny it. But i've realized for each of us in the literal knock-down-drag out brawl against this monster who have a voice, there are many more out there who don't. 

So, God help me. I'm talking about it. I'm learning. We'll get there. 

It can seem a daunting venture. Who really wants to hear about these sorts of things? It's an awkward conversation. Nonetheless, we have to stand up. The state-of-affairs on the epilepsy front is not okay! A life riddled with seizures is synonymous with terror, and too often, hopelessness. But when i noticed this headline last night my eyes and my heart welled up in a rare moment of optimism:

Gopher football team to raise epilepsy awareness Saturday[!]

Jerry Kill, head coach of the University of
Minnesota football team

Thanks to this brave man who contends with the burdens of epilepsy, the first ever college football game dedicated to raising epilepsy awareness was played today! The Gophers may not have put a win up on the scoreboard, but it was sure as hell a win and then some in my book. I feel so hopeful.

Here's some of that purple in action!

What's more, he and his wife stepped up to the plate yesterday to become public spokespeople for epilepsy. I can't begin to tell you how elated this makes me. This. This is the sort of advocacy we desperately need. 

Now pardon me here, but where the fuck are you David Beckham, John Travolta, Neil Young, Danny Glover, Chief Justice Roberts, etc., etc.?! We could certainly use a little star power in the fight against epilepsy. Please, for the whopping 65 million people struggling worldwide with this disorder, let's turn the lime light at least a little purple. 

Also, i noticed November is doubling as prostate cancer/men's health awareness month which guys are deeming 'Movember' and sporting mustaches. I won't lie, selfishly at first, i was a bit loathe to share the month, but i feel we can all win here if those guys would man-up and dye that upper lip fur purple. Thanks in advance, guys!

River Discovery Trip

Before i leave summer alone, i have to mention one week that got my gears turning. It was a river trip exclusively for kids either currently battling or who have survived the nightmare of cancer. It's an awesome program called River Discovery. There are opportunities for both teenagers and adults and it's my understanding, save for an application fee, it's free for the participants.

It turned out to be my last trip and it was a poignant end to the summer. (Also great because i wasn't trip leader, so i could just sit back and be a dumb river guide again.) I'd heard stories about last year's River Discovery trip having open port-a-caths and chemo in camp and that sort of thing, so i wasn't sure i'd have the emotional fortitude to bear it. I lost one of my good friends, Susie at 9 to leukemia. Just the word 'cancer' sits like an infected lead ball in my stomach. I'm a pretty big sissy about it.

It's such a cool program. A few of these kids have been the last couple or three summers, and they freakin love it. I was filled with admiration watching them scramble on rocks and hike around and even  do some rappelling in camp despite a number of them having internal prosthetics and braces, and some being generally frail. 

But most of all, they were just regular kids. There were baby-faced hand-holding romances and everything else you could expect with 13 teenagers involved with anything. We had great support from volunteers that had backgrounds in varying, complementary fields including an oncologist who turned out to be a riot. 

They were all very tolerant of my shenanigans and great sports when i duped them with some good, old-fashioned river guide trickery. 

There were games and skits and water fights and guitars and songs and campfires and all that awesome hokey river camp shiznit. We all cried when we realized the last night had crept up on us. It was a helluva privilege to share a week on the river with this bunch of kids that confronted fears and challenges with practiced pluck and determination. We laughed a lot.

All week all i could think was, how cool if there was a program like to accommodate people with all sorts of chronic illnesses? With a well trained, vigilant crew, maybe even adults and kids with seizures could go on these trips. Sure, we might have to enforce a strict buddy system and pass out helmets as soon as we hit camp, but holy crap i'd love to make it happen.

Seriously, though, if you know of anyone with the misfortune of a cancer diagnosis that could benefit from one of these river trips, check out the River Discovery website.

Note: I've mixed in pictures of trips with teenagers from throughout the summer for the sake of preserving medical privacy

Box of Darkness

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

 -Mary Oliver

I'm far from that realization, actually. In fact who ever gave me that  box can take it right back and shove it. 

Like i might've said before: if i were offered a cure tomorrow, i would snatch it up and run til my legs fell off. On the other hand, if i could choose to have my life without having experienced the tribulations and sacrifices of an unpredictable brain disorder, i'd probably find myself declining the offer. I might be a whole lot smarter, but i just don't think i'd hold it all in quite the same regard.

On Leaving the House

Pansy Patch Acrylic

Even these days, simply leaving the house can be the hardest damn thing.

I'm embarrassed to admit it to you. Especially since my town is safe and and free from the flooding and aftermath of a giant ass hurricane, and my brain is basically a rockstar lately (so i should be out frolicking joyously nonstop really), and i'm physically well, and a million other reasons...  

I guess, more specifically, i mean leave the neighborhood- distances more than 15 or so minutes away from home (so as not to exceed the amount of advance warning provided by my trusty and adorable seizure detection dog). I go on bike rides (gotta chancem now and then) and we walk around our neck of the woods every day, but save for hockey practices, a UU service and an aberrant dinner with friends, it's the extent of my social pursuits. Wah right? I miss my life in the boondocks where if the human company leaves some to be desired, we can walk 15 steps out of camp and consort with birds and marmots and deers and shit.

I hate to be a home-body, but about every few months or so somebody notices i'm not in a wheelchair or blind, so they'll give me grief about the dog. I know i have ADA mandate on my side, so there isn't much these people could do to me, but i fear the day someone hassles me and i wind up punching out their teeth. I know it's not their own fault if their mothers failed to instill manners and diplomacy into some of these people, but it's all i can do not to beat their ill-informed, tactless booties into the current century.

I'm perpetually awkward. I'm good friends with a few of the first-responders but since part of the department is volunteer-based there are seemingly hundreds of generally young firefighters and emt's to bump into around town. I just try to smile and wave and hope i didn't puke on their boots or do anything else embarrassing the last time they had to deal with me. Plus i have no idea which innocent bystanders have been on scene and witnessed the mutiny of my brain and the subsequent assault on my soul and body. I know it's paranoid and insane to even worry about, but it's kind of a hell of a first impression to overcome. I don't know if i'm socially equipped for that.

Most of all, however, I'm terrified if the ambulance is dispatched on my account, one of the whackjob, bad-apple, power-mongers is gonna be on call and the whole situation will turn into a nightmare of four-point restraints and having my face smashed into the concrete. Though they're overwhelmingly the minority of the people employed to respond to the scene of a medical call, I swear i have PTSD from the few useless (no, worse, injurious) imbeciles that are out there. 

I'm undecided as to whether or not to share the stories that led up to our current state of animosity here, (leaning on yes) but i really do hate the idea of talking smack about any emergency medical or law enforcement personnel because the overwhelming majority of them are truly caring, and professional. The bozos (and please forgive the emotionally-charged name-calling, but i think 'bozo' is being pretty generous here) who respond inappropriately by restraining and/or piling onto somebody who's been reported to have had a seizure, may be well-intended, but since my efforts at educating and filing complaints have been to no avail, i'm inclined to think not. I feel so vulnerable. 

Jerry Bear Jack-o-Lantern

So i stayed home and carved my pumpkin and jump-roped and played my guitar. Ha.

Also: 

Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That’s it. That’s my heart.

― Haruki Murakami

My heart's out to you, East Coasters.