Screwing Around

Instead of spending my time writing new posts, I used it to screw around with the blog template. In the next few weeks I will be moving my blog to my website. I hope that I will be able to link all references from livingwithaadd.blogspot.com to there.

Once completed you should be able to reach my blog via http://www.myunfocusedlife.com, http://livingwithaadd.blogspot.com.

It Was a Swell Birthday (pun intended)

On monday I became my own prop to the magic show, called "my birthday". Shortly after a perfectly prepared Russian meal, my body began to swell and itch. By midnight I looked like one of the balloons that the birthday clown fashions into billowy animals while entertaining the party guests. My cherub like hands and feet were salient and out of place among my thin legs, arms, and body. In the end, my breathing became labored forcing us to make our fourth trip to the emergency room this year. My symptoms were apparently clear to all involved, as the ER receptionist for-went the usual forms and sent me directly to triage. Within minutes of my exam by the ER nurse, I was in a treatment bay preparing for my massive infusion shots of Benadryl and Prednisone. Unlike the tetnus shot during the last visit to St. Elizabeth's, these had to be administered posteriorly. Later from the nurses station, I heard them giggling and guffawing over the cute little tattoo on my butt. I was not amused.

My girlfriend felt bad. She assumed that my reaction was triggered by something in the food she prepared for my birthday. I was introduced to Russian salamis, cod liver salad, and cold smoked sturgeon. They were delicious and I ate till I sated. She also suspected the Tide Detergent we purchased on Saturday when we ran out of the organic stuff. I could tell she felt bad and I couldn't allay her fears and guilt of putting me in harms way.

This morning her son exhibited the same symptoms of hives and swollen hands. As a veteran of this battle, I knew to quickly give him antihistimes and encouraged him to scrub his hands thoroughly. His pain, however, was our relief. It couldn't be the food 'cuz he eats nothing but hamburgers, omlettes, and junk food. It is unlikely to be the Tide, 'cuz it never gave him this reaction before. What we settled on was animal allergies that we both share. Mr. Big, my cat, has been living with my ex because of similar shared allergies. We remembered the extra animal fur that covered the top of our building's washers indicating that pet stained clothes had recently visited there. We also discussed the possiblity that, unknowingly house mice had become our unwanted tenants. Before we separated for the day, we all agreed that I would be visiting the local hardware store and Trader Joes to get mouse traps and organic detergent.

Needless to say, this has been a long winded explanation of my recent absences from Blogger. It's really hard to type with distended hands. Fortunately, I am beginning to see the sinews and knuckles of my hands beneath the skin, even though I had massive amounts of Russian sausage for breakfast. I feel sorry for my girlfriend's son, but at the same time happy that my new Russian food friendships will remain intact.

Thank you for all the kind birthday wishes. They really made my birthday a happy time.

Update
The Pediatrician thinks it's the Tide.

Disclaimer: No animials were harmed in the production of the Blog ... yet.

Milestones and Lessons Learned

This was once my favorite time of year. Not the cold winter part of the season, but the time between Hannuka and Christmas, and my birthday. It was a great sequence of events. First, the 8 days of Hannuka where my siblings and I would get a present every evening. Next, we would to downtown Pittsburgh and visit the animated displays in the windows of Kauffman's department store. Then I would have a 30 day reprieve from excitement, only to resume the first week of February.

This year I will be having a milestone birthday. It will be the final one in my forties as I make the long march towards old age. I never remember the feeling of entering a new decade, but have strong feelings as I leave one. It has to do with retrospection. When I reach the end, I try to evaluation how well I spend the past 10 years. Did I leave my mark on society and improve my own life, or did I fritter it away on mindless rote.

The past 10 years have been well spent. I grew and peaked in my career, and spent much of them on personal growth. I finally started addressing my obstacles and working towards my own personal goals. While my marriage did not survive these changes, I grew closer to my ex-wife and developed a strong and enduring friendship. We left behind our joint life, and became family. She is the sister I always wanted, but never really had. The one person in life, besides my girlfriend, who watches out for my best interests despite of my shortcomings.

My forties also gave me the opportunity to explore my own ideas and love and relationship. I spent their final three (3) years meeting new women and discovering my own wants, needs, and expectations from a love. I also discovered that when given the opportunity I am a loving, and caring lover. These discoveries lead me to my current relationship with my girlfriend, which is everything I ever wanted from someone else.

I don't know what the fifties will bring, but I have another year to try and sort that out. In the meantime, I am going to enjoy this year's birthday. It is a celebration of my persistence and perseverance, and my own appreciation for the human spirit.

Women, Babies, Bisquits and Buns

Judge Alito was sworn into the Supreme Court today om a very narrow comfirmation vote of 54 to 41. What amazed me was that 4 Democratic Senators voted to affirm his nomination. It's not that I have anything against the man, but I do think he will sway the court away from moderation and over to a kindler, gentler form of facism. Not that I have anything against facism as long as I am not the target of the facist agenda. Why? Because that is the current mindset of the American people. It's okay to blur the lines between church and state and hold a moratorium on civil rights as long as it's your church and not your rights.

It seems to me that within the next few years, the Supreme Court will revisit the abortion debate and the bellweather decision of Roe versus Wade. After all, they will argue, not even Roe supports the decision. Norma McCorvey, a.k.a. Jane Roe of the famous court decision, is the author of a book titled "Won by Love" which chronicals her change of hard and movement toward anti-abortion.

My thought on the whole issue is changing. I use to get angry about the religious nutcases' and their push for curtailing the right for a woman to control her body. I was an ardent support of a woman's right to chose whether or not an amorphic collection of cells, growing in her body, should be allowed to eventually grow into a child. Now I just don't care. I feel beaten and tired about fighting these issues. Not because I don't think they're important, but because there are tens of millions of women who are against the choice. I once felt that controlling women through abortion laws was the doing of men in their quest for gender domination, but with so many women in the ranks of the anti-abortion movement it's hard to make that case.

The anti-abortion / pro-choice issue would be so easy to settle if women showed solidarity on one side or the other. Either you want men to make decisions about your body or you don't. If you don't, then you would never vote for someone who would put your body at risk. You would look at George Bush and see someone who is an opportunist, and is going to exploit every crazy mother fuckers who think a woman's place is still in the home. You would put aside your husband's and father's pressure for you to support a male dominated society and you would cast your vote towards the opposing side. But you don't.

So I am changing my mind about women's rights and abortion. I now think that all women should be pregnant and barefoot. You should stay at home, be uneducated, raise your kids, put your biscuits in the oven and get your buns in the bed. I am tired of fighting for you guys, un .. er .. I mean gals. I am a man, and if you can't fight your own battles against us, well then who am I to argue. You are a bunch of whiny, PMS crazed, baby machines and there is absolutely no reason for the us men, the superior sex, to take you serious. And by the way, it really IS your responsibility to take care of birth control, so if you get pregnant it's not our fault.

While I am on the subject, let me remind you that I did NOT vote for George Bush or the Republican Party. I voted for all those pussy willed liberals who can't keep their voting base (or their tempers for that matter). You were the ones who voted for George, so when you lose your rights to make decisions about your body, don't come crying back to me. Ill be too busy with my barefoot pregnant wife, her homemade biscuits, and her gaggle of offspring.

Disclaimer: By the way .. I am only kidding, but Judge Alito is not. Remeber, he's the one who brought up the issue of woman as baby chattel.

It's not what you say, but what I do.

I think I am becoming my father. For that matter, I think I have already jumped over him and am showing signs of becoming my grandfather. It must have something to with getting close to the age of 50. I've been noticing lately that both my blog comments and emails are the victim of excessive platitude. My grandfather used them a lot. I read recently on Shigeki's blog that when learning English, Japanese people are told the appropriate response to "Hello, how are you?" is "Fine, thank you and you?." Grandpa was never one to follow proper decorum. His answer was always "50 percent good and 50 percent bad.", the grandfatherly version of "Mezza Mezza". When he offered me advice I felt like he was getting it out of Ben Franklin's almanac and using paraphrases. "If you put that money IBM or oil stock, instead of spending it all, you'll earn you a good return", was his constant mantra.

I find I am starting to do the same thing. I want to be supportive of my friends, but the words that flow from my fingers are tired and cliche'. I think everyone get the picture and understands that "only time heals all wounds," and "the steady tortois wins the race." Sometimes I read my own emails and want to strangle myself. However droll or tired these words may be, they come from a well meaning and heartfelt place. Years of living has taught me that nothing fixes love lost but the passage of time. Seeking comfort in the person causing the pain will only extend the time needed to mend your broken heart. Alcohol makes you feel a little better when you are out on the town, but worsens the sting of loneliness and abandonment the next morning. I know these platitude are true, because I've spent a lot of time the past few years licking my wounds long enough to get back out there and experience it once more.

It's particularly hard when you are living with a 15 year old who is repeating all your same missteps, but tunes out "parental" advice. The results of his actions and mistakes are so obvious to me. When he isn't listening I want to shout the words that will keep him from taking unnecessary bruises, but I know it will be in vain. For just as I know the mistakes and results, I also remember being 15 and brushing off my father's advice. His words seemed so cliche' and it took me years to discover they were so right. The problem with platitude isn't their content, but their context. They are hearsay evidence and we need first had experience. In other words, "to learn how to stand, you first have to learn how to fall.

Ouch

I didn't mention in my blog yesterday that part of the reason for my absence was due to an injury. While cooking dinner on last Friday I went to stab the pit of an avocado with a paring knife and got my hand instead. I felt so silly. It would have made a good "blonde" story even though I have dark hair. I knew as soon as I did it that I would have to go to the emergency room to get stitches and a tetnus shot. It's been 20 years since my last puncture wound and booster shot. Although my wound was painful and the Lydicaine shot given to numb the area, stung, the experience was kinda interesting. I really like observing the processes that nurses and doctors follow to diagnose and correct medical problem. Of course it's much more fun when the medical issue belongs to someone else, but still I enjoyed watching the doctor at work. I think it reminds me of my childhood when I would watch my mother and father stitch up injured neighborhood kids. My mother use to be an RN and father was a doctor.

As I sat in one of the emergency room's treatment bays, I realized that I had come a long way since the anxious and panic stricken days of my childhood. I remember how anything having to do with needles and injections would send me into an emotional tail spin. I would break into a sweat, get chills, and form knots in my stomach. My mother would have to hold me down to keep me from bolting in a panic driven flight. I have scares from gashing myself with a saw, pouring boiling water on my hand, slicing my finger opening a tennis ball can, and having my appendix removed, but the only thing I remember about my emergency room visits was the panic and fear.

After examining my wound, the ER doctor announced that it would require two stitches to keep it closed while it healed and a tetnus shot. As he went off to find the suture kit, Lydicaine, and syringes my anticipation of needles and injections made me feel nervous. I knew it would hurt, but my anxiety was very, very low. Even as the doctor returned with the implements of pain and destruction, I sat stoically on my examination table and shared jokes with him. My girlfriend, on the other hand, was not able to deal with the suturing. When the doctor injected the painkiller, she let out a sharp eek, covered her eyes with her hand, and buried her face in the curtain separating the bays. I put my uninjured hand in her hair, stroked her softly, saying "there, there ... it'll be alright. Just a couple of stitches and he'll be done."

I watched the entire operation. As the Lydicaine went into my hand, I felt a very sharp, but short lived sting. Then the doctor put in the sutures and did some fancy moves, like Doctor Benton on ER, to tied them closed. I asked him how long it took him until the movements became rote and he replied, "after about 500 cases. In the ER that's a couple of months." When he finished I admired his handi-work and artistry. I tried to show it to my girlfriend, but she just eeked a second time and looked away. For the remainder of the week, I've had to wear a bandage and stealthily change it in the bathroom, lest I would trigger another "eek" attack. This weekend I go back to the ER to have the stitches removed. The stitches will be gone, but I will be adding another scar to the vast collection I started when I was two.

The Voices in my Head

I took a break from blogging for a few days this week. It's not that I am really busy, but I wanted to have time to work on some personal issues. Some people may not realize this, but I have an anger problem. I never lose control, but on the road I do yell at other drivers even though they can't hear me. I also don't like when people park in crosswalks or go through the red traffic light when I am using the crosswalk and I tend to let them know it. My short temper has gotten me into all sorts of trouble. The mayor's office is still not talking to me 'cuz I sent them a slightly caustic letter. I was polite, but I questioned their competence. Not a good way to make new friends.

So this week I started working on my anger issues with my ADHD therapist. She is really good and seems to know when I need to start concentrating on particular issue. Right before Christmas, she suggested that we start with working on my anger after the New Year. I like her. She subscribes to the theory that the mind has multiple processing centers and each one exhibits a different personality or "voice". For me, I have two of these "voices" that tend to get me into trouble. One is the anger voice that get triggered when someone gets in my way or doesn't feel they need to follow the same rules as the rest of us. You know the latter. They are the ones who believe they do not have to wait in the traffic with the us "idiots" and will swerve out of traffic and go barreling down the break-down lane or shoulder. The former are the people who pull into the left lane on the freeway and drive really slowly. I don't think they are passive aggressive meanies reacting to fast drivers, but are merely space cadets who forget that they are driving slowly in the high speed lane. Either way, I get mad at them and yell obscenities even though my best digs stay within my own car. I think it comes from growing up with people who had personality disorders and took their anger and aggression out on me, or constantly tried to cheat me out of my share of goodies. The anger was protection against the evil forces in my life. I am suppose to keep reminding my anger "voice" that I know longer live with angry mean people and therefore do not need to "protection".

My other "voice" is the one that tries to calm me down in reaction to my anxiety. As a kid I had a generalize anxiety disorder that made me afraid of everything. I don't mean the kind of fear that keeps you on your toes, but pure, unadulterated panic attacks. It's kind of like what you would feel if someone was coming at you with a knife and you knew they were about to stab you. Only, my panic attacks would be triggered by the presence of strangers or climbing the monkey poles in gym class. This "voice" had a pretty tough job and often it would infuse me with lethargy to keep me from going into anxiety triggering situations. For a few years during grade and middle school, I didn't leave the house except for school and the occasional party. The problem with this "voice" is that even though I know longer feel anxiety, it still tries to keep me safe. I often feel like I have to clear an energy hurdle in order to do anything fun. Sometimes the energy hurdle is too high and I end up passing on fun activities. My project with this "voice" is to convince it that I no longer need the protection 'cuz I know longer experience anxiety. In fact, many things that use to scare me into a panic now give me a thrill. For instance, I like really high places.

If anyone is still out there, I hope you will forgive my absence. I have some really cool things going on in my life, they need some focus and attention. I also want to mention that my girlfriend's son has been doing well lately. He is coming out of his depression and hasn't done anything outrageous for last few days. Me managed to get a waiver on his father's consent form and so the diagnosis and treatment are moving forward. Thank you to everyone who made supportive comments. They meant a lot to me.