Thursday, November 6, 2014
cra cra
Crazy... I feel crazy... I know my ex is married. I know she's happy... I know she's obviously moved on. Even when my sister shows me her face book page, I'm blocked...
Sunday, May 25, 2014
the world is stupid
the continued degradation of women, the "shit for brains allowances", just stop..
go to ted talks and listen to the talk regarding sexual male violence etc..
STUNNING..
Let's all get there shall we?
p
go to ted talks and listen to the talk regarding sexual male violence etc..
STUNNING..
Let's all get there shall we?
p
Saturday, August 10, 2013
my adventure
Finally...
it's taken a long time to get right to this moment.. 52 fucking years, to be exact.. And you might be thinking, "moment?", "theres a moment? right now, so early on in this story, right at the beginning?.. "
yep, there is..
and..finally, my adventure?, missp's adventure?.. my life MINE... my whole goddam life from this moment on.. now, you might be shaking your heads, thinking.. umm, ok, i don't get it.. she's... alive.. isn't she, ?. so uhm, what the fuck do i mean?
I have a story to tell, you can read it or not, i don't care, i am relieved to finally be in a place to tell my story..where i am going to take the time, all the time, i need, I want to write my story... and you think.. ok, where's my phone? isn't there an app I need..? maybe a game...zzzz
i was born on a cold january night in calgary alberta. back then there was no other kind of night in a january.. -30 something.. my mom was playing bridge. In my head, I like to imagine, Dotty, in her black rabbit full length fur, with a smoke in her mouth, dealing cards, talking, her smoke dangling, held by the wee tiniest bit of a combination of dry, wet, and just wet enough to hang something off of, precarious at best, (Which in my family,would turn out to become quite a fucking skill, more about that later) *see party tricks and favours in the index. And there she was, her smoke, hanging, while she yammered on about this or that, or the game.. and then she said,
"Donald, my water broke, take me to the hospital" Simple as that, matter of fact.
That is the beginning of my entrance story.
i have told and retold this part of the story, over and over again, i know it by rote, reciting it, and each and every time I tell it, I add or subtract or find a different word to use to describing what happened to me, to keep myself amused primarily. The listener, who's hearing my tale for the first time, hasn't got a clue, .. so off i would rattle..
I realized awhile back, I got tired of telling the tale.. I wanted to leave it out, sometimes I wouldn't say anything, I felt it left folk looking at my differently after I told it, like, they thought I was weak, or ..something..felt SORRY for me.. POOR PENNY... I began to hate the "story", inner translation? I began to hate myself.
I didn't get the connection.. to myself for years.. My father would always yell at me.. "YOU JUST DON"T THINK!!!, YOU JUST DON"T THINK!!!! WHAM!!! Immediate effect, flick, hit, connect, direct shot.. taken down, taken out, cut off at the knees, swift..
I felt the sting, I absorbed what he said, I took it in, in it slipped, through the very tiny space inside of me..How could it not? I had no protection, open vulnerable, wide open.. OPEN HEART SURGERY.. DUHHH...So, my inner dialogue of, I just don't think.. I must be stupid", "what's wrong with me?" began. I began to believe. I was only 7 or 8, years old,.. there must be something wrong, with me.
I just wanted to spend time with my dad. Consequently, that rarely happened between us for the rest of our time together.. Those words, combined with "i'm going to put your tits in a wringer," and what's that on your lip?.. A WHORE BLOSSOM??? not positive, supportive information for a girl to take in.
When I would drop the laundry down the chute from the bathroom, and then walk down to collect it to put it in the laundry room, .. back then we had an old ringer washer, and I had no idea how to use it, and it looked sinister, scary, especially, believing that he could put my tiny little pancakes through those wringers..
"Mom and dad probably wouldn't have drank so much if you hadn't been born early" "all that stress on them, you, know, you would come home, turn blue, go back, come home.. yea."
Another not so good story to be told.. Ah, I caused the drinking.. it was my fault too? great.. I was born 3 months early, with a hole in my heart, and my heart valves were connected to my heart, blood swirling around my heart, but therefore, no blood was going through my body, and i was only 1lb, 13 ounces, and within 5 days, went up and then dropped back to 2 lbs,.. I was hooked up by needles, attached to my ankles and inner elbows, receiving blood transfusions for the first 5 days, which kept me alive. Not a Great way to live, once I dropped to 2, they decided to operate, my parents, must've been shitting bricks.. I was turned on my side, given a topical, opened up, ribs and sternum moved, which have never been the same since BY THE WAY??? they reconnected the valves to the right places. Pretty amazing for 1961? mind blowing for that time of medicine.. One little thing, no anaesthetic.. none supposedly.. topically yes, of course, they laid me on my side, put my left arm up and over my head, and opened me up.. I couldn't have it, I was too young, too preemie, they didn't want to take the risk of overdosing me.. I do appreciate that they did that, I didn't appreciate, that they didn't use anything at all.
I was saved by Dr. William H.O. Summerville.. Very nice man., Tall and dark hair in a white coat, is all I recall. The story I was told, was that he moved to Calgary before I was born, the timeline of his arrival changed through the years, (my parents drinking!!! hello), from a year before to 3 months before I was born, no real actual truth to when, I don't care, go ahead, embellish, he saved my life, I'm ok with a little embellishment on his behalf, and mine also!
i have spent all of my life observing,
it's taken a long time to get right to this moment.. 52 fucking years, to be exact.. And you might be thinking, "moment?", "theres a moment? right now, so early on in this story, right at the beginning?.. "
yep, there is..
and..finally, my adventure?, missp's adventure?.. my life MINE... my whole goddam life from this moment on.. now, you might be shaking your heads, thinking.. umm, ok, i don't get it.. she's... alive.. isn't she, ?. so uhm, what the fuck do i mean?
I have a story to tell, you can read it or not, i don't care, i am relieved to finally be in a place to tell my story..where i am going to take the time, all the time, i need, I want to write my story... and you think.. ok, where's my phone? isn't there an app I need..? maybe a game...zzzz
i was born on a cold january night in calgary alberta. back then there was no other kind of night in a january.. -30 something.. my mom was playing bridge. In my head, I like to imagine, Dotty, in her black rabbit full length fur, with a smoke in her mouth, dealing cards, talking, her smoke dangling, held by the wee tiniest bit of a combination of dry, wet, and just wet enough to hang something off of, precarious at best, (Which in my family,would turn out to become quite a fucking skill, more about that later) *see party tricks and favours in the index. And there she was, her smoke, hanging, while she yammered on about this or that, or the game.. and then she said,
"Donald, my water broke, take me to the hospital" Simple as that, matter of fact.
That is the beginning of my entrance story.
i have told and retold this part of the story, over and over again, i know it by rote, reciting it, and each and every time I tell it, I add or subtract or find a different word to use to describing what happened to me, to keep myself amused primarily. The listener, who's hearing my tale for the first time, hasn't got a clue, .. so off i would rattle..
I realized awhile back, I got tired of telling the tale.. I wanted to leave it out, sometimes I wouldn't say anything, I felt it left folk looking at my differently after I told it, like, they thought I was weak, or ..something..felt SORRY for me.. POOR PENNY... I began to hate the "story", inner translation? I began to hate myself.
I didn't get the connection.. to myself for years.. My father would always yell at me.. "YOU JUST DON"T THINK!!!, YOU JUST DON"T THINK!!!! WHAM!!! Immediate effect, flick, hit, connect, direct shot.. taken down, taken out, cut off at the knees, swift..
I felt the sting, I absorbed what he said, I took it in, in it slipped, through the very tiny space inside of me..How could it not? I had no protection, open vulnerable, wide open.. OPEN HEART SURGERY.. DUHHH...So, my inner dialogue of, I just don't think.. I must be stupid", "what's wrong with me?" began. I began to believe. I was only 7 or 8, years old,.. there must be something wrong, with me.
I just wanted to spend time with my dad. Consequently, that rarely happened between us for the rest of our time together.. Those words, combined with "i'm going to put your tits in a wringer," and what's that on your lip?.. A WHORE BLOSSOM??? not positive, supportive information for a girl to take in.
When I would drop the laundry down the chute from the bathroom, and then walk down to collect it to put it in the laundry room, .. back then we had an old ringer washer, and I had no idea how to use it, and it looked sinister, scary, especially, believing that he could put my tiny little pancakes through those wringers..
"Mom and dad probably wouldn't have drank so much if you hadn't been born early" "all that stress on them, you, know, you would come home, turn blue, go back, come home.. yea."
Another not so good story to be told.. Ah, I caused the drinking.. it was my fault too? great.. I was born 3 months early, with a hole in my heart, and my heart valves were connected to my heart, blood swirling around my heart, but therefore, no blood was going through my body, and i was only 1lb, 13 ounces, and within 5 days, went up and then dropped back to 2 lbs,.. I was hooked up by needles, attached to my ankles and inner elbows, receiving blood transfusions for the first 5 days, which kept me alive. Not a Great way to live, once I dropped to 2, they decided to operate, my parents, must've been shitting bricks.. I was turned on my side, given a topical, opened up, ribs and sternum moved, which have never been the same since BY THE WAY??? they reconnected the valves to the right places. Pretty amazing for 1961? mind blowing for that time of medicine.. One little thing, no anaesthetic.. none supposedly.. topically yes, of course, they laid me on my side, put my left arm up and over my head, and opened me up.. I couldn't have it, I was too young, too preemie, they didn't want to take the risk of overdosing me.. I do appreciate that they did that, I didn't appreciate, that they didn't use anything at all.
I was saved by Dr. William H.O. Summerville.. Very nice man., Tall and dark hair in a white coat, is all I recall. The story I was told, was that he moved to Calgary before I was born, the timeline of his arrival changed through the years, (my parents drinking!!! hello), from a year before to 3 months before I was born, no real actual truth to when, I don't care, go ahead, embellish, he saved my life, I'm ok with a little embellishment on his behalf, and mine also!
i have spent all of my life observing,
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
my new blog..
I haven't been on this site, since I don't know when.. or where I was, or what I was doing.. or anything like that. It seems to be that way about me lately.. So much t to do, no time to think, then bam! onto something else.. things are moving that fast.. at work.. in my personal space.. hmmm not so much, pretty quiet..actually.. like slow moving ..mud..
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