Skip to main content

What To Blog...

I struggle each day for a topic to blog about. I have things that press upon my mind, emotions that spill over that I pour out onto the page to exorcize from my brain or my heart. I am, sometimes, moved to document my disease progression for posterity. Sometimes, something I've read strikes me and I'm compelled to share my thoughts. Like when I'm reading my AA material, my Bible, or the like. I also take cues from a book that my dad gave to me designed to document your life. That can be difficult. Especially, the ones about family. My family life has been painful to me, particularly the early days.

It's difficult to put my thoughts and feelings out there for all to see and dissect. I've made a life of keeping my thoughts to myself, except in matters of AA and to keep my sobriety. My AA sponsor probably knows me best, then my husband, and doesn't he get me half the time. My family, and I do love them, are very judgemental .and use information to gain control. We are all control freaks, raised to it as good alcoholics and/or alanonics, and I won't reveal who is what. It's their path to figure out who is what and what to do about it. Or not, as they chose.  

In my blog, you get me, as unfiltered as I dare, but by all means, you don't get 100-percent of me. Nobody does. For example, I don't have any idea how to broach the depth of my love for my husband or my daughter or even my cat (who never spoke a cross word to me).  

Labels:
Location: 2720 East Madison Street, Seattle, WA 98112, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...
3 comments
Read more

You're Not You...Me, Too!

1 Wow! Spot on...In so many ways.  Granted I wasn't in the the same socio-economic circumstance, and neither do I play piano but I was passionate about knitting and I lost the ability to engage in my passion practically from the onset of the ALS. Symptoms first manifested in my right hand as well. I was big on juicing, supplements, and did not worry about fats nor calories. But ALS advanced relentlessly. I hired friends as caregivers and had to bear the humiliation of being toileted by them.One of the worst hurdles for me was allowing a long time male friend wipe me following a toilet. My mother, stepfather, and sister all toileted me as well. Of course, my husband had to attend to all of my most delicate needs, showering, dressing and make-up application. I could really relate to Hillary Swank's character, Kate, in all circumstances except, she chose not to use the bipap (breathing apparatus).  I don't really get why somebody would opt out of a non-invasive solution to...
3 comments
Read more

Kate

I think about my friend, Kate Struby, who died from this horrible disease in 2013. She lived here at Bailey Boushay House before I did. I reached out to Kate online through FaceBook because I loved her photograph with her head thrown back in laughter. I also loved her posts. I guess I just loved her spirit. I got to finally meet her one month before she died. I happened to be at the University of Washington Medical Center for my quarterly appointment when I saw her FaceBook post. She was awake and in the medical ICU. She was a mere few floors down. I would not be stopped. Relativeor no, I would meet my FaceBook friend. Thank God I did. I rolled into the room to find a beautiful, ethere.al woman flanked by two friends. Although it was an impromtu visit, she said she knew me immediately.I was in awe of her with her fiery spirit despite the ravages of our shared disease. She, unable to lift even a finger, lifted my spirit.
2 comments
Read more