Duldroms: Volume 1

* Gargling with salt water will kill the bacteria. The best way to treat a sore throat is to gargle with warm salt water 6-8 times a day.

* Of course, the best solution is to eliminate the cause instead of treating the symptoms. Eating half a leaf of fresh sage, combined with 1/8 teaspoon of turmeric, will greatly reduce the drainage and congestion. This works at least as well as the pharmaceutical medications (and without their side-effects).

* You should make your body alkaline to boost its uptake of oxygen. Drinking homemade lemonade with a pinch of baking soda periodically is a fast, safe, and effective way of doing this. Lemon juice is an acid, but it makes the body more alkaline because of the way it gets processed. The baking soda will add buffering bicarbonates to make the body resistive to becoming acidic again, which is the normal state during sickness. None of these things will provide immediate relief for the throat pain. That requires time.

Eat some lettuce; it helps the pain a lot.

This was from last week, it's old, like my gross hacking. but I love the photo too much not to post. And I love Canada, where lettuce lass is from.

xoxo hack cough sniffle ughhhhhhhhh

Saddest Day Yet

Tonight will be the loneliest night ever. My main man, my Gris Gris, is not going to accompany me to bed. To use the word sad, is just, well, sad. Why can't I find a better word to adequately describe what it is I am feeling? Today i sat in a sterile office, with the love of my life, attempting to comfort him while the outside world carried on. Shame them, yes. We sat and snuggled, for a long while. His right arm got fixed to a little IV that was to later be used to administer a lethal feline injection. My heart broke and does still. Truth be told, I write because I don't want to make this bed, one without me, one with sheets that need laundering due to his late in life bladder, and also, because I don't like white sheets, I like the turquoise ones we used, for OUR bed. I do not know how I'll get through this. Period.

I have yet to "get rid of" his box, or clean up his many food options or sweep up the lingering and plentiful Gris Gris influenced dust bunnies. This weekend will be the kind of apartment cleaning that gets a bit too deep.

Where do I go today, the next day, Friday? I did not go to work, and slept on the couch, not my bed until almost 2 o'clock. It's as if my loneliness weren't evident in other areas of my life, the one constant companion who gave me truly unconditional love, has gone. I rescued Gris almost 7 years ago, and he rescued me right back each day. I hope he knows that true be the truth.

Dear Adam,

I think of you far more than I ever correspond with you. A shame indeed. My heartfelt apologies. Every time I step upon that darn treadmill, it's your heart rate I wonder about, you hitting the target? Me too . . . 152 they say. I nail it! This is a simple note to remind you that heartbeats are vital. I so look forward to our next walk on West Cliff. In the meantime, be good to yourself and I will try to channel all of your inspirational words and do the same.

Dear Writing,

Please come and pick me up and carry me away and save my life. This ship is sinking and I need to become a prolific pirate if I'm ever to reach the island.

S.O.S

YURTY THIRTY!

As of this Monday, yours truly will finally be a grown up. Or so I hope. I told my Dad, however, the day that I turned thirteen that I was a "real woman." He chuckled and then agreed whole heartedly, and continues to remind me of my profound telling on that day . . . I wonder, though, when it will ever ring true. Sometimes when I get carded buying a bottle of wine, I pause and quiver thinking "holy hell, I'm like 17," before I realize that I'm of age, and far beyond. Often I still feel like that little girl in high school who marched to the beat of her own tambourine sometimes, but got swept away by the currents of the changing tides of popularity. Since high school, the ebbing and flowing has taken on a new wave, nevertheless, my twenties were churned up with Saturn returning and me feeling sucked down and out by the undertow. And so now, almost thirty, will these troubled waters float me to a more steady and calm shore? I don't know, but I feel the current now and it feels great. Warm like the waters of Sayulita that just caresses my skin and soothing like the hot mineral bath that welcomed and released me with not a pruned finger to speak of. These waters, the kind I imbibe, swim in and cry, have proven to change recently, a shifting tide indeed. I hope the cold waters of Big Sur help shock me into this new third decade of mine where I may finally be able to say with truth and pride that I am a real woman, a real version of me.

Big Sur Love!

hello again. or resuscitation.

Today.
Passport: $220 . . . $100.00 for renewed passport / $60.00 to expedite / $60.00 (incorrect Birth certificate penalty fee) = $220.00 Priceless, since I'll be on the beach in Sayulita with Wendy come May 23rd. Although can I say this? The Birth Certificate had an embossed stamp from the hospital where my mother birthed lil old me. It also had a sweet baby footprint, mine. It's the same document my Dad said he almost didn't trust me to have, yes, it's that important - but apparently didn't count? Just saying, really? Oh well, I'm past that. And soon, I'll be passing through Mexican security headed towards my palapa and 30th birthday, so there.

Tonight.
Pilates, kicked my big old butt. Then I met Mikey and we headed to an art show. And me, wearing my yoga pants, almost apologized to the artist herself, but pretended they were just bell bottom leggings - which would also garner an apology?! That said, I purchased the top two prints you see above, so beautiful - so dirty sweet I say. (AND they are prints, but each was hand painted and embellished, to this I think I own two half originals, which may equal one original - although either way, it's not the paints' relief nor re-sale value that intrigues me, it's the imagery, period). I love the last image, her heart isn't quite on her sleeve, almost falling off . . . wow, moi.

Kime Buzzelli is my sister's favorite artist, and I know why. Her gritty feminine portraits expose the feminine flower child-esque girls who also double as sexy sirens and fans of rock n' roll. It's a dichotomy of the fairer gender that many don't understand. Some people think you gotta be one or the other (Madonna / Whore ring a bell?). But her women are so sublime. The text she occasionally includes, their words unspoken, really suits me, as a woman. A damsel I am, from time to time, and an outspoken, mascara smeared pot of confusion, well that's me too. I just adore her work. See them here: kime

And then this evening.
Well, it's devoted to you, and to writing. I still believe that writing will save my life. One thought and then one sentence and then one post at a time. It's therapy for me, and not like the kind I get on Mondays at 5:30. This one is free, and just me, and only here because of you.

Good night and adieu.
xo

saturday's eve?

Am headed out to meet "new" dude. Hmmm, please -with your heart of hearts wish me luck and remind me via telepathy that I am a woman who should take up space (enough, not too much, nor too little) and let me be me. He likes it? great. No like, no biggs, yes? Yes.

Here I go, again, on my own. bye