What in the world HAPPENED when I was gone? Dan Abrams is running MSNBC!? Why did no one tell me?? Did you just not want to upset me while I was so sick?? I only got CNN in the hospital so I didn't watch at all. Last night I put on The Abrams Report, but someone else was hosting, so I figured Dan was on vacation.

Well, I'm happy for him. Really I am. But ... DAN!!!! I'll miss his smiling face.

I've been home for about 4 days now and each day I notice improvement. The biggest challenge has been "re-feeding," which is essentially trying to eat normally again. With all of the acid reflux and the ulcers in my esophagus, a lot of foods were just too painful. All I could handle in the hospital was broth and water, then a little bit of sherbet, then some graham crackers and milk. Now, though, every day I'm finding new things that work. My last day in the hospital, they tried to give me real food for lunch. I took one bite of mashed potatoes and cried from the pain. I mean, imagine eating or drinking something, having it be fine in your mouth, then somewhere around your breastbone, it's like you just chugged a glass of hydrochloric acid.

Now that I'm home, I've been able to handle bowls of cheerios, a frozen Stouffer's Mac&Cheese (comfort food, mmmm), a little bit of yogurt, a bagel and cream cheese, and random bites of Nate's dinners (ravioli, grilled cheese, etc). I even managed diluted apple juice last night! Liquids/drinks have been a much harder road. I've mostly stuck to water, because it quickly neutralizes any pain flare-ups when I eat something. Yogurt, for instance, still hurts, but if I chase each bite with water, I can eat it. I'm still a pretty long way off from diet coke (whimper), but I'm well on my way.

My laptop has saved me from going completely insane. I think if all I had to do all day was lie on the couch and doze, I'd be recovering a lot slower, because I'd have nothing to do, and I'd just get depressed. My laptop lets me stay comfy on the couch, but keep my brain moving, and stay in touch with family and friends. My mom and my uncle did a wonderful job keeping everyone updated via email while I was in there, but now I want to catch up with everyone. So email me! Email is much better than the phone, because I can send emails, doze off, wake up, and respond. The phone would just exhaust me, having to keep retelling things.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to get in for my follow-up appointment and see how well I've progressed. It's a walk-in clinic, so I'll have to be there right at 8, blaaaahhhh.

Sorry for the long absence. Most of my readers, since they're friends and family, know that I've been in the hospital since 6/18. I was admitted to the ICU that day, stayed in ICU until 6/23, then released yesterday. I'm home and recuperating for the next little bit. Really scary stuff, but I pulled through and will continue to improve.

I had the best day I've had in a long time. We had our big staff meeting and got 3 awesome announcements. Then we had the big staff appreciation bbq, which was the epitome of staff morale. We had standard bbq fare, plus DIET DR PEPPER. That would have been enough for me. THEN, to see different groups of coworkers blowing bubbles together, I gotta admit I got a little teary. Maybe you had to be there. We were attracting quite a bit of attention from pedestrians, drivers, and two ambulance drivers. Next came the big flip cup tournament and the dance circle to Poison.

But that's not all!

After work, Nate and I headed to RAW for their monthly Creative Cocktail Hour, where we met up with Eric and Joann and some other Courant-y types. It was a lot of fun, as it always is with Eric and Joann. I really wanted to stay longer, but Nate was getting antsy and I was getting a little achy. So I managed to fit my dancing urge into dancing the whole way back to the car, and then in the car.

Now I'm home and I am exHAUSTED. Once I sat down on the couch, that was it. I think I feel a little color coming out on my face and shoulders. I have that weird hot/cold feeling that usually comes after a bit of a sunburn. It was a scorcher out there today!

June is the month for weddings and the TV has obligingly presented quite a topical line-up. However, nothing will ever top WE's "Bridezilla." I'm so excited to be watching it right now. It makes me wonder how these people find other people to marry them. Maybe the bridezilla gene is the type of thing that lies dormant until the ring is slipped on the finger. I bet this is what today's "My Super Sweet 16" kiddies turn into.

I've been pretty low-key, I think. I'm such a control freak that I'm trying to take on everything myself because it saves me the stress of worrying about other people not doing things right. Speaking of which, we're past the 100 days milestone. Double digits, baby!

I was taking my usual lunchtime walk around Bushnell Park today when I witnessed a most perplexing scene. It was a bit after 12 noon and the sun was streaming down. There were all sorts of people doing all sorts of things: walking, eating lunch, napping on the grass. There were three schoolbus-loads of children on a lunch break from a field trip to the Capitol, running and playing tag and baseball. Really just a picture-perfect scene.

Then I heard it, that tell-tale whirring and grinding: lawnmowers. I watched sunbathers hastily gather their towels and bags and make a run for it. Let me sum that up for you: Lawnmowers chasing people off the lawn. Then, as if that wasn't enough, I came upon another landscaper circling the perimiter of the swings, wheedwhaching dirt.

Was it strictly necessary to do these jobs at prime lunchtime in park in the middle of downtown? Couldn't it have waited an hour or so, when the park would resort to its usual deserted state? Are you just that against people having fun? I mean, I imagine you have a pretty thankless job, but don't take that out on the rest of us! We all have jobs too, and sometimes we just want a break from the cube walls.

Sincerely,

A downtown dweller.

Amanda had the foresight and brilliance to take today off and for that, I am supremely jealous. Not only am I tired, but the SUN is out! At least I'll have my walk-time at lunch. There's always that going for me.

I just got back from a free intro yoga class at West Hartford Yoga and, quite frankly, it was not good. I spent the second half of the class dizzy and faint, which just made me feel irritated and trapped. The instructor was a little smarmy at times. However, I'm willing to give it another shot, because I recognized a few factors that I can change for next time.

1. I got there just as the class was starting so not only was I anxious about that, I was anxious from driving over knowing I was running late, and as a result of being late, I was stuck in the very front of the room. In my own row. I didn't feel like everyone was watching me, that part was okay, but I felt like I was at a different perspective than the rest of the class, because I was almost parallel with the instructor. Also, I missed the beginning meditation time, so I had to just dive right in.

2. I'll bring my water in next time. I left everything in my cubby, but noticed that a couple of the people had water with them. That would have helped tremendously.

3. My asthma is acting up with all of this humidity, so I found that I wasn't able to comfortably breathe deeply. Breathing is such a huge part that being short of breath put me at a major disadvantage.

In the end, after I stumbled out into the blinding sunlight and sat in my car for awhile and ranted in my head about how I was never going back, never doing that again, how awful was that, etc. I started to notice some benefits. As I drove away, I was definitely a lot more "zen" in my head. My mind was clearer. My limbs felt pretty loose.

So, I'll give it another shot sometime, keeping in mind to eliminate as many of the above factors as possible (get there early, get a spot where I'm more comfortable and feel like I can get out if I need to, bring my water, get into a clearer and more relaxed headspace ... not much I can do about the breathing sometimes). I also noticed that, when I left, I was breathing deeper than when I had walked in. Doing the beginning meditation probably would have set my lungs up better for the class.

Now, do I want a walk or a nap ... hmmm ...

This story about a stolen Sidekick phone has been making the rounds on the net. It's both hilarious and anger-inducing, especially if you've ever had anything stolen from you. If you have been a victim, you'll probably appreciate this guy's quest to get the stolen item back and bring shame to the thieves.

Basically, this guy's friend left her Sidekick in a taxi. She immediately sent a message to the phone offering a reward to whoever found it. The people (unclear who actually found it) in possession of it instead chose to use it. Evan, the guy with the site, was able to help his friend track down who had it and things go downhill from there with changing stories, chatspeak, incomprehensible grammar, and other excitements.

Nothing pisses me off more than the mindset that somehow you (well, not any of you, but where you=a thief) are entitled to my property. I've been directly or indirectly been involved in three car break-ins, not to mention had my wallet stolen twice. Each time, the sickening feeling violation have been overwhelming. That's MY CD player. MY camera. MY wallet. MY cellphone. MY CDs. MINE. Did you walk into a store and buy it? Did someone give it to you as a gift? No? Then it's not yours.

Granted, there is a bit of difference between someone breaking into my car or taking my wallet out of my purse. That's just blatantly stealing my property. However, there's a difference between finding an anonymous $20 on the street and finding an item where the rightful owner can be easily identified.

If you have some time, read the whole story and see if you don't get a little rise of righteous indignantion mixed wth pride for the victim that struck back.

Doing my downtown walk and came upon this chalk drawing. Pretty ballsy of them but it looks cool.

ETA: After posting this, I noticed a faint chalk sketch of the United Arts logo so not so ballsy, but still cool.

So I turned on the MTV Movie Awards for some unknown reason, just in time to see Darth Vader making his way to the mic. The mask comes off and there's a man under there and ... he starts singing. Is that ... is he singing ... yes, he is singing "Crazy." This must be Gnarls Barkley, says I. I'm really digging this song, so I keep watching and ... all I have to say is WTF? I mean, they have a Storm Trooper on guitar, and freakin CHEWY playing the drums.

But, as I said, song's grown on me, so it's all good.

Yes, I'm going to keep watching. I'm powerless against the teevee ...

Okay I'm back. I realize these aren't life-or-death, even in Hollywood terms, but they nominated freakin Rob Schneider for "sexiest performance" and not Rosario Dawson!?

Senator Kennedy said of the gay marriage amendment issue: “The Republican leadership is asking us to spend time writing bigotry into the Constitution,”

In response, Senator Hatch fired back: “Does he really want to suggest that over half of the United States Senate is a crew of bigots?”

Do you really want the answer to that question, Senator? Think about it and get back to me.

I wrote this poem after sitting behind this girl in class one day. It was either shake the girl for being so stupid, or write a poem about it. The fun part was finding all of the brand names to use. I read it for an audience once, but I had to follow a guy who had written about the war and dead babies, so I felt really dumb going up there. But, I told the audience that, and they laughed, and then laughed at the poem. Felt pretty good.

Capitalist

Ray-bans hold back expensively-subtle, copper-plated strands.
Short-sleeved sweatshirt proclaims Abercrombie
in studded blue letters, layers a $30-plus-interest
Ralph Lauren spaghetti-strapped scrap of stretch cotton.
Victoria’s Secret is carefully visible,
a Y bisecting her pre-purchase distressed Hollister jeans,
butterfly patch, casually whimsical, centered in
a vintage attempt on the back pocket,
factory-frayed hems drape her Sketchers-of-the-week.
Clinique-glossed lips form a laugh that would be disdainful
if only she knew what it meant.

“Take down capitalism,” she says.

After my lovely walk on Sunday, I decided that this week would be all about focusing on how I look and feel. So, in the most unnatural alliance since moveon.org and the Christian Coalition, I decided that this would simultaneously be Skirt Week and Walk At Lunch Week. I've done two days, which doesn't sound too impressive I guess, but I'm pretty happy. Having the iPod certainly does not hurt.

Let me back up to Skirt Week, though, as it sounds pretty shallow. See, I'm a complete clotheshorse. Nothing brings me greater pleasure than putting together an awesome outfit with pieces I've had for years. I live for the thrill of the bargain hunt. Sometimes, if I can't sleep, I'll run through my closet in my head and figure out what I'm going to wear the next day. All this comes together to one simple fact: I've always done better at whatever I'm doing when I've felt more confident in my clothes. When I just throw any old thing on I slouch through the day. Unfortunately, the humidity and heat of summer do not lend themselves to wanting to put too much on. That's where skirts come in! They're like shorts, but are actually more comfortable and give a more sophisticated, I-really-put-effort-into-dressing look.

I think it's been working, too. While I was tired today, I still felt more confident and invested in how I projected myself throughout the day. And c'mon, I just can't help but smile when I look down and see a really cute pair of shoes.

Back to the walking. I've taken three pretty substantial walks so far, and have had two "morning after"s where I braced myself for the sore joints and stiffness, and nothing! I'm still a little concerned for tomorrow, as today's walk involved some hills around the Capitol building, but I'm hanging in there. I brought my sneakers to work to change into, which I'm sure is really helping. I definitely noticed the difference between when I was in "walk-mode" in my sneakers at lunch and when I was hurrying across the same park, back in my heels, to meet friends for dinner.

I'm hoping that this motivation to just put more thought into my appearance will last beyond this week, but one week seemed like an easily-attainable goal. I'm not doing obsessive weigh-ins, or checking the inches on my waist, hips, and thighs. I'm just walking and I'm feeling pretty good.

Following in the same vein as the previous post, this is a poem I wrote about Nannie. The moment captured in this poem probably occurred on the same trip recollected in "Il Mio Muse"

Grandmother Willow

Shuffling to the door,
slow, as though her
sensible shoes
have extended roots
down in the all-weather carpet.

She calls to me, my name
catches in her throat; it
closes around the
syllables like a
sticky peanut
butter sandwich.

After telling the store of the kid and the fountain, I started thinking about Nannie a lot, as it was her apartment I was living in that summer. This piece is a writing exercise I did in college in which we were asked to describe our muses. I chose Nannie and a recollection of a specific night down the shore one summer.

Il Mio Muse

My muse is a small old Italian woman. She definitely didn't go to college, she might not have even finished high school. She doesn't read anything aside from the weekly tabloids her sister buys. She doesn't write much, just lists to herself, lotto numbers, phone numbers, names. Scraps of paper with her tight, left-handed scrawl scratched on the surface in thin black pen are stuffed in every drawer and piled haphazardly on the endtables and counters.

She has jet black hair in tight curls, which are dyed and set at the salon every week. She's not really around during the day, she's usually down in Atlantic City, shuffling from casino to casino, her keyring heavy with comp cards.

At night, in her standard issue black skirt, red sweater, black pantyhose, she sits on the couch watching the TV, mostly game shows, and dozing. Every once in awhile she will look at me. We are the only ones awake; insomniacs stick together.

"Whatcha doin that for?" she asks, in a voice that is not unkind, just afraid of what she does not know.

"Writing a poem," I say simply.

She sniffs derisively.

"What, you gonna write a book someday?"

"Yep," I say, sprawled on my stomach, not looking up from my notebook. "How about I dedicate it to you?"

She sniffs again, still derisive. I glance at her, her eyes are smiling

Ah, sweet oasis. I just got back from an hour and a half long walk. I think I will regret this tomorrow, but I feel pretty good about myself right now. And tired. Definitely tired.

Well, Relay 2006 is over. We made a solid showing from 4pm until 11:30pm when we collectively decided to throw in the towel. Plans to stay overnight had already been scrapped, so we were really just seeing how long we could hold out.

Team, I'm so proud of us. We stuck it out and did some good. I don't have any sort of official report, but I think it's very likely that we brought in around $2000. Another fantastic year.

Donors, thank you, too. You're what kept us going. You showed faith in us and we were committed to make the effort. You rock.

Now, I need some blankets and my bed ...

Say hello to Antigone.

ETA: And Bono.