Thursday, July 29, 2010

Generation whY: Are We Headed For Broke?

Recently, I took my generation to task for our narcissism. I received a complementary email from Rod Dreher (!) about it (thanks!), and he mentioned that it stood in stark contrast to a recent New York Times piece he read which depicted us Millennials as okaley-dokaley in Ned Flanders' speak.

Uh huh. Well, I'm not sure if maybe the Old Gray Lady needs a stronger pair of tri-focals, but according to MSNBC, Generation Y's outlook isn't so bright:

"They are perhaps the best-educated generation ever, but they can’t find jobs. Many face staggering college loans and have moved back in with their parents. Even worse, their difficulty in getting careers launched could set them back financially for years.

The Millennials, broadly defined as those born in the 1980s and '90s, are the first generation of American workers since World War II who have cloudier prospects than the generations that preceded them.

Certainly the recession has hurt young workers badly. While the overall unemployment rate was 9.5 percent in June, it was 15.3 percent for those aged 20 to 24, compared with 7.8 percent for ages 35-44, 7.5 percent for ages 45-54 and 6.9 percent for those 55 and older.

Among 18-to 29-year-olds, unemployment is the highest it’s been in more than three decades, according to a recent report from Pew Research Center. The report also found that Millennials, also known as Generation Y, are less likely to be employed than Gen Xers or baby boomers were at the same age.

Millennials are generally well-educated, but they have have been cast as everything from tech savants who will work cheap to entitled narcissists. The recession has pitted these younger workers against baby boomers trying to save for retirement and Gen Xers with homes and families."

Notice that part about "entitled narcissists." Look, it isn't just me saying it folks. But kudos to us on being "tech savants", but boo to that "work cheap" part. That's probably the reason we're headed for a bumpy economic future. But anyway, back to the story:

Just ask Michael Barreto.

Eleven months was all it took to bring him from post-graduation autonomy back to his parents’ home in Apple Valley, Calif.

Armed with an undergraduate degree in literary journalism from the University of California, Irvine, and experience from an internship, the 23-year-old Barreto believed he had a better chance than many of his peers to find a job. But more than a year after graduation, Barreto is still struggling to find employment.

"Right now I'm just trying to find any sort of full-time work that would allow me to live on my own and save money for the future," he said.

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Like many of his peers, Barreto left college with roughly $21,000 in federal loans. (The 2008 average for college students was $23,000, according to the College Board.) Barreto's parents also took out loans to help him afford college.

Despite landing a job at Panera Bread Co. to support himself while looking for a job as a journalist, Barreto drained most of his savings to pay for his living expenses. He was eventually forced to move home and defer his loans.

The high unemployment rate among young Millennials can affect them financially and psychologically throughout their careers, according to a report by the Joint Economic Committee.

“The 'scarring effects' of prolonged unemployment can be devastating over a worker’s career,” according to the report. “Productivity, earnings and well-being can all suffer. In addition, unemployment can lead to a deterioration of skills and make securing future employment more difficult.”

Many Millennials have sought refuge back at school from the worst job market since at least the early 1980s. Yet that strategy, too, can backfire as students incur staggering amounts of debt to pay for advanced degrees that might not help them out much in the job market.

Jordan Hueseman, 25, accrued roughly $100,000 in student loans at the University of Denver earning a bachelor's degree in international business and a master's in business administration. On the job hunt, he found his graduate degree sometimes hindered more than it helped.

“At one point, I applied to Whole Foods, hoping they might see some potential for me to move to some type of management position,” Hueseman said. “The e-mail I received from them said I was far too overqualified for any of their hourly positions and as such would not be considered for a position.”

Hueseman said that after one job application, he was told he should leave his degrees off his resume. Hueseman said he was tempted to follow the advice but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“It’s a personal thing for a couple of us and a bit prideful, but the idea we just spent five years — and a hundred thousand dollars for some of us — obtaining two degrees, to go ahead and wipe that right back off our resume in hopes of getting a $12-an-hour job at Starbucks would really be depressing,” he said."

Better watch that Quad Skinny Caramel Latte- it might be POISON! Never trust a barista with a green smock and a big smile! Ha ha, just kidding. Unless she's a member of Generation Y. Then I'm not. At all.

To read the rest of the sad report, click here. I do feel bad for people like Michael and Justin, and I can relate to a certain degree. Although I was blessed to attend college on a full scholarship and am not in debt, I found it difficult to find a decent paying job once I graduated. And I wasn't able to move out of my mother's house until 3 years after I received my BA. When I compare my current status to my parents, I might just be able to get a house around the time they did at age 30. Might. I should note though, my dad was the sole breadwinner and my mom a homemaker. Both K and I work full time and save from each check in hopes of getting together a decent down payment.

Again, I would like to point out Justin's comment about being a "bit prideful." While I'd be reluctant to take the MA off my resume, if it would help me get a job, it would be a quick high light and delete for me. It's also interesting to note that at 25 most of us would balk at a $12 an hour Starbucks barista gig, yet I've heard of 45 year old doctoral candidates working at Barnes & Noble double time pulling in $10- before taxes. Perhaps our pride level is more than just a "bit" high.

What say you? Do you agree with the story? Disagree? Comment away!

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

For Colored Girls Who Are Up in Arms Over Colored Boys Not Marrying Them

Check out this story from Madame Noire:

"Ever since black men have been free to swirl without fear of being drawn and quartered in MOST states, we black women have clucked our tongues, shook our heads, and beat our breasts about “those” women taking our best men. We watch, mouths agape, as Tyrone peacocks around with Trailer Becky or Meth-Head Mary, and think, why her? She’s not even cute!

AND THEN, the coils in our hair tighten just a smidgen more at the nape when we watch a refined, educated black man who has never seen the inside of Folsom Prison (and knows no one who has), has no baby mammas, and makes a gazillion-million dollars run off with a Swedish nanny.

Just to rub a little more salt into the raw wound, a recent Pew Research Study comes out and airs the laundry with the poop stains and reports that 22 percent of black men (who say “I do”) marry interracially, while only 9 percent of their female counterparts follow suit. Damn, doesn’t anyone want to marry us?


It appears that the ongoing assumption that “rainbow men don’t want us” has been an attempt by some facets of the black community to dissuade black women from using all their options in the dating field. Well, that’s not entirely the truth: Boom Qui Qui with the basket weave and spandex, holding a package of red hot Cheetos in one hand and a glass of grape Kool-Aid in the other might get the pass-over.

If you are educated, upwardly mobile, like to read and go to museums, have no gold teeth or tattoos on your girlie parts that say, Ray Ray’s Bitch, chances are there’s a rainbow man somewhere, waiting for you RIGHT NOW.

Go check.

Not there yet? Well give it time: according to Larry Davis, Ph.D., Dean, Donald M. Henderson Professor, and Director, Center on Race and Social Problems at the University of Pittsburgh, rainbow men–especially the white ones–are quietly poaching our best and brightest black women. “White men are marrying high-end black women, while black men will date anybody.” (Now hold your rotten e-tomatoes, he said it, not me, although I personally think he’s a genius.)

To summarize: Dr. Davis, who happens to be a black, believes the double-digit numbers of black men marrying interracially is because, well…they’re not too picky. On the other hand, “white men have choices–if he’s going to date and marry a black woman, he’s going to pick the [crème de la crème]. When it comes to interracial dating, black people have always had to bring more to the table romantically,” says Davis.

From my own experience, this scholar’s notion has credibility. I asked my husband, who happens to be white, if he would have married me had I not gone to college.

He straight up told me: “no.”

That’s because interracial match-ups for black women have more to do with socioeconomic conditions. If you are a high-achieving woman climbing the corporate ladder, sorry to say that there’s not enough black men up there with you. Unless you’re willing to claw another woman’s eyes out to compete with the other 50 women fighting for those 10 black men, it just might be time to do what black men have done for decades.

On the plus side, your success makes you pretty attractive to a variety of non-black men. If you’re waiting for permission, consider yourself excused.

Christelyn D. Karazin is the co-author of Swirling: How to Date, Mate and Relate Mixing Race Culture and Creed and runs a blog,, dedicated to women of color who are interested and or involved in interracial and intercultural relationships."


Something new? Not so much. Here, the Lovings got all lovey over a half century ago.

To be quite honest, I don't see why it seems Black women stepping outside their race is such a hot "new" thing. I remember that movie with Sanaa Lathan came out a few years ago suggesting it was, and thinking "Huh?". Or when pretty little Zoe Saldana brought home Ashton Kutcher to her dad Bernie Mac the year before, it didn't raise an eyebrow for me. Why would anyone be waiting for societal permission at this point? Halle Berry didn't. Neither did Chaz, wife of Roger Ebert.

Robert De Niro's beautiful wife, Grace is Black. Lenny Kravitz is the son of the late Black actress Roxie Roker and the late Jewish television producer Sy Kravitz. Way back in the day, the late, great Lena Horne married for the second time to a Jewish musical conductor. And perhaps most notably, the landmark ruling of "Virginia vs. Loving", which struck down racist miscegenation laws across the U.S., was brought by Richard Loving, a white man, and his Black/Native American wife, Mildred.

And so as to not go on endlessly, I'll just briefly mention the mixed heritages full of Black women for such stars as reggae artist Sean Paul, journalist Soledad O'Brien or R&B singer Cristina Milian.

Over on the FAR Facebook page (if you haven't hit the "Like" button yet, please do), today I posted a link to a story on how single women should consider dating "down". Not that the guy should be a jerk, an idiot or a schlob, but women should look past the superficial to the real man inside. I hope that single Black women will do the same, no matter a man's race. They may just find themselves quite taken- by new horizons and a new man.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The Rise of Christianity in China

Chinese Christians at a Protestant service.

I find it so interesting that here in the West, we have so much freedom of religion that now we want freedom from it. Meanwhile, in China, millions are flocking to churches for the first time. According to some reports, there now may be more Christians than Communists. From NPR:

"Official Chinese surveys now show that nearly one in three Chinese describe themselves as religious, an astonishing figure for an officially atheist country, where religion was banned until three decades ago.

The last 30 years of economic reform have seen an explosion of religious belief. China's government officially recognizes five religions: Protestantism, Catholicism, Buddhism, Islam and Daoism. The biggest boom of all has been in Christianity, which the government has struggled to control.

One way it has tried to do that is by establishing government-sanctioned churches. In one such church in the east of the country, China's Protestant heartland, parishioners bow their heads as the pastor says grace. Hundreds are huddled around circular tables to eat lunch.

The official church is part of what's called the Three-Self Patriotic Movement, the state-sanctioned Protestant organization. Three-Self refers to the strategy launched in the 1950s of removing foreign influences from Chinese churches — self-governance, self-support, self-propagation.

The church is marking husband-and-wife day, which is an annual celebration of faith and community. A thousand people each week from dozens of nearby villages pack into this church, situated about 300 miles from Shanghai.

Among them is Yao Hong, a 38-year-old woman in a maroon jacket who became a Christian almost two decades ago, seeking comfort after her husband at the time had an affair. She believes it's patriotic to be Christian.

"God is rising here in China," she says, gesturing around the cavernous church. "If you look at the U.S. or England, their gospel is very advanced. Their churches are rich, because God blesses them. So I pray for China."...

No one knows exactly how many Christians there are among China's population of 1.3 billion. There are an estimated 21 million members of the government-sanctioned Three-Self Patriotic movement, but nobody knows how many Protestants worship in unregistered house churches.

Some recent surveys have calculated there could be as many as 100 million Chinese Protestants. That would mean that China has more Christians than Communist Party members, which now number 75 million...."

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Still Trill Christians on 106 and Park

Wow... Rappers on BET rapping about NOT having sex! LOL! Seriously, though, they are good.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Despicable Me (Generation): Why Are We Such Narcissists?

A worn out-looking Lohan in court last year. Scary that she was only 23 when this pic was snapped.

When Lindsay Lohan was sentenced to 90 days in jail for violating conditions of parole a few weeks ago, the blogosphere was ablaze with condemnation for the downward spiraling actress. On Huff Po, Bonnie Fuller lashed into the former "Mean Girls" star with zeal:

"...Lindsay tweeted last night, July 7 a link to a Newsweek article about tragic Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani, imprisoned in Iran since May 2006, already subjected to 99 painful lashes and now facing death by stoning, for a crime that her family insists she didn't commit.

And that's not the only insanely self-serving tweet by Lindsay. She also had the gall to imply that her human rights have been violated by her sentence of 90 days in jail and 90 days in rehab. "No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment," she quoted from Article 5 of the U.N. Universal Declaration of Human Rights!

Wow! Lindsay is so delusional and self centered, she actually thinks that her "victim-hood" puts her on par with some of the world's biggest victims -- women and men ( many innocent) subjected to torture and execution.

It's clear now that she truly felt justified telling the judge and the court to F.U. with her fingernails and to reportedly call her sentencing judge -- Marsha Revel, "a f*****g b***h." Hey, Lindsay 's convinced she had a right to be in contempt of court because she's practically a political prisoner -- she's implied that on Twitter.

Lindsay -- you could be the world's -- no, let me say -- the universe's Biggest Narcissist. I'm surprised you haven't actually compared yourself to Jesus Christ, and your punishment for repeatedly drinking and driving, and then blowing off court dates and alcohol education classes -- to being nailed to the cross."

Ouch. But I have to agree with Fuller, Lohan is a narcissist. She's committed crimes, and always has a handy excuse as to why some horrible thing happened to her. Her passport was stolen, the drugs were her assistants', her Dad is a jerk... okay, so maybe her dad is a jerk. But at what point will she grow up? When will she see the world does not revolve around her?

As I sat thinking about LaLohan's latest exploits, I started thinking about how she wasn't the only person full of herself. Heck, who nowadays, isn't a little stuck on themselves? I'll admit it. I am.

On any given day, I log into my Facebook and Twitter accounts, to share pictures of ME, MY family, MY friends. I update Twitter to give MY opinion on current events or share links to articles I find interesting. And if you follow me on Twitter, and like my friend Carly, are getting sick of your Blackberry going off because of all MY appearances on your timeline, I apologize. I am a narcissist after all.

But it doesn't stop there. I still have a MySpace page which I rarely check, a Pandora account with MY favorite music and... well, this blog, a place where I record for all 6 of MY readers, MY deepest (okay, not so deep) thoughts, no matter how stupid.

See, the thing is, we, Generation Y, children of the Boomers and some of those X's who got started young, are totally and insipidly wrapped up in ourselves. We log on to overshare our "Likes" (bet you never thumbs-up'ed so much ever in your life until the past year) and to post inane videos of ourselves trying to sing, doing our make-up or embarassing our toddlers while they shake their pampered bottoms to "Single Ladies" on YouTube. By the way, they will repay us one day for that last one.

Seriously, some of you can't sing, no matter what your momma told you. She lied.

We watch television shows chock full of even more self-centered people on "Reality" shows who decide to live together, "seven strangers" in some major U.S. city, then fight and/or have sex. Or housewives in some major U.S. city who are mostly not wives, but live in big houses and fight with each other a whole lot. Or wannabe singers, many who do little more than screech, compete to be the top in the country. In the past, we would look to the Huxtables as examples of what we should be. Now we watch "Frankie & Neffe" believing we are great (or knowing we aren't,but dang, watching them makes us seem like Cliff and Claire). Even while vegging out in front of the boob tube, somehow, it's all about us.

How did it come to this? All this round-the-clock self-absorption? I'm not sure, but I can remember a number of after-school specials which trumpeted the theme that "You can be anything you want!" Um, no, not so. I wouldn't mind being able to dunk a basketball, but at 5'2, the only way that'll happen is on a kiddie hoop. The same thing goes for modeling, being a ballet dancer or singing. I cannot do these things. Well, I could, but it would be laughable (quite suitable for exploitation on YouTube).

Many parents also boasted to their children that they are the best, the prettiest, the most interesting. They hung on their every word, and showered them with praise no matter if they were barely passing in school or repeatedly flunking their driving test. "It's positivity," those moms and dads said, and the schools obliged, giving meaningless awards to every child and having faux-graduations after nearly every grade completed.

We grew up watching Ferris Bueller, Zack Morris and Will Smith talk, laugh and charm their way out of nearly every situation, and girls learned a similar lesson from Alicia Silverstone's Cher in "Clueless". Work hard? Nah, why do that when you can get by hardly working? And have cool clothes and a cell phone to boot.

Uh, not so much, Mr. Gekko. Twenty-plus years later, we now have Paris Hilton and the Kardashians as examples that your tag line, while catchy, is not so true.

Even our religion became self-serving. Mega-churches multiplied as young people filled the pews to hear how God wanted us to be happy, rich and successful. Some of us ditched God altogether and joined spiritual groups more concerned with developing our inner strength and power.

Filled with the desire for instant self-gratification, we hooked up with him, her and them. We got off, but couldn't get on the right track for a meaningful relationship. Many of us are children of divorce and in fear of repeating our parents mistakes, many don't even bother to marry. Why commit indefinitely? So instead we play house like the children we really are. For those who do marry, the wedding becomes a 5 star event worthy of a Diddy appearance. Three different gowns, 7 bridesmaids, three flower girls, all for a platinum wedding very few can afford. But many children do love to play dress-up...

And as we start to have our own children, there should be no surprise that coming from a spoiled seed, we are producing the world's greatest brats. So we dress them up in little $100 Nikes and put a DSi in front of them and wonder perplexedly why they have attention spans shorter than a gnat's.

And as the recession continues to drown us, we wallow in our debt, holding our half-working Iphone 4s, wrists' wrapped in chain bracelets emblazoned with "Tiffany's" and wonder, "Why?". Why are we broke? Why do our relationships fail? Why am I so miserable?

And Kermie thought he had problems. Generation Y: "It's not easy being me!"

Like Lindsay, we're blind to the consequences of our own actions. No, life is unfair. Ms. Ashitiani and her children can attest to that. We aren't all dealt the same hand in the poker game of life, but too many of us have bluffed ourselves right into a corner. We here in the U.S. especially should have noted we were given a chance at the PURSUIT of happiness, which is an opportunity, not a guarantee of happiness itself.

When I was 18, a full decade ago, I wondered about our generation being tagged with that letter "Y". "X" was cool, deep and mysterious. "Baby Boomers" had both a softness and an edge. But "Y"? It sounded like a question. I sit here now feeling we are appropriately monikered. One letter, so short, full of question and struggling to come to an answer.

We all might not be headed off to do jail time, but our generation is imprisoned, chained to our childish, self-serving ways, minions to our own short-sighted desires. Here's to hoping we'll grow up really soon.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

There's No Sugar In This Cane

I sit at my desk at work with it facing me. Black shiny metal, sleek with it's hook up top and four pronged bottom. A device for assistance, the small cane with the metal grip is assisting in making me feel very weak. Which is why it's been standing there in that corner untouched for over a week.


Last time I wrote about being sick on this blog, it was late March and I hadn't even gone for the nerve biopsy yet. I was nervously hopeful, though, just days away from Easter. I went for my Pre-Admission testing fine, had a lovely Easter, attending church with my family, and then rested up for the procedure the next morning.

Things went wrong from the start. When I arrived just before 5:30AM, the hospital staff was not ready for me. Then when the doors were unlocked and me and the few other patients were led into the pre-surgery room, a careless staffer handed me a file with a "Louise D------" label on it. I hopped off the bed and explained, I am most definitely not her. Well, whoops. Back down the long corridor, Driver's License back out, re-signing forms I had signed at the Pre-Admission Testing. Sigh.

Back out, up the corridor, go pee in a cup take off all ur clothes and put on these funny socks and insulated gown. Alright.

Clothes locked away in a locker, I carefully handed the pee to yet another nurse (I guess the original nurse was to be working with Louise whats herface.). Lay on bed. Blood pressure. Date of last period. Medicines taken. Uh huh. Good, Girl, you have not eaten since before midnight. Could you be pregnant (Um, didn't I answer that already? Okay...)? So what procedure are you having done (What? THAT'S NOT ON THE CHART YOUR STARING AT??? Is that Louise's file again?)? Wow, what's a nerve biopsy (Again, shouldn't YOU know something about THAT? You better not be the nurse in the Operating Room assisting)? Okay, temperature? Normal. Would you like a magazine?


My neurosurgeon didn't show up until nearly 10AM. The surgery was supposed to start at 7:30AM. He was tired, just arrived back from Figi. You know Newark Airport, flights are always late... (SHUT UP! You try laying in the post-pre-admitting/pre-surgery room listening to Kenny G for two and a half hours!) I'm rolled into the room, Lite FM going (hey, I'll take Sade any day over Kenny), the IV is loaded with the same knock out drug that knocked Michael Jackson's lights out permanently, and I never heard the anesthesiologist count to 3...


I thought I'd be back at work in two days. It took over a week before I hobbled through the office doors. The pain was mean, why I'd think otherwise when the doctor removed a small portion of a nerve just above the back of my ankle, I'll never know. The sensation was bizarre. raw pain from cut skin, but an amplified pain that I already felt because of the neuropathy. A small poke three inches away from the site resulted in pain that shot up to my thigh and down to my pinky toe. I couldn't wear regular shoes for weeks. Fortunately, it was cool, so I didn't look odd in my comfy Uggs and black suede boots.

At the end of April, I was in charge of putting together an important luncheon for work. It didn't turn out great, but it wasn't bad, either. I had to do quite a bit of walking, and by the time the guests were leaving, I was visibly tired. I ended up in a quick conversation with one of them, who as delicately as possible asked if I had Multiple Sclerosis. My heart ripped. I responded that every MRI taken to date had come back normal, and my doctors did not believe that was the cause. She touched me lightly on the shoulder and said, "Good, good, Honey, because that's an awful disease. My uncle has it, and it's just awful."

So, I thought, is not knowing why I look like I have M.S. And so is being told by complete strangers. By the time I was in my office, I had begun sobbing so loudly, three co-workers and my boss had surrounded me. I was falling. If Easter had been a time of faith and renewal, one month later I was crashing back into despair. I cryptically wrote on my Twitter, "What goes up...".


In May, I finally learned my biopsy results. Inconclusive.

After asking a battery of questions, I placed the phone back on the hook and sat back. I had a gross little scar, which still itched like a mosquito got to me, but no resolution. Answers, yes. No autoimmune disease or that one that effects the eyes and ends with "gravis". But the resolution I needed as if I were Aaliyah? Sorry, Ma'am, we can't help you.

At least falling when you're already down isn't so bad.


Something changed in the middle of May, though. I went back to taking the vitamins I had told my doctor I take everyday. I started stretching and doing simple leg exercises every other day. I rubbed stinky Tiger Balm on my thighs and sat in hot baths. I placed an ice pack on my knee and a Sharper Image massager on my shoulder blades. And I started walking. With my husband in the grocery store. With him to the laundromat to do clothes. I went to Wal-Mart and bought plants, and to Kohl's for a new summer bed spread. I went out to lunch, and to the shore twice. I walked around a flea market twice, picking out beaded necklaces and bangles. I wasn't normal, but it was the best I had felt consistently since last fall.

For nearly four weeks, I was on an upswing. Sure I had dropped a good amount of money on vitamins and supplements, but it was worth it. Well, I had a good run. Hmm, no, not actually, but I had a good time walking and booty bumping and playing Wii tennis. Then just like that, my balance seemed slightly more off, my thighs started hurting more, and I was sore. My heart begin to sink.

In the midst of my decline, my neuromuscular specialist called and said he wanted to discuss the biopsy results (What was there to discuss? That was like 10 weeks ago!). After a brief wait, he repeated the no autoimmune diseases speech, adding in no tumors or cancer, either. He told me he sent my perplexing case to four hospitals including Colombia, and they had come to the conclusion I was being poisoned (HUH???).

"There are toxins all around us. In the water we drink, the homes we live in, the lotions and detergents we use...," he started, and ended by stating I should not accept gifts from China, make a list of the things I use regularly and...wait for it... do not relax my hair (which is why my "experiment" for a few weeks has kept going, and I'm about to hit three months sans relaxer)! "You'll have to be tested for mold, mercury and lead exposure, of course...," he went on and as I told him when I got my tattoos, I realized I wouldn't fall some more at hearing this news, but I wasn't quite ready, or able, to get up either.


Mercury and lead are bad, but a metal cane is good.

Not when you are 28, have no detectable illnesses and look completely healthy. Except for an occasional limp or awkward stance.


A week and a half ago, my co-worker Kathy brought in the cane, remembering my dramatic melt down from April. It took awhile, but she had dug around and found one her late mother had used. I choked out a "thank you" and sat it in the corner. Every morning, when I walk in, it greets me, an unhappy reminder of my "falling" state. "Falling" since it's ongoing- I'm not knocked flat right now, but I'm not upright, either. But it's "falling"- while my legs haven't been so bad recently, my fingers, especially the all important one with the two white gold symbols of commitment wrapped around it, have gone numb.

When I first married, all I felt were those rings. I was constantly aware of their presence, making my finger feel alien. Eventually though, as the months passed, the rings seemed to meld with my finger, and once again, it was mine. Now, though, it feels foreign. I find myself rubbing it just to feel. And as I do, I feel the little shiny, smooth metallic rings.

Some metal is very good. (Smile.)


This morning, someone tweeted something like, "If you feel you are falling, it's really cause God is having things fall into place." I snickered because I was writing this and also because I'm waiting for God to catch me.

I preferred my own tweet. "'We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.' — Helen Keller". By the end of this, I should have the bravery of a warrior and the patience of a saint.


Unlike that unfortunate old lady in those 80's alert monitor commercials, I have not fallen, and I refuse to accept I won't be able to get back up. When I started this entry, I was trying not to make contact with the cane. Well, fed up, as I left yesterday, I swooped the thing up, brought it home, and placed it in my closet behind some shoes. Hey, I might need a crutch one day, but not today.

That's one less piece of metal causing me nerve-wracking pain.

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