So, it turns out that one of my wonderful readers and commenters works for Homeland Security, and she confessed to scrolling through my blog yesterday on her time off -- hence, the mystery is solved.
Dang nabbit. I was feeling all self-important.
Today, though, I am going to be photographed with Sophie for a newspaper article about medical marijuana in California. Late last night I confessed to another extreme parent who was on the East Coast (up with her child way, way past midnight) that I was terrified to be photographed lest I look bad or horrors upon horrors -- heavy. I hate that word, by the way, and have forced myself to say it. My friend S, despite the grueling nature of her day, her night, her life, actually, sent me the following photo of what I should wear:
That's called The Mad Hatter Costume. I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair. My friend also typed that she wished she had the wherewithal to be more publicly outrageous than she is, and that made me laugh hard as well. Given the circumstances, I wish that I were, too. The truth is that while I'm happy to be interviewed, happy to tell our story, fired up to advocate and help others who need this information, there's a certain part of me that's as pissed off as one can imagine -- or maybe not just pissed off but freaked out, overcome by absurdity. I'm angry that it took nineteen years to stop Sophie's seizures despite this plant being available -- with evidence that it might very well help. Let's call off the Jesus stuff and the miracles and the feeling all joyous and happy now that Sophie's seizures are reduced dramatically. I'm angry about the clusterfuckery that is the American healthcare system -- angry that people opposed reforming it, angry that it's still entirely inequitable, angry at the buffoons in my home state of Georgia who think it's oh so American to carry a concealed weapon around wherever you please but good golly miss molly not the evil weed! I'm angry that my friend from Wisconsin had to work her fanny off to get the almighty lawmakers to pass a bill -- last night! -- making it easier to get CBD for children like her daughter who has had seizures for a decade, part of her brain removed and countless meds poured down her throat yet my friends here in Los Angeles can suck on pot lollipops at hipster restaurants. And yes, I thinnk marijuana should be legal for even recreational use. I'm angry that I'm nervous we might not have a steady supply of Charlotte's Web, that I'll have to grovel for it. I'm angry with Big Pharma, with The Man, with capitalism, with the Tea Bag Party and the damn libertarian ship it floated in on, with The Way Things Work. I'm angry with my anger. And I'm angry that seizures are so vicious, that they've damaged not only my daughter's brain and her quality of life but our family -- my sons, my husband, me.
Hell, I'm angry that I'm not still thin, too.
Well, damn this whole shebang. And my own vanity.
I'm wearing this: