Monday Morning Re-Post

Checking out life ahead

I'm working on going through my blog, picking out posts that I might re-work and include in MGDB.* I've got a lot of posts, most of which are throwaways. Some don't fit my book, but I like them for other reasons. I think I'll periodically post those from years ago -- give them some fresh air. See below.







*my goddamn book 







In other news, Henry won the MVP award last night for his school's first season of lacrosse. I am, naturally, very, very proud of him. Next thing you know, I'll be posting video segments of his highlight plays on Facebook. If I do, please come and shoot me.

Friday, October 18, 2013

On Being A, On Be Coming Crone

What I'm thinking about today is the onset of crone-dom and not in a jokey, silly sort of way, except that there are plenty of crones out there who will probably chuckle softly to themselves that I would deign to believe myself a crone at the tender age of fifty. I feel it approaching, though -- cronedom -- and I feel it as a lassitude and resignation, a comfortable giving-up and giving-in, a sardonic eye tilt and thinning lip, an exasperated descent into temporary insanity, a skill in holding ridiculous paradox, a desire to live and to be done with it, a quickening pulse, a pull between the legs, fullness drooping, a chopped off finger wag, abstraction made concrete.

Crone talk over tea (from left to right):

Watching a child seize, day after day after day after day for years on end imposes a sort of discipline. You can actually live like that.

I dare you, to do what I've done and feel any other way.

Barn's burnt down,
Now I can see the moon.

Red lips, black hair -- they disappeared, but I taste them both, dearie.

Head Down

Never a fair-weather fan

Even though I woke up this morning to the sound of Sophie having a really big seizure, I am encouraged by the last few days. She has had markedly fewer seizures and looks brighter. I guess the brighter part is subjective, and I could possibly be wishing it so, but I've been doing this thing for nearly two decades, so I'm going to go with definitely brighter. Isn't there a whole school of people who choose to be happy? She's brighter. She's having less seizures. There. I typed that in regular font. I feel slightly less frenzied but thoroughly weird. Anxious. I learned at the conference last weekend that about 15% of those who try CBD fail, particularly those who are on other medications or high doses of medications. These kids do better as the medicines are weaned, particularly the benzos (Onfi is a benzo). If any of you have ever weaned a benzo from an epileptic child (or yourself, actually), it's horrific. I've literally weaned Sophie from various benzos over periods of months and even years. I'm reminded that there's still Charlotte's Web to try, if this particular tincture doesn't do the trick. However,  I'm also feeling afraid. The reason for that is all the rumbling on the pediatric cannabis Facebook page about Big Government and Big Pharm -- how they could possibly get their hands on the stuff and make this whole thing a big, giant clusterfuck. I admonish myself not to be a conspiracy theorist, and then I think about our experience with anti-epileptic drugs -- getting them, paying for them -- the whole Onfi clusterfuck (twice, now, I've used that perfect word!!!) that I wrote about ad nauseum on this here blog.

One day at a time. Choose to be happy. Wean slowly, far more slowly than the Powers That Be tell you.

Anywho.

My head is down, figuratively and literally. I blew-dry (or is it blow-dried) my hair this morning, a rare, if not singular, occurrence. I did it like I used to do when I was young. I hang my head upside down and just let that hot air go. This is all part of my transition into cronedom, believe it or not. I'm going to be the crone with great hair. Also, Oliver is taking a mental health day from school which means my mental health is somewhat in question. Henry, god bless him,  is at school, excited that tomorrow is Halloween. He is planning on wearing a banana costume to school, a costume that cost $12.99 on Amazon. Thank god for easy kids with uncreative mothers. Oh, and Sophie is home because we have an appointment to see The Adult Neurologist. Now that she's eighteen, we must make that transition to Adult Neurology.

Yiddy hoo.

On Being A, On Be Coming Crone

What I'm thinking about today is the onset of crone-dom and not in a jokey, silly sort of way, except that there are plenty of crones out there who will probably chuckle softly to themselves that I would deign to believe myself a crone at the tender age of fifty. I feel it approaching, though -- cronedom -- and I feel it as a lassitude and resignation, a comfortable giving-up and giving-in, a sardonic eye tilt and thinning lip, an exasperated descent into temporary insanity, a skill in holding ridiculous paradox, a desire to live and to be done with it, a quickening pulse, a pull between the legs, fullness drooping, a chopped off finger wag, abstraction made concrete.

Crone talk over tea (from left to right):

Watching a child seize, day after day after day after day for years on end imposes a sort of discipline. You can actually live like that.

I dare you, to do what I've done and feel any other way.

Barn's burnt down,
Now I can see the moon.

Red lips, black hair -- they disappeared, but I taste them both, dearie.