Can you name that tune? You get extra bonus points if you can name the group too!

This is the song that kept going through my head as the mammogram technician kept trying to coax me to relax. She calibrated that machine to squish my boobies till they were almost abnormally flat!

The second thought that came to mind, which I shared with the technician: If men had their genitalia squeezed to within an inch of passing out, I bet there would be an NSF grant issued immediately, luring the best scientific minds to develop a better diagnostic machine that wouldn't require squishing their genitalia or that would cause them pain in any way.

I'm willing to bet big money that it was a sadistic man that designed this machine, with the thought that if we could endure 18 hrs of labor we could endure the 15 minutes it takes for our boobies to be painfully squished and filmed!

Posted by: Michele at 06:25 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 165 words, total size 1 kb.

It's been almost 48hrs and no one's called to return you and take me up on my reward. I put up flyers around the neighborhood and the phone's not rung once. I've been alternating between being angry, morose and insufferable. I'm glad that my son has a playdate away from me, because I don't even like me right now.

I went back to the book store yestserday and bought another "perfect journal" because I can't be without one, but I haven't been able to write in it. I guess in time I will but not today.

My sister called inviting me out for a Mother's Day dinner tonight, but when I explained how I had lost you guys she quickly asked how I was feeling and decided to reschedule.

She said something that really suprised me: "I know how much your journals mean to you. My first memory ever was watching you from my crib as you wrote for what seemed like forever in your diary. I know they're what help you live fully. Some people eat, others exercise, you write in order to fully experience life and live." Yes, that's it, she gets me.

I have many unpublished posts in my blog as a result of not being able to fully capture an idea or feeling. On occassion I've gone back and have managed to finish them. Where ever I go, I usually have 1 journal in my bag with a pen at the ready. When inspiration or the mood hits me, I write while standing, sitting and on a few occassions, when I've heard some perfect dialogue, I've written while walking. That's when my journal becomes my quote book.

Writing this has helped me feel somewhat better. Eventually I'll see what the lesson in all this is, for today I'll just work on improving my spirits.

Posted by: Michele at 10:15 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 312 words, total size 2 kb.

When I was in 1st grade I had a difficult time coping with my new school environment. It had been my fatherÂ’s 3rd relocation to a new parish, which meant that it was our 3rd move that year.

We were in the foothills of the Andean mountains one day, and the next found ourselves in the hot dusty plains of Southern Italy. I barely had been given enough time to adjust to the time change, let alone understand the language, when I was enrolled and sent off to a new school. It was then that I found you. You gave me a safe place and an open space where I could pour out all my struggles and feelings, and express myself without being told that I had to be more stoic or more grateful for all the things I had.

Through your steady and ever present companionship you became my friend, confidante and confessor all rolled into one. As my friend, you listened attentively and contemplatively without being critical. You were patient in accepting self-indulgent and selfish thoughts that were sometimes repeated ‘ad nauseam’ and without variation.

As my confidante, you secretly and quietly accepted all of my secrets and those of my friends, without once betraying my heart or revealing their source. As such, you became a faithful guardian of everything I held near and dear to me. There was an unbroken trust and a close bond between us that I could always rely on, even when others let me down.

As my confessor, you were open to receive all my confessions and recriminations without judgment. You purposely created a quiet sanctuary, enabling me to confess, become penitent and reform in time to learn from my mistakes. The reformation of my soul occurred as a direct result of having an environment where reflection within your pages was the key to my transformation.
more...

Posted by: Michele at 12:05 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 1324 words, total size 7 kb.