Pictures of My Babies.

I feel:: amazingly well today

Gigi in her house.

Silver likes to sleep in my windwo in the sun, but this day it seems that the sun is too bright for her.

One of the many poses of Gigi.

I thought she was sleeping, but I'm beginning to think she's posing for me.

Her covergirl pose.

The "I am so cute you can't resist me" pose.

Silver has a thing for bathroom time. Every time I go in there, she's perched on something or another in my bathroom.

Lil' Bit and Silver are so cute when they get to snuggling, but note: Lil' Bit is sleeping away while Silver is posing for the camera. She just can't help it. :D She's the Queen Kitty.


I Been Eatin' A Shitload of Ice Cream

I feel:: shaky, hungry, busy

I've gained back 2 pounds, which is amazing considering all the ice cream I've been eating for the past two weeks. I'm going back to the no-sugar-mostly-protein-thing today. So, maybe next week, I'll have some weight loss to report.

I have a job interview today at FedEx/Kinko's. The one on Shackelford. I don't exactly know what the job entails; I had to apply for it online and the job description was kind of vague, but right after I finished doing that I called the Asst. Manager at that store and told her that I just submitted my application online and she wanted to interview me right away. So, I'm going there at 3:00pm today. I also applied for another position at the FedEx/Kinkos downtown. I think that position is more of an office-type thing. Not really sure about that one either, but I called the Asst. Manager of that store and I have an interview with him on July 5. I can't believe I set up two interviews for myself in the space of like 15 minutes. Crazy. Anyway, if any of you want to pray, send good vibes/energy...I would totally appreciate it. I really need a job.

I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever. I've been upset about that asshole at church. I don't have time to go into it now, as I have to jump in the shower and start getting ready for my interview, but I'll try to post about it later. Suffice it to say, one part of me wants to open up a can of WHOOPASS on him and the other part of me just wants to leave it alone and find a new church to go to. I would appreciate prayer/energy/vibes...whatever you're comfortable with about that issue as well. I don't want to wind up right-hooking him in his jaw.


It's in the mail, I tell you. It's in the mail. I can feel it.

I feel:: cranky, sore and achey

I'm premenstrual this week(I'm so sure everyone wanted to know that), so actually, this weight is probably not accurate. And the fact that I've spent the last three days pigging out on ice cream has probably changed it as well. God, I hate PMS.


My Cups Overfloweth..or...Maybe Not

I feel:: amused and sort of embarrassed

Last night I was again bitten by the cleaning bug. It happens every so often. (Mostly once a month.) Anway, I decided to take the seat cushion off of my bigcomfychair and clean out what was underneath it. Wow. I didn't find a lot of money: only a dime. But I did find 6 clothespins. (wtf?) Also, the weirdest, or maybe the funniest thing I found, depending on your perspective was: a bra stuck between the back and the bottom seat of my chair. I don't think any of you who read this have ever seen me,but if you had you might understand how it might be sort of funny/weird to find one of my bras stuck in such a very small place. (I can't even begin to imagine how it got there.)To find out how funny this is (and just how people regard my breasts) read my post here:
  • Some People Need A Good Bitch Slap

  • So it goes with the cleaning bug. I wonder what I'll find today....


    Thanks to Insomnia I Give You: The Evolution of Dance

    I feel:: amused,which is pretty good for me this early in the morning and before coffee


    Calling the Kettle Black and Dragging Eyes for Logs

    I feel:: hurt, angry, depressed, self-injurious

    I feel angry. I went to bed angry. I woke up angry and I'm not even sure if I should be angry. I'm angry with the people at my church. For the past few weeks, it seems like every time I leave church I'm in tears or so depressed that I want to down all of my Klonopin in one go and never wake up. Usually, though, what I do is take two Klonopin and two of Dad's headache pills, which serves to knock me out for most of the rest of the day. Maybe it's me, but I don't think this is the appropriate reaction when one comes from a church service.

    Save for a very few, anyone I try to confide in seems to think that just because I'm struggling every day with this depression and these memories of mine that there must be something wrong with my spiritual walk. (Is there a "spiritual walk" store where one can get replacement parts for the soul? That's what I feel like they see me as: something broken that needs to be fixed and that their solution is and has always been right in front of my face and is so simple that a child could understand it.) Like I don't pray enough or that my faith is somehow lacking.

    I lay in my bed at night, longing for sleep with my brain running a thousand miles a minute, replaying old and not-so-old conversations, wherein I'm the aggressor
    (Because I'm angry. Did I say that already? Oh yeah, I did [/sarcasm].) and I have these imaginary confrontations with those people whom I feel have hurt me by their words or by their apathy towards me. Now, I realize that church and every thing else in the world is not all about me and I don't consider myself a selfish or self-involved person. I mean, I do have a shoe fetish and to a lesser-degree a purse and jewelry fetish, but that's not the kind of self-involvement I'm talking about. Most people are self-involved to a certain degree.

    Am I not daily struggling to find ways to deal with my issues? Do I not stay awake at night wracked with sobs of heartache and in prayer for the things God has laid on my heart? Have I not ALWAYS prayed for those people at my church that were with me in Sold Out (and for those who weren't)? Do they pray for me? Do they care about me? Do they love me? I don't think so. I could be wrong, but love is not what I feel from them. What I feel is disdain.

    Granted, I can be over-sensitive sometimes. Now, I am asking myself this: Am I over-sensitive when I have been experiencing the same feelings of depression , desperation, and self-injury for at least the past four weeks after going to a church service? Some of it has been due to my frustration with Marshall. I can freely admit that, but I find increasingly that I'm being ostracized. After the service, no one comes to talk to me. (The norm is that after service, everyone sort of wanders around and socializes and eventually a consensus is determined about where everyone wants to eat. This usually takes an hour at least.) I've even sat in my place in the pew after service (for at least twenty or thirty minutes), making eye contact with people who pass by and smiling at them, only to find out that most of them act like I'm totally invisible. (Sometimes, I get a pat on the head, like I'm the church pet or mascot or something. As if I'm something to be pitied.) I feel like they think I'm not worthy enough of a person to even notice. There are a few people who talk to me, but even those don't make any effort to contact me outside of church (It's not like I haven't contacted them at least once or twice a week just to talk. Usually, they are "too busy" to talk to me.).

    We had a guest pastor come teach for the past two Sundays and I keep thinking about how he kept remarking that we were all such a strong family because otherwise everyone would have gone their own way when Pastor David left. I don't find "family" there. What I find is a clique.

    Last week, after service, one of the men in my church came over to where I was sitting and started to talk to me telling me ways I could "make myself right with God". He even went so far as to ask me, "What does it mean to be a Christian?" He kept telling me that "maybe" I wasn't doing what God wanted me to because I am majoring in Psychology (he said that like I was majoring in the practice of Occult sacrifice) and then went further to suggest "maybe" I wasn't even at the right college. All of this, of course, suggesting that I am compeltely outside of God's will. He was so presumptuous, so condescending and his ideas and opinions of me were completely baseless. He doesn't know me. He's never attempted to know me. I felt like punching him in the face. (Incidentally, when I told him [more like spat venomously at him] what I was really struggling with was the fact that my grandfather molested me for like ten years and that I've been raped four times, he shut his trap and quick. He stopped trying to suggest that "maybe" I was outside of God's will. I asked him bluntly, "What am I supposed to do with all those memories and feelings? I'm just supposed to pretend that none of that ever happened?" Again, no response.)

    Not too long after he had stopped to talk to me, his wife showed up and began strongly urging him to come and have lunch. That's a normal thing: whenever I talk to a man who is married, his wife inserts herself in some obvious way. This even happens with the women I worked with in Sold Out. I've known them for 16 years. You would think by now that they would know I have NO DESIGNS on their husbands. (Most of the guys there I've known since before they were married.) The way the women treat me makes me feel like a whore. Not only are they condescending, but also they act as if even to touch me would communicate something from me contagious and incurable.

    I hate getting caught up in this petty bullshit. So, I'm not going to go to church for several months. I need a break from them. It's just like it was when I was in Sold Out. If you claim to be a Christian and you struggle with something, then your walk is not right. It's your fault that you're having troubles. I could never reveal anything of what was going on with me when I was working in Sold Out (even though I was so depressed that I contemplated suicide several times a day) for that simple reason. Now, everyone says that they've matured; that they've moved to a different place in their lives. I don't think so. I think they are the same as they've always been.

    By the way, during my absence, I can guarantee that NO ONE will call me to see what's going on or even just to see if I'm ok. Talk about self-involved. Hey pot-this is kettle-you're black.

    What hurts the most is that I've ALWAYS loved them. I've ALWAYS wanted them to love me, but they never really did. It's sad to finally realize that after nearly twenty years. It makes me feel really, really empty and like I've been lied to. I've said this before, I know I have. I guess it just takes some time for the realization to sink in that people you thought loved you whom you've known for nearly twenty years,just... don't.


    Update on My Weight Loss

    I feel:: hopeful

    The last time I did this, I weighed 204. Well, I went up to 206. Now, I'm back to 200. Let's hope it keeps going down not back up.


    Gang Raped and Mutilated but Still Praising God

    I feel:: very, very, very angry and very, very nauseated

    (Ya'll this atrocity is a complete outrage. If you want to help, I've posted some email links and phone numbers at the bottom of this post.)

    The cries of the women in a tiny hospital are as harrowing as they are haunting. I will never forget what I felt when I walked into a hospital room filled with the walking wounded in the town of Bukavu in Eastern Congo.

    "This a pain worse than death," says 28-year-old Henriette Nyota. She's one of hundreds of women who've sought treatment at Panzi Hospital for a crime that continues to be committed here on an almost daily basis -- multiple rapes by men in uniform with the intention, aid workers say, of destroying their child-bearing capabilities.

    The story is as complicated as the Congo itself. The men in uniform are members of Congo's recently integrated army. Some of the men are from one ethnic group and they're raping and mutilating women from a different ethnic group in ways that can only be described as barbaric and medieval. After all, this is peacetime Congo. The civil war that killed more than three million people ended nearly three years ago. This isn't supposed to be happening today.

    "These animals insert knives and other sharp objects into the women after raping them continuously for days at a time," says Dr. Denis Mukwege Mukengere, the lone physician working here. He's just finished a six-hour operation to repair one woman's uterus. She'd walked 300 miles to get here, exhausted, traumatized and overcome with excruciating pain.

    "They seem to do this to prevent another generation of warriors from being born," Dr. Mukengere tells us.

    He takes us on a tour of his hospital. Outside, in the corridors, new arrivals have just been dropped off by a Good Samaritan. I count a dozen of them, some with infant children, others too old to have children, all victims of unimaginable atrocities. He counsels them in his slow, methodical way and asks his small army of nurses to assist them. He's a kind of Mother Teresa, a person who has come to help the helpless. This hospital has become a haven for Congo's suffering masses, an oasis surrounded by horror and hatred.

    We enter one of six wards dedicated to victims of sexual violence. Dr. Mukengere introduces us to 19-year-old Helene Wamunzila. She first came here five years ago after being raped repeatedly. Dr. Mukengere was able to stitch her back together and eventually discharged her. He says she cried the day she left, pleading with him to let her stay here because she said the evildoers were waiting for her back in her village. He didn't listen then and now regrets his decision. She's returned, badly mutilated physically and permanently scarred psychologically.

    "I wish I'd let her stay," he says, shaking his head.

    Victims of these horrible atrocities lie helplessly in bed, colostomy bags hanging below. Hanging over their heads is the fear that not only might they not be able to have children, but that they may have contracted HIV/AIDS, an almost guaranteed death sentence in this part of the world.

    "Four out of 10 end up being HIV positive," Dr. Mukengere tells us. "It's almost as though God is punishing these people in the worst possible way."

    Rose Mujikandi, 24, tells us 14 men broke into her parents' house two months ago. She says they killed her father and mother, two brothers and infant sister, but not before they had their way with her.

    "It's the last thing my father and mother saw before they were killed. Can you imagine living the rest of my life knowing this is the image they went to heaven with?" she asks, tears streaming down her face. "But I have faith in God. What happened to me happened for a reason," she concludes.

    In an open-air recreation area, more women, hundreds of them, talk quietly among themselves. They see Dr. Mukengere and one of them breaks into song. The others follow, but some are too traumatized to think of singing. The song is as haunting as it is defiant. I ask the doctor what it means.

    "They're telling the men that they will never be broken, that their spirits will never be broken," he says.

    The song ends and I turn to one of the women. She's using a cane to walk because of the damage she's received from days of multiple rapes and mutilation. She gives me her name only as Tintsi and says she's 21 years old. She was brought here by her relatives on a stretcher for a short distance, she says, only 25 miles. She tells me she was gang-raped by 15 men for eight days and eight nights. She just recently began walking again and the cane helps her get around.

    "They can destroy my womanhood," she says, "but they can never destroy my spirit."

    I ask her where she gets her strength and I almost know what she will say before the words leave her mouth.

    "God," she whispers. Then, as if for emphasis, she cries aloud, "Only God can save the women of Congo." The women around her applaud. Some shake their heads in agreement. Others simply stare straight ahead.

    I turn to Dr. Mukengere and ask him why everyone here refers to God after being the victims of such atrocities.

    "God is the only thing they can hold on to that no one can take away from them. They've lost their dignity. They've lost their womanhood. They have nothing left," he says. "But if you ask me, God forgot about Congo a long time ago."

    I wonder if he believes this. If he did, would he be here doing what he's been doing every day for the past three years?

    I turn to leave this place and can't help feeling sick to my stomach. Every time I feel things are getting better on this continent that I grew up in, this land I proudly call my home, this place that has so much to offer, I'm confronted with the stark reality that all is not well in the place many people proudly call "Mother Africa."

    We need to do more. We need to take care of our mothers, our sisters, our daughters and our grandmothers. Most of all we need to make life better for the generations that are yet to come.

    We'll have to start somewhere, and the Congo it seems, is as good a place as any.

    If you would like to help, please contact:

    The Swedish Pentecostal Mission -- PMU
    Contact person: Marie Walterzon
    Telephone in Congo: 011-243-81-318-6246
    E-mail: vsvbukavu@kivu.on-line.com

    Contact person: Tilly Leuring
    Telephone in Congo: 011-243-997-089-850
    E-mail: dmt-drc-pd@tearfund.org

    Dr. Denis Mukwege Mukengere
    E-mail: denismukwege@hotmail.com

    Posted By Jeff Koinange, CNN Africa Correspondent

    source: http://www.cnn.com/CNN/Programs/anderson.cooper.360/blog/


    Anyone for a slightly used Pancreas? It's only a little traumatized and only been dropped once. I swear.

    I feel:: like I have a migraine
    What song is on a loop in my head right now:: Over The Rhine~Suitcase

    Rasputina~Thimble Island

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    From my written journal
    I feel shaky this morning, although, my waking BSL was 125. I don't know if it's truly my BS being that high or if it's my adrenaline pushing it that high. I also woke up with the headache that I am now growing accustomed to, since it has been happening practically every day for the last several months. Now, I know that is caused by low BSL.

    So, let's see: shakiness, headache, sweating, and tachycardia. I'd say my adrenaline was high right now instead of my BSL. (At least I can write fairly legibly this morning.) Another thing that is probably making my BSL highter than it has been on waking all week is the fact that I ate a huge bowl of ice cream last night. I'm sure my BSL would have been higher this morning had I not started coughing violently (I'm allergic to milk. I'm a masochist. What can I say? I love ice cream.)right after I finished eating it and promptly vomited all of it into the bathroom sink. That's probably another reason for the high BSL reading this morning. My adrenaline probably dumped into my blood stream during the coughing/vomiting spell and then overnight, while I slept, my BSL dropped and adrenaline was dumped into my blood stream again to counteract the lowness of the BSL.

    I feel guily about all of the vomiting I did last night. I mean, I wasn't coughing hard enough for all of the ice cream to come up. I made it come up. I got scared that all the sugar I'd just ingested would leave me in a worse state than I was Monday morning. So, I panicked, wanting to get as much of it as possible out of my stomach before it could be absorbed into my blood stream. I guess you could say it was a classic binge/purge episode.

    I can't do that again. I don't want to set up in my mind that eating=fear, guilt and purging. I already have enough trouble with eating as it is. I don't need to add purging to the list. God, why do I crave sugary shit so badly?

    P.S. Rasputina-Monday June 19,2006-Vino's,Little Rock, AR-8pm. I'm so there. I don't even care if no one else goes with me. Omg it's RASPUTINA!