Avec Fromage

Sometimes my heart feels a bit like swiss cheese.  There are holes where people used to be.  There are holes where dreams used to be.  There are holes where I thought love used to be.  Do these holes ever get filled in again?  Or does your heart just keep getting lacier and honeycombed with the holes that life creates?  And if my heart is Swiss cheese can I fill those holes with cheddar?  I don't even know what that means, it just popped in my head.  Maybe because I don't particularly like Swiss cheese.  I love a good extra sharp cheddar though.  Is that what my heart has become?  A sharp cheddar?   What if I'm lactose intolerant?  What if I can't tolerate what my heart has become?  I suppose I will just come up with yet another metaphor and write about it in my little litterbox corner of the world.





No wait!  I'm crackers!!!!!

Letter to the Lady Who Cut in Line

Dear lady who jumped the line,
Yes, I saw you sneak through.  No, I don't believe you didn't know there was one line for two cashiers.  Why do you think you are more important than everyone else who is waiting their turn?  You are the perfect example of why people who play by the rules, work as a team, do the right thing are the ones who get screwed.  So thank you for that, thank you for taking humanity down one more notch.   Am I overreacting?  Maybe.  Or is this just one more log in the fire of my frustration?  Please, cut in line again...I'm begging you.


sincerely,
The lady with no more patience



beotch!!

This Is Me Trying to Let Go

A few days ago a friend helped me plant a LB that was part of a "Memorial Plant Day" for a boxer called preboxed who died recently from cancer.  I don't know what kind she had, but I hate every form it takes.  Guess it has stirred some stuff up, this is what I just wrote on my Facebook page.  I'm putting it here too because "This is me trying to let go." 

It's been probably 7 years since she died.  They played "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Israel Kamakawiwo'Ole at her memorial.  I break down every time I hear it...still.  I also don't talk about it.  So...this is me trying to let go.
Patricia was my "cohort".  We were in a breast cancer support group together, it was part of a study to see what type of therapy is most beneficial to breast cancer patients, regular group vs. variety (group, art therapy, education, yoga, etc.)  After the initial study was over, she was the only I kept in touch with over time.  She kept in touch with everyone, she was the glue.  I went to a "Survivors Day" in GGP with a friend and met her there, because she was a fierce survivor and wanted to celebrate it.  Even when she had a recurrence.  The last time I saw her was several months before she died.  I met her at Kaiser and sat through a chemo drip with her.  We laughed and talked and talked and talked.  I talked with her on AOL for a while after that, but then she became quiet.  Then I got the email from her partner saying that she had died.  For about 6 months after her screen name would still pop up on the IM thingy they had then.  Every time, my gut reaction would be to smile and think "Hi Patricia!"...then I  would remember and realize it was her partner, taking care of the business of life.  
I went to her memorial alone.  Steven can't go to things like that, it hits too close to home for him, but I needed to go.  I was in pain with muscle spasms and in a mental fog.  Patricia.  Dead.  Damn.  I sat in the back of the Swedenborgen Church in SF and listened and cried and held hands with the strangers on either side of me.  Then I tucked it all in the back of my head and went on with life.  Until I would hear THAT song.  Then it all comes back, every time, just as strong, and I don't tell anyone.  Until now.  I miss my friend, Patricia.  I am afraid, too.   When will that be me?  Because someday, it will.  And no amount of good intentioned "get hit by a bus" pep talks people give doesn't change the fact that one of my "buses" has already turned the corner and is heading towards me and all I can do is hope I've gotten out of the way in time.




I haven't bought a ticket anyway.

Likewise, I'm sure.

The following are exerpts from a Facebook status exchange.

Original Status: "Ok, I want to apologize for my lack of interest in getting close to many of you..."

Someones comment: "Sometimes we have just enough energy to get through what we must, and no more."
Original posters response:  "...i have plenty of energy. Just no interest..."  

God how I love Facebookland sometimes!  The original status was touching on issues of trust and friendship, etc. so there is more to it all than what is above.  But I love the whole thing about "I'm just not interested in getting to know you."  The lady has balls, alright.  I so wanted to add the comment:  "That's okay, I'm not really interested either.  ;-)"  The winky face is to cue others in on the fact that IT'S A JOKE, but knowing the audience I figured people wouldn't get it and think I was being mean to their beloved leader.   I'd like to think that she would get it, but ya' never know.  Perhaps it's just another case of "I crack myself up!".  At least I think I'm funny.




We are not amused.

Have a Nice Day?

Okay, since when did "have a nice day" start meaning something else?  I've noticed recently that people use that phrase to mean "$cr{w you!"  or  "pi$$ off"  or  "You're an idiot and I'm not."  A disagreement ensues, people argue their side and when others don't agree....more often than not they will end a paragraph or conversation "You have a nice day" said with a wrinkled nose.  Up is down.  Left is right.  Nice is not.



Have a HAPPY day, remember that one??

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming

Hmmm, should I carve some stamps and put them up on Etsy?  I think I'm a decent carver, but would anyone really want to buy them?  I guess I'm not the only one with that idea (dang it!).  The other stamps I've seen there have ranged from exceedingly simple to quite beautiful.  I dunno.  Is it worth it?  I know carving can give me migraines.  But I like doing it.  Gak.  Some days I tell myself to just put my head down and keep trudging along.  It's not enough and I need to exercise that creative outlet. 
Boxing has taken a back seat to "the business of life".  We kind of hit a plateau with planting...hit one with finding too.   Okay, now I'm rambling.   Which made me remember Steve Martin's song Ramblin' Man.  Can't find the lyrics but did come across Grandmothers Song:

Be courteous, kind and forgiving,
Be gentle and peaceful each day,
Be warm and human and grateful,
And have a good thing to say.

Be thoughtful and trustful and childlike,
Be witty and happy and wise,
Be honest and love all your neighbors,
Be obsequious, purple, and clairvoyant.

Be pompous, obese, and eat cactus,
Be dull, and boring, and omnipresent,
Criticize things you don't know about,
Be oblong and have your knees removed.

Be tasteless, rude, and offensive,
Live in a swamp and be three dimensional,
Put a live chicken in your underwear,
Get all excited and go to a yawning festival.



Welcome to my world!

Natural High

Generally, the phrase "natural high" is used in a positive, life affirming way.  Well, I experienced a REAL natural high a few days ago and believe-you-me it was not necessarily pleasant.  This "natural" high was due to sleep deprivation.  I've dealt with insomnia over the past mumble years, every now and again I have what I've nicknamed "monster insomnia".  It is the kind where I am NOT sleepy at all...all night long...until about 6am.  It is weird.   So, I've been toodling along the past several months with only mild to moderate insomnia and then got hit with the "monster".  I felt totally normal all night, didn't feel sleepy at 5 or 6am like I usually would.  I figured I'd just go along with my day until I got sleepy.  Fast forward to about 8am and I am completing Christmas gifts for my nieces (yes, I said Christmas.  I procrastinate, so sue me.)  I scanned recipe's that my mother wrote down on index cards and a bunch of photo's of her and put it all together into a cookbook for my nieces.  So there I was kneeling on the floor using the gadgets to punch holes and bind them when I was slowly overtaken by a strange feeling.  Not really a sleepy feeling, but kind of.  But also, a high feeling like I was drugged, not not really.   I really wanted to finish the cookbooks and be done with it so I kept going.  The feeling got stronger and stronger until I almost felt like I was going to fall over (even though I was still kneeling on the floor).  After I finished binding the last one, I had a moment of clarity and thought "Criminy, I better go to sleep before something bad happens."  I left everything where it was and made a bee line to bed.  I only slept 3 hours and kept waking up with that very strange "high" feeling.  Eventually it went away and went on with my day.  I now have a whole new take on that phrase "natural high".  When used figuratively it is a lovely thing.  When used literally it is not pleasant.  I now understand why sleep deprivation is used as torture.



Say good night Gracie!

Bunny Years

I have gotten through another December.  This one didn't numbered among the worst, but there certainly have been better.  I've never been a fan of the whole New Year's Day thingy, in fact I came upon the realization that the Monday after Christmas has always felt more like the beginning of the next "year".  I don't suppose I would ever be able to convince the rest of the world to change the calender....  A girl can dream though.  There is one thing that stands in the way of any "new beginning", a minor thing in and of itself, but everything hinges on it. Every now and again, with no discernible pattern, my blood tests come back with an elevated tumor marker.   Every time, the follow up test shows it is back down. The extra concern is that this is the highest it has ever been elevated.  "That's all I have say about that." (said like Forrest Gump).  There is another New Year coming up soon, the Year of the Hare begins soon and I just so happen to be a Hare! 


It's a bunny, I'm a bunny, wouldn't you like to be a bunny, too!

Music to My Ears

I like music...who doesn't like music?  I don't like ALL music, there is a lot that I am indifferent to.  The snarky me always kind of smirked when movies (or TV shows) would show someone who went to the opera and the music made them cry (think Pretty Woman).  I thought it was a ploy or an affectation to show how cultured they were inside.  Blahditty blah blah. 
Now for the "My Bad" moment.  The song is the Hallelujah Chorus.  I've heard it many, many times before.  I've even sung quietly during a sing-a-long version.  I'm not a religious person, but it's a lovely song and I always enjoy hearing it.  The other day, a friend sends me a link to a YouTube video of a flash mob who sang the whole thing in the food court at a mall.  I like watching flash mobs when done well.  Well, I'm grinning along with the audience as person after person stands up and joins in.  I'll be damned (oops, guess I shouldn't use that phrase)...I'll be gobsmacked if when the ladies went into the high notes in the middle of the song that my eyes welled up and I had tears running down my face.  WHAT?  What was that?!  What just happened?!  Why am I crying?!  It's not like I had never heard the song before.  I wasn't even there live.  It was as if a certain note or tone had triggered the "cry over beautiful music" center of my brain.  Fortunately, I was by myself watching YouTube so I just let it flow and afterwards mopped up my tears and had a good laugh at myself.  Lesson learned, thankyouverymuch!
If you're curious:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE




'tis the season.

Metaphors? Try Metafives.

Worry.  It's like little thin wafer cookies stacked up inside me.  Delicate, light, crispy little rounds of anxiety, dread, regret and the like.  Each cookie a separate thought, stacked in a column for each object of concern and grouped according to intensity.  I drop them carefully one on top of the other making sure to keep them balanced and ordered.  The higher I stack them the more unstable the columns become, so I make sure they are pushed close together to help stabilize each other. 
Each stacked column of crispy worry is pushed up against another one to create a sort of foundation to prevent a total collapse of my infrastructure.  But as the groups grow and columns are pushed together I have less and less room to maneuver.  Pretty soon I can't even reach the ones in the center anymore for fear of breaking the ones on the perimeter.  There is no way to reach the ones on the bottom without disturbing the ones on the top.  And I can't rearrange them because I don't think I could ever get them put back in order again.  It would be total chaos.  Overwhelming.  And what if those delicate little cookies crumbled?  Could I handle it standing there treading on the crushed remains of all those anxious thoughts I've been tending to so calmly and carefully and sanely.  Could I clean up the mess?  
So I just keep stacking and pushing and leaning and propping, when all I really want to do is pour a glass of milk and eat my way through those wafer cookies of worry.





Kind of makes you hungry, doesn't it?

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling...

Another year has rolled around.  This time we call it an even 20.  Twenty years of marital bliss.  Twenty years of misunderstandings.  Twenty years of inside jokes.  Twenty years of passive aggressive moments.  Twenty years of smiles and 123's and sweeties and I loved you first's and snoring and forgetting and grumping and laughing and crying and tripping over shoes and supporting and disappointing and diving and dancing and catscatscatscatscats.  Life took a hard left turn along the way, but like we always say "It's not important as long as we're together."



123 Mister 1232!

Plug Your Ears, It's Time For A Rant

Okay, a while back there was this "thing" on Facebook where women were posting a color in their status update.  Apparently, it was a little grassroots "meme" movement where you were supposed to post the color of the bra you were wearing.  Seemed like just a silly little thing, but then people are saying it was to raise awareness for Breast Cancer.   Okay, maybe it was or maybe it wasn't, but it was an interesting phenomenon that caught national attention. 
I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer in 1998 when I was 34 years old.  And let's just say they didn't "catch it early" (even though that was what people REALLY wanted me to tell them.)  And let's just say I am a statistical oddity for unknown reasons (i.e. "I am not dead yet.")  So I have a bit of a sensitivity when it comes to apparently random activities in the name of breast cancer.  I also have an irrational reaction to breast cancer awareness month.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I don't want awareness raised and I am not disapproving of any of these things.  But in my emotional, irrational brain I am screaming, "I am aware of breast cancer every @&%#ing day of my life!" 
There is NOT ONE DAY that goes by that I am not reminded that this disease forever and permanently changed the course of my life.  I am constantly reminded by the painful complications that occurred because of the long and laborious treatment that (so far) saved my life.  Every six months I am reminded of my mortality when they run tests to see if it has come back.  And none of this changes my appreciation and gratitude to everyone who fights for awareness/funds/laws that help prevent/treat/etc.  this sucky, sucky disease.  Remember, I fully own my irrational reaction, I know it's my own weirdness.
So here's the rant part.  For a while now, women have posted statements starting with "I like it...." with various locations added (e.g. on the dresser, in the closet, on the table.)  It is where women put their purse at home.  Ha ha ha, funny joke.  I didn't participate in this thing months ago and now it is back again.  I'm not participating in this go round either, because I don't carry a purse anymore.  I don't carry one because of the above stated complications from (wait for it).......breast cancer.   Here is where today's rant stemmed from, it is now being asserted that this "I like it...." thingy is for (wait for it)........breast cancer awareness!   WTF!  What does writing cryptic sexually suggestive status updates have to do with BREAST CANCER AWARENESS?  And whywhywhywhywhy would it mean that now, when people were doing this thingy months and months ago??  Just because it's October doesn't mean any random activity has to do raising awareness.  I find it a little insulting really.  If you really want to raise awareness then do something helpful not self serving.  Virtually waving your arms in the air and shouting "Look at memememe!" does not constitute something helpful.  It's just a way to get people to notice you.  I have nothing against these little "meme" things but it is pissing me off that people are trying to make it meaningful after the fact.  Just do it for fun and stop trying to make it something it is not. 




Ugh, I'm exhausted...

If Not Now, When?

Ding, ding, ding, ding!  Hands in the air!  Success!  Soopahstah! 

Hmmm, maybe that was overkill.  I'm just happy that my stash of stamps is being evicted and set loose in the world.  We have done a rash of plantings lately so I'm happy about that.  BUT (ya gotta know, there is always a but), I still have five stamps that are ready to go.  One I know exactly where it's going but we had some technical difficulties over the weekend.  Frustrating.  Mainly because I carved that stamp OVER A YEAR AGO.  Geesh.  And it's one of my favorite ones too. 
One of the first stamps I ever carved (I think it was the third one) is still not planted.  Tried a couple of times but no joy.  Can't seem to find the right spot in the rather urban area I want it to go.  Oops, I forgot about the recarve for my former "blue diamond" series.  We've tried 4 times to replant that one...I think it's jinxed.
Oh lordy, then there is the one I'm still carving.  An elaborate scene, very fiddly, not sure if it will come out looking good or not.  AND  I have one image ready to be transfered and carved.  AND AND I have one stamp that is languishing because I want  it to be an indoor plant but haven't gotten up the courage to approach the owners of the shop.
Sheesh, you'd think I like to carve stamps or something.......I have insomnia.




Nonpareil non sequitor!

Where's The Dog?

    When we were first married and living here, I would drive down the street which took me to my street on my way home from work, doing errands and what not.  Driving through a fairly boring but pleasant suburban area with older tract homes I began to notice one particular house with a yard on a corner.  Nothing special about the house and there was an ugly chain link fence around the front yard.  Not a big one, a short one and I began to take note of the happy black lab that was often in the yard. 
     He was happiest when his boys were out there playing with him, racing around and around as happy labs do.  I also began to notice two boys in the front yard, most often they were playing catch with a baseball.  There was a significant age difference, the older one looked like he was in high school, the younger one looked under 10y.o.  I would think, "What a cool older brother!"  Really, I saw them out there so often I began to look for them.  I began to look forward to catching a glimpse of the little scene that played out so often. 
      Just as often, I would see the happy lab not running around but waiting on the front steps waiting for his boys to come home.  And often the yard was just empty.  After a time, I realized that the yard was more empty than not.  And when the happy lab was there, he was usually alone, lounging around or sniffing or sleeping.  
    Suddenly, I began to see boys playing catch in the front yard again.  I was a little disappointed because they were two teenage boys and I thought "Well, I guess the older brother does need to interact with friends his own age.  I hope the younger brother doesn't feel left out."  The other thought was "Dang, the dog is looking old!"  I could see the white on it's muzzle as I drove by.   Then it dawned on me!  I am such a dork!  That was the YOUNGER brother in the yard playing catch with a friend his own age!  About 10 years had gone by and (duh!) the boys grew up.  The younger one was about the age of the older one when I first noticed them.  Had that much time really gone by so fast? 
     Again, the yard began to be empty more often than not and at a certain point I figured the boys were off to college and the doggy had lived out it's happy life.  Then lo and behold!  I saw the lab sitting on the front steps again.  Oh, he looked so old.  So much white all over his head and moving slow and creaky.  But it made me happy to catch a glimpse of "The Dog" as he was now known.  (My husband and I realized a couple of years into this that we were noticing the same thing separately and would comment on it when driving by together.)   Then I realized I had lived here 15 years and that was one old dog and time really does fly. 
     Driving down that road yesterday I noticed I still anticipate coming around that corner to check out that yard to see if anyone is there.  It has become habit, unconscious.  This time, for whatever reason, a voice in my head said "It's been twenty years, The Dog has died by now.  The boys are adults and don't live there anymore."  Again, I can't believe how much time has gone by.  How did it happen?  Where did it go?  Where was I when it went?  Sometimes I think about leaving a note on the chain link fence letting them how much their yard has been a part of my life and that I remember their dog and boys..... but I get to that point and realize it sounds a little creepy. 


So, I will keep driving by, and by habit, look to see if The Dog is out there today.

Boom

I live about 3 miles from the gas line explosion in San Bruno.  I could see the smoke (but not the fireball) from my driveway.  I am haunted by knowing all those people went through something unimaginable.  I wonder what would I have done?  Froze?  Panicked?  Think clearer than normal?  What would I have done with (fill in the blank)?  That pipeline, that old 1948 pipeline, that pipeline that PGE knows has serious issues, makes it way north from San Bruno,  It splits off from its route along Junipera Serra to drop down Avalon, cross El Camino (around SSF HS, I believe and my most, all time favorite place to go recently...Eggettes) and runs parallel to El Camino by the Kaiser and BART....I stopped looking at the map at that point.  We are bordered on three side by this aging pipeline that PGE has sent Memo's about.  The same pipeline that erupted with sudden violence and forced a neighborhood to flee while their skin blistered and burned and their house turned in to ashy piles of memories more often than not with a red brick finger of a chimney pointing at the empty sky.  I wrote on my Facebook status "Fear = the great equalizer" and people hijacked my posting and began to wax philosophical about fear and ignorance and prejudice and I wanted to say "blahblahblahblahblah".  No disrespect intended, impatience and frustration yes.  I had to make myself clear and said... I'm not talking about that kind of fear, I'm talking about the "Ohmygod, ohmygod, what do I do?!" life and death kind of fear.  Because no matter who you are, what you own, how much you make or how much you owe, who your parents are, what your religion, race or dress size is...when it comes down to real, honest to goodness FEAR  we are all equal and speaking the same language.  It's a terrible thing, fear.  Necessary, but terrible.  And in the end we are all just living organisms fighting to survive in this dangerous world.   The crushing truth is, some of use make it and some of us don't.  And that is weighing heavy on my heart these days.





Who's name is pulled from your gut and spoken aloud when you think you are going to die?

How Special!

"Behind the prickly exterior lies a true gem." 
"I'm really not a nasty person and really try to go out of my way not to harm people but ..."
"She's really a nice person once you get to know her!"

All three of these quotes are real.  All three refer to different people.  And in each case the person in question is...well, questionable.  What they present to the world is not pleasant, kind or nice.  And yet (here it comes, drumroll please!) why is everyone else supposed to make allowances for them?  What makes them soooo special that the rest of the world has to work to get on their good side?  My answer is simply "ego".  They each have an ego that would fill up the Cow Palace (local reference here, Google it if you are interested.  If not just trust that it is a really big place.  They didn't call it a Palace for nothing.)  I am getting really tired of this type of personality who thinks it is okay to treat people like crap.  And shame on the other people feed into it and justify their idol's abusive behavior.  There, I said it!  Yes, abusive behavior.  You are not special...you are the dreaded Narcissistic Personality Disorder.  Get over yourself already.




If you meet this type of person, run (don't walk) in the other direction.

Too Many To Count

Well, not really...I am prone hyperbole.  I just finished a letterbox to plant.  Was this cause for joy and celebration?  Yes and no.  I love the feeling of putting those final touches on the box and knowing it is good to go.  I know where I want to plant it.  Not the EXACT location for the box, but the place I want to take people.  So that is the "yes" part.  The "no" part is that this little box now joins an ever growing pile of completed boxes clamoring to be planted. 
I have no real excuse or reason.  The weather's been fine, there has been time available.  What's the hitch???  The short answer is:  me.  The long answer is:  I have discovered I get a little particular (or as it is said in the modern vernacular:  anal) when it come to planting.  The place has to be appropriate to the box... the actual spot needs to be accessible but discrete... exposure both to prying eyes and the elements has to be considered.   Are all these things ABSOLLUTLY necessary?  The short answer is: no.  The long answer is:  apparently in my mind, yes.  (Okay, that is not really a long answer, but it is more than the first monosyllabic one.  Semantics, semantics!)  This is not to mention the stamps in progress, plus the ones in my head, not to mention the spots picked but no stamp image in mind yet. 
I'm not sure how to get over this hurdle, but I better figure it out soon or I will be overwhelmed with waiting boxes.  Although I suppose there are worse things in the world to contend with.  Or is this just another case of "kitty mittens"!?


^..^

Running Out of Options

What are the options when the things you like to do are the very things that cause you pain and make it difficult or impossible to live the rest of your life?  Case in point:  I like to cook, knit, carve, sew, read, write, research.  All of those things involve the posture of "head down, hands forward".  This posture KILLS me.  I get migraines, muscle spasms, inflammation, pain.  Screeeeech!  That is the sound of my life coming to a halt.  I like to walk, dance, play.  You name a body part, it will start tightening up or hurting.  Sigh.  I don't like to exercise or do my PT, but I do them anyway.  Oh, guess what?  It is insanely easy to cross that line from therapeutic to exacerbating the underlying condition.  My recovery rate is an ever-so-slightly-upward-slanting-line of improvement.  We're talking years here.  Even the things I really hate doing, but have to do anyway, will cause all the same problems.  Cleaning, folding clothes, sorting papers, wiping counters.  Which is why no one is allowed to enter my house anymore, except for a select few who are in similar states.  So, I am left with only a few options that are still easy to do and don't cause me pain.  Complain, whine, bitch, rage, snark, snap, whimper.  And I am getting really gooooooooooooooooood at those!  And another thing that is a problem:  being on the computer to long.  Which is why I have to cut this sho-



silly wabbit ;-)

US vs THEM (or the myth of "muggles")

I have noticed that almost every "group" I have encountered recently (regardless of if I am a part of it or not) uses a specific term to mean "those who are not us".  Depending on the group, the term varies...however, recently "muggle" seems to be the favored word.  (I've also heard "turkey", "mundane", etc.)  For the most part, and this is what disturbs me, the term usually indicates that "those who are not us" are somehow lesser.  Not simply "different", they are somehow "not as good as."   So even if that is not the actual sentiment the term used implies it.  I see adults, fully formed human beings, morphing into cliques reminiscent of adolescents.  I'm not sure what bothers me more, the fact that the US vs. THEM attitude is so common or that people don't realize there is something dysfunctional about it.  (I won't go into my dislike of the "functional dysfunctional" myth.  Um, ick...)   Seems like I see microcosms of the wider world everywhere, and ultimately we are all more similar that we'd like to believe.  And that is not a bad thing...


...

I kinda care, but kinda don't...

One of my plants is a series in the Sunset district in SF.  I had bought some funky carving material and figured I'd do a "throw away" planting (meaning that if they disappeared I wouldn't recarve/replant).  It was an experiment for myself also, not just a standard stamp...something for folks to play with.  Well, it turned out to be "blue diamond" rated.  I was totally surprised and kind of pleased.  So, when I found out one was missing, of course I recarved and have been trying to replant (there are some issues hindering a speedy re-do).  In the meantime, I "lost" the blue diamond rating.  I was surprisingly disappointed, I didn't think I cared that much since I wasn't that attached to that series anyway.  I find myself amused at my vacillations.  "I thought that series wasn't one of your favorites?"  "It isn't, but I liked the ego boost of having a blue diamond."  "But it was a "throw away"."  "It was until everyone turned out to like it."  "Well, is it or isn't it?  Are you or aren't you?"  "I kinda care, but kinda don't..."


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