Monthly Archives: March 2004

I keep running across a card I picked up at Maija Fiebig's show a few months ago, and it fills me with longing.

I pick up a lot of cards from art shows. Usually when I look at them later, I'm meh about it. But I keep thinking about Fiebig's delicate canvasses, and how they touch the feminine in me.

I think I may have to live with some of her art eventually.

Footnote: at the same gallery walk we also saw Passengers by Frank Miller (not the comic book guy). This spooky portrait was a favorite of mine, but there were many remarkable photos.

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What follows is a somewhat angry rant, containing some personal information of absolutely no interest to anyone. Though I don't normally talk about being sick, I just have to spew about this somewhere.

I've been sick.

As a young child, I was alternately skipped grades for being smart, or kept back for missing weeks at a time. This worsened in my teen years, as I spent probably a third of my days in bed. I have been near death enough times to have an unhealthy (ha) sense of my own mortality.

Finally, in my early twenties, things started getting a little better. Not really good enough to hold down a permanent job, though. I spent a lot of time temping. And I fought with it. All the damnable bugbears were rooted out one by one, exposed, and done for as much as possible.

Always I felt betrayed by my body. I like to think of myself as a strong person, but here was my stupid body, getting sick again, showing me up for the weakling I am. A delicate flower from a Victorian novel, destined for the fainting couch.

Approaching forty, I've held a job I love for some time, though I'm always at the edge of my sick leave. I know it frustrates my co-workers (and it frustrates me more than they can ever know!), but I work damned hard to make up for my shortcomings, and I believe I get the job done. What they don't understand is that missing a day or two a month is a miracle to me. They also don't understand that I'm still fighting--still setting my goals higher as I get older. Studying, being more careful, making better choices. Most of my sick time now is not from random illnesses (I actually catch something about once a year), but from permanent problems with which I still wrestle. But I've even beaten the largest of those into submission.

So I'm sickly. It happens. Maybe my mom made some mistakes when she was carrying me. Maybe it's some kind of birth defect. Who the hell knows. But the fact remains, however weak and unhealthy I appear, that I'm winning.

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World, meet couch:

It's a bad picture as it was taken in the evening, when Prisolm first decided to bond with the new furniture. It is huge, green, and covered with corduroy. To give you some perspective, that is not a cute little kitty in the middle--it's a 17-pound continent of a cat, and Monstro swallows her. She loves it, and so do we.

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If you donate to b!X through PayPal, you get a special prize: you find out his real name.

b!X has begun the thankless task of keeping Portland reporters (all three of them) honest. He gets out and does the footwork, staying on top of the hot issues that populate our ballots and our lives. We live in a state that likes to legislate on the bleeding edge. Portland Communique is a great way to keep up.

Go slip him a fin.

Bill and I order from D-Dish an average of twice a week. Yeah, they're that good. At D-Dish, there is a very cool dispatcher, name of Seana.

Yesterday, as I realized Burger King was not going to meet the coffee demands of the license line, I gave Seana a call and asked if there was anything we could arrange. It was too late to do much yesterday, but she hustled some stuff together and Delivered Dish is providing coffee and pastries today. One of their employees took some pics yesterday, and the guy holding the "loudmouth boyfriend" sign (brilliant!) is Jay, one of their dispatchers.

Thanks, you guys. You utterly rock.