Something is wrong here (but a lot of things are right too!)

So I'm at work dutifully doing my job (and thank God not lurking around Facebook that time), when our President comes over at my desk, violating my cube rule which is "DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT MY APPROVAL" -- but of course, sadly, I'm the only one who knows about that supposed rule, and muttering in a soft voice, "Uhm, Clarisse, they said you wanted to see me?"

That didn't sound right.  What would have sounded right was if the situation had been reversed and I came over to his big room which is 10 times my cubicle to ask him the same question. But anyway, that's how mighty powerful I am at work! Woohoo!  *flexing biceps* LOL.  

I just work around very nice people, including the supposed corporate pee-ers (management) and the rest of us corporate pee-ons.

So I proceeded to tell him what I needed and he winced and gave me this look as if I was giving him a toughie.  *flexing biceps again*  Yeah!!!

---

A few hours later someone asked me how long something was supposed to take, and the answer was supposedly "an hour and a half" but I absentmindedly said "a YEAR and a half" instead. No wonder I left the area with some naive people their jaws way down on the floor like floor length theater drapes. *DUH* If I didn't correct that, some people (including myself) would have needed to stick around at work 24/7 for a total of 547 days. I will be the first to go ballistic over that.

---

So yeah some things are amiss today. Or I guess, some things are NOT amiss today (abnormal being normal in my circle of functioning).

Hehehe.

I'm bouncing off the walls though. I just got very encouraging comments from the radiologist who did my mammogram reimaging -- which was nerve-wracking by the way. Tell me, if you got called back for another mammogram because apparently "there is a finding that needs further investigation", wouldn't you be scared out of your wits, especially if you had very strong genetic risks? (not to mention a strong propensity for hypochondriac tendencies?)

The second imaging really helped.  They zeroed in on the doubtful spot and proved that it indeed was merely scarred tissue (from a previous lumpectomy) and nothing to be worried about at all. I'll wait for the official results in the mail.





So yippy, I'm NOT dying or anything. It makes me ignore the fact that my hair is still falling at a hideously alarming rate for unkown reasons and despite delightfully NORMAL blood test results (so yes I still have that to wrestle with) -- deyyymmmm american shampoos y'all. But now, I'm all of a sudden lazy about pursuing my bucket list goals in life. Slowing down like I have so much time in my hands all over again and because my arse has just been spared from the ever-proverbial expiry date sticker. Exhausted? Tired? Or simply human?

Gosh, human...

Falling hair and ɛt ˈsɛtərə

--written not so long ago at wonderwifey.com --

I'm trying to blog, but I'm still not coming up with anything to write about. Blogger's Block, you say? Loss of inspiration?

There's a lot of issues and stressors that have been swimming in my head (cerebrospinal fluid, eh?) lately. First of all, my hair has been abandoning my head as if on a sudden exodus to the shower floor (25 strands at one time), the towel (another 15 at one time), the table, my shoulders, my tank top, the couch, my kitchen tiles, the carpet, the pillow, everywhere and anywhere but my head, including your plate of lasagna if you're having dinner at my house (I'm sorry). My used-to-be-thick crowning glory seems to be doing a very successful crash diet and it worries me. What the hell is causing my hair follicles to jump ship, in a terribly unglorified harakiri? (Forgive me, but I'm seeing a cartoon rendition of animated hair strands jumping off a cliff, screaming "hi-yah!!!!" in my head). Mass suicide, actually.

Is it stress?

Is it stress over my crazy schedule? I've taken a one month leave from dance class effective yesterday, and I don't know what else I'll find myself unloading in the next few weeks.

Is it stress over Michael Jackson's kids? No, wait a minute...

Is it stress over Uncle Sam shoving that horrendous amount of taxes down my throat?

Or is it my thyroid acting up? Hormones going haywire, feeling tired all the time, yada-dada yada-dada...

Or is it stress over the mammogram results? For those of you who don't know, my mom is a breast cancer survivor for 20 or so years. It recurs, yes, but she's been fighting it with flying colors with the kind of courage I can't see myself capable of (maybe) and with the help of the advances in medical science: affairs with chemotherapy, radiation and oral meds. I've seen the whole drama of it all...us family members and herself playing tug-of-war with cancer and continuously struggling to win the battle, relentlessly trying to pull her back to our side, and not allowing her to fall into the arms of those emotionally insensitive malignant neoplasms. If you think third party lovers and mistresses are the ultimate home-wreckers, well, you haven't met cancer. You can't get back at cancer once it steals someone away from you. You can't shoot cancer with a 45. You can't throw nitric acid on cancer to burn its face like people do in the movies and in your tabloid news, you can't take cancer to court, no,you can't sue cancer (wow, I've never uttered/written that word "cancer" this much because it used to hurt so much). Anyway, you can't just plot a stupid well-orchestrated act of vengeance on cancer. You simply can't.

I digress.

On the mammogram results...

A few months back during one of those self-checks I would normally do as someone with a very high genetic risk, I thought I had felt a tiny lump. A very little one, the size of a pearl (not the South Sea kind, thankfully), yet giving me so much fear the size of the Milky Way and beyond. Why? Because with this kind of news come scary possibilities and I don't want to go that road! I just refuse to go through the same ordeal because I've seen it played over and over in my family, and I might not hold up as good as my mom has (or dad-- yeah, prostate cancer for him) to pull myself from "victim" to "survivor" status. I don't even want to go through the process. I've seen it, more like "felt" it and it's painful and ugly. Plus, I'm done. I'm T-I-R-E-D. It's like being in a very emotionally-charged sports game: you yell, you cheer, you root for your teammate with all your might, and then suddenly, you find yourself too tired when it's your turn to play. Like that. I was reflecting on it one time as I looked out into the yard watching my husband lovingly water my favorite plants while wearing MY garden crocs and it is tearing me apart already. No, I can't do this to my man. Please, God, no replays. Please spare me so I can spare him!

And so I went for a mammogram. They also did a breast ultrasound, and then another ultrasound for further investigation. Nothing. They couldn't find anything. I told the radiologist that I would feel the lump when I'm watching TV or when I'm in the toilet, and so she asked me to mimic my position during those instances while aiming the sonogram poker on the spot. Nothing. So rather comically, I flipped, *poke*, turned around, *poke*, bent over, *poke*, stretched, *poked*, slouched...tilted...hang up-side-down. Nothing. She was, I guess, at the point where she was tempted to bring in a TV as a prop to the ultrasound room and in front of me to simulate the situation, or better yet, follow me with the sonogram machine to the toilet on my next visit there. But so far, NOTHING.

Until last week, when I received a letter from my healthcare provider saying that I need to come back for a reimaging because there was "a finding" that needed to be looked at one more time. The notice said that it's common to be called back for reimaging and usually the findings are benign with most people anyway.

Who knows? I'm probably getting too worked up for NOTHING!!! But you know where I'm coming from now. Meanwhile, I await my second mammogram schedule as of this writing. And I'm going through a battery of blood tests this weekend to find out what's the underlying cause of my falling hair -- and I hope it's not just the dadgum shampoo after all the stress! Or rather, I hope it is...

So if you're reading this, please pray for me. Because lately, all I want to do is hide in my cave (when I'm not in the pursuit of items in my bucket list --because one can really never know, y'know!) and plug in some music in my ears so I don't hear my own thoughts.

For lunch today, for a change, I drove out of my work place all the way to Safeway and got me a pack of sushi-to-go (California Roll, baby!) -- and yeah, despite all the turmoil that's going on in my life, my appetite hasn't left me (aaarrrrggghhhh!!!). I'm not surprised. When I drove back, I had a good view of the bay. I could see the skyline across the water and the crystal view of San Francisco as Colbie Caillat croons a relaxing number in my iPhone, again and again and again.

It's such a clear day today. I hope the fog will lift off my medical situation soon too.

Altogether now: "Today is Wednesday. It's a sunny day!"

-- written for Coffee, anyone? --

Hi there! You miss me? *LOL*

It's been a while since I've written posts that are in the league of people's favorite posts in my site.  Some of you will know this (well, if you've been exploring my OTHER sites...), I've had some strange health concerns recently, but no worries! I'm still as crazy and adventurous as ever. And my life is as hilarious too! I just thought I'd write some updates before people forget that this site even exists, hahaha.

Here goes:

First of, it seems that my blog's Google PageRank "PR" score or whatchamacallit has sympathized with my biorhythmic patterns lately.  It has dropped from a super-duper-calooper "4" to *ding* ZERO! As in zilch. A whopping duck's egg...That's what I get for not blogging enough. Or yeah yeah, too much link-hardselling.  I needed the moolah, what can I do?

Anyhoo...

I'm okay. Am I doing something about it? NO. Why? I don't know...  Bleh.  That means less writing jobs too. And I'm not sure why I'm feeling a little joyful. Coming home without writing tasks to accomplish is truly a delightful prospect. But well, we need the extra dough so I'll fix it soon.  I'd better...

My internet presence hasn't been as much as it used to be, especially on this site since our IT guy at work updated our firewall. The odd thing is, I can get into Bravenet and write (like what I'm doing right now), but I cannot see the final output because my blogsite is banned. And so are the rest of your blogsites... I've lost my groove to some extent since then. Blogging but not being able to read it immediately? Coitus interruptus no less (pardon my allegory). It just isn't as orgasmic , er, consummating, uhm...satisfying as before.  I just like to see my blog entry in final form right away and make the necessary changes if need be.

Suffice it to say, I've been doing more non-virtual tasks now and it's mentally uplifting. I've also taken a month-long leave from hula dancing and it's amazing how one extra evening spent at home makes an ocean of difference. However, it's also amusing how a sudden change in routine can make one severely disoriented  -- especially in the knowing-what-day-it-is department. Today, for some strange reason, I truthfully didn't know what day it was!!! Yes, I love fridays and weekends, but that doesn't mean I should forget what goes on between them.  And so I had to consult my calendar and then...I didn't know what date it was! Har-har-har! It's Wednesday today. Wednesday. Wednesday. To...day...is...Wed...nes...day. It's a sunny day. Wednesday. Wednesday.

We're busy! Hecka! (as if we've never been ever...!?)  Hubby volunteered his services to "cater" yes, CATER, for their company's annual family picnic. He and his buddy were disappointed last year with the catering services and the quality of food served that they felt they needed to intervene. So, Batman and Robin to the barbe-rescue! I'm supporting him all the way since I know that this is one of the things he's been dreaming of. I'm scared and shakin' and hopin' that everything will turn out well,  prayin' that the food will be cooked on time and will be enough for everybody, no salmonella poisoning whatsoever, no hair swimming around (perhaps I should keep my distance hahaha), and none of 'em undercooked, rubbery and iffy morsels.

We're going to Costco with hubby's friend tonight to buy the supplies for our impromptu catering business. We're used to preparing for a banquet because we entertain a lot at home (sometimes too much) but for a party of 150? God help us...   Hubby said he's doing it for "reputation" -- as he knows it in his heart that this is only the beginning of his NEW career *LOL*, and the "money" comes second -- as he knows it in his heart that all of it is going to me. *LMAO*

And yes, I'm self-studying some Italian. I want to speak Italian! And after so much vascillation and debating whether I should keep trying to learn French or give up on it totally (my tongue has given up a long time ago) and pursue Italian instead (I wrote about this not so long ago), I have decided on the latter for so many valid reasons.

So...uhrm......uhrm.....Vive bene, spesso l'amore, di risata molto!(Live well, love much, laugh often). Beautiful isn't it? Que bella!

Anyway...

My friend just shot me an email today asking me, "what will make you happy this instant?"

It took me a while before I could answer (with some bedraggled symphony of dreams and aspirations e.g. have a baby, lose weight, stay healthy -- no scary mammogram results, take care of my parents, win the lotto to be a stay-at-home wife, yada-dada...yada-dada...)

On second thought, it took me a while because I couldn't come up with an adequate answer. I just couldn't!  It's like, well, I'm very content at this point and I couldn't ask for more. I'm happy with the way things are. I still feel blessed despite some obstacles and challenges that are beyond my control. My life isn't perfect but whose isn't?

I'm just grateful for each day that comes (even if I don't know what day it is, hahaha).

Does that mean I'm already happy?

You know what? YES.

  

OC

- a paid post at Coffee, anyone? -- advertising links deleted

Call me an obssessive-compulsive hygiene freak (note: it doesn't equate to neat and organized at all times *LOL*) but I like to be clean.  I'm not exactly a strict and dysfunctional germophobe but I always make sure that I clean myself all the time, brush my teeth, change my clothes...wait a minute, that's normal, that's standard for most of us.  The thing is, I have this issue about getting my feet dirty. I mean, I'm okay at the getting dirty part, just not go to bed with dirty feet.  I think I can go to bed without brushing my teeth (yeah, that's gross) but I'd tolerate that more than going to bed with dirty feet. Hahaha. 

To me, it's really okay to get dirty...I love dirty jobs, I don't mind soiling my hands.  As long as I go to bed fresh and clean even if I have to sleep only like 2 hours and wake up again.  I also hate going to bed in my day clothes or street clothes even if that was only to dive for a short rest. The rest of the house can get dirty for days and days, but just respect the bed!!!

And that's where hubby and I argue most of the time.  Men...He's not exactly a dirty filthy thing, but sometimes he'd hop on the bed wearing jeans that he'd worn during the day, and then I start imagining germs transferring to the bed after having travelled with him on his pants, especially the bottom part.  Eeeeks!

But eureka, I've recently found the psychological tactic that seems to be working so far...

Step 1: I told him after coming from this and that's house (and the hospital) that I was so positive they had mites on their couch. And that if he sat there, the mites probably started clinging on to his pants and then by sitting or laying down on our NEW bed, they will probably appreciate the move to the fresher home, thank him for the lift and probably start propagating on the mattress. 

Step 2: I had no chance for step 2.  He jumped out of the bed and stripped off his day clothes and took a shower, and never hopped on the bed with dirty clothes again.

Not an entirely different approach from educating 5 yr-olds!