Dona Nobis Pacem

Wow, a whole year has just zoomed by, I've been sitting here procrastinating about not only this blog entry but putting cream on Tiger Lily's belly. She licks, it gets bald and rash-y, I apply cream, she licks and gags and we repeat the whole process.
It got me to thinking about how she's somewhat at war with her belly, no peace for her, it's always itchy, therefore it must be licked.
My body is at war with itself, arthritis and Fibromyalgia, it aches and pops, it swells up in different spots, it makes sure that the most common things are a struggle. Need that can opened? Zipper zipped? Husband pinched? Don't count on my body to do it.
It makes me cranky and makes me pout and makes me guilty. I can in no way get comfortable with my body, I have no peace in my own skin.
I am however luckier than the majority of the population. I can see a doctor, I have a roof over my head and food in my belly (I'm now eating for a small village) I can safely go out of my home, I can vote, I can take a course, I can travel.
I used to lay awake at night worrying about the state of things in my immediate family, but then my worry traveled even farther and I found myself in a constant state of indignation about the horrors visited upon little kids and innocent people who wanted nothing more than a warm bed and belly. Some security for their children.
I had to prioritize as there's nothing worse than an arthritic cranky woman going through menopause and ranting about the injustices in our world.
I still care, I have to do it through organisations and groups and the written word though, it has to be part of my life, not my whole life.
I'm lucky to have this small battle with my body, this war of self. I'm lucky, I'm fortunate and have to remember to be grateful and count my blessings. 
So many millions of people aren't lucky enough to have arthritis, a full belly, a home and safety for their families.
Those of you that have the resources and the political clout, please promote peace, please promote love and respect, please count your blessings. The rest of us will blog and write articles and try to continue our journeys with love and care.
I hope you only have arthritis too. Peace.

We lost a good friend to a heart attack last week. I'm still reeling and trying not to be negative, it's very hard. Too many family and friends sick and dying right now, I feel pulled apart and am having trouble being
*there* for some. That in turn makes me feel guilty, I lose sleep, and bang I'm using my cane.
I have so much to get caught up on in here that I think I'll just leave it and try updating the now and not the last year or two or however long it's been. 
Some people just make it up anyway...hehe
I miss you Kevin, it just sucks the big one that you had to go so soon and some miserable murdering pricks get to go on for years on the gov't teat.
Going to my happy place.

A couple paragraphs from Soap Up My Fundament

This is where Corn girl learned to attempt to drown her inner alcoholic, to shut her the fuck up.


 Corn Girl’s alcoholic has a great memory, she remembers every slight, every insult, every bad thing that ever happened, oddly enough she doesn’t remember the good times as much, she doesn’t remember being safe and warm and happy, playing with the G’s and Nana and Ray.  Corn Girls alcoholic is a dramatic sneaky little bitch that has taken over Corn Girl’s body. A lying selfish sack of agony that Corn Girl can’t drown out, can’t get to shut up about it already. The alcoholic living in Corn Girl has no mute button, no sense of humor, no off switch and no time for anything but Corn Girl’s shrinking world.


I can picture her inside Corn Girl, a flawless milky white complexion with light blue veins barely visible, with beautiful shiny red hair and  the white teeth that Corn Girl had as a teen.  She’s laughing and swimming in the liquid alongside Corn Girl's youth and energy, her sense of pride and self esteem, her sense of the absurd. They swim in  perfect synchronization, like Esther Williams and her girls.