Mist-ifying

Despite the fact that the manufacturers of Febreze recently tried to kill me by sending their toxic fumes up my nostrils during repose, I remain unafraid. I will continue to warn the masses about the nostril take-over this product is attempting. I have just seen their latest commercial & it is an abomination.

A woman is happily spritzing the evil mist on everything in her house. She sprays pillows, chair arms, the air in general. She picks up a ski mask & sprays that, then, endeavoring to be as close to the smell as possible, she puts the ski mask on & wears it around the house. A neighbor sees her & suspects she's a robber. Ha. Ha. I was wrong when I guessed that Febreze would come at us through our food next. They have entirely skipped the phase where they convince us we have to have it on our Post Toasties & have gone straight to the proposition that we must have it smothering our faces. They want us to wear it like a second skin. (shudder)

Does anyone else see something wrong with those insipid commercials? Why is it always a woman in the dumb ads where there is cleaning being done? There is one ad where a man is face-down on a carpet & refuses to get up because he is sniffing heavenly febreeeeeze. You never see a devoted father spraying his son's funky football equipment or dancing around in a scented ski mask. The makers of this evil product not only want to take over our senses & our economy.....they want to send us back to 1951. It's just diabolical.

Maximum Security - Week One

It has been one week since I discovered that I am no longer a free-range pepper. Instead, I am shackled by the whims of occidental medicine, whose concerns are often more corporate than curative. Family members take turns standing guard to make sure I am properly tethered to some silly machine or another. For my birthday, my son got me walkie-talkies so that I could call him when needed. I don't see this as a good-hearted "I've fallen & I can't get up" type gift. I see it as yet one more way to make sure I haven't flown the coop. Voice tethering.

This has created a duality in my thought processes. On one hand, I am offended that they would treat me like an irresponsible child & find it necessary to monitor me so closely. I am an adult, I can defend my own choices. On the other hand, I'm childishly annoyed by their attentions & am challenged to actually find a way to escape. I could tunnel out & breathe through reeds out in the pond until the search party disappears, but that takes sooooo long. I could ask to be taken for a drive around the lake, then open the car door & sprint out at a stop light, making a mad dash for the airport. (It's possible I haven't thought that one through) I could dress up like one of the Stanley Steamer guys & sneak out with them when they come to clean the carpets Monday. Rest assured that, whatever escape route I take, the theme music from Mission Impossible will be running through my head.

In the meantime, I will endure my time here in the Corn Prison until I am considered healthy enough to travel. Thank you to all those kind souls who sent me wonderful birthday cards & wishes. During my illness, Mindi posted some very nice comments on her blog & I am grateful. If someone could send me a cake with a sharp file in it, that would be nice. And a harmonica....send a harmonica.

Wanderlust

Since I am not permitted to fly & my family panics when I speak of renting a car & driving any great distance, I feel I am under house arrest. I might as well have a monitoring ankle bracelet on, I'm imprisoned. Dr. "pulmonary pontificator" Goldstein says I have to be on oxygen 24/7 & should stay home-bound for at least 3 more weeks. This sucks. Normally I would stay for one week, then take off & pretend I misunderstood his wishes, but my son was there for the last appointment & is watching me like an Attica guard. I have no choice but to sit here sucking up O2 & staring out the window, sighing occasionally.

While serving my sentence, I have tried to find some sort of entertainment on Television. What a futile exercise that is, in the summer. Big Brother 8 is a total disappointment because they have put stupid people in the house who will look good in bikinis & become sexually attracted to each other.....not a Chicken George in sight. Don't they know that the diversity between interesting people makes for a much more interesting show? Apparently not, since they've followed the same moronic casting plan as The Real World. We get 5 weeks of dweebs flexing their muscles & females putting on lip gloss. I would like to see them deprive the housemates of food for a few weeks then, just as they're deciding who to eat first, throw Julie Chen in there for them to feast on. Now that would be entertaining.

I've watched a lot of very bad movies, too many to name. It is easier to name one of the few good ones.....Black Snake Moan. Catch a load of Samuel L. Jackson in that quirky little masterpiece, he rocks. There is a fascinating little film noir called The Dead Girl, an indie treat.

There is also good old faithful Hoyle Wordox for entertainment. It seems to be limping along nicely, with the same group of devotees. I like the graphics, I like the people, I like the format. I will make it through this period when medical science has temporarily clipped my wings & encaged me in a corn field. I could make a run for it, but I wouldn't get far while dragging a tank of air. My son is threatening to get a stun gun to keep me in line. In a week or so I will go insane & start speaking in tongues. I need mobility.....or at least better television.

Seeing the Good Light

Well, grab my wrists & feel the pulse, I do believe I am recovering from my recent illness. I've been afraid to crow about my energy, for fear of jinxing it. I still worry about the loss of cognitive function & irreparable damage from carbon dioxide & daffy delta rhythms. For a week or so after release from the hospital, I shuffled around here like McMurphy at the end of Cuckoo's Nest. Finally I can see the light & it's the good light, not the one where your grandmother is waiting with some of her chicken salad & your childhood pet, Elmer, but the light that promises an improved quality of life.

Bummer Alert: A few months ago a friend of mine commited suicide. When I hear from mutual acquaintances, we all seem to say the same thing. "I hadn't talked to him in years." How do years go by so quickly? We all feel guilty, although he didn't contact us either. This event, coupled with my recent near brush with a chicken salad somewhere over the rainbow, has instilled in me a frantic need to hug people I haven't seen in a long time. Many people I haven't hugged/seen in a long time are in California. I avoid going out there because, if you linger more than 6 months, your IQ dips to 84 & you start to obsess over your own toenails. I've seen it happen to some very smart people. Southern California is a false utopia, but I have this pressing need to press against people I love. I want to put them all under a giant periwinkle eider-down quilt where we'll all be safe. Also, I got an invitation to "rest & recuperate" at a groovy home out there in Vapidland. What is between me & that setup in California is Dr. "Humpty Dumpty" Goldstein, the Pulmonary Party Pooper who says I can't fly. He is evil & he must be destroyed.

Despite rumors of its demise, Wordox is chugging along nicely. I finally joined Wordsteal, but have not played there yet. If I get desperate for a game, I'll plunge in & give it a try. If I don't opt to play, maybe I can start a few juicy lobby fights.

Medical Update

Shortly after publishing my last post about my medical trials & dripulations, my condition just walked in to see what my condition was in, & I got much worse.

The visiting nurse who came by to tutor me about my new BiPapp mask did a very hasty prep job & scurried out the door. (thank you to my pal Zombie for the Sleep Apnea Barbie pic) I was sleepy & having a great deal of trouble breathing, but I tried to give the thing a chance & spilled its water all over my carpet. Then I gave up & went to sleep. It felt good to sleep, I had wacky dreams & I was able to breathe well in them. I was a nicely toasted pepper, warm & safe. My family thought it was wonderful that I was finally resting. They smiled lovingly & were eerily accomodating during my waking moments. I woke about every 2 hrs, for briefer periods of time. On Day 3 I started saying strange things while awake. I took hasty notes for a future book on fashion & treacle. I told my son he had a white creature on his shoulder that was taunting me. I declared Jay Leno to be a KGB operative & requested someone kill him.

When the ambulance got there, my loved ones had me dressed & ready to go. Just like poor Rosemary during the devil rape in Rosemary's Baby, I had moments of consciousness where I knew what was happening to me. I also had the same terror & astonishment. In the ER, they once again put that mask over my claustrophobic face & strapped me down....horror revisited. I tried to plead my case to an angelic, Toni Collette-like face, who looked sympathetic. My brain carried her face right into a coma for a few days. My carbon dioxide levels were monstrously high & it really threw a monkey wrench into my physical well being & my mental well-ness. I came out of the coma behaving like a Catskill comic. The first human voice I heard was my daughter saying in a sarcastic & resigned tone, "the mike's always on, isn't it, mother?" While they leveled my levels, I did about another week of being crazy, a residual effect of the CO2. I had a slight twitch & couldn't write a whole sentence, but that disappeared.

After a stint at that torture factory of a hospital, they sent me to a "step-down" facility for some rehab & rest. It was a much nicer place where no one straps you to the bed unless you specifically request it. They also tutored me properly. The evolution of this illness was: asthma....pneumonia....pulmonary hypertension....sleep apnea....congestive heart failure. I am now recovering nicely & feeling worlds better. I have a groovy little sleep mask with "nasal pillows" that are much less intrusive & annoying. The boyfriend has decided that he'll get a matching mask. I'm not sure this is a romantic gesture or just his own hypochondria worrying about whether or not he has sleep apnea too.

On to happier times. I can put this episode in my past after saying just one more thing. The doctors can tell me that, initially, this stemmed from a flare-up of asthma & snow-balled from several environmental factors, but I know the truth & I will continue to write about it despite their attempt to destroy me. This was not a random bit of medical bad luck, this was a calculated murder attempt.

This was......Febreze.