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Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.
- Pueblo Blessing

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Wednesday, Jan. 07, 2004 - 2:04 a.m.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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WARNING!!!! if you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of hearing things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is ok to read, save yourself and me the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, ie my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. Keep that in mind. Thanks. * Here is a Diary Etiquette Read Me.

Blue Toenails in the Snow

Returned photos in shredded box, copyright 2004 Wench77
Right now I am the sort of cold where you sweat. I don't know why. It really isn't that cold in my apartment. But my hands are sort of sweaty and freezing, my pits are wet, and my toes are frozen and damp. I had my feet on hot water bottles with a towel over them while I worked, but it didn't seem to make a lot of difference. I did get all the doggy sketches traced in anticipation of transfering them to watercolor paper.

A day of getting lists done... I actually got up at 2pm instead of turning over five times and hiding, got things ordered, discussed, cancelled etc on the phone, mail mailed and I got downtown to stock up on art supplies. Art supplies are damn expensive. I forgot. I try to buy in large quantities so I don't run out all the time. So it might be a year since I've gone into the store to buy something. I forget the prices. Ouch.

Here to the side is the box I sent ob in August, to wrap things up. All the photos from our trip to move her across the states, and my last two visits to SF. You can see, how carefully and diligently (hatefully?) every tiny smidgen of address is scribbled out. I mean, a simple line through and one "return to sender" usually suffices! It was also enclosed in one of those envelopes the post office uses to hold together mangled packages and envelopes. Hmm. And only took FOUR, yes four, months to come back. Perhaps she got it and didn't like that I wrote on the back "these are the photos you paid for, and they are for your personal use only, and are not to be reproduced in any manner, conventional or electronic, or I will pursue you for copyright violation... a letter from my lawyer to follow"... Well, the lawyer somehow flaked out and didnt return the desired letter, despite a telephone consultation and email. So no letter was sent. But I guess that the note itself would be sort of a slap. Whatever.

Bits of nailpolish in the snow, copyright 2004 Wench77
I am thinking of going to get a professional pedicure. Sort of a goodbye treat to myself. I had never done nail polish before. But ob had toenail polish, and at first did my nails. Which developed into scenes where she did my toenails. It was so fun and made me feel special.

Ob does my nails, copyright 2004 Wench77
Everytime I was at home and had a bath I would look at them and feel loved and pampered. Same with when I got up to go to the toilet at night. I would glance down and there were my loved toes. Now they are pretty much gone. The first photo here was in May. Taken in the Italian Cemetary, just before the pics you have seen before. The second photo is the last time they were done... in another Coma cemetary in June... it has taken that long for them to wear down to where they are in the snow picture.

The Wench gets a pedicure in the cemetary, copyright 2004 Wench77
Here is how I looked then, just after getting my toes again lacquered in metallic blue. mmm. yum. It wasn't so fun to do them this time, because it had gone from this wonderful sacred loving play thing we did together, to something hidden and cloaked in subterfuge. She asked me to "not talk loudly" about it, since her Mme might feel hurt that she did my toenails. Ouch. So much for being happy and proud about it. I just hate hate hate when people do nice things for you but want you to hide it. Or vice versa. Like Sleepyzoe's guy who pretends that the presents she gives him aren't presents, but rather things she is throwing out that he rescued. Ouch again. One guy I used to see, used to answer "a girl" when his friends said "who gave you that?" even though I was right there. It felt dismissive, like some stranger on the street had just thrown it at him like a dog, rather than me planning and buying and giving him something he coveted and loved. glll. Anyways, back to the toes. The Italian cemetary time was so good, so special and so wonderful. And the last time was already overshadowed by tiptoeing around other people.

Footprints in the snow, copyright 2004 Wench77

So maybe it is a good idea that I go for a professional pedicure, nothing personal, but spoiling me anyways, to get my toes back into order and make me feel special again! :) Maybe someplace where they rub my temples and put cut cucumbers coolly on my eyelids! mmm. However right now, as cold as I am, it is the tanning bed I am thinking of instead. However that is likely to give me cancer as it warms me through my bones. Corona, Hookah, Tanning Bed... boy oh boy ob left me with healthy desires! hehe!

Well, I am sure I had more to say, but my fingers are freezing typing this, and I think my perogies may be done boiling, and are ready to be sauteed with onions in butter and olive oil. You must try all reasonable means to warm the girl up!

Hugs to me, and tender tootsies.


Here is my horoscope for Tuesday, January 6:

Get the point across by voting with your feet or your dollars. But how easy will it be to live with the consequences of your gesture? Review your principles just in case you start feeling sorry for yourself.

Good timing. I must live with the consequences of walking out on ob. On writing what I really think and feel in my diary, which she read. It seems all so surreal. These two clashing realities. The months of thinking I knew someone, where we got along seamlessly. And the horrid horrid way I was dismissed and dissed at the end. What the F**K. mmmm. Surreal. Maybe one day I'll write a comic, "Memoirs of Detroit", of photographing ruins and fucking in the blue room, ghost shopping at Home Depot and Totally Hair Barbie in the steam vents. Maybe one day. nite nite.

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previous meanderings - future past

Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Taking Care of Your Cows - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Saint Joseph robs the cradle and eats spaghetti - Sunday, Jun. 14, 2009
sticky notes and broken irises - Friday, Jun. 12, 2009
The FOODCOMMANDER - Monday, Jun. 08, 2009


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