Undisciplined

I blame myself for being so undisciplined. I have been writing a grant proposal for my Latin American friends. I had lots of time, but I dilly-dallied and fiddle-faddled. In retrospect, I was waiting for the adrenalin to hit so I could get going.

My delays mean I have not given my friends much time to review the application for their organization. The application is due tomorrow. It also meant I spilled my writing time into social time. We had planned some dinner parties this week. I felt squeezed, trying to cram in the writing and prepare for the dinner parties at the same time.

Despite that, I am quite impressed with my ability to capture the organization's activities. I have manipulated the copy to pull some heart strings. For example, one of the questions on the application asked:

How does your artistic programming engage and challenge your audience/program participants?

My answer:

Our messages and sentiments are universal. Regardless of an audience member's own culture of origin, anyone who has lived through oppression and fought for the rights to freedom and democracy will identify with our history and struggles. Because of their own experiences or because of a desire to tap into the richness of Canada's multicultural collective heritage, our audiences are sensitive to the issues explored in our art and programs, which include:

• the need to lament our loss, heal from our wounds, and put our woes into a perspective that allows us to rebuild in a new country without forgetting our past
• the internal struggle of personal identity and cultural identity while living in an adopted land
• the issues of balancing work, family, education, art creation and survival
• the search for hope, love, and inspiration

Our activities ensure that artists who want to express their issues find a voice, and those currently not engaged in creating art find their issues represented in the expressions of others.

Our history, our activities... as if I am part of the organization. I realized that in writing this application, I was writing as if I was running it. This was my fantasy organization. After, I had to go back into the file and delete all the detail that I made up. I don't want to be lying to the funders.

I am almost done with the application. Now to print it out and run hard copies over to my friends, by bike, because The Man has left town for the day. Woe is me for being so disorganized, easily distracted, and so undisciplined.

So Fishy

Recently, my red mother platy died. I knew she would after she gave birth. I don't know if she had an internal parasite or if it was a lack of will to live. She seemed afraid of her babies and hid from them all the time.

This week, I transferred a baby molly and a baby platy into the male tank. I don't know if these babies are male or female. But they are almost half the adult size, and I figure they would like some adult company, especially the mollys. I have only the one baby left (the others all died) and the male adult, kept in separate tanks. I thought they would like to know they are not alone. The two babies know each other, so they aren't going to a new home alone either.

So into the adult tank the babies go. It's a very interesting drama that played out the next couple of days with the addition of the baby fish into the tank. They are after all children of the adult males.

The baby molly was immediately drawn to the adult molly. It followed him around, nipped at him, and stuck close. The adult molly didn't seem to mind. The two male platys seemed more interested in checking out the baby platy. They circled each other a lot, but after a while, the adult platys lost interest in the baby and ignored it. How do the fish know they are the same kind?

I've suspected the adult platys are rather aggressive males, bullies even. I've seen them chase each other and twist their bodies into fight mode. What I hadn't expected was the platys taking an interest in the baby molly.

This morning, I saw the little black fish hiding behind the filter. Inches from it were both adult platys, hovering and waiting. More surprising was the adult molly. It kept swimming between the baby molly and the platys, as if trying to stop the platys from scaring the baby molly.

After a while, the baby molly swam out to follow the adult. Later, I found one of the platys sitting in the spot behind the filter where the baby molly was. Was it sitting there to stake out its territory just because the baby molly had been there? I've never seen the platy sit in that spot before.

Are these fishy social interactions really happening or am I ascribing dominance and defensive traits to fish? I could be spending too much time alone.

Perfection Is A Flaw

I made banana bread this morning. Sure, we had three ripe bananas in the house. I also did the laundry. Yup, there certainly was laundry to be done. I stood outside the house and inspected our roofs with our next door neighbour. We happened to be out there, taking the garbage out at the same time. I even exchanged e-mails with a couple of friends about a dinner we're having on Saturday. See, now I'm blogging.

The real reason I am doing all these things is because I am avoiding writing the grant application I agreed to do. This is the second one I'm doing for the Latin American group. I think I committed to doing three. This is like university all over again.

I know I can write up the damn thing and even do a great job if I just sit down and get to it. But I look for reasons to not sit down. Unlike The Man. He agrees to do something, he gets it done, often before the deadline.

Maybe the difference is, he cares about getting it done, I care about getting it perfect.

I don't want to waste my effort if I can't get it perfect, at least in the way I envision it to be, even knowing I can't get to that stage if I don't get started. But the need to be perfect at the first go immobilizes me. It's a kind of self-imposed paralysis that would resolve itself if I simply get going.

It's too circular. I'm not cut out for that kind of logic. I yield to distractions instead. Ooh, I can smell my banana bread being baked to perfection.

My Club

I like it when white-haired old guys say to me, Hey, you're 22, just like me. It shows good humour. I especially like it if the man is still handsome, vibrant and self-sufficient. That was our dogsled trainer, owner of the dogsled farm, who said that to me.

I like having that kind of thing said to me even when the old guy is a rubby in the street. Like today, when I walked by a dishevelled old panhandler, he called out, Hey, you legal to walk around by yourself? Got change?

I said, Okay, for that, I will give you all the change in my pocket. Which was over a dollar. Flattery works.

I feel like I am in collusion with these old guys. It feels like we're a club onto our own - a club of self-acceptance in spite of the falsity of their observation. It's a club for self-gratification through exaggeration and truth-bucking, because we've earned it.

I'm no Woody Allen after all, who wouldn't want to belong to a club that would have him as a member. I form my own clubs and draw up secret members. You just don't know what club you may belong to in my world.

The Cost Of Being Away

The Man spent the week in the city while The Boy and I were at the cottage. He was involved in projects at work he didn't want to be away from. I am a little shocked coming home. How can a grown man make such a mess in such a short time?

The shampoo and toothpaste he put at the top of the stairs and decided not to take to the cottage remained at the top of the stairs for a week. His worn shirts were piled in a corner in the bedroom. The bedsheets, well he didn't change them and I was too tired last night so they are now three weeks old. The bathroom sinks were full of gunk. Why sinks in both bathrooms?

He wanted to be helpful so he did the laundry. Now little fluffs of paper and lint are strewn all over the basement floor and piles of clean laundry are rolled up and stuffed here and there. I took out the piles I could see, refolded them, and put them away in their proper places. At least he didn't leave piles of dirty dishes in the kitchen, but my god, the rings around the sinks! And actually, I don't see that he's eaten any food from the fridge, so has he been living on take-outs? I don't want to know where the rings came from.

He did feed my fish. He overfed them in fact. The water in all three tanks were yellow, fish poop all over the place. Some of the fish got huge. I spent a good part of my return cycling the water and vacuuming the waste and excess food from the tanks.

The Boy has asked us never to include him in this type of vacation again. Whenever our guests left, he was bored out of his mind. There was nothing to do but watch TV. He would rather be with his friends, who would rather stay in the city and do city things. He was bored most of the time during our Maritime trip in the summer too. I think family vacations with The Boy are over. I was warned this would come.

And now, I have to clean the house and cycle the fish water some more, then get to work on more grant writing and web site development research. Ah well, I still enjoyed the week away.

The Kids

The most memorable part of dogsledding with The Boy, Sis, Kid1 - 7-year-old boy, and Kid2 - 5-year-old girl, was the ride home. The dogs and sleds were fun, but I gotta tell you about Kid1 and Kid2.

Kid1 is the smartest kid I know. Not witty, smart alecky - he can be, though he's usually more noisy and whiny - but truly smart, as in possessing higher intelligence than the average adult, interested in facts and science, possesses a large vocabulary, is an advanced reader, and is quick to see patterns and anticipate outcomes. For example, he and The Boy were playing tic-tac-toe. After the third square is filled in, Kid1 calls the game - he knows whether the game will end in a win for him, The Boy, or neither. He was always right.

Kid1 has a few close friends and an active imagination. I've had discussions of the powers and feats of Bionicals and Pokemons with him. He can be demanding, a good conversationalists when he's in the mood, likes structure, and is usually rational. But sometimes, he seems clued out as to how others feel. He is so focussed on knowledge that Sis sometimes wonders if he isn't a borderline Asperger. He's certainly been tested and is certified gifted.

I always imagine we're buddies. He's just a kid after all and sometimes, when we're out and he's having a good time, he hugs me for no reason.

Kid2, well Kid2 is a completely different kind of kid. She is perkiness, sweetness and grace incarnate. People make a fuss about how cute and engaging she is wherever she goes. Beauty, innocence and sweetness. Musical, intelligent, and thoughtful. She must've been an elfin fairy in a previous life. She certainly has a magical quality in this one.

Kid2 loves animals, likes to do things for herself, and contemplates larger issues of life. Once, she and The Man were in serious discussion for hours over how Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall. Did someone push him, and if so, who done it? They eliminated Sam I Am because he doesn't like eggs. They considered the Big Bad Wolf because he huffs and puffs and could have blown Humpty Dumpty off the wall. But no, he was after pigs and little girls, not eggs. It went on like that for a couple of visits.

Finally, at Christmas, Kid2 shyly approached The Man and told him that Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall by himself because in her book, there was a butterfly near Humpty Dumpty when he was sitting on the wall. He must've tried to catch the butterfly and fell off the wall by accident. See the desire for harmony and to not lay blame in her logic?

Kid2 is charismatic and fun to be with, good natured and good humoured. In her kindergarten class, everyone wants to be friends with her. She initiates conversations, is interested and interesting, observant. She tells you about her friends and what they did together, she tells you about her thoughts. She's great company, like The Boy. You just like being around her because you feel you are in the presence of joy and glee.

I think of her as a magical treasure. My job is to guard her and help her remain true to herself, help her realize that all the costumes and girlie things she loves are fun, but at the core, she is perfect as she is.

So imagine The Boy, Kid1 and Kid2 in the back seat of the car for an hour on the way back from dogsledding. They started singing. They sang and laughed the whole ride. The Boy was choir master. He got them to do harmonies, triads, and free form. He coordinated their solos. They sang in tune, off key, in sync, and off scale. They argued and made up. It was happy noise, and a part of me wished the car ride could go on forever.

A Night At The Cottage

The second night of our stay, Sis and her kids arrived. She didn't quietly drive in. She phoned from 5 minutes away to say she was stuck in the snow.

Sometimes, The Man annoys me because he doesn't take care of things. Other times, he surprises me by insisting on making sure things work out when I think there is no need. This was one of those times.

He and The Boy's friend were supposed to drive back to the city after dinner. But for whatever reason, he wanted to stay until Sis arrived. Why? I had asked. To make sure she gets in okay, he had said. Silly man, I had thought, the directions are so straight, what could go wrong?

Was I ever glad The Man was still around when Sis phoned. We drove out to find her on the long and winding dark road. On the way down, Sis phoned again to see where we were. I don't know what it was in our conversation that The Man picked up, but he said out of nowhere, She's north of us, and turned the car around.

Sure enough, Sis had shot past us in the dark, drove to the end of the road and into a skidoo trail where the path was unplowed. After several attempts to dig her out, dropping the kids off at the cottage to be looked after by The Boy, a visit to a nearby resort, phone calls to CAA, and The Man mistakenly going home with my cell phone and leaving me with no contact with the outside world, Sis drove in at midnight.

Sis had a glass of wine and settled in to watch School Of Rock with the kids. After she got the kids into bed, we watched season 4 of Scrubs till 4 am. The next day, Sis was none the worse for wear.

I saw first hand how stressful Sis' life must be, how she tries to go with the flow, do what she needs to, and accepts whatever help and pleasures come her way to reduce stress and enhance life. In many ways, much more accepting of and open to life than I am, much more Zen than I could ever pretend to be.

A Day At The Cottage

I went for a walk this morning to check out the lay of the land. I didn't walk on the shovelled roads. They were muddy. It looked more fun to stride across the snow fields. Now I know why more people haven't walked through the fields.

For one thing, I think we're in some kind of retirement community. I see old people and toddlers. Not that they're all over the place, but they're the only kind of people I've seen so far. I wonder if this is a haven for seniors and their grandkids. The grandparents take the kids so the parents can run off to the Caribbeans for some sun and sand.

The other thing is, when I walked across fields, I fell through the snow and had trouble climbing back out. When you are wedged in snow up to your thighs, it's hard to get out. You can sit down to lift your legs out but your bum breaks the snow surface and you fall in backwards. You reach sideways to get up but at every contact your body makes with the snow, you sink back in. I wonder if that's like being in quick sand, only it's cleaner in the snow and you know where the bottom is. Soon you've buried yourself in a snow trench and you feel silly because it's just a few steps to the road and you've flapped about like a fool for no reason.

I'm glad The Boy wasn't there to see me struggle with myself in the snow. That would have been one of those things that he cringes at in embarrassment. Instead, The Boy and his friend slept in till 2 pm. They stayed up till 5 am playing video games. I heard them using the washroom and tiptoeing to bed at that time.

No one drinks milk at our house. I've stopped buying the 3-bag sacks of milk. But I bought one this week and brought two bags up. It's only the first day, the boys are almost done with the milk. What's with that? Fresh air and snow makes you want to drink milk? No. It's because the boys snuck up Oreo cookies and they dipped the cookies into the milk all night while playing their games. I found the empty cookie bag on the kitchen counter this morning.

I confess it's really nice being here. The Man was working on his computer while I made clam chowder. We do the same thing at home, but it feels so much calmer here, away from our usual surrounding. I feel so focussed on whatever task at hand.

Severn Bridge

I am at a cottage in Severn Bridge for March break. This looks like a fabulous place, though I have only glimpsed at things through the dark. The cottage is new, cozy and well-serviced. I feel so bourgeois. Ah, you get to a certain age, and to hell with guilt and equity. I want to be comfortable and that's that.

This is not a remote cottage in the woods. It's a complex of individual cottages in a resort area. These cottages sit on a lake that never quite freezes in winter. We're told if we walk too far out in front of the cottage, we could fall into the waters of Sparrow Lake. Indeed, I can't tell where the snow ends and ice water starts.

Our cottage has a wrap-around porch. Part of it is enclosed. I can imagine how wonderful it's to sit there in summer or fall. In winter however, I wonder what there is to do in the area on the border of the Muskokas aside from skiing. I guess you go for walks on well shovelled paths.

Anyway, we're going to try dogsledding when Sis comes up. Then we'll go skiing when Sil comes up. Meanwhile, I read my books, drink tea, and take the blood pressure of everyone here. Yeah, I got a blood pressure machine with me. It's like what The Boy said to his friend... You want to play Video Game, Guitar Game, Get your blood pressure taken, or play War Game? Yeah, I'm going to stop strangers in front of the cottage to take their blood pressure. Soon as it gets light.

A Confederacy Of Rescuers

A while back, Sis drove her car into mom's drive where the snow was deep and got it stuck. I made fun of her - silly woman, trying to park a small car in thigh high snow.

Today, I parked my car in mom's drive also, but I was careful not to wedge myself in the deeper part of the snow so as not to get stuck. I left the back of the car jutting out onto the sidewalk. I was sure I would have no trouble backing out when it was time to leave.

Came time to leave. Well I'll be damned if instead of putting the car in reverse to back out, I didn't put the car in drive and rammed it deep into the snow. I got out and shovelled around and under the car. It became clear the problem was the snow was just too deep. The tires were just spinning.

I stood back to size up the situation. Mom called out across the street to an elderly neighbour walking by. He came to help. I asked him to back the car out while I pushed. Another man who was also passing by came running up to help. He said he was an expert at this sort of thing even though he looked like an alcoholic street person. But he was lucid and sober even as he smelled a bit of alcohol. Then mom's basement tenant came home and saw us trying to push the car so he came to help. It's now a community project.

Street Person did his thing, putting salt behind the front tires. Elderly Neighbour got behind the wheels. Basement Tenant, Street Person and I then pushed the car. Several attempts later, the car back into the street as I flopped on my belly in the snow like a fish. Elderly Neighbour waved goodbye and went home. Street Person asked for spare change. I was so grateful I gave him $5. He seemed surprised to get so much. Maybe he was only expecting coin change. I told him he could make this his business, rescuing cars from being stuck in the snow. He said he used to be a mechanic.

Basement Tenant then shovelled the drive. I helped him a bit but he made me stop. I didn't resist too much as I really had to get home. Mom stood there trying to make him stop shovelling because she said for the occasional times someone parks there, it's not worth shovelling. Tenant said he'd just clear the drive a bit so no one gets stuck next time.

Funny thing, getting stuck in the snow. It was a feel good experience.

No Pass To Passport

Because the U.S. administration requires that Canadians crossing their border must have a passport, the passport office in Ottawa is inundates with applications. If you mail your application in, it could take up to nine weeks to get a passport. That's the notice they've put on their web site. But if you bring the application in person to one of their offices, you will save some time, though they can't tell you how much. The Boy needs to be in Chicago April 16.

Yesterday, in the passport office line up, I overheard one of the service agents say to someone, applications received in person today will be mailed out March 27. So that's three weeks.

Only, you have to line up for half an hour to get your application form and documents screened before they give you a number so you can wait two hours to be served. I made it to the first check point. I was turned back. The Boy hadn't signed one of three areas on the application that required a signature. Bah.

There were three screeners at the reception desk. I said to one of them - When's the best time to come back to shorten the wait? All three of them turned their heads to look at me, then they burst out laughing. Guffawing, actually.

It makes no difference - one of them said, in a resigned tone of defeat.

Come at 7:15 - said another. I couldn't tell if he jerking me around.

But you open at 8:00 - I said.

Come at 7:15 and you may be one of the first - he said with tired eyes cast in the space just behind me. Then he buried his face in his hands and rubbed his head.

In the elevator back down to the street, the man in the line up ahead of me said - You have to come back too? He was breathing hard and sweat was running down his face. I thought he was going to have a heart attack in the elevator. I too was feeling kind of faint, and tired, maybe defeated. They were infectious up in that passport office.

So I stepped into a snack bar for tea and a muffin and phoned The Man to complain. How long will The Boy have to suffer the wrath of mom over this? he asked. No wrath. Because this is just life unfolding. This frustration will pass.

I am working up the energy to go to the passport office again today. The passport application, support documents and signatures are in order. Will I be worthy of being served today?

The Furs Fly

Crikey! -22C out. -33C with the wind chill. We're turning into Winnipeg or something? And it's windy. Some highways are closed, the CN Tower and other tall buildings are cordoned off for fear of falling ice.

But the great thing about the cold is, if you wrap yourself up warmly and take a walk, even just down to St. Clair, you really wake up, and come home appreciating what a warm house you live in even though you keep the thermostat at 20C like a good environmentally conscious, energy conserving citizen.

In the cold, I've been strutting around in my piece of faux fur that makes me look like a bag lady in training. You know that look - a bag lady wearing fur, maybe the last remnant of a better life past, sun hat flopping on her head, pushing a shopping cart, scraping the ground in rain boots as she walks.

I won't give up my muckers. They keep me warm and dry. I won't give up my purse, which The Boy calls my suitcase. My brown wool hat has a small brim, which looked very chic on the mannequin when I bought it, but on me it looks like a toque from afar. I don't mind. I am establishing a trend of retro casual chic for Canadian winters. I bought my faux fur because it reminded me of a piece my grandmother brought to Canada years ago.

Recently, I've run into two friends also sporting fur. I touched their coats. The furs were real! I was shocked. You'd never have associated them with dead animal skin. In a waiting room yesterday, I hung up my coat and noticed a sheepskin coat with fur collar next to mine. I touched the collar too. It too was real fur. I was appalled and moved my coat a few pegs away.

Once, coming home from a party, I shared a ride with a woman wearing a fur coat. I said to my friend, You sit next to her. She said no. And we jostled. Finally, I said to the fur lady, Where are you getting off? She named her destination and I said, Then you should sit in the front because you are getting off last. That makes no sense to me now but at the time, neither of us had to sit beside her.

I have an idea for PETA. They should endorse faux fur. Stylish and fun faux fur. They are almost as warm as the real thing, so I am told. PETA needs to walk around in faux fur to demonstrate the alternatives to real fur.

Look, Up In The Sky

Recently, there was a lunar eclipse. Apparently, the moon turned coppery. I didn't see it. I forgot on to look up. Maybe the eclipse was eclipsed by snow and rain in the city.

Then today, I stumbled on some photographs of Jupiter that the New Horizons spacecraft sent back to Earth last month. New Horizons is actually on its way to Pluto. It's passing by Jupiter and, you know, there was a photo op, so it took these pictures. Amazing pictures.

Jupiter


Jupiter's biggest moon, Ganymede


Positions of New Horizons, Jupiter and the moons


They call these Jupiter Flyby photos, because New Horizons is flying by Jupiter as it shoots them. A fly-by shooting, get it?

What's it like out in space? Is it a chaotic hurling of meteorites, whirling moons, and curling black holes? If you stand on Ganymede, Jupiter's biggest moon, will you be running every which way to avoid being pummelled by space debris or falling into one of the moon's craters?

I think some times we're really quite protected on Earth. Atmospherically, there are still more good days than bad. Inside our protective dome, we conduct the business of living. So engrossed are we by our day-to-days we become oblivious to the existence of the dome. We forget to take care of it, then deny there is anything to take care of.

Maybe that's how we lost god, our sense of the divine, our connection to the numinous. We are so centred on ourselves we think we are all there is.

When you stand back and look at it, the very existence of the internet and its ability to transmit data, photos, sound, and how available the transmissions are to us, is nothing short of a miracle. And now, photographs of Jupiter are being beamed back to us. Miracles all around.

The Way Of The Warrior

The Four-Fold Way says that to be a whole, balanced person, one needs to develop one's inner warrior, healer, visionary and teacher. In modern day context, warrior qualities are the qualities of a good leader. The warrior:

1. Shows up and chooses to be present. That is, if I am talking to someone but I am not focussed on the person I am talking to, instead I'm brooding about something that happened, or my mind is wandering to the things I should be doing, what I did, what I could do, etc., then I am not present. I am not really here with that person.
   
   
2. Honors and respects others. Honor is the capacity to confer respect to another person. Respect is the ability to take another look, rather than fixate on just one or two aspects of who we think we are. That means staying open and flexible toward ourselves and others.
   
   
3. Is consistent in word and action. The causes of misunderstanding are: not saying what we mean, and not doing what we say. When our words and action are consistent, we become trustworthy. The lack of such alignment renders us powerless and impotent.
   
   
4. Accepts limits and boundaries. Saying yes and no indicates what we are willing to do and what we are not willing to do. If we say yes when we really rather say no, we lose personal power and become victims. If we say no when we know the situation calls for yes, we become stingy or selfish. The warrior knows yes simply means an acknowledgment of a viewpoint and does not necessarily mean agreement, or that I like you. And that no simply honors a limit and boundary as to what one can or cannot do at this moment. Nothing personal.
   
   
5. Is responsible and disciplined. Being responsible - our ability to respond - means standing behind our actions and to be responsible for all that we do or don't do. Being disciplined is to be able to face life without haste, to be a disciple unto oneself, honouring our own rhythm, our step-by-step nature.
   
   
6. Is "in his/her medicine". Native people in the Americas say that if you fully express who you are, you are said to be "expressing your medicine". In other words, you are using your energy to empower yourself and others. Native people believe that we all possess "original medicine", or personal power, which is unique to everyone. No two people have the same set of talents and challenges. When we compare ourselves to others, it's a sign we don't believe we have original medicine.
   
   
7. Embodies "big medicine". The warrior knows to always be present, knows when the right timing is and what words and tone to use in communication, and lets others know what s/he stands for. The warrior is said to posses the three powers of presence, communication, and position. In other words, s/he embodies big medicine.
   

If we don't develop our warrior qualities, we live in the shadow where our true warrior qualities are waiting to be claimed. What are these shadow qualities and how to claim your inner warrior? We shall find out next time.

Let It Snow!

The snow outside is beautiful. The media is calling this an "icy storm". Not at all. This is the kind of snow I imagine for Christmas. The kind that sticks to your window pane like frosting and lace. It's what icing sugar tries to mimic.

The scenery outside is perfect: the moon shimmers off white lawns, tree branches glazed with vanilla icing, and the buried cars are round mounds of snow hills dotting the street. The sky has a pink glow, like the Northern Lights are just waiting back stage for their turn to make an appearance. Such excitement out there tonight.

We were caught in traffic as the snow came down this afternoon. The ride that normally takes 20 minutes took us over 2 hours. And that's because we knew which side roads to take to go around the traffic congestion to get home.

Once home I found our walk and drive cleared. New snow piles sprouted up from nowhere. The Boy did it. He shovelled the snow without being asked!

This is perfect packing snow. The temperature hovers just below zero. But the overnight forecast calls for freezing rain which will wash all the snow away. In the morning, we'll go slip sliding away down the streets if we aren't careful. But for tonight, the snow is a sight to behold.

Drama, Drama!

I've had nose bleeds almost every morning for about a month now. I sit there and blood drips out of my nose for no reason. I then pinch my nostril with tissue for a few moments and the blood stops.

Last week, the bleeding got worse. I started bleeding in the middle of the day. These took a long time to stop. Three nights ago, I started bleeding about 11 pm and the blood gushed. It was 3 am before the blood ceased.

Last night, my bleeding started about 4:30 pm. Despite my efforts with all the tricks from the internet on how to stop a nose bleed, the blood kept coming, gushing out of both nostrils and down my throat. At midnight, I said to The Man, I am going to Emergency. So he accompanied me.

From the outside, Emergency looked not busy. There were only a few people in the waiting room. I went through triage and registration all within 10 minutes. I even had the composure to size up two very beautiful young women - I couldn't decided if they were prostitutes, actresses, or just trendily dressed, with tied-back big hair and flawless make up to match.

But once I was brought into an examination room, that's when the wait started. I was in the Eyes, Nose, Throat, and Dentistry room. There was a woman from New York with an eye problem waiting in the room with me. The nurse put a nose clip on me and wrapped dressing under my nose.

In the hall sat a security guard, watching over James, who was tied to a stretcher. From inside the room, I heard James yell and scream, muttering incoherent threats at passersby. One minute I could hear the guard and a nurse hovering over James trying to calm him, and the next minute, heavy snoring was coming from the stretcher where James now stretched out, not so quietly.

When the guard took his break, he was replaced by another, who spent his whole time on a cell phone. Beside him hung a board with blue strips and metal clips. The Man said the board was a list of patients and the order in which they should be seen. After a while, I walked up to the board to see what number I was and had the following exchange with the guard:

Guard - Would you mind not looking at the board.

Me - Why?

- The board contains confidential patient information that you shouldn't be looking at.

- Then why is the board just hanging out in the open like that?

- It's for doctors to look at. So would you mind moving away from the board.

I went back into my examination room. From there, I saw The Man saunter up to the same board and stood in front of it. The guard started talking to him. I just knew they were having the same exchange I had earlier.

The woman with the eye problem held a cotton wad to her eye and kept saying she couldn't open her eye and was in excruciating pain. When the nurse came in at one point, they had this exchange:

Woman - Do you have anything I can take to ease the pain in my eye?

Nurse, stopped and thought for a moment - Yes, I have some anesthetic eye drops you can use. Lie back and I'll put them in.

- Will the drops affect my vision?

- What do you mean?

- Will I be able to use my eye? I want to see.

- Can you see now?

- No. But will I later?

- The drops will sting a little and blur your vision. It's temporary.

- Are you a nurse?

Sigh of frustration from the nurse and she takes a deep breath - Yes I am.

The nurse put the drops in the woman's eye. Within seconds, the woman exclaimed - The pain is gone and I can see. I can leave now.

Good thing her boyfriend talked her into staying, because when the anesthetic wore off, she started complaining again.

By the time the doctor came to see me, it was 4:00 am. I had been in Emergency for four hours. I had also stopped bleeding, though my dressing was soaked with blood. The doctor wanted to wait till my nose dried a bit more and ordered some blood work, which took another hour to come back.

The doctor decided it was time to clean me up. In her careful way, she scraped and padded, then pulled out a long, giant glob of congealed blood from my nostril! Then she cauterized the area she thought was the site of the bleeding. My nose immediately started to feel the burn.

She must have tapped the opening to my nostril with the cauterizing stick. The skin there bubbled and burned. Later, that area looked like a piece of grey booger was hanging from my nose. This morning, the wound looks like a mole, like Cindy Crawford's, only higher, right at the entrance to the nostril.

But I am not bleeding now. Though it does feel like someone's punched me in the nose. And I am operating on no sleep. I feel giddy all over.