Who delivers the postman’s mail?
The obvious literal answer, of course, is “another postman”. (Or, put in a more politicly correct fashion, “another letter carrier”.) I’m not interested in a literal answer, though.
Rather, as is often the case when I posit such things, it is metaphorical inquiry, a philosophical question about the nature of human connections.
Who cares for the caregiver?
Who listens to the listener?
Who fills the needs of the filler-of-needs?
Who catches the one who catches everyone else?
…but not quite how you might think.
The lovely LisaH posted an interesting entry to her blog today that got me thinking. (Always a frightening thing.) I was going to leave my thoughts in the comments, but at the 100,000th word, I decided it might be better to post it here and perhaps start a discussion among the six people who actually read my blog.
Lisa quoted Hugh McLeod, or more accurately, one of his cartoons, as the base of her post: “You cannot have it all. You can only have a sliver of it all. So pick your sliver well, my friend.”
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May is finally here, bringing with it spring flowers, Mother’s Day, and tornado season for those of us of the more Southern persuasion. May is extra special to me, though, because it is Mental Health Awareness Month.
It’s pretty hard to know me (especially the six of you who read what I post here) without knowing that mental illness/brain disease is the cause I champion most fervently. It’s equally hard to know me without knowing that I have several psychiatric conditions of my own. (Six? Is it sad that even I’ve lost count?)
All of those closest to me either have/had conditions, or have been affected by someone in their past who did. I won’t break their confidences, but think this is a perfect time to say that I’m so proud of you guys for how you have and continue to handle your challenges.
I’ve never been secretive about my psychiatric health — in fact, I discuss it on the About page here on the site. I also don’t hide that I take medication, quite a lot of it in fact, or that I often do things a bit differently (like living on Australian time) to accommodate one condition or another. I like to think that I still have a pretty normal life, and I’m vocal about it in the hope that it will demonstrate that being sick, even acutely so, isn’t the end of the world.
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This weekend was the 16th annual X Games in LA, and of course, I was glued to the screen. (Sadly, sleep issues and the inability of ESPN to distinguish between EST and PST caused me to miss some events I really wanted to see.) Having spent most of the weekend watching some of the most awesome athletes out there do what they do best, I have some thoughts to share.
The Ugly
Chaz got robbed. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m a rabid Chaz Ortiz fan, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m absolutely biased when it comes to how he performs. With that said, he was totally robbed in the Street Finals — he went in #1 seeded, and they handed it to Sheckler. Why? For the same reason that every promo for the Street competition mentioned “Ryan Sheckler and the boys.” Sheckler is the big name, and having him win looks good. It’s as simple as that.
The Rally competition was a fustercluck. When one car in a field of a dozen or more is eliminated from a round, it’s disappointing, but to be expected. When all but two races end in an elimination, and one of those ends with a car breaking down, it’s not competition, it’s a waste of fans’ time. Changing up the course route four times in one day (practice, qualifiers, semis, and finals) is outrageous, and eliminating co-drivers was one of the stupidest things the Games have ever done.
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My grandma loved flowers, and always had beds filled with them. There were annuals like multicoloured inpatiens, Purple Wave petunias, Scarlet Sage, and whatever else might be interesting when the Spring visit to the nursery rolled around. There were also my favourites, the perennials: irises, gladiolas, and her favourites, roses.
When I was little, Grandma had five rosebushes in a bed right outside her back door, along the side of her sun-porch. There was a red climbing rose around the corner at the end, and then small white, yellow, and pink bushes coming down the line towards the door. As she got older and couldn’t tend to them, these (except the climbing one) all slowly died.
At the very end of the bed, right next to the door, was a large pink rosebush. Of all of the flowers in her garden, this rosebush was the most special. Pink roses were her favourite, and this particular one was a Mother’s Day gift from her third son.
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I’m not afraid to say it:
I love Tom DeLonge.
I’m talking madly. Probably inappropriately, but when has that ever bothered me?
I also love his band, Angels & Airwaves (A∀A). If you don’t know that they released their new album Love on Valentine’s Day, then you obviously weren’t paying attention to my tweeting, because I was having Tweetgasms all over the place.
Even more exciting, on the 16th they posted the dates for their Spring Tour. I’ve been waiting for them to go on tour forever, and now, finally, they are.
I. Can’t. Wait.
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