Fuck off, mornings:

As noted before, I've been a night owl my entire life. (Mom says that when I was little, she tried not to laugh when she caught me reading past bedtime because she did the same at that age.)

And while I've never been an individual who slept easily and have always been prone to nightmares, since he died, my sleep has become more erratic than usual. And again, as noted, I now frequently arise anywhere from 5:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m.

And while it is simply one of the many things I've hated about the past 13 and a 1/2 weeks (number one being, of course, that he is dead), this whole morning thing is in the top ten because it is hugely disorienting and perhaps underscores the profound degree to which I no longer feel like myself.

And while I know I will never be that version of myself again and, by all accounts, I am doing as well as one can under the circumstances and I feel myself continuing to progress, still, we'll know a corner has been turned when I resume writing until 5:00 a.m. instead of beginning at 5:00 a.m.

Re the meme circulating on Facebook wherein women relay the color of the bra they're currently wearing...

...ostensibly, to raise awareness of breast cancer: You know what also raises awareness of breast cancer? Actually discussing breast cancer:

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/breast-cancer/DS00328

http://ww5.komen.org/

http://www.cancer.org/docroot/cri/cri_2x.asp?sitearea=lrn&dt=5

http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/types/breast

Given the way this night is going...

...it seems as fitting time as any to start re-reading Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking.

As oft-noted, Didion is one of my favorites and I read it upon its release, knowing full well that I, like all of us who hadn't crossed the threshold, would one day understand it in a way I didn't then.

We're here now. And there's something darkly funny that TJ couldn't stand Didion.

Three months later...

...or 13 weeks, to be precise, progress has been made.

Still alternately feels as if he were in the room five minutes ago and as if this has been the longest quarter year in human history, though.

"After the fire/ the fire still burns..."--Pete Townshend

Oh, somewhat restful and uninterrupted sleep.

How I miss ye.

Happy birthday, Michael Stipe:

[Above: The "So. Central Rain (I'm Sorry)" and "Don't Go Back to Rockville" 12" singles I bought in London, summer of 1985.]

Michael Stipe turned 50 today and I've been thinking of the joy R.E.M.'s work has brought me since my then-boyfriend rhapsodized about Murmur in 1983 and I purchased it and the band's previous E.P., Chronic Town, in quick succession. And I clearly remember pulling stray weeds around the perimeter of my parents' front yard, Walkman headphones firmly in place, swooning to the newly released Reckoning during the summer of 1984 in between junior and senior years at my much-loathed Blanchet High School. I had a trope of close-knit friends, other readers and artists, mostly, some of whom I'm still in contact with today, and R.E.M. became part of our shared language and tapestry. And out of the band's dozen or so shows I have imbibed over the years, each has yielded cherished and spectacular memories.

So, here's to another 50, Mr. Stipe. And thank you.

The good thing about death?

Eventually it'll claim those you don't like, too.

So there's that.

Nice:

Yesterday was the first day in the past 12 and a 1/2 weeks that I felt any sort of stillness in my heart or mind.

And the day prior marked the first time I recalled a truly funny ongoing joke he and I shared for years and just laughed, without subsequently crying, too.

We continue.

Okay.

Let's do this thing.

Dear 2009:

Please find a bunch of dicks, dip them in ketchup, and eat them. Then go fuck yourself with a hammer. I am moving on to 2010, whom I hope to make out with frequently.

Goodbye forever,
Litsa

Through the generosity and connections of one of my closest cousins...

...yesterday I did a phone intake with a researcher at Johns Hopkins who specializes in microbiology and autoimmune disorders.

Besides the fact she was a superb listener and provided valuable and practical information, she herself has MS. While this latter part saddens me, of course, my interaction with her marks the first time I've worked with a clinician who also has a chronic, incurable illness and one that presents very similarly to mine, to boot.

As such, there was a shorthand to our nearly two hour conversation. She understood aspects that elude even my favorite doctors and massage therapists. (Side note: I've tried acupuncture and yoga, as well, and both increased the dizziness; in the former case, to near incapacitation.)

Her treatment is going quite well and her symptoms remain symptoms, obviously, and this sucks, but I'm glad for her advancement and grateful for her openness.

Life is different on this side of the membrane.

You know the great thing about those who don't acknowledge illness or death?

They have managed to inoculate themselves and now their bodies will remain impervious to deterioration and they'll achieve immortality. Because that's totally how life works.

Have fun brushing the sand off your heads, dumbfucks.

Is it bad if you want to take a break from your...

...grief-induced, even-more-tenacious-than-usual behavior and just get super-drunk and listen to Wilco all day? How about tomorrow, too?

And what if you can almost never drink because of your health? Does this heighten or lessen the need?

Inching:

[Yesterday: Helena, me, Ellie.]

On Thanksgiving, I felt flayed then bathed in acid. Yesterday was hard, obviously, but my oft-noted best family ever was delightful and a bit of joy seeped through the cracks and three of my exes, with whom I'm still very close friends, called or wrote to let me know they were thinking of me. My family and I made a large donation to a cause TJ believed in and he gave me decades of memories.

I'm figuring this out as I go, but I know, irrefutably, he would want me and all of his loved ones to revel in life's random pockets of happiness.

To everyone spending their first round of holidays...

...without a loved one, extra hugs and cookies to you. Especially to those who come together in their loss.

And immeasurable good wishes to all my loved ones for their ceaseless kindness and humor. Though you haven't done it to be thanked, I will never be able to thank you enough. And while I know you know this, I love you more than I can express.

To crib the Mountain Goats lyric, "I am gonna make it through this year/ if it kills me."

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it and warm wishes to those don't.

Peace to all.

Because nothing alleviates holiday stress like gently mocking dumbfucks:

Via pal, John Moe, who got it from his friend, Lindsey: "Celestial Soul Portraits".

Trust me, just click:

http://iasos.com/artists/erial/celestial-soul-portraits/#before#before

I finished nine tenths of my holiday shopping before Thanksgiving because...

...this year I wanted to circumvent the tinsel, ho-ho-ho-ing, etc.

However, I did purchase and display one ornament for Christmastime. (See above.) Even better? I was with out with my folks when I discovered said trinket and it was at Mom's urging I bought instead of contemplated it.

Because it's a fitting way to contrast the shortest day of the year and herald a new season:

One of the photos TJ sent me from this past spring's trip to Italy, a frieze of bunnies eating grapes at an ancient Roman theatre museum in Verona. He said that above the rabbits were dolphins and that the accompanying placard detailed how Romans believed the latter represented the soul's trip to the sea. TJ said there was no description of what the bunnies symbolized and deduced, "...general coolness, I presume."

It's inadvertently and somewhat mordantly hilarious that...

...for the time being, TJ's death has, against my will, turned me into a morning person.

My sleep has improved from where it was at, say, week #2, but at week #10 it's still nowhere near what it was when he was alive. And I'm prone to nightmares at the best of times.

Among the many characteristics we shared was circadian rhythm: both of us were night owls and shunned early morning unless we had to wrangle with it, i.e. when he'd rise before dawn to climb or ski or I'd do so when I hadn't finished a piece the night before and had to awake at 5:00 a.m. to polish it for an NYC-based publication that wanted it by noon EST. (If my health continues to improve and I take on deadlines at the rate at which I did during '04 to '07, then I imagine I'll find myself in the latter groove again. Which would, of course, thrill me.)

But nights, individually and collectively, were our thing. So that I now awake at 5:30 a.m., as I said, against my will, just feels fucked up and wrong. Also, if you have a chronic illness and a limited number of "good" hours in any given day, it's a little odd when you sometimes use them up by noon and find yourself nearly blacking out from exhaustion, napping, starting the second part of your day at 3:00 p.m. and often falling into fitful sleep by 7:30 p.m., awaking every few hours, then starting the whole thing all over again at 5:30 a.m.

On the flip side, and defying logic or scientific explanation, my remission is now in week #6. As I've explained a number of times throughout the years and as TJ was one of the few to truly understand, I am never asymptomatic. I always have what feels like a powerful flu and the other symptoms persist uninterrupted; it's a question of degree. But for the past six weeks, I've walked without cane or crutches for the first time since the four month remission ended in January. And, of course, I'm delighted.

Still wish he were here to walk with me, though.

Re gay marriage and an oversimplified piece in the Huffington Post:

A Facebook friend of mine who is intelligent and informed but who continues to skewer Obama from the left posted this brief Huffington Post piece that links to a lengthier, more nuanced feature in the Advocate:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/12/18/obama-administration-deni_n_397617.html

It launched a debate in response, with most participants writing as knowledgeable, fully-functioning adults. So kudos to all for that.

My response, below:

"Second what [redacted] wrote. Read the full piece in the Advocate. Obama supports the Domestic Partner's Benefit Act. Furthermore, 48% of those who voted for president in '08 didn't vote for him, and it's a fair assumption that out of those 48%, 90% hates him w/ the force of a meteor shower and the other 10% literally wants him dead. If Obama moves too far to the left too soon, the Democrats will, flat out, blow the mid-terms and we will saddle him w/ a Republican House and Senate. Thereby curtailing any chance of accomplishing *any* of our goals.

Re gay marriage, I've been volunteering time and money to the cause since 1994. The best hope for gay marriage on a nationwide level is for a test case to make its way before the U.S. Supreme Court, akin to Brown vs. Board of Education. And, as w/ Brown vs. Board of Education, a significant portion of the country won't be ready and will vociferously resist but each passing generation will eventually become acclimated and, eventually, wonder how the country could ever have lived otherwise.

Gay marriage, not just domestic partnership, will one day be the law of the land, but to underscore my point, I sincerely doubt it will be enacted through statewide referendums, DOJ administrative rulings, et al. Putting the rights of a minority group up to a vote or before a single administrative official is a wobbly strategy at best. And in order for there to sit a U.S. Supreme Court who will enact permanent, binding legislation guaranteeing that gays have 100% equality under federal law, there needs to be a president who will appoint such judges and a Congress who will confirm them.

I believe that president is Obama. I respect that many others here don't. But who, exactly, do you think can accomplish more of our goals in the next eight years? B/c I don't think it's Mike Huckabee or Tim Pawlenty or Bobby Jindal."