Teef Fah Ow

So this just happened.

I was brushing my teeth like an ordinary normal everyday person when the fake tooth next to my two front teeth and two attached coverings for an eye tooth and whatever that first molar is called fell out along with a small metal post I managed to grab before it went down the drain.😱

I mean, it's Saturday, ffs. I'm unemployed. It's raining.😡

Ugh. I hate having to deal with dental stuff. Or anything, really. I am totally done dealing.😠

To top it off, it all happened immediately after reading a piece in The Guardian by a young man of thirty describing his less than stoic reaction to finding out he has blood cancer, initially diagnosed as imminently fatal, later reduced to chronic but requiring pints of blood be drained regularly - until it may become imminently fatal again - and realizing I have a good friend living with this very condition.😬

I was feeling grateful for my good health fortune, dammit!😎

Anyway, I thought I was in shock, but I may have been faking. You know, acting out how I thought I should feel after having my teeth fall out, rescuing them and a little metal post from going down the drain, and then looking in the mirror to see little greying stubs where my fake tooth and teeth covers used to be.😖

I made it quite dramatic, staring in horrified fascination at my new hillbilly look, the real me as it turns out, but while also registering the distinct lack of pain.👀

Not feeling pain during something untoward like your fake teeth falling out is everything, isn't it.😒

Then, I'm ashamed to admit (and he'll be reading this for the first time if he reads this) I decided I should go show My Blond Companion the new me by smiling and opening my hand to show him where my teeth were now.😜

Except, of course, I was still acting like I was in shock (I probably was, it was pretty shocking) and I'm trying to remember his reaction now but I believe it was along the lines of, "Okay you need to call the dentist."😮

So I called my friend (at this point I had shoved the fake teeth back into place) and she said, "Okay you need to call the dentist."💁

So I called the dentist and for the second time in my life I'm meeting a dentist at their office on a Sunday, the first time being a million years ago when I met the lovely Dr. Stanley Goldman at his office to deal with an abscess, the tricky part convincing his wife to let me talk to him because I knew if I could just get past her he'd do it.💂

I don't blame her. She probably had dozens of young women wanting to meet Stanley at his office on the weekend. Hundreds, maybe. And sadly I believe he committed suicide many years ago now. Decades, I guess. An occupational hazard, apparently.😢

Oh, my dentist, who is equally lovely but also very upbeat, already told me to take the fake teeth out again tonight, so don't worry about it. She wants me to stay alive. I'm keeping her practice going strong.💪

How's your Saturday goin'?😍

Boundaries Without Borders

I like it: Boundaries Without Borders. I need to figure out what exactly I mean by it. Boundaries internal, borders external. Let me think on it.😎

I've been feeling so much better since I admitted my addiction to Twitter was THE problem for the moment and so applied the simple solution of quitting it. I even got my hair cut short to celebrate, to look how I feel - sprightly.💇

I have limited emoticons with Blogger and don't have the tech skills to add more, if that's even possible. If anyone reading can help with this I'd appreciate it but only if it's a simple fix. Otherwise we'll all just have to put up with it.💩

The medication I'm on continues to work well, although I'm also a Sober Sally, and paying particular attention to not over doing it in all other ways now too. I'm behaving more rationally, less reactionary.😇

Three examples:

1) I painted a room over several days instead of doing one coat one day, a second coat two days later.

2)  One day last week I realized I was tired and so had a nap.

3) Someone made a comment on a Facebook friend's post with which I disagreed and I just let it be.

That may not sound like a big deal to you but it is. We're engaging far too much with each other in online speakers' boxes designed by techno-fascists to drain us of our souls. Mea culpa. To each poorly articulated meritless opinion posted we line up like Pavlov's dogs to respond.🙀

The other day I spent some time studying the comments posted on a Facebook group from my hometown to do with unhoused citizens addicted and living with mental health disabilities vandalizing public and private property in search of money and goods to pawn.

Also looking for a place to poop.

You'd think the Sault was Hell on Earth and not a typical Canadian city stubbornly refusing to elect citizens who want to adequately fund other citizens willing and able to do the work required to repair the by now gaping holes in our social safety net responsible for this relatively recent and imminently solvable problem FOR OUR UNHOUSED CO-CITIZENS WHO OBVIOUSLY NEED OUR HELP.😢

Did people become fascists during the pandemic or are they just expressing fascist opinions online?😱

It's a low dose of fluoxetine I'm on, as I've mentioned before, Prozac of Prozac Nation fame.👼

Pause for Wikipedia rabbit hole about Elizabeth Wurtzel, widely criticized for her best-selling confessional memoir, Prozac Nation, at age 27, and who I did not know died of breast cancer at age 52 in 2020.😢

She apparently wrote two other confessional memoirs after Prozac Nation that were even more widely criticized, albeit with the odd critic describing them as good and/or honest, and one describing her third book as, "the best thing she ever wrote".😐

However, at least one critic stood out for me as more seriously disturbed than the others. Come on down Paul Kurth, a contributor to Salon, who ended a scathing review of "Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women", with: "Sorry, Elizabeth. Wake up dead next time and you might have a book on your hands."😲

Imagine. Of course my beautiful and brilliant friend, K, who died of (inherited) Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, and who wrote a few book reviews herself, told me "a book review is really about the reviewer". So as I would say of Paul Kurth: "Line up forms to the right, ladies."👺

But that's not what this entry is about because this entry is about eating disorders, and whether they're really about food, weight, control, yadda yadda blah blah, while still trying to work out what I mean by "Boundaries Without Borders".

I've been thinking a lot about eating disorders, my own in particular, mostly during my teen years, after reading "Unmasking Autism" by Devin Price, and being referred to a therapist who specializes in eating disorders as a complement to my fluoxetine prescription (for anxiety and panic attacks if you're a first time reader).😟

By the way, my partner of some 20 years doesn't have a doctor, as so many Canadians don't, so please allow me to acknowledge my privilege to have inherited one.

It's absurd, failing each other like this, so penny-wise, pound foolish in the wealthiest most enlightened time in Canadian history.🙈🙉🙊

But back to the start of my eating disorder when I realized after a night running around Toronto at age 14, due to getting off the Greyhound from the Sault at York Mills? and not downtown, I had lost weight, which I continued to during a visit with my older sister as she introduced me to pot and inadequate calories (particularly for an athlete who ran 2.5 miles 6 nights a week and 5 miles on Saturdays).😨

There in spite of siblings go I.💪

Anyway, Kate Moss famously said, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels", revealing herself to be more than a bit of an asshole, but also it's really not true. Gram's butter tarts tasted better than skinny felt, so my older sister turned me on to other tricks. And I employed them all, although not to a life or serious health threatening degree, and not without awareness of what I saw when I looked in the mirror.💃

I did generally eat enough healthy calories, although I lost my period for a few months, so I shouldn't downplay it, either. Still, I was dieting, not suffering from a mental health disorder.😉

Wow. Another breakthrough. I do hope my confessional memoiring is as good for you as it is for me. Perhaps Paul Kurth will take notice and grace me with a scathing review one day. Although probably not since I'm doing it for free, unlike Elizabeth Wurtzel who became a best-selling author at 27, no doubt enraging more than a few older male book reviewers.😇

Trust me, other writers are the worst.👹

Anyway, as I look back I can see how one immoderate behaviour led to another and so on and so forth and more of the same etc etc until I started having panic attacks last spring, i.e. a paralyzing sense of alienation accompanied by overwhelming nausea and the belief only purging would bring relief. But when even purging didn't do it, because, of course, it had nothing to do with food, I finally went to the doctor. Then I went again because I hadn't been assertive enough the first time with regard to how debilitating the panic attacks were and he prescribed medication to address the baseline anxiety behind the panic attacks.😰

So here I am, feeling better, thank you for asking.😷

Then I read "Unmasking Autism" by Devon Price, sent to me by my son, and started thinking more about neuro-diversity and transgenderism (Devon is trans) in the context of my eating disorder (also substance abuse/hamster wheel brain/obsessive compulsive tendencies/control freak issues/chronic indecisiveness/fill-in-the-blank).😜

If you're still reading, you get the picture.

Still, I don't identify as Autistic, or being on the spectrum, but my immoderate behaviour could be put down to being neurodiverse and trying to fit in with a neurotypical world.👾

The therapist who complements the medication (every Canadian could and should have access to the help I'm getting, so why are we letting governing politicians get away with pretending we can't afford it when we can?) suggested if the medication is working, the anxiety and panic attacks may be the result of a chemical imbalance.💣

This strikes me as likely. Certainly I no longer feel the need to "take the edge off" as they say, not because I'm numbed on prescription medication (I'm actually thinking more clearly) but because there's no edge to take off. I don't feel apart from our world, with an edge between me and it, I feel a part of it, with every right to be in it, just like everybody else - including my unhoused co-citizens addicted and living with mental health disabilities in Sault Ste. Marie, not to mention right here in good old educated public servant dominated Ottawa.💓

I guess what I may mean by "Boundaries Without Borders" is, boundaries are for me, I make them to protect my time and energy, we all do, but borders are set up against us and so should be transgressed. Which brings me back to Twitter and the Facebook page I mentioned hours ago now. These "places" have borders, but the borders can't be transgressed and the only boundary we can set to protect ourselves is to stay out of them. I've tried. The right thing to do was stop trying. And looking in from outside as I was the other day I just felt bad for the well-intentioned citizens having their souls drained engaging with citizens so addicted to anger they've become fascists.😟

So I don't have the answer but I do know we need one because online fascists got offline long enough to take over my downtown (Ottawa) in February 2022 with help from fascists in our political parties and police services and if my last look in at one of those techno-fascist designed speaker's boxes is any indication, the anger addiction fueling them has only gotten worse.💔

Offline

As bragged to you previously, I finally deactivated *my Twitter account (*actually an account I inherited from a disinterested party). I won't replace it by going on another site, either, so don't come calling around with suggestions. I'm done with other vox populi sucking all the time and energy out of my otherwise awesome life.

Hear me now, listen to me later. Jack Dorsey, Elon Musk, it doesn't matter what kind of misanthropic billionaire freak💩 owns Twitter. Vox populi will ruin it like it ruins everything. Vox populi should only have a voice at election time AS DEMOCRACY INTENDED.

Cripes, it got so I was sick of my own opinions, never mind anybody else's.

😀

Also, since leaving Twitter my skin has recovered its healthy glow, colours are brighter and everything everywhere smells like sunshine and lollipops.

😍

I even got a spiffy new haircut to symbolize my coming home to the real world of beg buttons (that's what we pedestrians call the manual walk signals we must push so we can somewhat safely cross Ottawa streets, because Ottawa was built for taxpayers who drive their privately owned vehicles everywhere, not taxpayers who walk or get around in other non-habitat-destroying ways not applicable in winter) and packaged news and entertainment delivered by professional journalists on our publicly funded airwaves.

👵

Oh and the Saturday Globe and Mail, I've returned to reading it, even Andrew Coyne, because he knows more about politics than I do, AND doing the crossword, although not the cryptic crossword.

How do you people do the cryptic crossword? It seems impossibly difficult to me, although I am a bit of a philistine. Not Ricky from Trailer Park Boys territory, or even Doug Ford, although I'd be further ahead had I gone to business college or trade school than university. I've even saved last week's cryptic crossword to check answers provided in the next week's Globe and STILL have no idea how you people can do it.

😡

(Yes, it's true, I'm Team Ford on streaming grade whatevers into the trades and whatnot. I saw a news clip on CBC Ottawa last night and was actually jealous of the little buggers gittin' therselfs sum skillz. Let the eggheads waste their learnin' years on hi falutin' nonsense when they could be out makin' $$$ to buy a monster home on a Greenbelt or wetland or somesuch.)

I think soon I'll buy a couple of magazines. One of my Millennials recently realized she wanted good old fashioned fashion magazines lying around her overpriced apartment that eats up 99% of her meagre salary (she went to university - even got an MA - like a chump) she could pick up and flip through. I want the same, although different. I loved fashion magazines growing up, starting with Seventeen and progressing on from there, but that sort of fashion isn't my interest anymore.

Perhaps a sewing fashion magazine. Get inspired to sew up some of the fabric I've bought over the years still sitting neatly folded in a closet. Waiting to be turned into a real live outfit.

I learned more in home ec than I did in any other class except phys ed and that's a fact jack.

💁

For sure Vanity Fair was a monthly must back in the day, Christopher Hitchens a delight until his sexism overtook his intellect, but by then I'd moved on to enjoy other writers amid its fashion ads - always part of its attraction.

Graydon Carter once penned an editorial explaining how an issue thick with fashion ads was paying for the in depth articles I was reading, as if they otherwise presented a problem, so perhaps he didn't quite understand Vanity Fair's demographic. I mean, if we didn't want the fashion ads we'd buy Harpers or The Atlantic, ffs, which I will likely buy now as I have no idea who the young celebrities are on the covers of Vanity Fair and I've got my own thrift shop style now, thanks.

😎

But that's not what this entry is about because this entry is about a book I finished reading on Monday to help me in my cold turkey break with my Twitter addiction - because it definitely was an addiction, an habitual behaviour I knew was harmful and I didn't want to be engaged in but which I was nevertheless powerless to quit until I did, quitting being a skill some of us need to learn in grade school instead of "if at first you don't succeed, try, try, again": 

Trust the Plan

The Rise of QAnon and the Conspiracy That Unhinged America

By Will Sommer

I highly recommend it if you want to be even more freaked out about the state of affairs these days, particularly south of the border, than you already are. It was a great Twitter substitute, too, if you're trying to ween yourself off the greatest time and energy sucker ever invented.

Repeat after me: There are no good billionaires and vox populi ruins everything.

Put me in charge of increasing national productivity AND improving our collective mental health. I'll do it in one fell swoop by taking over Twitter and only allowing professionally accredited journalists - graduates of journalism schools working in lamestream media - on it.

Fact: Vox populi doesn't understand journalism. There is no such thing as a citizen journalist. Journalism is a profession. Either go to journalism school or don't but unless you do you're not a journalist. End of.

😑

Don't believe me about improving productivity by taking over Twitter so only professionally accredited journalists can waste their time and energy on it? I read an actual book in two days and probably could have read it in one, I was so into it, but made myself put it down so I could take advantage of climate change and get a first coat of paint on a bedroom while the temperature was in the upper 20s C. In Ottawa. In early April.

It's a wonder CBC's meteorologists don't just break down and cry delivering the weather news now. And yes, the weather is news. Some Debbie Downers might even argue it's the only news that really matters.

😭

Hey, come to think of it, if Doug Ford had been Premier back in the 70s I could've had a career as a professional painter, dammit. I'm like the Mike Holmes of painting I'm so good at it. I'd bet I'd be rolling in $$$ instead of living this, well, admittedly great life on a barely five digit income.

😤

Don't worry about me, though. Or us. A couple of plucky paupers we be and proud of it. Also if the government of Canada doesn't bring in a guaranteed annual income of, oh say, $30K a year for Canadians 65+, it can go #$*&! itself in the ear.

👫

(By the way, a friend recently suggested I just read Twitter, without having an account, but that's because she doesn't understand addiction. I used to just read Twitter, without having an account, and I wasn't on it any less than I was when I was adding to its vox populi content.😬)

But back to Trust the Plan. It's shocking, what conspiracy theorists (i.e. nutcases) are willing to believe, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, but I can't judge too harshly because the higher up and further in the book I went, the more clear it became to me - I'm a conspiracy nut, too.

😳

For instance, back when I was just reading Twitter, and immediately after Donald Trump was "elected" fake POTUS 😡 I looked to a handful of American Tweeters for reassurance all would be revealed, justice would prevail and he would be sent packing to prison where he belonged.

Any. Day. Now.

I wasn't *on* Twitter, tweeting, I was just reading it. Obsessively. Checking in constantly so as not to miss the big story when Donald Trump, fake POTUS, would go down.

😡

Well, Twitter being somewhat of a Peyton Place (I'm not old enough to have watched Peyton Place, just old enough to know it refers to a soap opera) my handful of American Tweeters became an unlikely trio of Louise Mensch, Eric Garland and Claude Taylor. Then Louise Mensch, Andrew C. Laufer and Ming Nethery.

Yes, yes, I know, I know. You think Louise Mensch is this or that. I don't care. She was a lifeline for me. An anti-Republican-Party-in-the-time-of-Trump Conservative. She called it wrong on occasion - she initially designated Bill Barr a White Hat - but always corrected the record. Just as importantly, because I respect her, she helped me understand why some people are Conservatives, their very different perspective on what government should be, how they view individual responsibilities vs collective rights, etc etc etc.

😲

Eric Garland turned out to be a creep 👺and Claude Taylor hawking shit I wasn't interested in buying on his feed all the time.

For the record, Twitter and its Tweeters never received a dime from me, so if somebody's making money from Twitter, as opposed to destroying their life and/or career, I'd be interested to know who and how much.

Andrew C. Laufer is a New York city civil rights lawyer, a Democrat, and well-informed on the legal ins and outs of the miasma of US politics, particularly with regard to Trump, the Russian Mob, etc etc etc.

Ming Nethery, however, about whom I knew exactly nothing because they were tweeting under a pseudonym, turned out to be some loserish guy who made wild predictions I shared conspiratorially with others (😝) EVEN AFTER LOUISE MENSCH HAD EXPOSED HIM AS SOME LOSERISH GUY MAKING WILD PREDICTIONS.

I believed because I wanted to believe, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, Ming Nethery was a special agent operating behind the scenes who would save us all from, not just Trump, but the Republican Party, the NRA, the Russian Mob, and Putin.

All the bad guys and dolls. Ming Nethery would save us all. He knew shit, he did.

NOT!😡

Louise Mensch even posted an old mugshot of the guy (who responded by alleging she would go down soon for committing multiple felonies, yet another wild prediction I actually worried about coming true because I really really really liked Louise Mensch) proving he was basically Florida Man, and STILL I could not be dissuaded from believing, well, he must somehow someway be in the know because, well, he just must be.

Maybe Louise Mensch just, like, I dunno, something.

😧

I can't even remember now how, when, why I stopped checking in with him, Louise Mensch, Andrew C. Laufer, but I imagine it was not long after I inherited an account and started tweeting myself, but on Canadian politics, not American, because, of course, I wasn't getting any likes or retweets from my trio.

I was too unknown to play with the big guys and gals.

Anyway, suffice it to say the best thing that could probably happen to the world, other than SOMEBODY FFS!! taking out Putin, is for Twitter to go belly up and everybody on it to go outside to experience climate change.

Because it's real. I know I live in Ottawa where the weather can be tricky but we went from an ice storm to a heat wave to snow flurries in just a few days. C'mon people. We need all our time and energy on deck, not sucked up by addictive products created by billionaire misanthropic freaks💩 who think they can tech their way to immortality on Mars while the rest of us argue in cyber space over the spoils of our precious finite lives here in real life.

😇

Do No Harm

I deactivated my Twitter account today. You non-addicts likely won't get what a big deal that is. Even you addicts whose addiction isn't Twitter may not get what a big deal that is.

But it's a big deal.

I have trouble regulating my behaviour so I don't overdo it and end up causing myself harm. But I'm getting better at calling myself out.

Twitter was the elephant in my room for quite a while. I'd even tricked myself into believing Elon Musk had made it better by making it worse.

😀

But then yesterday, I was randomly, or maybe not so randomly, seized with an urge to close it. So I did. And I looked around the room, suddenly appreciating the relief of reality, and recognized Twitter as just a product, a product I'd become addicted to using and so would need to quit.

As an addict I know there's only cold turkey. If I could moderate my behaviour I'd have done so. I can't. But it's also how when I actually applied myself to write the book I'd been talking about writing for decades, I did it in three weeks.

😀

Speaking of which, I've decided as self help to get to work on another book. I'll blog it or send it to Galaxy Brain as I go. It's going to be the book I originally set out to write when I got sidetracked into telling the story of my two years selling ladieswear at the mall instead. This one is going to be snippets from my life but also the lives of others, the gems they've shared with me over the years, gems I can't not share now with you.

My muse for this book, by the way, is the fellow who got his ship stuck in the Suez Canal.

😀

TGIF

Good Lord it's Good Friday again! TGIGF!

And now Easter Sunday and me with no bonnet!

Cue memory circa mid-60s, walking to either Isobel and Maynard's or Frank & Inez's in an Easter bonnet but actually a hat, while my younger sister wore the bonnet that used to be mine. I didn't like the upgrade. The bonnet was cute, the hat scratchy and wouldn't stay on my head. It must've been a shared Passover and Easter because both couples were Jewish, the food at the house different and spread out buffet-style.

Isobel and Maynard eventually moved to Toronto and I always wondered if Andrea Martin of SCTV met Isobel and modelled "Edith Prickley" after her.

🙇

I really should read Morley Torgov's "A Good Place to Come From" some day, although I've read Harvey Simms' "The Best Man for the Job", also about the Sault, my hometown, the former mayor, Joe Fratezi, who appointed himself Chief Administration Officer, the highest paying job in the city, while still mayor.

💩

You can take the girl out of the Sault but you can't take the Sault out of the girl. I always think I'll return to live there one day, but I won't, will I. My first friends still live there, the twins, one of them in the house he grew up in right next door to mine that still features in all my dreams. He said to me last time I was visiting my mother in the nursing home and he was driving me there from church (he sings in the choir, which is incredibly talented, so I always go to church when I'm in the Sault) "Let's make sure we stay in touch. We're each other's first friends." This was after I told him our older sisters were a couple of bitches to us growing up. D sees life through rose-coloured glasses though so didn't say anything.

His sister died last year which I only found out about recently because we're really only in touch when I go to the Sault. He'd gifted my mother a plate with birds on it when she was in the nursing home. She used to paint pictures of birds when she could still see. Birds and either poppies or sunflowers. Anyway I took it from her room (she couldn't see it and objects on nursing room tables just get in the way of staff looking after the inmates, I mean, patients) with the plan of gifting it back to him at some point.

😇

Speaking of bonnets, I told you about Jo Pete in a previous post "Transspotting". Well, maybe like you, this is my spring to switch it up and go with a new style, but a bit of a return to Jo Pete.

I need to get to the thrift shop for a new old coat. Long and loose with pockets is my jam now.

Yup. I said "jam". The other day I used "miasma" thinking it meant "a bunch of stuff" when it actually means "a big stink". But it's all good because one of my sharp-eyed young readers (who suddenly celebrated her 40th birthday!) looked it up and posted the correction on Twitter. Now we're all the wiser.

👶

My new style is in reaction to my old style, or what used to be my old style, my old style as I imagined it came across, anyway, focused on my body.

Coquettish?

😬

My new style is androgynous, long and loose. Slouchy, but also funky. Layers. Affectations in a nod to older fashionistas with giant glasses and the like. (I've picked up a number of old scarves over the years from various thrift shops that will do the trick for the most part.) I'm undergoing a makeover of sorts, riffing off a couple of lifestyle changes I made to address the panic attacks I started having last spring. How I present myself, what I wear, is part of it.

Clothes make the man, as it were.

All bets are off for winters in Ottawa, though. As My Blond Companion pointed out while we waited for a bus one day in February, it's too hard to look cool in winter, and looking cool is where it's at for me right now. Cool look, cool feel, but winter is winter is winter. The other day we saw a middle aged man in shorts (my friend was regretting not wearing her toque, ffs) headband and sunglasses like he was hanging out in Venice Beach, not Bank and Catherine in Ottawa where the temperature was -5 degrees Celsius.

Cool he did not look. Cold he did.

😱