12/7 polaroid photo walk

12/8 festival of life

12/11 volez voguez voyagez

12/19 date night

12/23 christmas adam

Funnily enough, it was when I was listing all the ways that mother knows best that I discovered just how much my father has taught me. It might not seem like much but it's so, so important.

My father taught me basic first aid. How to clean and bandage a cut. There were times when I would come limping home, crying over a particularly gruesome injury. A fall off my bike, a bloodied up knee or elbow. And when that would happen, my dad would chuckle and say "well, it's gonna feel worse before it feels better" and I would grit my teeth and cry as the burning sensation of rubbing alcohol washed over my wound. But then relief would come. And my dad was always right about that. Things would suck. But they would always get better.

My dad taught me how to use a camera. It's easy to look at and see things on the surface but he taught me that I should have a unique view of the world. Try to see beyond what's in front of you. Look past the obvious. Look at it from another angle. My pictures aren't quite as good as his but I'm still learning.

My dad taught me how to decorate a Christmas tree. That may not seem like a big deal, especially not in the middle of June. But it's meticulous work and he taught me that if you're going to do something, do it right. Take your time. Show pride in your work. Lights first. Beads/tinsel/ribbon second. Ornaments last. Make it look good.

My dad taught me the difference between a phillips and a flat head screwdriver. He taught me how to use a wrench, what I might need pliers for. If something is broken, fix it. Don't wait for someone bigger or stronger. There may not always be someone around and you're just as capable. Have faith in yourself. He taught me that if I'm hanging something, I should always use a level. Things might look straight up close but it's not until you take a step back that you'll realize what a mess you've made. Do the work the first time around so you don't have to do it twice.

But one of the first and most memorable things my dad taught me was how to ride a bike. He taught me to keep my head up, let go of my fear and just keep moving. There's always a chance you might fall. But getting back up shows character. It shows that you're not willing to let fear control your life. So no matter how many times you fall, keep getting back up.

My father taught me five things. I'm sure there are others that I'm not remembering at the moment but he taught me five things that have stayed with me throughout my life. They don't seem like much but they are the reason I am who I am.

Another father figure, someone who was a father to me before he ever really became a father and before life took him away from me too soon, was my brother Sean. His life lessons were a little more literal though. He taught me to never beg for friendship. Anyone worth having in your life, you won't have to beg them to be there. He taught me to stay away from people who make me feel like I'm hard to love because the right person will get it. He taught me how to tell the difference between something worth fighting for and an unnecessary headache. He taught me how to make pancakes and brownies. He taught me how to be a decent human being, how to be there for others even when I can't figure my own shit out. 

It's so unfair that he was this role model for so many people and his son will never get to experience the kind of example he was to all of us. As much as I remember him, I can't replace him in his son's life, nor do I think anyone should. But a boy needs a father and no matter how much moms may do and how hard they work for us, they will never be able to fill the place of a father. So I'm glad my father is around to teach him the same five things he taught my brothers and I. Those little life lessons shaped us. And as small as they may seem, I don't know where or who I would be without them.

 Joel, lurking

Yesterday, I posted the following series of clips to my Snap Story.

Do you know what it's like being a writer? Imagine the way Neo sees the matrix. It's all scrolling green zeros and ones, right? Ok so it's basically like that but instead of numbers, you see the world in spell check. I'm not even kidding. So then your friends (the ones who can still talk to you because, bless them, they love you in spite of your constant corrections) look to you as their lifelong dictionary/thesaurus. So you get a lot of "how do you spell *blank*? Oh, I thought so, I just wanted to make sure" or "...what's the word I'm looking for...? No, not that but it has a similar meaning." And everything you read (especially other peoples posts on social media), you secretly edit because most of the people you know have spent at least thirteen years in school and at most twenty-five, and STILL don't know the difference between there, their and they're.

And that's only how it affects other people. Imagine turning that on yourself. They say that you are your worst critic. I think that's especially true of people who create. Whether it's poetry or prose, photography or paintings, every form of artist has critics but none more harsh than themselves. As a writer, you will write a million drafts of the same thing and feel that each one was worse than the last. And because writer's block is actually Satan, he will convince you that you need to write about the stupidest things because it's better than nothing. Also, writers generally love to read so they'll spend a lot of time reading some of the most amazing work and think to themselves, "I am a literary duck."

Honestly, I don't know. Maybe this is all writers. Maybe not. It definitely applies to this writer though. I often think about how J. K. Rowling was so freaking brilliant because she created this whole new world and not only made people believe it but made people want to be a part of it so bad that I'm still waiting for my Hogwarts letter. But then she went beyond that. She created Luna Lovegood, this quirky weirdo who believed in some completely, ridiculously impossible things, thereby creating make believe within her world of make believe. I can hardly wrap my mind around the genius of it. And of course she wasn't always what she is now. And I'm sure there were days when things really sucked for her and she probably thought to herself "this is stupid, nobody's gonna want to read a book about a wizard going to school. Teenagers hate school! And then there's this weird girl...what the hell is a wrackspurt anyway? I should stop." But I'm glad she didn't. As much as it kinda sucks to be a writer at times, it's so fulfilling and deeply rewarding to those who are truly passionate about it. And I'm guessing it'll be a loooooong time before I pen my own Harry Potter but it's cool. Writing has always been my favorite form of self expression and writing for a bunch of randos on the internet is good enough for me. 

1. Brushing and flossing doesn't keep plaque from forming. So it's actually wise to go to the dentist often because the longer you don't go, the more it builds up and it is a bitch to scrape off. Seriously, I cried on the inside (only because the thug in me refused to shed actual tears).

2. Root canals aren't that bad. I've heard the most horrifying stories about root canals. Is Michael Myers your dentist? Seriously, who the hell is doing your dental work if your root canal was that bad?? It was uncomfortable while I was in the chair but I didn't actually experience any pain so either I got REALLY lucky or you guys gotta find better dentists.

3. Having your wisdom teeth extracted SUCKS. Ok, this one is true, but not in the way I've heard. 

I've heard legit horror stories about extractions. So two days ago, when I decided to bite the bullet and get it pulled, I was a nervous wreck. Let me just say, It's very unlike me to be nervous about things like this. Because of my not so great health and dealing with it my entire life, trips to doctor's offices and hospitals are really no big deal. Multiple blood transfusions? No problem! Big ass needles delivering the strongest meds? Piece of cake! It's pretty routine now. Hold out your arm-tourniquet-needle-I.V. fluids-hold out your other arm-blood pressure cuff-hold out your finger-oxygen measuring device thing-put on nasal cannula-open your mouth-thermometer under your tongue-you're STILL ALIVE! Blah blah blah.

But seriously, I was losing my cool in the oral surgeons office. Lucky for me, he and his assistant were very cool and they both put me right at ease. So I sat in the chair and they asked if I wanted to be awake or asleep. And obviously, I said put me to sleep, please! After going over my medical history, the doc also thought that would be best. So he took my vitals and weirdly, this is what put me more at ease. This was something to which I was accustomed. The familiarity of the blood pressure cuff and nasal cannula, even the small butterfly needle used to inject the "happy drugs" that put me to sleep, it was nice. I'd done it a million times before, so I guess that's what finally relaxed me. Also, halfway into this realization, the "happy drugs" were hitting my blood stream so I honestly couldn't care if I wanted to at that point. But here's where things got interesting.

I've had surgery twice before in my life. Both of those times when I've had anesthesia, I remember the doctor telling me to count backwards from whatever number and I remember never finishing and the next thing I remember is waking up with a faint pain wherever my stitches were. So I thought it would be more of the same. Boy, was I wrong!

The doc kept me talking the entire time. Or maybe I was just extra talkative because I was still nervous, who knows? I remember the butterfly needle and him pushing some white substance through the I.V. I remember asking what it was and he said "it's crack. It comes in liquid form now" and I remember responding "oh wow, that's so convenient" right before things started getting fuzzy. The last thing I am absolutely sure actually happened was the doc telling me to lay my head back, open my mouth and turn slightly towards his assistant. After that, everything was a full on Beavis and Butthead style acid trip. I just remember a lot of colors, it literally looked like one of the music videos that Beavis and Butthead used to watch, when you wondered if the writers just woke up high everyday.


Also, everything was really funny for some reason. I went to like four or five different places with the doc, signed a bunch of papers, came back into the room, sat in the chair and heard the words "ok, Sasha, bite down, bite down," and I bit. All of these things happening in my imagination took about five minutes. After I bit down, the room slowly started swimming into view. I was wondering when we were gonna pull the tooth because the doc was gone, so I turned to the assistant to ask and that's when I realized I was still numb. Through my mouth full of gauze, I asked "are we done already?" and she replied "yea, we've been done! Just been waiting for you to wake up." I was shocked. Mostly because it felt like five minutes to me but I was actually asleep for about thirty minutes and even so, I expected the whole thing to take a much longer time. So I lifted my head to try to make myself stop seeing double but it was no use. I laid back and waited the few minutes it took for everything to become steady. The assistant said she would take me across the hall to a recovery room and that I would hold her shoulders and walk with her. She was surprised when I got up and was actually steady on my feet or, in her words, not doing the sideways walk. I told her after a week of round-the-clock Hydromorphone and Diphenhydramine I.V. cocktails at the hospital, this was a cakewalk. But I laid in the recovery room until my head was mostly clear. Afterwards, they took my vitals again, gave me prescriptions for more "happy drugs" and sent me on my merry way. 

Let me say the local anesthesia mixed with the aftereffects of the other stuff is really freaking strong. Those youtube videos of people bugging out after they get their teeth pulled are accurate and that would have also been me had I not been exposed to other stronger drugs for so long because of my other health issues. But even so, I still found everything funny and wanted to say things I wouldn't have normally.

But here's the thing about getting your wisdom teeth out. The actual surgery is painless. I can't speak for you unlucky folks who had to stay awake for whatever reason but being asleep, you feel absolutely nothing. There really hasn't been any pain afterwards either, even after the local anesthetic wore off. Between the prescription the doc gave me and the ice pack I've been cuddling with everyday, I haven't felt more than the occasional pain when I rinse my mouth. The reason having your wisdom teeth pulled sucks is because you can't eat. And anyone who knows me knows that this has been the second most tragic thing that's ever happened to me in my 26 years on this Earth. I love food. It's the best thing ever. And not being able to have it is the worst. Not to mention, as soon as I woke up from the surgery, I started craving everything crunchy. Tortilla chips and dip, pretzels, crackers, popcorn, you name it. The day of the surgery, I didn't eat because I couldn't eat before and obviously, I couldn't eat after. It had been over 24 hours since I last ate (a chewy chocolate chip cookie the night before) and I was starving so I had one of those meal replacement supplement drinks. The next day, it was all mashed potatoes, soup and jello. Today, I ate a pint of ice cream in about ten minutes. And tomorrow, oatmeal! If you've read this far, you should feel as bad for me as I feel for you for actually having read all of this. Moral of this story: only do drugs when absolutely necessary and stop avoiding the dentist, for your own sake.