Behind the surface

So the US and its puppet in Baghdad are celebrating a twisted form of Eid al-Adha today by sacrificing that most flawed and defective animal, Saddam Hussein , to the god of whatever the hell Bush et al. are trying to do in Iraq (securing oil revenues? a Pax Americana Empire?). I feel so ambivalent. Do human beings get more unpalatable than Saddam Hussein? As a Christian, I strive to view each person as made in the image of God. It's why I'm opposed to the death penalty. But, well, if ever I had to lean on the mercy of Christ to view someone through the eyes of Christ, it is with that monster from Tikrit. So then, why do I feel like crying? A. told me tonight that his mom said she feels sorry for Hussein. We both remarked that it takes a special talent - which apparently Blair and Bush have -- to make someone actually feel sorry for the Butcher of Baghdad. That and I suspect his mother is a better Christian than I. No, it's not sympathy for him that has me here on the brin...

Yesterday was CFIDS Awareness Day . So I thought that I would list the things that CFIDS has taken from me. You know. For awareness sake. Hiking Singing -- I used to sing all the time. In the shower. In the kitchen. Around the house. I even use to cantor at my parish. Just a couple of weeks ago, a woman from my parish mentioned in an e-mail to me that they miss my sweet singing voice. I miss it too. I still sing a little bit every now and then, but since it's so energy intensive, I don't sing nearly as much. Dancing -- Sometimes when I'm feeling good I boogie a bit to Shakira or Amr Diab. But boy does it wear me out after a minute or two. Career Being reliable Going to church Motherhood -- I always used to think that the term "biological clock" was a myth. At 33 years old, I'm appreciating that it's very real. And I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that I may very well never be able to bear children. First of all, there's my history of ...

Healer of my soul Heal me at even Heal me at morning Heal me at noon Healer of my soul Keeper of my soul On rough course faring Help and safeguard my means this night Keeper of my soul (John Michael Talbot) There was an episode of the X-Files -- one of the later ones -- where the villain was this guy who would kill his victim by sucking the life out of them. He'd open his mouth and you could see this gaseous form, the person's spirit I presume, slowly come out through of the mouth of the victim and then suddenly they'd collapse dead. That's what having CFIDS is like. Yeah, I never die, though there are days when it feels like I will -- the Dying Days. Like someone is sucking the life out of me just like that guy from the X-Files. Like someone missed something somewhere and now I'm going to slip away. It has happened. Casey Fero of Wisconsin, who had been diagnosed with CFIDS, died in his sleep last summer. The autopsy showed that he died of ...

I'll admit it. I'd never really thought about feminism much. Not that I haven't known that I'm only able to not think about it because of the sacrifices many women before me have made. When I went to visit my great-grandmother before leaving to go to my freshman year of college, she grabbed my hands and remarked wistfully about how I have opportunities she never did. I can tell you at that moment I tingled with gratitude from my toenails to my split-ends. Yet, those days of discrimination and oppression were over, right? I was never told I couldn't be anything I wanted to be because I was a woman. I was never treated any differently by my professors. I was accepted to top graduate programs in my field (Middle East/Arab Studies). The only time gender ever came into anything was when I was having my period or got the unsolicited lecture about "don't you know how they treat women over there?" when I would state what my research field was (because, you kno...

Some of my earliest memories of doctors involve the pediatrician we saw when I was seven or so. He put me on a diet in which I couldn't eat corn (my mom only cooked three kinds of vegetables: green beans, carrots, and corn so that eliminated a third of my vegetable choices) and had to drink these Sego shakes that tasted like chocolate and vitamins mixed together. I also wasn't allowed to eat the candy hearts my Girl Scout leader gave me for Valentines Day while my skinny sister could. At ten years old I was pushing 120 pounds and the new pediatrician I had was particularly peevish about obesity, as the nurse in a quiet, frightened voice warned me after weighing me before he came in. Dr. P scolded me in a voice that was about as scary as my browbeating stepfather. He demanded to know how much I was eating (not any more than my scrawny siblings) and how much exercise I was getting (two-mile-round trip walks to school as well as kickball at recess). "You're lying," h...