Lately I have been avoiding the news casts like the plague because many of the things that I hear seriously irritate me, especially many of the items regarding the upcoming presidential election. In the past, (more recent than not), I have been known to dwell on unhealthy subjects, brooding until my blood pressure makes the little turkey timer on the top of my head pop out.

This morning, after watching a news clip regarding bad lip syncing, I realized that the news report is actually nothing more than a one hour comedy show that is broadcast especially for my amusement. Everything is put there for the express purpose of allowing me to make fun of it, alone, in the privacy of my own house.

Consequently, this morning I let my mind wander, (which probably was a mistake because the poor thing should not be let out on its own). I reflected on all the things about broadcast news that have amused me in the past.

The first thing is that as I have gotten older, my hearing has changed. So, I keep the closed captioning on because what I hear and what they actually say are often vastly different things. I tend to prefer what I heard over what I read. It is far more amusing.

Then I started thinking about the news anchors that have paraded across the screen over the years. The dapper gentleman on the channel that I currently watch has a severe case of helmet hair. He used to have a lovely crew cut that made him look like he was truly serious about the news. However, as he grew older and his hairline changed, he let it grow out and apparently lacquers it in place for the broadcast every night. I often find myself wondering if a TV studio is a more dangerous place to work than I had originally imagined. Perhaps the hair is a protective device that is potentially more attractive than wearing an obnoxiously colored hard hat on the set.

As I meandered down memory lane, I remembered a news anchor from several years ago that had a comb over that looked like he was harboring a sleeping ferret on his head. I would watch the news with rapt fascination, waiting for the little beast to awaken in mid newscast and perhaps scamper off across the desk. I was so disappointed when that did not occur.

Oh, and let’s not forget the vanishing news anchor. One day I am cheerfully watching a familiar face. The next day that person is gone, never to be seen again. It makes me wonder: did they get another job and were given a huge going away party by all their friends. Or did someone throw a sack over their head and spirit them off to some unknown part of the Universe to work out their days in the depth of some mine.
Perhaps they were abducted by aliens. We will never know because it isn't like someone comes on the screen and announces, “And now, the part of our news anchor will be played by ….,” like they used to do on the old soap operas. I am just left wondering what happened to the poor soul and whether I should light a candle or say a prayer for them.

As you can see, there are several good reasons for me to stop watching the news. Either I'll laugh myself sick, worry about what is happening in my Universe, or work myself into a temper. I feel that I'm much better off without the extreme swings of emotion.
So, if you happen to mention something that happened on last night's news, and I give you a blank look, you can assume one of two things. Either I didn't watch it, or at that particular moment, I'm not in my right mind.

About 10 years ago, when the vet told me that Guinther, my 156# rottweiller, would not be in the world much longer, I resolved to get puppies so that he could train them right before he passed on. I found Ozzie at at a dog rescue event in Bookman's and brought him home to Guinther that day.

Because of the hours I worked and how long the dogs were at home alone, as well as because of how neurotic Guinther had become being left alone for so many hours of the day, I wanted two puppies so they would have each other. Unfortunately, Ozzie's siblings had already been adopted.

Four weeks or so after Ozzie came home, I got a call from the same dog rescue agency stating that they found a 4 week old red-nose pitbull puppy by the side of the road, bleeding his life out from every orifice. They asked if I would take him and I said that if they could make him well that he could come home with me.

Two weeks later,I'm standing in Bookman's waiting to meet my new puppy. A lady brought a lively, wiggling, active puppy for me to meet. She handed him to me and he quietly curled up in my arms and stared up at me. I cuddled the cutest little blond, blue eyed puppy that you'd ever seen.

When I took him home with me, 12 week old Ozzie was glad to have a brother, but Guinther was of the opinion that one puppy was O.K, but two puppies were too many, and never took a shine to poor little Pugsley. Guinther never tolerated the rambunctious little puppy anywhere near him.

Pugsley led a charmed life. One night we were outside so he could do his puppy business . I felt something swoop overhead and dive bomb little Pugsley. Later that night I heard the occasional “hoot” coming from a near by tree and resolved that little Pugsley was not going out by himself until he was big enough to fend off the owls.

Pugsley almost died on me again when he was 8 weeks old. In less than 24 hours, he turned from a fat, energetic puppy to a limp little skeleton dog on the brink of death. He would not eat or drink, and pooped nothing but blood. I thought I was going to lose him that day. I finally managed to get some chicken broth into him and get him to the Vet. The little dear had eaten glass and it was cutting his insides as it passed. Two weeks of baby food, cooked rice and chicken broth, and I had fat, healthy puppy again.

The Vet could not believe how fast he bounced back after being neutered, and he was not even subdued after eating a bee and having his muzzle swollen hard by the sting. As a matter of fact, nothing fazed him. He systematically destroyed all my spicy pepper plants, cheerfully chewing his way through all the hablaneros and thai red peppers. He also enjoyed a steady diet of leaf cutter ants, patiently waiting for them to come out of their hill before slurping them up. He even managed to survive the anesthesia needed to get his teeth cleaned, but I was told at that time that he could never have anesthesia again because the Vet found a cardiac anomaly.

Nothing kept that dog down. He loved to take dips in the pond and romped happily with his brother. Pugsley got along great with almost every human that entered his life. He greeted everyone with a great deal of enthusiasm and a liberal licking. He never withheld his affection, having the wettest, quickest tongue in the West, but was only able to retain three commands from the obedience class we attended. He cheerfully remembered 'sit', 'down' and 'crate', and for him, that seemed to be enough.

However, for some reason that no one was able to understand, Pugsley did not along with any other dogs and after a while did not do well with cats. He and Ozzie were attached at the hip, but he was never able to get along with Chowbaby, or any other dogs, taking it into his head to attack at every opportunity. Over the past few months, he occasionally even fought with Ozzie, and would lay in wait for another chance to sink his teeth into poor Chowbaby.

After consultation with the Vet yesterday, while Chowbaby was being treated for his last encounter with Pugsley, we decided that at his age, Pugley's behavior was not going to improve and the Vet counseled that his aggressiveness could soon extend to people. An appointment was made for today and while held lovingly in my arms, Pugsley breathed his last breath a little after 3 PM today.

It is one of the saddest decisions that I have ever made and I am still heartbroken, with tears continuing to stream down my face as I write this. Ozzie is crying too. I know he does not understand where his brother has gone. He continues to search the house and yard, looking for his brother. I left all the house doors open and have let him go where ever he wants. I know that he smells his brother on my clothing, but I have no way of telling him that Pugsley will not return. I am hoping that Ozzie will find some peace and will settle down.

Many years ago I had an unusual dream. It was night time and I was walking down a dirt road in the middle of a forest. Running, frisking and playing as a pack around me was every dog I had ever known. In the distance I could see a bright, misty light in the road. The dogs all ran eagerly toward that light.

I paused for a moment, when a small tortoise shell cat I once knew wandered onto the road.
Because I did not want the dogs to chase or hurt her, I moved off the road to pick her up. She evaded my hands and wandered off into the dark forest. I followed her and found her curled up in the middle of a sleeping bag that was laid out in the middle of a grassy meadow. Suddenly tired, I reclined onto the sleeping bag, stroking the cat as I looked up into the trees and the night sky. I could hear the dogs barking in the distance and somehow knew that I should not follow them. I awoke a little sad, but also with a deep sense of peace.

Pugsley P. Puppy was a loving dog that was not able to overcome his aggressive pit-bull nature. I pray that his next life is better. It is my hope that Pugsley will join that wondrous canine pack and will run and play with those dogs. Perhaps Guinther will be able to teach him some manners.

For the last two years I have been working on a paranormal romance with a slight twist. It is called "Midnight's Lady".

Because I was not interested in contributing to anyone's slushpile and don't particularly care if I get paid for this endeavor, I am trying an experiment in web publishing. I am no longer skilled in the art of HTML, so for the time being, it is being published at Blogspot on a generic template. When I learn enough, I will attempt to construct something more original.

I have asked a few friends to proof read the manuscript and have a wonderful editor, Linda Campbellton. Everyone has been extremely patient with me over the last year, considering that I currently seem to only be able to converse on a limited number of subjects to include: this manuscript, the manufacture and use of plarn, and an occasional comment on my dogs or the weather.

If you are interested in taking a look at my new baby, it is at http://thenocturnefiles.blogspot.com. It will be published chapter by chapter on a weekly basis with each new chapter released each Wednesday. When the complete book has been published in this manner, I will compile it and offer the complete novel in an e-readable format, and start on the next one.

There are currently three or four other books chasing around in my head, and I hope to get them out of there soon so that I can converse in a more intelligent manner on a diverse number of subjects.


- KyraKai

Last night, maybe it was early this morning, I dreamt of Yehudah. As usual, he was supervising the setting up of camp. It was growing dark and his back was initially turned away from me. He was under a canopy and he was talking about Rivka to someone that I was unable to see, saying that she often did far more than he or anyone else gave her credit for.

At first I was going to volunteer to help set up camp, then suddenly realized that I was not supposed to be there and would need to leave as soon as possible. I went up to Yehudah and gave him a big hug before I left, and told him that I would miss him. He seemed a bit bemused by the attention.

When I woke up I was amazed at how real the dream was. I could even smell the campfire.

I am apparently having one of "those" days. It started at the post office. I checked my P.O.Box, hoping for some little keys that would indicate that the kits that I ordered had arrived, only to find a little yellow card in the box. You know the one, the card that one needs to turn into a postal employee after waiting in line for several nonproductive minutes. The problem is that I am never in a post office when there are postal workers. I get off of work after they close, so the stupid yellow slips are counterproductive.

Earlier in the day, I decided that I wanted a hair cut (actually, I wanted all of them cut), so I made an appointment with the local beauty school and actually managed to show up 15 minutes prior to my appointment.

The instructor asked me to pay for services in advance. Ok, I don't mind that. I handed her the plastic magic money card. You know the one. The card that you use to get groceries, gas, chocolate; all of the necessities.

Her machine wouldn't run the card because their three PM totals had not been correct. Not exactly my problem, until I am asked to pay cash. I don't know about you, but I tend not to carry cash. All I had was about 4 dollars in quarters and one of those shiny new dollar coins, obviously not adding up to enough for a six dollar hair cut plus tip.

They don't take checks, so she initially suggested that I go to the ATM to withdraw funds. I politely rejected that idea. I had already had a long day at work, and if I was getting back into the truck to drive anywhere, it was going to be to drive home.

She then directed me to a scurvy little place on the corner of the strip mall known as The Grocery Outlet. I tend not to shop there because you often need to check the expiration dates and or contents very carefully for changes that are often caused by decomposition, and are dodging the cockroaches to get to the merchandise before they do. However, I really wanted that hair cut, so I picked up some 100 calorie snack packs for work and found my way to the cashier.

I waited patiently for the card to process and ask me if I wanted any cash back. When it didn't do so, I asked the clerk what was wrong and she stated that their machine doesn't give a cash back option. I looked around me and realized why. Some of the people in the store looked like they would sell their left kidney for cash. Others looked like they had. It wasn't the kind of trusting place that gives cash back on a card purchase.

A little hot under the collar, I decided that this was way too much aggravation for one little hair cut, and walked back down to the beauty school and let them know that apparently the Gods didn't think I needed a hair cut, oh and by the way, Grocery Outlet doesn't give cash back. With the appointment obviously cancelled and myself resigned to having shaggy hair for a while, I walked out, climbed into the truck and came home.

And so here you find me, in front of a computer screen with the soundtrack from HAIR running through my mind. I do have a plan. It involves lots of hair mousse, a hair pick and a bit of cursing. No, it is not YET a full moon.

For the first time, I am actually working for an employer that is being proactive rather than reactive in the face of a potential disaster. There are masks and alcohol hand scrub at every appointment desk. There are huge red signs instructing patients to wear a mask if they are sneezing or coughing.

We have been advised that no one with flu-like symptoms is to be booked to the clinic, they are to be telephone triaged and given the appropriate home care treatments. Yes! There is nothing that we can do for them in the clinic, so it is much better to have the patients stay home, take care of themselves and not expose anyone else to the potential infection. If a patient really feels obligated to come in and cough on us, we have been instructed to place a mask on them and isolate them until they may be triaged.

However, I cannot believe the absolute flocks of people who have been coming in because they MIGHT have been exposed. One sniffle, sneeze or cough and many of them think that they have caught the Swine hybrid flu, even though they have not be to any of the places that currently have flu victims, nor have they traveled. As near as I can figure, some seem to think that they might have gotten it just because they were exposed to the news reports on TV.

No one seems to be paying attention to what actual information that the news channels are providing. It is not flu unless there is some combination of fever, body aches, headache and cough. Although there may be other symptoms like nausea, vomiting and diarrhea, those symptoms are primarily associated with gastritis or gastroenteritis, which some will call "flu" or "stomach flu", but are technically not flu virus related. Flu is more like a cold than a stomach bug.

Pay attention! I cannot say this enough. If you have flu-like symptoms. STAY HOME! Do drink plenty of fluids. Fever dehydrates you. You need to keep drinking non-caffeinated, non-alcoholic liquids to stay hydrated. Do take an over the counter analgesic and other over the counter medications to manage your symptoms, especially to keep the fever down. Don't stay in bed. Get up, sit in a chair, concentrate on doing some deep breathing. If you have an incentive spirometer, use it. It will help prevent a secondary infection like pneumonia.

The following cannot be stressed enough. GOOD HAND WASHING is the best preventative measure. Cover your mouth and nose when sneezing or coughing. Avoid touching your nose or eyes after touching telephones, door knobs, pens or anything else that someone else may have touched. Carry your own pen rather than using the one provided for your convenience. If you can't wash your hands with soap and water, carry some alcohol gel and use it consistently.

Preventing infection is everyone's responsibility, not just the responsibility of the health care workers around you. Be Proactive. Stock the necessary supplies so that if you become ill, you are able to stay home. If you become ill and do not have the supplies, ask a friend to bring them to you and leave them on your door step so that you do not expose others and do not expose yourself to anything else while your immune system is weak.

I think that if everyone gets on board, we can minimize the number of flu victims and thus minimize the number of fatalities.

I spent the better part of Saturday trying to install a new deadbolt lock on the front door. Four screws, they said. Can't go wrong, they said. AND THEY WERE WRONG!

I took the newly broken lock back to Ace, got another one and a quick lesson on how to put it in. 5 or 6 hrs after starting, and another pair of hands, the lock was in...upside down, but it is in and it is jolly well gonna STAY in! I'll get used to putting the key in upside down and turning it in the wrong direction...I swear I will, 'cause it is not coming out to be put in up side right.

That wasn't the limit of my adventures for the day. After getting me up an hour before I would normally rise, I had to take Ozzie, with his itchy butt and pus filled ears to the vet. $227 later, two prescriptions, an injection of antibiotics and an injection of steroids later, I have a dog on the mend and an empty bank account.

I am sincerely hoping that the agency will call this weekend because what I paid out in vet bills is just about what I would make for an 8 hour shift.

The only saving grace to the weekend was getting to see Babylon 5, season 2 and start on season 3. Oh, and the discovery that the Chill channel is playing Dark Shadows. Yeah!

All in all, a productive weekend.

It really was a good news/ bad news kinda day.

I spent this morning in and out of doctors offices. I got up bright and early to spend some time with my poor abused Primary Care Provider. I don't know what he thinks about having a witchdoctor as a patient, but he has taken my views on my health care relatively well, and since he has been able to witness the effects of alternative medicine, he is beginning to appreciate my point of view. I think I make his head hurt when I come in with something new like the resvetrol (which, by the way, is making me itch!)

The good news is that my total cholesterol is down. My HDL (the good cholesterol) is in normal ranges, however, my LDL (the bad cholesterol) is higher than my Doctor likes to see for a diabetic. Speaking of diabetes, mine is still under control without medication, using dietary control measure. My A1C is 6.1. The other good news is that my liver enzymes are back down to normal ranges. All hail, preservative free, organic food.

My Doctor was mystified as to why putting me on viral suppressive therapy should ease my arthritis, but we were both happy that it did. (I didn't tell him that it is playing havoc with my digestive tract...the poor dear already has enough on his mind. I'm taking more kefir to counteract the effects of antivirals stomping through my body).

My visit to the neurologist was also a mixed bag. I was surprised that he even remembered me. I thought that it had been longer since I had seen him. I thought it was the late ninties, but he said that he last saw me in 2001. Ok, I must be getting senile.

I had been telling people for years that I had an MRI done of my head and they found nothing. He was able to certify that I did indeed have a brain, but appeared to be unwilling to certify it's condition. But seriously folks, the good news is that my neuropathy has not gotten any worse. Now for the bad news...the main reason that I went to see him.

For the last several years, I have been having these weird episodes that send me to bed with a dizzy, puking, headache, with the headache being the smallest part of what is going on. It can be set off by blinky lights, videogames, lack of sleep, not staying hydrated, getting stressed out, eating too many high sugar foods, forgetting my medications or caffeine...in other words, LIFE! Because of the vertigo, nausea and tinnitus being primary, and the fact that both of my parents have at one time or another been told that their s/s are menieres, I have always assumed that menieres was the cause of my woes.

However because of the set progression of s/s in each episode and the fact that the disease process isn't progressing, I am being told that it isn't menieres, it is atypical migraines. I don't care what you call them, I just want them to stop (so do many of my friends, since they are the ones that are often on the receiving end of these episodes.)

My PCP took me two falls out of three and finally convinced me to see the neurologist. I put it off as long as I could, but broke down and went today.

The bad news is that the neurologist was unable to decide definitively that I have migraines, but he feels that there doesn't seem to be enough deterioration for it to be menieres disease. We are both at a loss, and I was glad to hear him say that medications didn't seem to be appropriate, though his reason wasn't happy making. Because I have hypertension, and because my symptoms are atypical, a medication like Imitrex is contraindicated, and suppressive therapy doesn't work for atypical migraines.

I think that I am left with recognizing the symptoms before the point of no return, preventing and/or treating them as needed, medicating and hiding in my bed as needed. I must say that I am a little frustrated, but agree with him that none of the symptoms add up to a whole, and probably never will.

I sure as hell don't know what to think. The only good news about these episodes is that they are trackable and if I pay attention to the signs, I can derail the worst symptoms of each episode. I just wish the the signs/symptoms made more sense.

Where is Greg House when you need him.

Have you ever gotten the feeling that you are so far outside the loop that there are not enough numbers in the area code to get to your part of the Universe? That is how I currently feel. Lately, I am the last person to find out about anything anymore. I'm not sure why. It isn't like people don't know where to find me, after all if nothing else, y'all can find me here. I haven't moved or changed my number in over 10 years.

Perhaps they think I already know. Where am I supposed to be getting the information, from tea leaves? I'm frequently getting blindsided by pieces of information that it might of been handy to have received sometime during this century. Instead, I get to find things out so far after the fact that most are ancient history.

For example, my sister shows up at my door the other day looking like a she-cat on the prowl. She usually adopts that look when she is between husbands. However, I had been under the impression that she and her last husband were getting along swimmingly. So much so, that even though I am church mouse poor right now, I was racking my brain on what to get the guy for Christmas, which was quite a chore because I don't think that he has spoken more than 10 words to me since I met him. Most of the time, he stayed far enough away from me that I figured that someone had told him that I might have cooties.

Because money is such an issue right now, I finally decided to take the "cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater" route and give couples a single inexpensive present between them, just enough to let them know that I remembered their existence. I concentrated a little more (but not much more) on presents for the children within my orbit. Thank the gods that those are few and far between, because most of the time I don't know what to get a child.

Anyway, back to my sister's ex-husband. Yep. Apparently the little dears haven't gotten along for a while and decided to divorce last April. That's right ladies and gentle beings, last April, 8 months ago, nearly one whole human gestation, most of a year.

Now here I was trying to figure out what to get him for Christmas, when what I probably should have been doing is figuring out which gift registry my sister will be using for her next wedding, and what I should get for her. I am considering a gift card for a lawyer on retainer, but they tend to be expensive, and there aren't any in my current social circle.

I've decided that I must be really isolated. In the number of years that my sister has had several relationships, I haven't even had a date. You heard me right. I don't believe that I have had a date since 1998. I have condoms in my dresser that have gone seriously past their expiration date. I'm beginning to think that I should consider taking vows.

Now don't get me wrong, I am no hermit. I have an active social life. I go to parties, go out to eat with friends, belong to an organization or two, but most of the people I meet are either happily married and/or gay or felons. IN other words, they have lives of their own.

Besides, I kinda draw the line at felons. Not that there probably aren't any nice felons out there, but most of the ones that I have met have shown a distressing tendency to be less than truthful, less than lawful, usually jobless, and with a strong desire to hook up with someone willing to give them a free ride. Sorry, I ain't that girl. I don't care how good he is in bed, I need a man in my life who can pull his share of the load. Every once in a while, I would like to share the experiences of my day and the warmth of my bed with a male that is not canine.

I have to admit that I sometimes feel pretty lonely. I went to a convention recently and while surrounded by bunches of people, I felt so lonely that I finally gave up and went home to work on my writing. The same thing happened at the New Year's Eve party that I went to last night. I looked around and wondered what the hell I was doing there, so I went home and went to sleep.

I'm at home so much lately that I'm beginning to think that Sci-Fi channel and I are in a committed relationship. I wonder if the TV thinks that I am being too flirty with the computer.