topiarius, a creator of topia

As of this posting I have given up the fantasy of someone reading from my blog or journal at my memorial service.  Some lovely prayer or thought I carefully transcribed as part of my journey, so sweet and insightful.

 I have officially moved into the no-more-nice-girl part of my process.  I swore up a storm, proclaimed my doctors to be all jerks, and that there was no reason to go to physical therapy or to the YMCA to build up my endurance for some sort of triathlon death march.

I have vacillated between crying at a video showing the back of a bus carrying the Sea Hawks to the airport, to posting a harsh criticism of a local florist’s misuse of the term “topiary” on Facebook.

I tried really hard to share how I was feeling in an e-mail to my friend Dolly Mae, to become even more enraged that somehow Sister Mary Margaret has gained control of my spell check.  My deluge went like this:  Duck all of this – those ducking duck duck…  

I have held this picture that each symptom comes with its own gift, yet to be unwrapped.  I am still waiting for the big a-ha that will come, on why having a cold or being stressed over needless medical tests, caused me to lose the privilege of big girl panties, only to regain my pantie prize as I started to feel better and figured out I could just say no to testing.  I will leave out the too obvious about just being pissed.

One of my “gifts” that await the gem that will come is one called “emotional incontinence”.  I pried open the lid for a quick peek.  Of course it was filled with ducking duck duck duck.

Oh, by the way, I will be interviewed on Hay House Radio on Friday at 1pm.  It is supposed to be about my book, Letters to Anna, but it ended up a real duck fest.  I will download the interview to my webpage so you can listen in. 

Life is good!