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Today I return to the White Coated One’s offices for the second day of testing. There will be two new tests and one repeat procedure. The one that made me puke, scream, cry, moan and panic.


If the cure is near and does really occur ~ well now that would be a whole different dance of ecstasy.

The ground is now covered under a snowy layer of white flakes. Each flake individual and unique.

That image is mind boggling. I mean really. There must be kazillions and triple batillions of snowflakes just outside my south facing windows alone. Not to mention all of the ones that fell from the sky in other areas of this city. They fell under the cover of darkness; those little stealthy cold ones.

I wonder if there are repeats of patterns from one winter to another. Like, there couldn’t be any flakes the same in the winter of 2011 but the really gorgeous and fancy ones could cycle back through in the winter of 2015. I mean, how would we mere mortals know?

There could be a few or even a few billion snowflake cheaters or copyflakes (aka copycats) swirling about with the truly authentic one of a kinders. Even so, what would be the penalty? I got nothing for an answer to that one.

But I do have the beginnings of the key element for winter in the Northern Hemisphere ~ the first measurable snowfall. Yep. We have that one covered.

My eyeballs feel like they have been used as billiard balls in more than one game.

I survived the first two tests of a series that will run through next week, which are meant to help in diagnosing my condition. Diagnosing the condition and then ridding me of my bastard buddy Vertigo.

Without any exaggeration or embelishment (not that I have been known to resort to either), I can forthrightly say that the second test was one of the top five worst experiences I have endured in this life time.

I will be taking cookies or flowers or loaves of bread into the four technicians whom I upchucked all over. Sorry for that visual. If it helps, I followed the pre-test instructions and did not eat or drink anything 24 hours prior to the testing. The technicians said they were grateful…

I won’t go into the rest of the story. I’ll leave out the parts where I cried, screamed, moaned and puked some more. Not to worry. I get to do it all over again come Monday.

One can only hope that the bastard Vertigo is on his way out.

Enough wishes that is.

A friend’s text asking me what I want to do on my upcoming tropical vacation prompted a spontaneous stream of answers ~

I want to go tandem handgliding ~ ziplining ~ first snorkeling venture ~ eat tons of food without gaining additional fat ~ walk for miles on the beach ~ go dancing ~ have fantasy man and/or woman ask me to dance ~ experience my best ever kiss ~ lie down ~ lie down and sleep ~ speed boating ~ kayaking ~ converse and laugh ~ converse and think deep earth shattering thoughts ~ be completely fear free the entire time ~ yoga at sunrise on the beach ~ horseback ride at sunset ~ full body massage ~ live the good life ~ live a simple life with a few blood churning and fast heartbeating moments thrown in here and there ~

As you can see, this soon-to-be vacationing woman requires more than three wishes.

If you identify with the title of this post, please go F*CK yourself. No. If you identify with the title of this post, go F*CK yourself, without the please.

Oh my Gawd! The White Coated One (as in medical doctor) turned out to be the epitome of the title of this post. To be even more precise or to flesh out the visual more fully, I will add old. Old, and not in the good way of older and wiser or mature or seasoned with age. Just yucky old. Old with a scraggly ponytail, old. Old, with big beefy hairy hands old.

And yuck, again.

This White Lecherous Oriental Lover (WLOL) White Coated One, proudly told me that his wife was “an Oriental,” who like me was “an Oriental adoptee.” And guess what else? Lo and behold, his “Oriental wife” is two years older than me. Hallelujah. And strike up the band!

The White Coated WLOL shared all of this scintillating information after learning from my medical history that I am a Korean adoptee. When I said that I identify as Korean American or Asian, WLOL proudly reported that “my wife knows she’s a [sic] Oriental and she doesn’t mind being called one.” Well butter my bread on both sides, I was sure glad to get that 411.

As a woman of color and more specifically as an international adoptee, I have heard many a racist, backward, uneducated, biased, stereotyped remark in my day. Some of these oldies but never goodies have been directed at me and sometimes as descriptors or comments about others.

My outward response varies. Depending on the situation, time, place, previous relationship with speaker as well as the social and/or professional context. Oh, and then there’s always the factor of my overall mood in the moment ~ zen like or prickly or somewhere inbetween.

Sometimes I address the remark directly. Sometimes I attempt to provide social education. Sometimes I react before I think, attempting to construct a new orifice for the speaker. Sometimes I do not react or comment. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I exit the room.

What is consistent is the internal reaction that instantly occurs ~ the injury to my spirit or as some have described, as one of a hundred thousand small paper cuts.

Then, I get to dress the wound and go about figuring out, again and again, how to flourish in a world where ignorance thrives.

Ignorance and lechery. Never a good combination.

Have you heard of the White Coat syndrome? The kind of coat medical doctors wear? And the kind of fear and anxiety that patients sometimes feel and exhibit in the presence of the White Coat wearers? Well I can’t say that I have exactly that kind of fear and anxiety. But my levels of fear and anxiety come close to qualifying as a syndrome.

I am scheduled for an initial visit with a White Coated One later today. A specialist in dizziness and balance.

I am actually scheduled to see him tomorrow as I am writing this post tonight, the night before the scheduled initial visit but am scheduling this post to appear on my little blog tomorrow.

I do this kind of thing of late. Writing my posts ahead of time and scheduling them to post themselves another day. Just in case I am unable to make it to my computer due to my vertigo condition. The condition that is precipitating my dreaded scheduled initial visit with the White Coated One.

Posting regularly on my little blog helps me feel like I am doing well. Like I am capable of keeping my commitments made, if only to myself ~ the commitment still means a lot; to me.

So here’s to the White Coated One being able to help me move forward toward full health.

The degree between reality and plain feeling too sorry for oneself, is slim. The same can be said for the degree between feeling confidently good about oneself and being a boastful boor.

True story.

Think about it.

Positive belief in optimistic outcomes and pathological magical thinking.
Proverbial glass ~ half full ~ half empty.

And baby, that’s slim.

It’s time. I can feel it in my bones. And if I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I might even conjure up a whiff of chimney smoke.

Let’s light it up. Get a little fire going in the old fireplace. Let’s heat this place up and turn the lights down low. Let’s settle in for a little quiet time by the hearth. Can you hear it? The snap, crackle and pop as the flames lick up and around the dry wood.

Ahh. I’m there. What are you waiting for. Let’s light it up.

This morning I ventured forth into the big wide world after sequestering myself unto myself inside my little rented abode for the past few days. And guess what? The outside world and its inhabitants are still there.

The food servers at one of my favorita breakfast cafes were still there, scribbling down orders of chef specials and returning arms laden with thick white platters of eggs and breakfast meats. There were lots of regulars, placing orders and gobbling up the abundance of foods placed in front of them.

Yes, they were all still there.
And this morning, I was too.
Still there. Mingling with the regulars while smearing loads of orange marmalade all over my well buttered wheat toast.
Feeling glad to be here so that I could be still there.


what holds me ~ keeps me ~


keep the anchor
buried deep.
@junemoon 2011

October 2011
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