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In between my last post and last night, life has offered up a couple of opportunities ~ thick and juicy ones, as a matter of fact ~ to help grow my resiliency and encourage my practice of regulating my emotions.

That long sentence really means that it’s been a week, my friend ~ it’s been a week.

A week that I am glad and just a little (or more) proud for utilizing coping strategies that work when I put them into motion.

The majority of my emotional dysregulation (I love this term ~ it makes me smile) sprang from news from my health insurance provider’s announcement that my numerous medical appointments, tests, adjustments and procedures are not going to be covered, at all, due to a clause regarding pre-existing conditions. I won’t go into the whole ugly disempowering quagmire as I fear that might send me back to a tearful rageful place. I will say that I was able to put the situation into a more tolerable perspective within an hour of the event and carry on with my day. What’s more, I haven’t let it wreck my entire week. It’s definitely a low grade worrier and energy sapper and yet that feels so much better than totally giving into the doom gloom despair hatred and bitterness.

I am taking the steps to enter an appeal even though the insurance rep told me to do so was “futile.” Because after all futile is just a word ~ no greater in meaning than “hope.”

The purple hair comes into play as a product if you will of my medical condition, which causes unbearable vertigo when I lie down. And since my hair doesn’t naturally grow shades of purple and black, I go into a colorist to work her magic every 4-6 weeks. Since I cannot lie down to have my hair shampoo’ed, the Color Artiste Extradordinaire slaps color on my hair, wraps strands in foil and then straps a plastic shower cap like thing on my head and sends me on my way to wash out the excess dye in the standing up privacy of my own shower.

Sounds semi-simple enough, right?
Well, throw in the fact that the temps have been well below 0 Farenheit for some time now in this Corner of the Frozen Winter Earth and one can see that some anxiousness might begin to creep in when faced with opening the inside door to go to the outside world. OMG! My head might actually freeze. For realz.

It didn’t.
Thank goodness.

But I did end up ripping out chunks of hair trying to remove the foils that the Color Artiste thoughtfully made travel ready, meaning extra tightly folded so none would be lost in transport. Can you say Ouch! and Ouch, again! I did, my friend, I did. Along with a few other words that I won’t mention here. But a word is just a word, right?

I am relieved that I made it through my work week intact. I am grate-full that the Universe and all of my Guardian Helpers were there helping me along my path and I am appreciative of myself that I accepted the proffered assistance. All in all an okay week made even livelier by sporting bright new shiny purple hair.

McKenzie over at mommysaidaswearword has given me my first (ever) super (duper) cool blogging award. Wow! Not only did I WIN an award but it was gifted to me by a sister blogger whose words and sharing I respect and utterly appreciate ~ McKenzie makes me laugh out loud and think and ponder ~ all pasttimes that I enjoy.

In accepting the award, I am tasked with sharing seven (7) secrets about myself. That’s a thinker, that task is. I already have the 62 trivial and tantalizing tidbits about myself page to my little blog… But hey, we all harbor secrets, right? Our shadow selves? Our too quirky to still be considered eccentric components. Right?? Okay here goes, the big “reveal” (re-appropriating an HGTV term) ~ hope we’re still buddies at the end ~

1 ~ I haven’t met any kind of goat cheese that I like, so far.

2 ~ I eat popcorn one kernel at a time and have been known to look down upon folks who shovel hand-fulls into their open gaping sometimes still chomping on the last hand-full, mouths. (Yes, I do understand that judging others is wrong. completely wrong minded. twisted. and tainted.)

3 ~ I, along with thousands of others, dread to see babies and little tykes boarding the same airplane that I will be tortured flying on. No matter how cute. or beautiful. the little one is. I feel dread and the internal begging begins, which goes akin to this, “dear god, please oh please oh please oh please, do not have me sitting beside the baby.” (Yes, I do know that it is not the infant’s fault that they cry ~ their poor little ears hurt. And yes, I do know that the tyke who keeps kicking the back of my ill fitting seat is not the devil’s spawn but, instead, a poor wee one who is as sick as I am of being cooped up like an everdead sardine.) I still say the endless loop prayer.

4 ~ When I am really super stressed, I fantasize about the perfect home ~ the location, the floors (polished stained concrete, hardwood, bamboo) ~ the views…

5 ~ I love, as in deeply, love my smart phone. (Yes, I understand that it is wrong minded to love an inanimate object, a mere piece of technology ~ but, I do and what’s more, I tell it so every day).

6 ~ I still do not know what I really look like even though I am more than half way through this life time. Glimpses, here and again. but nothing permanent or lasting.

7 ~ I still miss my first omma.

Well, that went quicker than I imagined it might. The second and last part of receiving this award is sharing 15 blogs that I follow and enjoy. Now, that’s a no problem sort of task. In fact, I am honored to list the following blogs and to encourage folks to check them out ~ some are uber funny, others contemplative in nature ~ but all of them have enriched my life in some fashion or another, time after time. Oh, and remember to check out mymommysaidaswearword afterall, McKenzie is the one who chose me to receive this fantastic award.

Happy reading ~

Terri’s Little Corner

all the elbows


Trailer Park Nirvana

Joy the Baker

The Wednesday Chef

My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours

One Crafty Girl!

Burnt Lumpia

Mixed American Life


Urban Simplicity

Plum Bananas

An Apple A Day

Hello Korea!

Feels good.
Mind space
open airy

could not do
sans friends.

too full
without these times.
These times of
flying solo.
(c) junemoon 2011

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.

Climb right up and sit right down on the pretty painted pony on the merry-go-round of emotion-filled and charged topics. Hold on tight to the shiny post that keeps the painted pony and you sitting upright and pretty. Hold on tight and sit up straight and smile bright and if you are lucky today, no one will notice the bulging vein right at your jaw line or the tightness of your knuckles as you will yourself to keep still and keep smiling.

Be still. Be pretty. Smile bright. Please know that I will know, and understand, the rage that burbles up inside of you ~ the rage that keeps time with the loud not really melodic tinny sounding music as the painted pony on which you sit goes up and down, up and down. I will know, and empathize, with the rage that could flip with the ease of a dime, allowing the knuckles to fist up and punch out and the bulge at the jaw line, to unleash and join in the screams pumped up from your core.

Oh yeah. I know. I understand.

Today we are sittin’ pretty on that painted pony merry-go-round of life’s powder keg of emotion charged circumstances.

Cannot think about tomorrow cuz today is all the go-round that I can endure and still sit pretty.

The title of this post, alone, says a lot about my week. I worked, a lot. Dealt both consciously and unconsciously with issues of racism, and other ‘isms ~ enough to have me sitting pretty on a merry-go-round of emotions. And you know what merry-go-rounds are infamous for, right? You got it. Plenty of ups and downs and go arounds. Hence, merry-go-up-and-downs. Well that pretty much sums up my emotional state this week, maybe without the merry that goes with this particular analogy.

This week of these experiences deserves a thought-full post, filled with sharing of the wisdom gleaned from the gnarly thing we call living in White America when one’s personal identity includes being a woman of color, queer, and a First Generation Korean Adoptee, Whew! That last sentence was a typed-finger full (as in mouth-full)! However, having just come off what feels like a long, long haul of an uphill climb where no moss was growing on this rolling stone, I am plain tuckered. Out. But not too tuckered to say that living a life with intention and awareness can be all consuming and fatiguing. And is equal to a life worth living.

Please don’t take me wrong or get me wrong or interpret something that I am not saying. I am not saying that I am high faluting. I am not saying that I deem myself the only woman on this Earth planet that is striving to be self aware and living a life with conscious intention. No. There are many, a multitude, I think and I hope of other like-minded individuals out there doing paddling their own canoes in our connected ocean of life.

What I am saying is that this week, I chose to live my life fully engaged in the living part of thinking, feeling, praying, connecting, saying truth to power, riding the waves of emotions, falling in and out of faith in humanity, falling to my knees in despair, reaching to the skies with rejoicing and passing out at the end of a very long day fully exhausted from the ride.

Racism is a tough nut to crack. Nobody wants it. But we all own it.

It’s now my weekend. Time to re-charge my batteries. Time to marinate on all that I have taken in throughout this week. In psychological terminology, time to metabolize the new life lessons.

That’s what my brain is, T-I-R-E-D, right this very moment after spending the bulk of the day dialoging about racism. With a White person who “just wasn’t raised around racism,” and as a result “cannot understand why people put so much emphasis on their ethnicity and race – after all, I am a blend of Caucasian and Spaniard lineage and have never had anyone treat me poorly based on my race.”

I feel tired each time I hear these kind of statements and I hear them whenever the topic of race and racism is broached.

With this particular individual, I have an investment in getting along with her and building a relationship as she will be my right-hand assistant in my new job. Plus, there are many things I really like about her. I hope my efforts to balance the education about racism and being colleagues is worth the required bucket-fulls of energy and effort and patience and acceptance.


My current favorita word, descriptor and identifier. Bastard.

There is the Vertigo, or V for short. Most certainly a bastard. There is the cold water only, meaning no hot or even warm water for the morning shower. Most certainly a bastard. There are the entities and/or people out there who make the bad stuff happen in the world. Most certainly bastards.

Do you sense where I am going with this? If you guessed, not far, you would be correct. Because saying bastard or bastards has only gotten me so far. Meaning, not far.

Nonetheless, texting the word bastard makes me smile and maybe even giggle, just a little. You might too if you knew me a little better. You see, I am not the sort that you would image blurting out bastard. And texting is tantamount to blurting, right? Now that I think about it, I think I have been texting my new favorita word more than I have been saying it out loud. Oh well. Either way, makes me smile and giggle, just a little. Every time. Probably because it’s a new thing. Were I to keep this up, it might just become irritating and grim and not so funny anymore. Probably.

Okay you humorless basta#*#. Oops.

Oh, the brown moose that is grazing on the little trees outside? He. He is not a bastard. Most definitely not. No bastard is he.

Yes. I am beset this morning with a vigorous assault of thoughts involving various scenarios of my future. None of which appear to include much fun. In the field of psychology, there is an instrument that rates life’s stressors such as death of partner, loss and/or change of job, moving of residence, health issues, and other transitions or maladies.

I am currently grappling with some pretty high listing life stressors, including but not limited to, change in my relationship status, moving of residence, prolonged unemployment, concerns with health and being me. The latter stressor seems to be the one causing me the most turmoil and upheaval.

When compared to other Earth inhabitants’ life stressors in other parts of the world such as Japan, Libya, or a small town in rural Virginia, my set of circumstances and shifting plains seem paltry in magnitude. And in many ways, they are. I realize this fact.

That does not erase my unease, anxiety, or fears. Knowing that there are others who are facing much greater stressors definitely calls up my compassionate concern and grief. And maybe even for a short minute or two, my own miseries and worries subside. But then my mere mortal egocentricities put me and my own life front and center, once again.

So today, I add my prayers with all the others wafting toward the heavens and out into the universe, for the peoples in the world who are at risk from both other humans and from Mother Nature. I pray, too, for myself.

I pray for help in navigating my life transitions, for a respite from my worry demons, for faith in the goodness in the world, and for the courage to fully live my life. I pray to remember that I belong, and am connected, to this Earth and Her inhabitants. Finally, I pray to walk the path of my life in faith and belief in the Universal powers that be, beyond self, beyond good and bad ~ right and wrong.

That is the name that I have given to the vertigo monster that has been inhabiting my body since early February. As some of you may recall, it was just three nights ago that I was able, after 30 nights, to finally lie down for half the night in a prone position to sleep. Riding on the high that only five hours of sleep on one’s back and side can provide, I attempted a full nite’s sleep, lying down.

Well, that little venture proved too much for the monster’s under the bed to abide and after only one hour of lying down, I was sucker punched with another huge bout of vertigo. For the rest of the night I was unable to close my eyelids nor tolerate even a pillow touching the back of my head to help keep my head in the upright position.

It turns out that one’s head will fall forward, back or to either side when one’s eyelids droop. But never fear, as soon as my eyelids would close, the She Devil would wake me with a wave of nausea and vertigo, which would make me open wide my eyes. Until the next droopy eyelid cycle.

Being presently unemployed and without insurance or money, I had been staving off going to the doctor for diagnosis and/or help. The She Devil won out though and I went to a local hospital’s emergency room yesterday morning. IV fluids, drugs, an MRI, EKG and 7-1/2 hours later the diagnosis of vertigo was provided along with a prescription for an antihistimine to help with the nausea and vertigo.

Needless to say, I will be sleeping upright for some time to come. I suppose it’s a small price to pay to keep the She Devil from taking over my body. But dang it all to heck and back, She did rob me of keeping my commitment to posting a blog daily. I should have had some waiting in the wings to simply post. That would have taken too much planning on my part it seems. Oh well. I am back now and I suppose in the end, I get to be the decide-er of what merits success or failure.

And I say the fact that I am up, showered, and writing my post for today constitutes a grand success. So take that She Devil. Be gone! Depart. Quickly. You are not welcome here. Ever again.

March 2020