The Honeybell

As promised, a photo of the delectable Honeybell orange



It's the vibrant fruit on the left. Feast your eyes!

Wednesday, it's about Thursday

“Hi, Wednesday. Um, we need to talk. I kind of want to see someone else.

“No, it’s not over between us. There’s just someone else I like so I thought we could step it back a bit and be more casual.

“Really, I still like you. It’s not like I’m going away. I’m still watching all the Gossip Girl re-runs even though I’ve seen every one.

“I know, America’s Next Top Model starts February 20. I’ll be back full-time then.

“But, it’s like, you don’t have any new episodes that I’m into right now. You know I’m committed to you, but I just need a little break.

“No, it’s Thursday. I know Monday is the Gossip Girl behind the scenes episode, but that’s just one night. This every Thursday.”

“It’s… it’s… Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.

“But you know I love whipped cream pseudo-drama. You knew that going into this, Wednesday. I like the empty calories and brain-slushing. This show is perfect for me right now.

“No, I’m sorry, you’re still perfect for me too; I just need to see Thursday for a while.

“Well, it’s interesting because it’s self-destructive D-List celebrities airing their dirty laundry and actually getting good therapy from Dr. Pinsky’s treatment center.

“I like a train wreck. I like harmless strife. It doesn’t affect my life at all. I like that check-out.

“I hope you understand, Wednesday. It’s just that Gossip Girl doesn’t come back until the fall. I’ll get tired of Thursday when all the D-Listers implode themselves because of their inability to face their responsibility for their own actions. I’ll be back.

“I love you, Wednesday. I’ll see you soon. Bye-bye.”

New traditions

Being my first winter in Florida, I can’t say with authority how things work here, but I have discovered a local custom that I find quite tasty. People with orange trees in their yards share their extra fruit with friends. Delicious, they’re the most delicious oranges I’ve ever eaten. Today a man named Enzo dropped off a bag of grapefruits, oranges and Honeybells at my office neighbor’s desk. The moment I heard him leave, I begged for a Honeybell. I told her she should keep the rest of them for herself because of their utter orangey bliss. I can’t wait to eat my new treasure. And I love this new tradition.

Paranoid android

4/4/2008: Sorry, in good conscience I had to delete this post. It was funny. Make up whatever story in your mind that you think is funny, then laugh, then it will be like you were really reading this entry... Are you laughing yet? No? Visit LOLCats here then. If you don't laugh, you're not on the right meds.

Fake French

The problem with fake friends is that they’re just like white lies: how do you keep all the stories straight? Like, which friend was it who I overheard making fun of my food allergies behind my back, so now I know I can never tell her about any of my other maladies? Which friend pretends to my face that she’s queen of the world, but then I hear stories that she has personal problems she's unwilling to share with me? Which friend is it that I have learned I can make jokes about my therapy with? Now, toss all those little complications in a bowl, mix with a raspberry vinaigrette, and you have the salad that is my personal life in Florida.

I have many wonderful, spectacular friends with whom I am completely myself and I never have to lie to or hide things from, but none of them are in Florida. What’s a girl to do with a gaggle of half-friends and no real friends? Lie. Lie by omission only because I do have some moral standards, but, in essence, I lie.

You know what? I’m not a good liar. I know every time I open my mouth that it’s just a matter of time before I reveal that I have fibromyalgia to the woman who believes every ailment is “fake”(her word). I’ll accidentally reveal how little I trust the woman who pretends to be such a great friend but doesn’t confide in me that she’s having troubles. I worry most that I’ll accidentally tell one of the campus gossips a personal detail about my life and that it will spread like wildfire around campus, hurting Matthew’s reputation as well.

And I worry that I don’t have any real friends in Florida.

I know, real friends take time. I didn’t get Monyas and Boyds in my life overnight—they took time. But when you’re new to town and you’re missing the Boyds and Monyas, the comfort of real friendship sounds awfully reassuring. I should be grateful for the acquaintances I’ve made and not force any of the fakers to be anything they’re not capable of being. Mostly, I’m grateful that I still have the Monyas and the Boyds there to reassure me when I need some long-distance lovin.’

It read like a bitch-fest, but this is a love letter to all my adored friends out there in the world. You know who you are, and you know I love you.

Sunshine State True Friend,
Christine Wy

Upgrade / Downgrade?

Dispatch from the broken leg update: I started physical therapy today. I felt so good before today, like I had really turned a corner in my healing, and I was on my way to walking like a healthy two-legged person. No, I’m not as close as I thought.

I learned today that the boot has been doing all the muscle and tendon work for me, so my tendons and muscles are really painful and tight. I got upgraded today to a splint instead of the boot, and, surprisingly, it hurts worse. I couldn’t wait for the splint, but now my muscles and tendons are learning to work on their own again, and it’s quite painful. I’m now walking slower today than I was yesterday with the boot.

All complications aside, it does feel great to be out of the boot, and my ankle does feel happy (if not sore) to be moving again. I’ll be doing physical therapy for another four weeks, but my total healing time will be another 20 weeks. My physical therapist said that recovery time is generally two times the length of time I was in the boot. I had the boot for ten weeks, thus 20 weeks from now I can expect to be pretty much healed.

Somehow, it seems my healing time keeps getting pushed further and further away. Not that everyone hasn’t been honest with me about healing, but as I get further into healing, the end seems farther away.

I’m walking. I’m walking slowly, but I’m walking. One foot pushed in front of the other, here I go….

Cat poop, eternal doggie delight

My nasty dog. She *tries* to gross me out, I swear.

Because of my broken leg, we've had the cat's bedroom necessities set up pretty oddly. Instead of the baby gate blocking total canine entrance into Loki's room, we moved the litter box and food bowls into the closet and sort of wedged the baby gate across it.

Yesterday, the dog breached security.

I feared that this moment would come, that the dog would realize she's much stronger than the temporary closet situation we had erected, but for the past three months she was oblivious to this. Until yesterday.

I heard the dog snuffling around in Loki's bedroom, and I knew with certainty that something bad was about to happen. (I think I'm going to vomit just writing about this.) I had to go to the bathroom though, so I left the vortex of doggie mischief unattended. Fromt he bathroom I heard the unmistakable sounds of the dog chewing. She broke down the baby gate and munched away on cat litter.

(Yep, I'm probably going to vomit now.)

As soon as I could, I jumped up screaming at the dog. She knows it's wrong to eat cat poop, so she was out of there like a flash, but the damage was done. Her breath reeked of litter box. Shudder.

Unfortunately, Matthew was at home so I couldn't get away with Scoping her mouth and feeding her cough drops to disapate the germs and neutralize her mouth odor. He did suggest using our last charcoal bone (usually reserved for doggie gut cleansing), which wasn't a bad idea, but I couldn't help but hold her at bay for the rest of the night.

Poor babe, she was confused that suddenly mommy didn't want her face licked, but I just couldn't stand it. All I could think of was the amonia smell of her breath after her poop rampage.

I let her get up on the couch next to me instead of on my lap. What did she do? She stretched her neck and let out a great cat butt belch. God she's gross.

I know you can't carry me now

There are the times that I want to talk to you, and then there are the times when it’s OK to call. Like now. I need you. Just something simple, something stupid, to ask you about a book. But it’s 1 am and you’re asleep.

I want to reach you on shared ground, but we can’t seem to get that footing lately. We both slip and end up somewhere else. Do you feel it? Or is it just me?

We share a piece of soul, but what I wanted from you this Christmas was peace of mind. I didn’t get that. Sometimes you give it and sometimes you give intellectually to my emotional needs. Like ice water through a sieve, you chill me and there’s nothing to hold onto. You give me no purchase.

But not all the time. It’s not always like this. I want to rewind and start over. I want to draw a line in time and say, “That happened in the past, and in the future we’ll grow like this….”

Is that a phone call I can make? Can I create that barrier on my own and carry you over, or do we both need to use our legs? Make the bridge that piece of our shared soul. Walk with me.

Time won't let me

I had no idea I'd been away from the blog for so long. I've had some strife. Nothing earth-movingly dramatic, but little things.

I went back to work full time after all those weeks of bed rest and then part time in-office hours. It was stressful and hard to get the swing of. I really felt kind of wracked by it. It sounds so simple, but going to work was so taxing.

Next I went to Kentucky for a week, which was simultaneously stressful and relaxing. Half of the people were just pleased to get to spend time with me, and the other half just couldn't be pleased by me at all. There were people I ended up craving to be away from, and people I craved to be with to get away from the former. How sad.

Now I'm sick. My first two days back to work after the holiday, and I already used two sick days. Great way to start the semester. It's a sinus infection, and it's not going out quietly. No, it's lingering and kicking up a ruckus, but I'm on antibiotics and improving slowly.

I have things to write, and one on the burner that's been cookin for a while, so I'll get back to the blog. I regret I've been away so much since I broke my leg, but, I know you understand, dearest friends.

Oh, the shining news of the New Year is that my leg is much better and I'm improving all the time. I walk around the house in just regular shoes, and when I go out I wear my walking cast but don't use the crutches. It's a real relief to finally see the light at the end of this painful tunnel. It still hurts and there's lots of ways I can't move my foot, but I'm vastly better over the beginning of the saga. Think back to this:



Now flash forward to a Christine only occasionally whining instead of constant whimpering. Ask Matthew how much better it is.

Much love to you, internets. Thanks for the sympathy and understanding.

Love.