Netflix Doc Reviews 4: The Fundamentals of Caring, Prescription Thugs, Being Ginger, Meet the Patels, Full Metal Jacket, Where was God?

1. The Fundamentals of Caring

Okay, it was a film, not a doc. A Netflix original film, to be exact. But I wanted to share it because it featured a main character who was a jerk asshole teenage boy confined to a wheelchair. His new caregiver had to have a very intimate care-giving relationship with him. It was extremely well written, lighthearted, and thought-provoking. Everyone should watch it! 10/10


2. Prescription Thugs

Umm, we have a different war than terror to fight in this country, and it's against opioids and amphetamines. Holy crap. I can't believe the creator of this film was allowed to exploit the pharmaceutical companies so freely. Bravo Netflix. I learned a lot. I also have more compassion now for people who rely on pills for pain or whatever. Former drug dealer Chris Bell is ballsy and he keeps it real. 8/10


3. Being Ginger

Did I review this one before? I watched it back in January. Anyways, I guess there is racism against redheads in some parts of the world. It's acceptable racism, which is strange, as I've never thought of red hair as a thing that constituted much of a difference between another person and myself. I mean people die their hair purple and pink now. Are strawberry blonde highlights really a thing to fear? Apparently so. Strange film, although there is a cute love story tied in, as the redheaded director tries to find a girl who will go out with him. He is cute, but struggles immensely.  6/10


4. Meet the Patels

I watched this when I was going through my internet dating phase and meeting Indian men over a year ago. I became intrigued with their culture. The producer of Meet the Patels, an only child in an Indian family of 3, films his parents as they discuss their views of marriage and life. They are a very cute family, worthy of having a reality show. I'd like to see more footage of this family if Netflix has more in the future. The Indian dad was especially funny, and I actually felt when the documentary ended, that I'd lost a friend without being able to properly say good-bye. I must have this Indian dad in my life, at least cybernetically. 9/10



5. Full Metal Jacket

Again, not a doc, but someone suggested I watch it, and let me tell you. The first 20 minutes terrorized me. I felt like I'd been to boot camp and war thrice over by the end of the film. It was an extremely disturbing psychological story of what a soldier goes through.  10/10



6.  Where was God? Stories of Hope After the Storm

This was rather depressing, so I'd suggest watching this alone if you don't like getting emotional around others. It starts out kind of sad but then there are moments later on that pull your heart apart. It's about families torn apart by the Oklahoma tornado of 2013, which collapsed an entire school house. Anyways, it's not too graphic, and there are moments of the film showing how the tragedy brought a community closer together. 7/10

Netflix Documentary Reviews 3: Holy Ghost, Dope, Furious Love, Fuller House: Season 1, Bob Ross: Season 1, My Beautiful Broken Brain, The Genius of Marian, Finding Vivian Maier, Janis: Little Girl Blue

1. Holy Ghost

This documentary followed a former member of heavy metal band Korn in his spiritual walk today. Mostly, he tells people about Jesus and tries to pray for them. There were a couple of other dudes praying and healing people, too. It really fascinated me, but then I read one distinct negative review on Netflix (even though the documentary had an overall 5/5 star rating), and it made me question everything I just saw. I've posted the negative review below, and you can watch the film and decide for yourself. 8/10

2. Dope

A fun ghetto film. Not a documentary, but I needed to include it. It's about a modern day black nerd, who dresses like Fresh Prince, but lives in the ghetto. Imagine Will Smith, as a smart and responsible teenager, growing up in the projects of West Phili. The film was well-directed and scored, and fairly well written. I just liked the concept for the character most of all. Though rated R, it seemed appropriate for the whole family.  7/10


3. Furious Love

This was kind of similar to Holy Ghost, but not quite as captivating, so I'll give it a 6/10.


4. Fuller House: Season 1

Also not a documentary. But so epic I must review! Lots of laugh-on-the-inside moments. Give it a few episodes, and you'll be hooked for the season. I was surprised to see how well the roles of DJ and Stephanie Tanner were played. Nothing was awkward. Not even the fake audience laughter following Kimmy's dumb attempts at attention, though she seems to have given up her crush on Uncle Jesse. She has a child, and is recovering from years of drinking and drugging, so she's grown up a bit, too. Rebecca and Jesse share some very wet kisses (that was as close to awkward as it got), and of course, Jesse plays his "Forever" song (yeah, that was pretty awkward) toward the end of the season. They really hashed out a lot of old memories though, yet not many visual flashbacks. Maybe they weren't allowed to use old footage for copyright issues. "Michele" did not re-join the cast, and other characters make comments about her disappearance, in one instance saying she can't join them because she is too busy "running her fashion empire." 9/10


5. Bob Ross: Beauty is Everywhere, Season 1

Wow this was a trip. Back in time, and out into nature. His paintings really come to life in front of your eyes in like 20 minutes. It's so amazing. Now kids can pause and play to prepare their palettes and practice their brush strokes. If they're painting for real and not using computer painting software. Ross often takes a moment talk about nature and animals. On the first episode, he shows baby squirrels suckling from a bottle, that he prepared for them after they lost their mother! It was nuts! I wish I could own one of his paintings, really. That would go on the bucket list for sure. 10/10

6. My Beautiful, Broken Brain

This was a legit documentary. This girl had a stroke and lost the ability to do certain things. She had to learn how to do basic things all over again. It was scary (she was only 34!) and touching. 9/10

7. The Genius of  Marian

A son films his mother after she is diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I felt the film was too slow paced and boring, and it was poorly edited, and also a little invasive and exploitative. But anyways. It's there on Netflix. Maybe it could help somebody who is struggling with losing someone they love to this disease.  6/10

8. Finding Vivian Maier

This nanny whom everyone knew as always walking around with a big camera around her neck, finally got exposed, long after her death. Her pictures are so amazing, I must give this film a 10/10.

9. Janis: Little Girl Blue

Such a sad story of Janis Joplin, but this film brings her back to life, and humanizes her in a way no other media has. Great footage, and some very intimate interview segments with Janis and those closest to her. This is a story worth watching. 8/10

The world is going to end

I'm not a big Joyce Meyers fan but I went through a season in my life where I watched her shows all the time, and I remember one thing she said that stuck in my head. She said there are people who claim you can't believe in something you can't see. But we believe in gravity, and black holes, and fortune-telling the weather, because we see the evidence of their existence.

The world is so screwed up! Up is down and left is right and good is bad and bad is AWESOME!

I was at a music festival about 10 years ago and there was a table set up in the tent where people buy bongs and stuff and these dudes at one table were offering people 50 bucks to get a chip inserted into their finger. They were testing out tracking software in humans!! It scared me but other people were in line to get their fifty bucks.

The government is trying to inject us and infiltrate our minds with all kinds of crap. People at this festival were too messed up to even probably remember having the chip implanted in them.

So sad. I realize there are wild conspiracy theories out there. But the bible's predictions of the final days are happening right now. People are deceived. And those people may think I'm deceived. In fact, I hope they're right, and I get to live a nice long happy life, but in case that doesn't happen, I want to know I shared what was on my heart with people while there was still time.

I'm scared. I don't think it matters who the next president is. Nobody's gonna fix this country or this God-forsaken world. We are doomed.

I'm part of the mess too. I buy clothes made by Asian slave children. I buy gas at Mobil sometimes, who is a sponsor of Planned Parenthood. I waste gas letting my car run for an hour some mornings when it's really cold, or just driving around for no reason, when people's heads have been chopped off for the sake of oil.

I spend money at McDonald's and put sheer crap in my body. Crap made by the young teenagers who work these jobs to buy themselves clothes and gasoline. Indentured servants worked for 7 years to own land. I worked hard in college for 6 years to rack up an $80,000 debt that with interest is over $100,000.

I make barely $40,000/year, and a third of that goes to taxes, health insurance, union dues, and a couple other things. That leaves 28. Subtract 6 for rent and 6 for food/gas. That leaves me about $16,000 to try to save toward a $100,000 house and an $80,000 student loan. But then even that 16 disappears. I don't know where it goes really. Let me think.

tithe/charity                                  $5000 
gifts for people                             $2000
impulsive clothes shopping          $1000
meds/vitamins/herbs                     $1000
car insurance                                 $600
phone                                             $600
netflix                                            $100

Okay, so I guess I could be saving about $5,000 or so each year. Then I could maybe put a down payment on a house in 10 years, when I'm 45 and too old for any man to love me.

But maybe if I have a nice house he will.

I watched a documentary called Freedom to Fascism recently. It made me realize I was a deceived slave, tricked into thinking I'm free. But I'm not. I may as well go live in North Korea.

I went through the drive through again yesterday and bought another sundae with extra hot fudge. It was late and dark and I should have gone to bed instead. What a loser I am. I just wanted it so bad I couldn't think straight. I ended up making an obnoxious effort to get it. In my mouth. Now.

I digress. I haven't had another grand mal seizure since September. The seizure medication seems to be helping. Go figure. I was wrong about healing myself through nutrition and wishful thinking. I have this strange feeling like everything might start coming together soon. Maybe it's a 7 year cycle thing though. I'll turn 35 this August.

My seizure medication was expensive when I started taking it - $144/month through Rite Aid. And that was the generic! Then I switched to Walmart and it was $75/month. Then I made some phone calls to my HR department and found out I was mistakenly never mailed my prescription coverage insurance card, good for CVS pharmacies only. Now I use CVS mail-order scripts and pay $15 every three months and the seizure meds are shipped to me.

I'm considered an epileptic now. I was approved for free rides in a handicap van. Sunlight makes me dizzy so I'll have to start using that as the days get longer and brighter.  I was told I wouldn't have to pay a fee. My blind friend Josh uses the same handicap van but it's not free for him. He has to pay $4 per stop.

Yes, the world is going to end.

I hate the word epilepsy. Instead of studying this unique gift I have to travel in and out of consciousness, they call it a disease and make me pay for medication to make it go away.

My pastor here in RI cites research studies in his sermons sometimes that support what the bible teaches about how to live our lives and treat people. At my first AA meeting I was told that in order to overcome addiction, I had to believe in God.

And it's in the big blue book an old man gave me at my first meeting, when I was 7 days sober from alcohol, probably for only the second time in my entire adult life. A lady sitting next to me pulled a gold coin out of her pocket, and slipped it into my hand. The coin said 24-hours-sober. When it was my turn to share, I was really honest with the group. I told them I wasn't really an alcoholic, but was there to watch and learn.

Which I was and did.

I never even decided to quit drinking. I just decided I might not want it anymore, when I woke up from a grand mal seizure last September. And I still haven't gotten a craving.

I've gotten bored though, and that's dangerous. Blogging, sleeping, and cleaning incessantly have ironically kept me pretty sane. Having a full-time job helps, and part-time friends, and lots of alone time with Netflix and something I'll call Lilo. I'm not always looking happy. But I still have joy inside somehow.  I'm more content on a bad day single than I ever was on a good day with my ex.

I had to be alone with myself. I had to get to know me. Focus on my own flaws. Learn to be gentle on myself. Learn to love myself and treat my self with kindness. I think that's how I justify eating McDonald's sundaes sometimes. 

My RI pastor cited a research study that showed married couples who waited for marriage before having sex reported being happier overall after 20 years and again after 40 years of marriage, compared to couples who didn't wait for sex. The ones who waited also had a lower divorce rate.

I haven't seen or dated anyone seriously in the past 5 years. It will be 5 years this April since I left my past life. And since then the remembrances I tried to cling onto. All gone now. I feel like I can breathe again.

The guys I met on a dating website last Spring were all losers. Except one guy named Steve. He is the one who encouraged me to go to AA meetings when I decided to give up drinking. He must have known how hard it would be, even for the occasional social drinker.

My landlord was the biggest loser of all. He finally installed a CO detector 2 weeks ago, though I started mentioning it almost a year ago. The old one kept beeping. I'm limited to a small space heater and a gas kitchen stove and the entire shared third floor wreaks of propane. I try to open windows sometimes but he checks on the house, since he pays the electric bill.  He even walks into my room some days, maybe to check on his hidden cameras, I don't know. I'm creeped out though. I told him I'd be out by the end of June.

Whatev. I needed a cheap place to move into fast last spring and he offered to help. Beggars can't be choosers.

My 96 year old grandmother is still living with my parents temporarily while her frozen pipes problem is being fixed. They had to take out her entire dining room ceiling. I hope the carpenters moved all her nice rugs out of the construction zone and kept dust out of the other rooms by hanging up plastic over the doorways. I hope they aren't getting her nice hardwood floors all scraped up with salt that sticks to the bottom of work boots in winter.

Grandma speaks highly of those handymen however. Grandma. She will probably outlive us all.

Netflix Documentary Reviews 2: On the Way to School, Dear Zachary, The Propaganda Game, The Tiger and the Munk, Jesus Camp, Kevin Hart Stand-up, How to Die in Oregon

1. On the Way to School

Kids from far-off countries walk 10-20 miles to school. They avoid elephants and tigers. A brave video camera man visits and follows along. Epic. 10/10


2. Dear Zachary

A guy started making a documentary for his murdered friend's son. The documentary ended up becoming a mission to change the Canadian legal system which had a law that allowed convicted murderers to post bail and live freely until their court date, whilst postponing that court date several times. 6/10


3. The Propaganda Game

North Korea is a wonderful place to live, according the people interviewed in this film.  They believe the government takes good care of them, despite lacking some Western endorsed common amenities.

They've been brainwashed. As we all have, to some degree, with government-pushed propaganda. But North Korea's government takes it a step further.

They call themselves a democracy. Yet their past 3 leaders have a direct paternal lineage, more like a monarchy. Kind of like the Bushes maybe, if the Bushes were as smart as the Kims.

The biggest difference I saw between North Koreans and Americans in this film, was people's attitude toward government. In the U.S. we are very split. We're becoming the dis-United States.

But the dedication represented in this film of North Koreans to their leader was analogous. Children are taught in school from an early age to salute and chant about the greatness of their present and past leaders everyday.

Sidenote: First came Kim Il-sung (placed in charge by the Soviet Union after WWII) and then Kim Jong-il (sung's son), and now Kim Jong-un (sung's grandson). Kind of gives you a double chin to say Jong over and over again. Maybe if those people talked differently they wouldn't have such long faces.

North Koreans are shown throughout the documentary screaming and crying when in the presence of their leader. It reminded me of how girls screamed and cried when they saw the Beatles.

I'm reluctant to elaborate any further on my opinions of North Korea. 10/10


4. The Tiger and the Monk

I got bored of this after 11 minutes. It was disappointing to me that I couldn't stick it out because it was only 50 minutes long. It was about monks and their pet tigers. 3/10


5. Jesus Camp

Religious extremists in this documentary make Christianity look nuts. It disturbed me almost as much as "The True Cost."

I felt bad for the children of these extreme evangelicals. This is not Christianity folks. This is just... wrong. True Christianity and a true understanding of Christianity comes from a church with a prepared pastor. Of all the churches I've been to in RI (probably 20), only one church had a prepared pastor who wasn't afraid to speak the truth. The pastor streams his sermons live and you can check out what real Christianity is all about here: graceCfellowship.org

But extreme evangelicals are different. In "Jesus Camp," children appeared to be demon possessed in some footage. It gave me chills to watch as adults subtly encouraged and praised children for shaking and crying in church.

My understanding of Christianity is that the bible is the inspired, written word of God. It tells the ultimate love story, one of the shared love between a parent and his child, and what extreme natures that kind of love will drive a loving soul to do.

In the end love is all that matters anyways. And God is love. He's not what the extremists in this film worship.

This movie was a disgrace to Christianity. 5/10


6. Kevin Hart Stand-up 1, 2 and 3

This wasn't really a documentary. I only watched the first one, most of it at least, entitled "I'm a Grown Little Man."

I stopped it about 46 minutes in when I realized I wasn't in the mood for comedy. But it was funny, the story of his run-in with an ostrich, and his impersonation of said bird. He really is hilarious.

He also had a good joke about his daughter yelling at him before she had developed a vocabulary. He interprets what she's saying through her toddler talk and body language. That shit is pure funny yo.

Seriously though, it's January and life completely sucks. The only reason I searched Kevin Hart on Netflix (and none of his movies were available to stream) is because one of my middle school special ed students wrote an essay about wanting to spend a day with him. He wrote about funny scenes in his favorite Kevin Hart movies. I thought I'd check me out some Kevin Hart this weekend. And I'm glad I did. 7/10


7. How to Die in Oregon

I was bawling in the first 5 minutes as they showed a home movie of a family sitting with their loved father/grandfather as he drank the "medicine" that would end his pain and suffering. He said good-bye. He wore a diaper and a button-down shirt. After he drank the "medicine" he said it tasted like wood. He laid down and sang a song and closed his eyes. Then the singing stopped, and his mouth opened wide. He let out an inaudible sigh.

The rest of it I didn't really pay attention to. It started to get political. So I ate a sandwich and called an Indian guy I dated. He didn't answer.  9/10

Netflix Documentary Reviews 1: The Drop Box, Love Me, The Dark Matter of Love, The True Cost, Craigslist Joe

The Drop Box

The Drop Box is about a man in Seoul, South Korea who lets people drop off unwanted babies in a drop box he has attached to his house. He said God asked him to do it, after for several years, hundreds of babies were being abandoned on the streets of Seoul due to social circumstances that ultimately outcast women who had a baby out of wedlock.

The social system is the problem. People don't value life over traditional values. In one scene it showed Korean news footage of babies being found in sewage pipes and garbage bins still crying, while others were left on streets and sidewalks to be walked and driven over. Many of these babies had their umbilical cords still attached.

Pastor Jong-rak Lee and his wife have taken in many babies over the years, some of which are severely disabled. The film teaches a lesson on humanity. 10 out of 10.


Love Me

Some ugly overweight loners try to buy themselves a wife from an online Ukrainian dating website. It was fascinating and horrifying at the same time. 9 out of 10.


The Dark Matter of Love

Despite its creepy title, and equally creepy adoptive father's attempts at creating premature bonds with 3 adopted Russian children, this film was somewhat touching.

It was about a married couple who had one biological child but were not able to have any more. When their one daughter was almost full grown, they adopted 3 Russian orphans: two young twin boys and a preteen girl.

It was painful to watch the dad try to interact with the adoptees. He made them change their names against their will. It was awkward because one of the twin boys' names was changed to an American name that in Russian sounded like a bad word. But he had to take that new name. I almost turned the documentary off at that point.

The mom looked like she was doped up on painkillers and muscle relaxers for most of the film. She just floated around the house, often hiding in bed during filming, as the dad did all the work.

When she finally had to get out of the house one evening to go watch her adopted daughter perform a song at school, she completely ignored the girl afterwards and talked to other parents and teachers at the school instead. The adopted girl nearly cried for the first time in the whole movie. But even then, the adopted girl said to the film's producer, "I will never cry."

I wanted to punch my computer screen out at that point.

But I stuck it out. Maybe the editors of the film just sucked and intentionally wanted to create awkward tension for the viewer. I wished it had been filmed differently, though. I think the parents deep down were good people who wanted to share all their wealth with less privileged children. And they did.

By the end of the doc, the kids did seem happier and well-adjusted. The adoptive parents were clearly loaded, but the film never explained how they had so much money. Maybe they won a big Powerball lottery. Neither parent worked. The dad would ride a tractor lawn mower around hundreds of acres of land that wasn't farmed, but served as what these Russian kids came to know as an American backyard. They'll probably be spoiled, rotten jerks a few years from now. Never knowing what love really is. At least not from this cardboard family.

The end. 4 out of 10.


The True Cost

I had this idea in my head a couple years ago that the true cost of putting gasoline in my car might be the blood of children. Oil wars. Bloodshed. Cheap gasoline for me.

Oil is the leading bloodshed cost industry, but tonight I learned that the second highest human blood cost industry is the textile industry. Cotton. Clothing. Fashion.

When we go shopping, if we're not buying something made in America, it's likely being hand-sewn by a third world slave. This documentary changed me. I kind of wish I hadn't watched it. I feel socially responsible for my consumer decisions now.

The True Cost will open your eyes to the foolishness of the fashion industry. A handful of fashion world industry gurus are getting rich at the cost of keeping slavery very alive and well in third world nations.

One woman at a clothing factory in Cambodia said she started a union with the other workers, and together they peacefully drew up and presented a list of factory conditions they wanted to see upheld, along with an increase in pay from $120 U.S./year to $160 U.S./year.

These women had given up their children and were sleeping on wooden floors and breathing in harmful chemicals at work everyday. But the factory owners went into a little room to discuss what to do with the new worker demands. When they came out of the little room, they allegedly beat up all the women. They stabbed sewing needles through their bodies and bit them, too. It was horrible to read the sub-captions as this woman tearfully recalled that day she tried to enact change.

I recommend you don't watch this if you're not ready to drastically change your shopping habits either. Some of the top companies who outsource slave labor include H&M, Walmart, and Levi's.

I don't even like fashion that much but I cried myself to sleep as the film ended with footage taken from clothing store cameras on Black Friday here in our "free" country. Freedom comes at a cost. I'll have nightmares for life from having seen this.  5/10.


Craigslist Joe

An average guy, Joe decides to videotape his road trip around the country with no money. He only has his phone and a computer, whereby he meets strangers on Craigslist. At one point during his travels, Joe actually meets the founder of Craigslist. The film explores the generosity of strangers who comprise the Craigslist community, particularly those who feed and house Joe and his cameraman during their 31 day adventure.

My favorite part was when Joe meets a lady on Craigslist who had a small part in the movie Home Alone 2. Her name is Fran McGee, and she somewhat regrets what her life has become after her dream of becoming a famous movie star died. She is older now, and battles cancer now, using healthy food instead of surgery. She is also a hoarder but says her ability to see her hoarding behavior as insane makes her sane. "You have to be sane to see something you're doing as insane," she says. She has a great smile, too. A fresh spirit. A bared soul. She made me believe in the goodness of humankind for a minute.

I'd give this film a 10/10. I almost gave it an 11, but I want to be a serious critic here. But I loved this documentary, co-produced by Zach Galifianakis who I also love, and I love the friends of mine who recommended it. Thank you.

A boring update on my health and non-existent love life

I took a two-week medical leave from work to go spend time with family while I starting a seizure medication called Keppra. It makes me feel tired and dizzy, in a cool spaced-out feeling sort of way.

I'm also having thyroid problems again. My thyroid levels were way off when I did my quarterly blood-work last month. I've taken natural desiccated thyroid hormones preserved from the thyroid glands of pigs for the past two years and was doing just fine up until now. I think the seizure and/or seizure meds have interacted with my thyroid function.

I'm having restless nights of sleep, extreme fatigue, and hair loss (though not as much as when I was anemic a couple summers ago after giving up beef).

My doctor was concerned about my lab results and felt around for a lump on my thyroid, didn't say anything, and ordered a thyroid ultrasound, which I'm having done next week. I'm guessing I might have a small goiter, since thyroid goiters run in my family, on my mother's side. It would be a harmless procedure to have it removed. I've been feeling my neck a lot lately, but it's so bumpy in general I can't tell what to feel for. But that was the least of my worries.

Right after my seizure happened in September, a coworker told me that medical leave would be covered by my employer. Long story short, I was misinformed. Last Friday morning I screamed like Homer Simpson when I checked my online bank account and saw that my directly deposited paycheck was missing a digit. And my next paycheck will be missing a digit as well.

And the kicker. I have to take Keppra - this synthetic mind-altering prescription drug that micromanages the electricity in my brain.

Why did things have to start going wrong? I was feeling so good and rejuvenated by the end of summer. I quit drinking in September. I got back into yoga in October. I was taking walks and jogs, getting along with my students, reconnecting with old friends. But I couldn't keep the ball rolling.

I dropped out of the college program I needed to keep one of my two teaching certifications active. My second teacher certification will expire in August. I'm 34 and have no idea what I'm going to do after this year. I could renew my second teacher certification and keep looking for an English teaching job, though there are more TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) jobs than plain old English teaching jobs these days.

I've thought of relocating back to Manhattan and working in a publishing house, or becoming a yoga-certified instructor, since I have the nearly 200 hours of documented practice required. Maybe I'll meet a rich man who chooses me over the supermodels and wealthy business women he could otherwise be dating. Maybe I'll release my music album and the video that was made to Farmer John and people will like it.

I don't like this new medication Keppra. It's a huge horse-pill for one. I had to have a long hard talk with myself about taking it. One of the side effects is weight gain. Another is fatigue. And the list goes on. It's expensive, too. And my insurance doesn't cover prescriptions. I reflected on the Erin who once believed there was a natural cure for everything. 

I even tracked down a holistic doctor who practices German New Medicine and believes that early childhood psychological conflicts trigger seizure disorders (amongst some other diseases). She told me a seizure disorder is triggered by seeing a lost limb. Incidentally, my dad had his first seizure the day after witnessing his brother lose a finger to a chainsaw.

But at the end of this talk with myself, I concluded that I needed to take whatever means necessary to eliminate the chance of ever having another gran mal seizure at work, where I could possibly soil my pants while convulsing and foaming at the mouth in front of coworkers.

I don't recall ever seeing someone lose a limb, but maybe after my dad suffered that psychological trauma, it left a marker in his DNA, and was passed onto me. I'm just guessing though. I don't know really why this is happening to my body.

I don't mind having thyroid problems. I've come to terms, throughout my own research on my health, that my thyroid may need to be removed one of these days. It's completely inactive in my body. I tried going off thyroid medication 2 years ago and within 6 weeks nearly lost the ability to speak.

In the olden days, when people's thyroids didn't work, it was called Myxedema, and it was characterized by the inability to pronounce words, along with fatigue and hair loss and feeling cold all the time and mental fogginess. In those days, my disorder would have gone untreated and I would have been labeled "dumb".

But thyroid medication takes care of that for people these days. I've come to appreciate my WP Thyroid, which is more natural than the synthetic thyroid hormones I took in my late 20's, which were horrible. I was tired all the time and cold and confused. The WP Thyroid, though also a prescription drug, is actually the natural preserves of pig thyroid hormones. Pig thyroid hormones are nearly identical to human thyroid hormones.

Thyroid problems I can handle. I'm sure I'll sort out this little bump in the "throad" soon.

Brain problems are scarier though. My memory is a mess. It's become embarrassing. I tell people I'm bad with names, and I lie about remembering things I should remember, but don't.The other day I couldn't remember the word "idiom," even though I taught a short unit on idioms to my period 5 class last month.

I had a few fainting spells in my teen years but nothing of concern to my parents or I. Nothing I even visited a doctor or hospital for growing up. My first fainting spell happened in church while singing a song in front of the congregation. Kind of like when you go to a recital, and you see a couple kids drop like flies. Maybe from too much oxygen or something. This was what happened to me I think.

It didn't scare me back then. I kind of liked fainting. A total mental trip would occur in the seconds leading up to my collapse, and when I'd awoken from what felt like an eternity-long slumber, I was briefly born again into a world where, for a few seconds, I didn't know my name or whereabouts. Who are these people around me? Am I naked?

And one time I was, because I fainted in the shower, and my parents busted into the bathroom, my 16-year-old self never quite felt the same way around them after that day. But my mother kindly lies and says they didn't look behind the curtain.

Another backup plan I read about was a special high fat, low-carb diet that seems to cure seizure disorders for some people. But I'd have to be on the diet forever. Eliminating carbs would be difficult for me, especially now that I've given up on caring about what I look like naked. I'd rather undergo some hypnotherapy with the holistic doctor to revisit traumatic childhood memories I've possibly suppressed, of arms and legs falling off people.

My two-week medical leave was well spent though. I split my time equally between my sister and parents' houses. I rested and watched How I Met Your Mother on Netflix at my sister's house for the first week, and played with my parents' two new puppies at their home for the second week. I watched TV with my 95 year old grandmother, too, since she fell and hurt her hip, and has since moved in with my parents.

"We're all falling apart. You know everyone has to die someday."

These were her words of encouragement to me.

The week spent with my sister was great. She lives out in the woods in the middle of nowhere, atop a hill that overlooks waterfalls. White bunnies live across the street in a wild patch of land. She throws carrots into that overgrown field sometimes, feeling responsible for their lives in some small way. She owns a pit-bull mix of some sort, who is friends with the bunnies. They even sometimes play together.

Her dog's name is Zoey and Zoey doesn't seem to understand that she's supposed to be a protective watch dog for Bethany. She should be baring her teeth, letting saliva gather grossly around her jowls, and growling at creepy bearded mountain men who pass by.

Zoey is too kind. She might not even realize she is a dog. She was left alone tied up in the woods somewhere for a lengthy period of her puppy-hood before a stranger found her and brought her into a shelter. Bethany assumed a pit bull would be as effective as a home security system, and cheaper to boot, so she adopted her.

Bethany has a theory that Zoey was exposed to, and possibly raised by, deer and squirrels during her abandonment in the woods as a puppy. She pointed out how Zoey walks high on her toes as if they were hooves. When she prances about the hardwood floors she sounds like a woman in high heels scrambling around before work. The click-clacks resonate throughout the house.

“Either go lay down or go bark at somebody! Be a dog! Stop walking around! What are you doing with your life!?” Bethany yells.

When Zoey sleeps, she stretches out her limbs and crosses each set of ankles, looking very graceful, like a deer.

While on her runner, Zoey frolics and leaps over imaginary obstacles. She's kind to the wildlife. Squirrels eat their nuts beside her. Birds peruse the backyard foliage right alongside Zoey. And the bunnies hop on over sometimes to poop in Bethany's yard. Zoey eats up the poop pellets. 

"Stop eating shit you little bitch!"

She takes out her aggression safely. My sister that is. Zoey has no aggression.

Bethany lets me indulge in the solitude of her home while I'm her couch-ridden guest. I feel like I'm in a late 19^th century cure cottage. Bethany's town population is mostly made up of summer residents who own camps and trailers. The only sounds I hear are the low moans of the winter wind outside, and the wood-stove crackling, and Zoey's click clacks, and occasionally Bethany yelling at the dog or at some inanimate object in the house that isn't doing what it's supposed to.

While I'm her guest, she keeps the wood-stove burning, and sometimes I get so warm I sweat profusely. I tell myself it's good to sweat out toxins, since I can't exercise.

Bethany dims the lights each evening, and plays the bongos, sometimes chanting a conglomeration of intonations laced with unpredictably placed syllabic accents. It sounds soothing, and mysterious, like a Native American prayer. A speaking in tongues. A song with no words, and yet with so many.

She cooks me eggs and toast each morning, and pleads with me to take a walk with her each day. On the 3rd and final day of my lodging, she encourages me to join her on a jog. I try, but the muscles around my joints are too weak, and my knees feel stiff. I stop after about a half mile, pain shooting up my right knee. She finishes her spirited run and meets me on the way back. We walk up the huge hill to her house together and say good-bye to one another.

She won't hug me because she says it seems weird to hug. I say fine, see you in a couple weeks, and I leave.

“Text me when you get back home! Drive safe! I love you! You're the best sister anyone could have!!”

Something like that, and we have a bittersweet parting that only sisters growing old together can understand.

I'll see her again at Christmas, I remind myself. It's sad to leave. I remember when we watched season 4, episode 6 of How I Met Your Mother just a few days earlier, and how we gave each other a knowing look when in the final moments of the show, Ted Mosby tells his children, "Kids you may think your only choices are to swallow your anger or throw it in someone's face, but there's a third option. You can just let it go, and only when you do that is it really gone, and you can move forward."

My sister and I are moving forward. She's caring for me, taking me under her wing like a mother hen. Our past fights, despite being very brutal, are farts in the wind.

Being home with family made me want to write. Maybe it was the boredom too. I can't really say exactly how. Inspiration doesn't always come when you call.

Letting go of anger. I don't really get angry. Though I pretend to be angry daily as a teacher. It's also therapeutic to yell sometimes. I've had more than a few screaming matches with unruly students and it's helped strengthen my diaphragm so I sing better. See God uses even my anger to improve my gift.

More often than feeling angry I just feel sad. I hold onto sadness I suppose because it's the only thing I can feel sometimes. 

I talked to one of my Indian guy friends who I dated for a couple months last year. (I refer to him as Bandi in a past blog). He was the only one of a dozen Indians I met that I still talk to. Bandi and I are strictly platonic. He calls a few times a week, just to talk, and I like that, and tonight on the phone he tells me his ex wants to get back together with him. 

"What did you tell her?!" I nervously ask.

He told her he didn't know. He doesn't know if he even wants to stay in Boston much longer. He's not happy. He doesn't know what he wants. He starts to pour his heart out to me.

"I can't imagine things ever going back to the way they were. I feel like something was broken inside me," he says.

I tell him I know that feeling.

I recite to him a quote about love I heard before:

“There's lots of love in this life, but never the same love twice.”

(Maybe he'll finally take the hint and fall in love with me.)

No he won't. We don't have much in common to start. But we found each other 8 months ago on a dating website when we each really needed a friend more than anything else. I visit him in Boston once or twice a month, just to chat and go to the grocery store and run errands together. Sometimes we eat out, other times he cooks for me. When I sleep over on a weekend, I make quiche in the morning. We have a nice little routine, and a friendship with boundaries. We sleep together in his bed, and just hold hands. Nothing more, nothing less. Like an old married couple. At least I like to pretend that's what it's like. It's also like having a gay friend. Except he's not gay. He's just not that into me.  But I might love him. So I let our friendship be. Just the way it is.

Now I sit here, finishing up my blog, and I've had two full weeks to contemplate the meaninglessness of my life. I've sat around and thought of the husband I'd never find and the kids I'd never have and the songs I'd never write and the retirement I'd never save.

Yet I'm not angry.

After binging on fast food and How I Met Your Mother for two weeks, I realize I'll probably never find love as long as I'm looking for it. May as well give up now. Throw in the workout towel and call it a day. Love will have to find me and accept me just the way I am. Even if I get fat. I'll have to believe there's some higher order working this all out. Some undiscovered law of the universe perhaps. A fine line between hopelessness and surrender that I haven't learned to walk.

Sugar

I got angry during yoga practice yesterday. I hadn't been in a while and everything hurt like hell. I silently cursed my body and instructor as I flowed through the workout, occasionally dropping from high plank to cobra and taking extended child's poses.

I'm hurting as I sit and type now.

But it's a good hurt. One that tells me I'm a good person and I did a good job. It gives me permission to be lazy. It forgives me for recent harms past.  This week, it was ordering McDonald's hot fudge sundaes. With extra hot fudge.

I am addicted to sugar. Alcohol used to give me that fix. I liked margaritas and cosmos and mojitos and blue hurricanes and tornadoes and torpedoes - anything bright-colored and/or topped with an umbrella. But hold the cherry. Those are unhealthy.

What a health-nut hypocrite I was. I will miss you, pineapple-raspberry-infused-vodkas at Mariner's Grill in Narragansett, and jalapeño margaritas at Tortilla Flats, and to-die-for-sangria at Circe on Weybosset.

I need sugar. It fills a void in my heart.

A few weeks before I gave up alcohol, I took up coffee.

It happened at an all-day teachers' professional development meeting the last week of August. I was staring at two big brown Dunkin Donuts Boxes O' Joe, repeatedly being poured away into my fellow co-workers' desperately draining cups and souls, and I thought, whatever this Joe has, I want it.

It was too much for my digestive system though. I underwent a cleansing I'd never experienced in 34 years, even in the deepest throws of my 30-day juice fast. A few days later, I tried coffee again at McDonald's, and it was much less intestinally invasive. I've been a drive-through fanatic every day for the past two months now. One large hot coffee 5 cream. No sugar.

My sugar cravings come at night, when there's nothing left in life to enjoy. I don't have a tv, can't watch Wheel of Fortune. I don't have a boyfriend to talk to or kids to cook for or a cat to pet.

I try to avoid eating for the first couple hours I get home from work. I turn on my electric fireplace. I light a candle and eat a sandwich. I pick up the clothes scattered about from this morning's attempt to get dressed. I crack my knuckles and stretch my back and socially network and browse Netflix.

But the tranquility of this rectangle room is insufficient. The fake flames and computer pixels only get me so close to happiness. Chocolate is calling. I imagine it melting in my mouth. This thought takes the cake. Once I've drooled over the notion of chocolate for even a moment, it's over. And I'm walking to Wholefoods around the corner, and raiding the chocolate section of the bakery.

I've been mostly eating chocolate covered pretzels, about a half pound per day. And when that's not enough, I've been visiting McDonald's (in the same plaza) for a hot fudge sundae. What a loser I am. I tell myself it's okay. I'm not dating anyone right now. No one has to look at or smell me. I can detox later. I'm not having kids. I don't even think I'll ever have sex again. Unless I meet Mr. Right, which I'm told will happen when I'm least expecting it.

I started season 1 of How I Met Your Mother recently, and when Bob Saget opens the narration of episode 15 with the story of how he met Victoria - the chick who baked cakes - he says he met her when he least expected it. He used that phrase. Least expected it. 

People have been telling me the same thing for about 8 months now. Ever since I started online dating. Friends, coworkers, family... "It'll happen when you least expect it." And recently, the pastor at my church started preaching a series on christian marriage and dating, and he used the phrase last Sunday.

So maybe I'm hearing this message for a reason. Maybe it really will happen. When I least expect it. When I've finally given up on love completely and I'm standing at the edge of this illusively hopeful bridge, overlooking a harsh sea of reality, and I assume my suicide jump, along he comes, in some sexy boat, and catches me.

But for now the only thing keeping me happy is sugar. Sugar and shopping. I have a spending problem too. But it's arguably cheaper than therapy. If I didn't have insurance that covered therapy. So maybe not so arguable. But I therapeutically splurged on a nice down comforter from Cosco last week. I had to do it. It might be the closest thing to a warm body I'll have in my bed for the next few years.