Broken
by Karla ° Thursday, April 30, 2009
If
{
1 annual dog exam +
14 doses of Otoclean ear cleaning solution for an ear infection +
1 bottle of ear drops for an infected dog ear +
6 month's worth of heartworm medication +
20 pills to tranquilize a 90lb dog that resists all medicine +
1 thermometer up the ass for good measure= $319.76.
}

AND
{
A drugged Samson can still kick my ass when I try and put medicine in his ear and I need to thank my lucky stars that I have no broken bones and all my teeth still intact and need to purchase 66 more tranquilizer tablets and pay the Vet another $41.06.
}

AND
{
Emergency visit to the Vet after discovering Samson painfully limping and unable to make it up and down stairs reveals my insane dog broke his toe and needs a giant bottle of pain killers and I need to dish out another $135.49.
}

And
{
When the grand total in two days = $500

}

Then
{
Samson = one lucky mofo of a dog that has not yet been sent to the glue factory in the sky.
}

END IF

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My Purse
by Karla ° Monday, April 27, 2009
I bought a cute new outfit yesterday and because I spent over $50, the store was giving away these cute little wallets. I thought, perfect! My wallet is more ancient than the dinosaurs and I could really use a new one.

Anyway, I got home and was about to make the whole switch from old to new and then after closer examination of this new wallet I just wanted to laugh because clearly, the wallet is not designed for a woman who freely admits to being a packrat and insists carrying everything with her at all times. This “free” wallet only holds six cards and has no zipper for change. Um? Hello! I live in Canada; a country where it is not unheard of to end up with $37 and 10lbs worth of coins.

And then I thought it might be a good exercise to critically analyze why the hell my wallet and purse are on the brink of exploding and then take a picture of the chaos and blog about it because that is what bloggers do, right? We divulge really weird things about ourselves and then publish it so someone can later find your website after googling why they woke up in unexplained wet clothes in a Canadian hotel and where to find freaky pictures of nipples.

I actually recently downgraded to a slightly smaller purse that does not fit a 17 inch laptop and a stock pile of diapers, and although I think tiny little purses are stylish and cute, Dude, I just can’t manage my life in six inches or less of zippered space. Especially not if I’m carting around a bottle of hand cream half the size of the Titanic and a keychain that could choke a horse.

So, yeah, my purse. Observe the chaos that is my entire identity, random Mr. Potato head nose and all.


Pictured above is:

A keychain with keys that I have no clue what they're even used for. Also attached to my keychain is a compass. I don’t even know why I have a compass considering my phone has GPS and my van has OnStar in-vehicle security response and turn by turn navigation, but the keychain thing was free and you never know when you’ll get lost in one of those massive Wal-Mart parking lots right?.

Sunglasses.

Hair clip.

Revlon Compact Foundation.

Clinique Pore Minimizer Instant Perfector.

Loreal Morning Light eye shadow.

Eye lash curler.

Oil blotting tissues (I am almost 30 and holy hell my skin is still oilier than a pubescent teenager.)

MAC Dazzle Lash mascara.

Clinique full potential plump and shine lip gloss.

Viva La Juicy hand cream.

Viva La Juicy To Go

Clinique Happy travel-size perfume.

Blistex.

Earrings I took off at my friend’s house one night and dumped in my purse.

Faux snake skin 4x6 photo album to hold treasured family photos.

Yes, yes that is a massive pile of Costco and Wal-Mart receipts.

A five dollar bill and $12.08 in change.

A Toronto subway token.

Bellagio, Mandalay Bay and two BIC pens.

Mr. Potato Head nose.

Unpaid Water and Gas Bills, Nate’s daily report card of activities from daycare.

A Lottery ticket I never checked. I’m probably millionaire and I don’t even know it.

Nathan and my library cards.

Three pre-paid photo development cards, two for three hundred 4x6 prints and one for ten 8x10’s. I lost my pre-paid 5x7 card.

MasterCard.

Bank card.

HBC Rewards card (which is totally useless because it takes half a century to get a bagel cutter and bagels come pre-cut now anyway.)

Boston Pizza gift card, which Mark and I conveniently used to imbibe in some thirst quenching beer on a sun-filled patio. I think there is like, $6.00 left.

Bulk Barn gift card. Hello yummy hard whole wheat flour and weekly wheat germ-infused homemade pizza crust tradition.

Social Insurance Number.

Health Card. I’m pretty sure I’m the last Canadian to update to the new photo identity health cards, but meh, I can’t be bothered to go and get my photo taken every five years. Kind of like I couldn’t be bothered to legally change my name when I got married and just “assumed” the name Cadeau. My health card is still under Karla McDonald and it confuses the hell out everyone when I get a prescription for Karla McDonald and then fill it for Karla Cadeau.

Sun Life health insurance benefits.

Costco. Oh how I loathe the insanity that is chaos of mile long check out line ups.

Nathan’s health card.

Nathans Social Insurance Number card.

Nathan’s Pediatrician’s business card.

Sippy cup.

Spill-proof snack cup.

Nathan’s asthma puffer.

Nathan’s Aero Chamber.

A Go Diego Go! Pull Up.

Baby wipes.

Two boxes of raisins.

A bundle of Kleenex to wipe a perpetually runny toddler nose.

Medication.

Free sample of hand cream.

Business cards for my Investment Advisor, Therapist (who, incidentally, thinks I am an extremely “private” person which totally made me smirk because I have a very non-private blog where talk about my boobs and post pictures of me in clothes from when I was ten years old.

A business card for Professional Doggie Duty Services! I was thisclose to calling them pick up my dog’s shit thank you very much.

Once Upon a Child frequent shopper card. I buy all of my kid’s clothes second hand. Also, my marketing with this company has driven clients to my photography business.

14 million trillion business cards from people I don’t know.

$50.00 in East Side Mario’s gift cards – one of my favourite restaurants. Yeah, I'm a pretty simple girl and can never get enough endless bowls of spicy pasta, salad and buttery bread.

United States calling card. Hi Angie!

Suzy Shier Prestige Card, which sounds all pretentious but it’s really just a measly 10% off all your purchases.

HTC Touch Pro phone. I know the iPhone is totally all the rage, but I’m a windows kind of chick and prefer this phone.

Karla Cadeau Photography
business cards and card holder case. The case also holds the business card of my brother who I never get to see anymore because a) he never calls and b) he is going through a horribly difficult divorce.

The pink rosary that a stranger placed in my hands when I was miscarrying my second pregnancy and never leave the house without.

Ontario driver’s license, horrible mug shot and all.

Wal-Mart stickers. Enough said.

A card from the SickKids Foundation, one of the worlds most research-intensive and respected paediatric hospital and academic health sciences centres acknowledging a very generous donation in memory of Ava Marie Cadeau from my wonderful friends Beth and her husband. Every year since Ava passed away, Beth donates in her honour.

And that is pretty much my entire identity right there, eight pounds worth of leaky sippy cups, endless receipts piles and Go Diego Go! Pull Ups. I would say all that's really missing is the kitchen sink but I'm too lazy to actually wash dishes so I think a dishwasher would be more appropriate.

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Deciding how to decide
by Karla ° Tuesday, April 21, 2009
When I look back at over the past five years of my life, I would have to say they have been some of the most rewarding and challenging years wrapped in a techi-coloured blanket of pride and soul-hardening devastation.

In 2004 I became pregnant, Mark and I bought our first home together and while I grew more, er, rotund, Mark grew in his career and accepted a job that allowed me to quit mine to stay home with our yet to be born daughter. We were both making drastic career decisions and life could not have felt more right.

In 2005, Ava was born and then she died and our entire life turned upside down. I never returned to my career in Toronto because I realized that I was doing that job for the money and there is nothing more profound than watching your very own child take her last breath to realize how fragile and short life truly is to be wasted doing something you don’t love.

In 2006 Nate was born and I spent his first year of life breastfeeding and sleep deprived and happier than I had ever been.

In 2007 Mark advanced in his career yet again and I introduced Nate to daycare one day a week so I could pursue my passion for the written word on a more serious level and possibly gain a few more minutes of “me time.” And then, after starting an on-location photography business in 2008, Nate began daycare two days a week and it felt awesome to be contributing financially to our family while still being able to be home with my son. Our life was changing and evolving and it could not have felt more right.

And here we are, well into 2009, Nate is two and fluently verbose and thriving and I’m approaching 30 and starting to notice fine lines and wrinkles on my face and questioning whether or not I’m truly fulfilled with where I am today. I’m craving more personal fulfillment and remembering fondly a time when I wore tailored jackets instead of hoodies and strappy heels over running shoes. I'm desiring the daily interactions with adults who do not require me to dance for them every time they pee on the potty.

So, yeah, I’m slowly toying with the idea of re-entering the workforce. But, well, I have always had a job that required 3-4 hours a day return trip commute to Toronto - Canada's business and financial capital from suburbia and I just can't possibly fathom how I could manage that anymore now that I have a child.

I’ve looked at jobs locally, here in Ajax, but there is like, nothing that matches my education and I’m cringing at how I would balance working downtown Toronto, being gone 11 to 12 hours a day and fighting through the daily grind of train delays, crowded subways, angry traffic and too-short daycare hours and, god, even just getting dinner ready and then bathing and getting Nate to bed let alone when I’ll find time to do grocery shopping.

I’m just feeling so conflicted trying to balance my desire for personal fulfillment outside the home while maintaining the sense of family balance that we’re used to.

I salute the families with parents who commute, but I can’t help wonder with fascination how you do it. How do you make it work?

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I just like crackers
by Karla ° Saturday, April 18, 2009
I have an open house in two hours, and instead of attempting to clean my house I decided to send Mark to the store to buy light bulbs and write a post about poop.

While cleaning and scrubbing the kitchen a few minutes ago I smelled something funny and couldn’t quite put my finger on what is was until I realized my “helper” was nearby. Nate’s been rocking the whole potty training process, so usually he tells us when he has to go the bathroom, but you know, it’s a PROCESS right? Anyway, I asked him if he pooped and he said, “No Mom. I just like crackers!”

And that struck me as like, the funniest line ever because imagine being at work, casually sitting at your desk and your boss is all, “Jesus Christ what's that smell Karla, did you shit your pants?” And then you're all, “No, I just like crackers.”

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The Unofficial Guide to Selling Your House
by Karla ° Friday, April 17, 2009
Week 1:

Change sheets every day to get rid of dog fur and leave an enticing freshly-washed scent. Carefully place fluffed pillows for maximum feeling of pillowy comfort.

Precisely line up and arrange all of the three billion books on your child's bookshelf according to height and book style.

Actually fold the toilet paper into nice little corners like they do at fancy hotels.

Carefully windex every picture frame, vase, lamp and every glass surface to clean away dog snot and sticky finger prints from an unnamed source that resemble yesterday's meal of chicken fingers and BBQ sauce.

Meticulously fold and strategically arrange clothes in the closet to give the illusion of a professional couple who cares about how they look.

Edit and remove unnecessary items from the linen closet, delicately hide fragrant Bounce sheets between perfectly folded linen and towels and line up all the shampoo and conditioner and personal hygiene stuff anal-retentive style.

Feel genuinely worried about random bird shit on your nicely landscaped sedum and shrub-lined walkway with freshly blooming tulips and crocuses.

Because your dog is shy and only shits in the backyard, do poop patrol every single day to ensure no one steps in a deal-breaking pile of shit.

Diligently file and put away all mail and bills in their respective folders in the filing cabinet.

Vacuum everyday, including both flights of stairs and under the sofa cushions.

Bake a batch of muffins before every showing to give an enticingly fresh smell of banana-infused yumminess.

Ensure all dishes are clean and washed and emptied from the dishwasher.

Buy easy to prepare meals that are healthy and smell-free.


Week 2:

Attempt to just sort of brush off as much yellow dog fur as possible from your black sheets. Throw pillows on bed.

Make sure all the books that your child likes to empty off his bookshelf and onto the floor are actually on the bookshelf.

Decide no one notices your attempt at making toilet paper look fancy.

Windex AROUND every picture frame, vase and lamp.

Leave laundry baskets of carefully folded clothing in a corner of the closet.

Fail to care about re-ordering the shampoo bottles after needing a new bottle for your shower and dump half-assed folded towels on their respective shelf.

Attempt to ignore the bird shit on your walkway because LOOK! Pretty purple crocuses! And almost ready to bloom tulips!

Consider how long 90 lbs worth of dog body can survive without food so he stops shitting like a cow.

Shove random papers and bills under the futon in the office.

Vacuum every other day, spot clean as needed.

Bake just ONE muffin before every showing.

Ensure all dishes are clean and washed but fail to empty the dishwasher.

Survive on frozen pizzas because you are too exhausted to cook after spending all your time cleaning so people could wander through your house all evening.


Week 3:

Leave dog fur on the bed and feel a sense of accomplishment for just making the goddam bed YET AGAIN. Most people like dogs anyway, right?

Haphazardly toss books back onto bookshelf and cease to care whether they are upright or upside down or right side up because at least the floor in your child's room is tidy, right?

Glance to make sure there is actually toilet paper on the roll.

Windex only stinky-fingered smudges and dog snot that the naked eye could only see from a mile away.

Leave laundry basket of dirty clothes in a corner of the closet.

Dude, it's a linen closet. And the effort to fold a fitted sheet into perfection is just, well, not worth the aggravation. That task should be left to the Martha Stewart's of the world. Proudly put your rolled up balls of black sheets on the shelf.

Birds shit. And sometimes on a walkway. It happens. Meh, whatev.

Skip a day of picking up dog shit from the backyward and hope it rains enough to wash the shit away.

Watch in dumbfounded amazement the rapid growth of unfiled papers continuing to hide under the office futon.

Vacuum? What is that? Also? Hide random things under the sofa and between the cushions.

Skip the muffins. Spray Febreeze instead.

Leave dirty dishes in the dishwasher and wait for a full load, you know, to save the planet.

Order take-out pizza because you are too exhausted to even shop for frozen pizza, let alone pre-heat the oven and then cringe at all the calories you consumed when you realize all you have to recycle later that week is a tower of pizza boxes.


Week 4:

Lose your mind and take up drinking as a viable coping strategy.

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Viva La Juicy
by Karla ° Thursday, April 16, 2009
This may very well be the most delectable scent on the planet. I got a free sample of Viva La Juicy from Sephora a little while ago and that is when my ten-year love affair with Clinique’s Happy perfume came to a screeching halt.

Viva La Juicy’s fruity floral scent reminds me of summer and it’s the most yummy and long-lasting perfume I have ever worn. I never actually bought a bottle though because, well, you know, this whole wanting to buy a bigger house thing sort of puts a damper on carefree spending, but then Mark sent me a text on Tuesday telling me he had a surprise for me and came home with a giant bottle "just because he loves me."

Well, that and he likes his women Juicy.

I married a total romantic, eh?

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April 14th
by Karla ° Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Today, April 14th, 2009 at 2:11 PM, she would have been four. FOUR! And yet here I am, four years later and still completely at a loss on how to describe the feeling of holding your own child skin to skin against your naked chest while she passes away.

I can hardly even imagine what life would be like with a four-year-old little girl, but when I let my mind daydream, I picture Ava being much like Nate with long, unruly curls and big blue eyes and she would have the personality of her Father; a verbose man with superb communication skills and a penchant to be messy.

I want to thank everyone for your thoughtful emails and pictures of balloons being released into the sky for Ava. It is so incredibly humbling to know her memory still lives on. We will release balloons this afternoon and even though Nate popped one of the pink ones, he very graciously offered up his blue balloon in her memory to help keep with the tradition of seven balloons for her seven short hours she was with us.

Looking back through my archives over the years, I’ve noticed that I tend to pay tribute to her, be it through words or video, but here I sit, comfortably numb with my thoughts and OK with the fact that I can't seem to muster the ability to think much of much today. Nate is in daycare, Mark is at work and I am here and life is normal and although our hearts and souls are always with Ava, life forges on. It’s all we can do, really, when we are ready, not to dwell, but to keep on living and keep on remembering and just keep on keeping on, whatever that happens to mean.

I can only hope, that in time, the families of Thalon and Maddie feel a brief lifting of their grief, if only for a second, so they may find a small space in which to catch a deep breath or two that maybe, just maybe, might offer a fleeting moment of relief from the claustrophobic nightmare of losing a child that they are living through.

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The cat who is fat
by Karla ° Monday, April 13, 2009

The cat who is fat, who also does not give two shits about me or my family or pretty much anything else unless it involves the glutinous consumption of food.*

*This side note totally has nothing to do with the above caption, but I'm pretty sure a random asterisk to mention the fact that I AM GOING ABSOLUTELY CRAZY trying to sell this house makes up for the haphazard attempt to publish a post in the 4.2 seconds I have before random strangers pee in my toilet and leave the toilet seat up! Again!

Um, RANDOM DUDES? GROSS!

Also? I know it's totally my choice to sell this house, I totally do, but I just have to say it. It's an absolute nightmare trying to live in perfection EVERY! SINGLE! DAY! when all I want to do is leave that massive pile of laundry on the floor for one more week and stop windexing the perpetual dog snot off of ever single surface in the whole entire house, including nose prints on a window so high that would require the skills only a dog enrolled in the doggy Olympics could possess. Um, Hello? Why did they not cast my crazy dog Samson for the movie Marley & Me? DOOD! He's his twin long lost bad ass brother! I swear!

And maybe, just maybe, it might be nice to to finally have a cat that does not eat until his belly is thisclose to exploding before he shits and stink up the entire house accordingly seconds before a home showing.

Also? And perhaps it's not really worth mentioning at this point that my perpetual attempts at hiding a bazillion trillion toys every day causes a colossal toddler meltdown, because I'm pretty sure everyone knows that's a given, but if there's any saving grace, it's that all this chaos can be easily rectified with a McDonald's French Fry. And, well, that and a secret penchant that one day my skinny two-year-old will weigh more than my cat.

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Dinosaur Threesome
by Karla ° Saturday, April 11, 2009
I’m sure the fact that I made dinosaur porn out of one of my Mom’s Easter gifts for Nate makes her incredibly proud of me and all things I have managed to accomplish in life, especially the fact that I've never developed past the maturity level of a 12-year-old.

I’m also pretty sure that my Real Estate Agent would be totally mortified to know that I was thisclose to leaving a Dinosaur Threesome on display for the viewing enjoyment of everyone who went through our house today.

Also? Is it just me or does T-Rex not look like he might be enjoying himself a tad bit too much?

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Barbie
by Karla ° Thursday, April 9, 2009
Every two weeks or so, Mark gets a haircut. And he gets a haircut by a woman he likes to call “Barbie”. When I asked him why he calls this woman “Barbie” he said because she drives a fancy sports car and has nice blond hair. I was all like, oh, Hai! I’m a dishevelled housewife who wears reversible yoga pants for days on end and ties her gray-root infested hair in a perpetual knot. And I also drive a big ass Mini Van that smells like McDodnald’s. Don't forget who cooks your dinner loverboy.

Just to take a step back for a moment, I do have to admit that Mark has had some pretty bad haircuts in the past. His hair has a tendency to stick out and up in all the wrong places so the fact that he’s found someone who can give him a fabulous haircut every other week is great because that means I’m not chasing him out the door with a dollop of gel in my hand trying to smooth down random sticky uppy’s.

Anyway, he gets home from having his hair cut the other day and I asked him how “Barbie” was doing. And Mark was all, “Oh Barbie. Barbie Barbie Barbie!” And his eyes kind of glazed over as he went into his own little dream world and I think he may have said something about her big 80’s inspired blond hair and huge tits, but I don’t remember because I was too busy wiping up his drool off the floor.

Apparently, as I have come to understand, "Barbie" isn’t just some blond with a cute sports car that cuts my husband’s hair. Nope. "Barbie" is a GORGEOUS woman with very large and ample breasts who wears cleavage-enhancing clothing and pungent perfume and, no, seriously, get this, short skirts and fish net stockings.

"Barbie" also has mile-long legs and a tiny waist and, well, looks exactly like a perfectly plastic bombshell version of Barbie. Except with a real vagina. I’m assuming.

My neighbour across the street has his barber visit him at home when he needs a haircut and I’m pretty sure that makes his wife the most brilliant woman on the whole entire planet.

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Paralyzed
by Karla ° Monday, April 6, 2009
The day started normally enough. It was Saturday and we had a showing of our house, so after doing the regular tidying up, Mark and I headed out and drove aimlessly around the neighbourhood while strangers viewed our home and Nate was in McDonald’s french fry glory with his Grandparents.

All of sudden I was struck with a wicked headache. And then the headache disappeared just as quickly as it came on and was replaced with intense waves of gag-inducing nausea. Mark and I were in the van and I yelled at him to pull over RIGHT THIS SECOND because motion was making the dry heaving and gagging worse. As Mark pulled off to the side of the road, I opened my window and took several deep breathes when suddenly it felt like someone (something?) was gripping the back of my neck. But the grip was coming from deep inside my head.

And then, within a matter of seconds, my vision disappeared and I screamed at Mark that I couldn’t see and then my fingers started to tingle and then the tingle spread into my face and then my fingers involuntarily clenched into a distorted claw-like disfigurement and both sides of my face drooped in a painfully numbing way, much like that of a stroke victim. The next thing I remember was hearing Mark’s panicked voice on the phone with a 9-1-1 operator and my entire body being in incredible pain. By this point, my legs had involuntarily stretched out and were rigidly straight. I was paralyzed.

Unlike the one-sided paralysis of a stroke though, the paralysis overtook my entire body and I was entirely cognizant of my surroundings. I didn’t understand what was happening to me but my vision had returned and I could feel the droopiness in my facial muscles and despite trying, I just couldn’t move or use my body. I kept trying to scream, “Help Me! Help Me!” Over and over again but my entire face, including my tongue, was paralyzed.

I’m not sure how, or when, but for some reason we ended up right outside our house when the EMS response team arrived. I remember hearing Mark scream, “Over here! Hurry! My wife is having a stroke.” I guess the echoes of his distress call were heard across the neighbourhood because soon I had several concerned neighbours peering in the van at my contorted face and oddly twisted and paralyzed body. I felt as equally mortified as I did freaked right the fuck out. I have a body. I have a brain. And I could not make the two of them work together.

The first EMS person to respond to the 9-1-1 call encouraged me to breathe deeply while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Slowly, oh god, ever so slowly, the feeling in my body started to return. If you have ever had a c-section, I can only describe it as the sluggish and odd-feeling process of regaining the feeling in the lower half of your body as the spinal freezing wears off.

After about a half hour, my face returned to normal, and I could move my legs. My right pinky finger was the last part of my body to become ungnarled.

I spent a good 10 hours afterwards unable to steady the trembling shakiness in my body. My legs hurt, like I had the worst Charlie horse in the history of all Charlie horses and I could not hold my hands steady enough to drink water on my own.

The ambulance crew said I had a panic attack, and man oh man, I have had my share of panic attacks before, but never, ever anything like that.

I went to talk to my therapist the next day and he seemed to think otherwise. Panic attacks are typically characterized by a rapidly beating heart, skipped heart beats and an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness and impending doom. Dude, I was having a perfectly enjoyable child-free afternoon with Mark. I can assure you that he does not incite doom and gloom unless he farts and holds my head under the covers. My therapist suggested that I should probably have an MRI and see a Neurologist and ordered a battery of blood work to be done by my family doctor.

My family doctor seemed to also think what happened was something more than a panic attack and had me strip down and wear one of those sartorial nightmare blue paper gowns as she analyzed various parts of my body and my reflexes, which she thought were “brisk.” And by brisk, she meant holy good god this woman was lying down and I tapped her knee and she came like an inch from forcefully kicking me in the head.

Unsatisfied with her findings, she asked me not to leave her care until she could get me an emergency visit with a Neurologist. I called Mark and he bolted from work and an hour and a $90.00 cab ride later, he was holding my hand in the Neurologists office.

And that brings me to today. The episodes of blurred vision and internal squeezing in the back of my neck have happened several times since the full body paralysis episode. Sometimes it’s even accompanied with a bit of tingling in my fingers and it’s absolutely terrifying not knowing what the hell is wrong with me.

I don’t know what is going on, but I am going for an electroencephalogram (EEG) soon and someone is going to mess up my hair and put electrodes all over my scalp and make me look like something right out of a Star Trek episode so that they can analyze my brain.

I know I said this last year, but I think, after this experience, and as the anniversary of Ava’s death approaches it’s worth saying again.

Life is short. Enfold yourself in all its vivid reality, embrace it, feel it, live it.

Because you just never know what tomorrow will bring.

UPDATE: My doctor just called me, and all the blood work came back normal. I have normal blood. And all this time I kinda hoped she would tell me my blood was blue because I would love to live in a castle and have hot men wearing loincloths feed me grapes all day. Instead I'll just have to wait until June for an EEG.

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The colour purple
by Karla ° Sunday, April 5, 2009
It’s a good thing these crocuses just kind of like, appear out of nowhere every year in my garden, because my thumb is not the least bit green. Actually, it’s horticulturally handicapped.

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Blast from the Past: Train Engineer Style
by Karla ° Friday, April 3, 2009
Wow. Apparently I am so absolutely thrilled to be wearing these overalls from grade 9 (or maybe grade 10, I don’t remember) that I can’t even contain my excitement enough to hold the camera straight. Either that or I was drunk when I took this picture. Either option is entirely possible.

All that’s missing here is a matching pinstripe train engineer hat and then I’m set for Halloween this year. At least that is, if I don’t pass out from a stripe overload induced seizure.

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