I hate change. Always have. If the patterns of my life have shown anything, it's been that change means giving up something out of the little that life/fate's left me with.  Normally, it's had little to do with losing much materialistically (truth be told, I've never had that much materialistically, nor did I ever want much), although I've let go of my share; mostly it's about giving up a parts of myself.

In many cases, it's been my pride; the lessons learned humbled me, hurt a lot, taught me well, and contributed much to my growth as a person. In some cases, it's been my dignity; those lessons hurt a lot and seasoned me.

The lessons that hurt the worst, jaded me far too much, and challenged me the very hardest were the ones that tested my integrity and contributed most to the person that I've grown into. I'm facing one of those now. I'm going home.

Strange how Friday started, a Leap Year too.  Woke up, brushed my teeth and washed my face - a day just like any other.  J. (my son) took care of feeding Cara and attending to her litter box.  I took my fish oil and made a cup of coffee.  Folgers Singles.  I like them; they taste decent to me and they're easy.

I went outside to feed Kitty.  Kitty's the stray I feed and water.  A tuxedo whose been living just beyond the back fence for as long as we've been here, about 10 years.  Seems feeding Kitty has turned into Dreaming's Diner.  We've got Kitty, Mr. Big Mouth, Mr. Big Mouth's Clone, The Manx, The Mask, and most recently, Kitty's Suitor, who could be her younger brother.  He looks almost identical to Kitty and is, annoyingly, always up in her grill.

I checked out dKos for some comfort and humanity before I left to catch the train.  To Baylor. The Sammons Cancer Center to be exact.  Fate and I had a date.

Okay,  I'm not really good at posting this kind of thing, but something needs to be said about it.

While primary fever is running wild, lots of kooky things are going on.

Waterboarding really is legal.  White House spokesman, Tony Fratto, said so today.

I’ve been quiet lately.  Here in my offline life and often online too.  Reading, watching the climate, and keeping a finger on the pulse and I'm not just talking politically.  Hoping for a break.  Things are changing here in Dreamland and there's been a definable shift in the rhythm.

I'm not very good at talking about me.  Oh, I can talk about health problems because sharing my story might help someone else. I can share about my views on this frigging war because my son was there.

I can offer lots of love and support because that's who I am, but personal matters - well, that don't come easy.  Asking for help?  Ditto.  I fumble around a lot and trip over my tongue often.  Plus, I'm always watching for judgment.  Seems that for as many caring, lovely folks as there are "out there", there are just as many that are brutal just for the sake of . . . well, who knows?  For the sake of being mean?  I guess that's how some get their ya-yas.  Who the f*ck knows?  As I've mentioned a time or two before, people in general freak me out and so I tend to keep my distance.  Self protection.  (In my case, to the _th degree . . .)  

Things have been kind of tumultuous and negative here in Dreamland over the last several weeks.  It’s test time for my blood problem; my anxiety level’s on full tilt and my nerves are frayed.  (The CT scan came back clear.  We’ll see Monday what my hematologist/oncologist has got to say about the labs he’ll have drawn.)  But that’s just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.  

Many items in Dreamland have decided to break over the last few weeks as well.  Dealing with company reps and service people has been tedious, time consuming, and nervewracking.  The final straw in these few weeks I spent in the 7th ring of Dante’s Inferno culminated in a very unsatisfactory conversation with an indifferent and apathetic young, female Customer Relations Case Manager for Toshiba this morning.  It left me with a very bitter taste in my mouth and wondering if the consumer has any rights or recourse at all.

I’d made my plans and arrangements and was ready for my trip to Chicago.  I’d planned to attend some panels and caucuses, the debate, and meet some of the wonderful people I’d interacted with on dKos and to, possibly, meet some of the people whose diaries I’d come to look forward to reading.  If at all possible, I wanted to thank all of them in person.  The whole thing freaked me out.

I spoke on the phone with my Dad today.  I speak with him twice a week every week.  I like keeping a finger on the pulse with him.  He’s been a widower for over 5 years now and he lives alone.  He’s got a bad "ticker", a fierce independence, a stubborn nature that equals his need for independence, and a heart of gold.  He’ll turn 76 this coming Monday, July 9th.

Being his only child, with only a few distant relatives remaining aside from myself and my family, our bi-weekly conversations have come to mean a lot to the both of us over these last 5 years, since his beloved wife passed away.  We discuss current events; the weather (a big part of his life at nearly 76); the government, which under this current administration Dad considers a disaster and being run by a bunch of schmoes; what’s currently going on with his friends at his church, which has come to mean the world to him since the passing of his wife; and what’s currently going on with my family.

Today he seemed a little quieter than usual and I knew it was because today is the anniversary of his father’s death.  Fifty-eight years ago today on July 4, 1949, at age 50, my grandfather drowned.  My father was just five days shy of his 18th birthday.

Last year, the Open Skies Agreement, sparked some heated debate from both sides of the issue.  The agreement was signed in Washington on April 30, 2007.

The topic caused much controversy primarily because opponents argued a change in rules that govern ownership of US Airlines.  Currently, according to federal law, no US-owned airline is permitted to have foreign interests control more than 25% of its voting stock or more than one-third of its board of directors.

In addition, foreign investors may not currently exert "actual control" over any aspect of a U.S. airline by, for example, having a majority of votes on a board committee or a company president who is American but beholden to them.

US citizens must control an airline's safety, security, routes, fares — everything. To invite foreign investment and to pave the way for Open Skies, the DOT now proposes changing this rule so foreign investors could exert control over purely "commercial" decisions, such as fares and routes. (Emphasis mine)

Warning . . . This is painfully long.  

As some of you know, I have cancer.  I’ve got a T-Cell Proliferative Disorder in my blood that’s malignant.  I’m not terminal as, so far, my cancer isn’t aggressive.  It’s very slow growing, taking its sweet time, traveling throughout my body looking for a comfortable place to call home.  A place where it can settle in comfortably and blossom into something more substantial.  My hematologist/oncologist tells me that I could outlive it, provided it doesn’t become more aggressive.  He also suspects it will, eventually, show itself as lymphoma.

I’ve shared my condition with a select few family members and friends.  Once told, some have been warm, caring, and concerned; others have, tactfully or not, informed me that leukemia (which my hematologist/oncologist originally suspected I had) is curable.  (I'll go with sometimes on that.)  And some have imparted these pearls of wisdom on me that I’ll forever hold dear, ". . . well, your doctor said you could outlive it.  I don’t know why you’re worrying about it now."  Aside from anyone who’s terminal, would anyone care to trade places with me?

Yesterday, dday wrote a diary about an AP article that the White House was nearing a decision to close the detention facility at Guantanamo Bay.  That would be excellent, I thought, but had my doubts because anything like this coming from the White House seems to have many hidden strings attached to it, IMHO.

Later in the day, Rook wrote a diary indicating the same thing, and I was intrigued, yet wary.  Bush closing Gitmo?  Hmm . . . my curiosity was piqued.

Last night, while web browsing, I found an article on MSNBC stating that the White House was denying the AP article and I posted this comment in last night's Open Thread, and included a blockquote that was a statement from Scott Stanzel, the White House spokesperson, regarding yesterday's AP article and also included the link to the MSNBC article.  Phil S 33 asked a good question in that thread.  "Where are they going to send them?"  

. . . where do they all come from?  All the lonely people, where do they all belong? - Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles (1966).

I woke up this morning to my son telling me, "Mom, you need to call Pap. One of your cousins died."  I called my Dad to find out that my cousin, "John" (not his real name for family privacy reasons), had passed away on the operating table during open heart surgery in some hospital in the Houston area sometime over the last few days. He said that an unknown man had called "John's" elderly stepmother with this information and that "John" had given his stepmother's name and phone number as contact and next of kin information. This unknown stranger advised "John's" stepmother that some family member needed to contact the hospital as the administrative staff there was planning to have "John's" body laid to rest in Potter's Field somewhere in the Houston area. "John" was one of the lost and forgotten.

I met her in the 6th grade.  I was quiet, self-conscious, awkward and introverted.  Painfully aware of the changes my body had begun going through and finding nearly all of them appalling and mortifying.  J was my polar opposite.  She was comfortable in her own skin and completely at ease with people.  She had a quick wit and a winning smile.  We became fast friends.

In the next six years, we were practically inseparable, sharing secrets about boys and life, sorrows and fears, shits and giggles.  We became the best of friends and thought we would be our entire lives. But right around graduation, J found a new best friend to take my place; alcohol.  Her new friend listened to her problems much more intently than I ever could and understood and eased her pain much better than I ever did.  Her new best friend was also much more fun that I was.  Her new friend made her laugh and smoothed out the extremely rough edges of her life in ways no other friend could. From that point on, she lived her life from the inside of a bottle and from that point on, I lost my best friend.

Yesterday she died and I’ll miss the friend I used to have.

My last diary was about trust and the fact that I'm considered by some to be a good friend.  While I need and want people in my life, I don't want them too close and I take deliberate steps to make sure they don't get too close.  

I'm no one special; there's nothing outstanding about me.  I'm not any smarter, nicer, or kinder than anyone else.  I'm no authority on life's circumstances and/or how to deal with them.   However, at some point or another, my relationships come down to people wanting my agreement and/or approval on whatever information they're choosing to share and it oftentimes makes me feel uncomfortable, awkward, and disturbingly unsettled.  Normally, I do my best to be courteous, polite, understanding and kind, while at the same time stating my thoughts as unmistakably distinct as possible and it hasn't been an easy ride.  My problem, recently, is how am I suppose to be understanding and kind when prejudice has asked forgiveness and understanding of me?  I suspect some of it comes my way because, to a number of people, I'm mad as a hatter.  

For as long as I can remember I've thought of myself and have been told by others that I'm a good friend. One of the reasons for this, I believe, is that I can keep secrets and I steer clear of gossip and never pass it around when I happen to become privy to it. I believe it's hurtful, malicious, damaging, and mean. I've always looked at keeping someone's confidences to myself to be a sign of trustworthiness and integrity, two characteristics I admire greatly.

What's my point?  Well, it seems that in certain situations, "keeping secrets" may not be such an honorable or exemplary practice to apply in every situation that presents itself. I read an article yesterday that left me feeling perturbed and had me asking myself questions about what circumstances, if any, would be worth sacrificing of one's integrity. It's always left me jaded when friends/family breached the trust I'd given them and, most times, I gave no quarter regarding second chances. But how does one respond when corporate profit or personal morals override the trust that we've given the people who help us decide what's best regarding our health and well being; when "keeping secrets" can literally become a matter of life and death?

I read an article on Time Magazine's website this morning, "A Time Limit On Rape," that left me wondering if anyone can really tell, for sure or with any degree of certainty, exactly when making love (or having consensual sex) is just that or when the line has been crossed and the act has become rape.  I know, I know . . . some of you out there are saying, "Come on, Dreaming, you can't be that clueless or naive."  After reading the article, I find that I truly am, and I think you may find that some of you are as well, speaking solely from the legality standpoint.

I woke up very early today and after I finished my morning routine, logged onto my computer and began reading the news.  What could be more heart wretching?  Not much, or so it would seem.

In a breaking story (with another link here), five U.S. soldiers have been indicted by a federal grand jury.  It is alleged that they took kickbacks from a contractor that was hired to do work in Iraq.  The charges are still sealed, however, Paul McNulty, deputy attorney general, is scheduled to hold a press conference at a 2 p.m. ET at the Justice Department to announce the charges.

Several members of the U.S. Military who served in Iraq and military contractors operating there will be charged Wednesday with conspiracy, money laundering and bribery in the latest wave of criminal charges stemming from the alleged fraudulent use of funds in Iraq, according to federal law enforcement sources.

I met Mrs. V. when she moved in the house next door to ours.  I was nine at the time.  She was a widow, in her mid to late 60s.  A lovely woman with silver gray and white hair, tall and sturdy, soft-spoken and kind.  She had a severe cleft palate which had never been corrected properly and you had to listen intently to clearly hear and understand what she was saying. When I first met her, I would never have believed that this sweet woman and I would share any similarities or commonality whatsoever.  How wrong I was.  

Well folks, it’s that time of year again.  The time of year that’s suppose to warm our hearts, have us treating each other the way we really should all year long; the time of year that makes us want to choose our words a little more carefully, tread a little softer and maybe be the people we thought we could be way back when the world was young and we believed dreams would come true and took people at their word . . . the time of year that makes us want to buy stuff.