the afternoon nap society

I was reading old posts from the Houston Chronicle's Good Mom/Bad Mom blog featuring Jenny Lawson, the wonderfully deviant author of her own separate blog, The Bloggess (Like Mother Teresa, Only Better). Jenny's very first Good Mom/Bad Mom post was an introduction in which between the lines was a surprisingly honest account of herself. In short, she identifies herself as a mother, a wife to a husband who refuses to donate his organs for fear of needing them when he becomes a zombie, a Czech redneck, and one who suffers from anxiety and from time-to-time goes off her meds "just to see if I’m still crazy. Turns out? Yeah." Although she doesn't know it, Jenny has become my new best friend. In similar form my biography would indicate that I am a mother to three cats and one dog, a wife to a husband who refuses to donate his organs because he's an asshat, a Czech redneck, one who suffers from anxiety and from time-to-time goes off her meds "just to see i

I've been having trouble parsing my identities—writer, editor, teacher, patient, wife, student... Each title fits, and yet there are still others that I could use depending on the context—gardener, traveler, daughter, foodie, eco-friend, arts lover, sports fan... At any given moment I am each and every one of these things; but who I identify myself as changes based on who is in the room. Does this make me interesting, diversified, and busy or just plain crazy, undirected, and harried? Do I admire people who have a clearly defined personality or do I see them as one-dimensional and boring? Twitter—of all things—is what has gotten me to contemplate these questions. I'm not an avid "Tweeter," but I joined the Twitter ranks a few months ago to learn more about the effects of social media. (Don't I sound like an old fart?) What has struck me most is that those I follow each has his or her own "thing." Mark Peters, aka wordlust, is irreverent. Andrew Evans,

Fibromuscular dysplasia is a seldom seen arterial disease characterized by abnormal cellular development or growth. It is most often diagnosed in women, a fact that has led researchers to theorize that there is a connection between FMD, as it is known in short, and hormones. A second postulation is that the disease is a genetically based development disorder. These theories—and others—remain exactly that, and the disease’s cause remains unknown at this time. However, there is evidence that chronobiology-based treatments may have a role in managing fibromuscular dysplasia. Unlike more common diseases such as diabetes or cancer, FMD is not clearly symptomatic. Diagnosis is often stumbled into after arterial condition has deteriorated so as to manifest a vascular event such as high blood pressure, kidney failure, or stroke. Additional manifestations include a bruit heard within the carotid arteries, swooshing sounds in one’s ears, ringing of the ears, vertigo, dizziness, headache, neck

When one makes a bucket list does he or she put the items on that list in the proverbial bucket once they have been accomplished or take them out? Does the list exist purely independently of the bucket? Or is the list written on the bucket, each item diligently crossed out with a stringent smelling, black permanent marker, and that bucket, once satisfactorily blackened, then kicked into the afterlife oblivion? I first began writing my bucket list in June following yet another round of surgery. My stomach had ruptured seemingly on its own, which caused the doctors to be concerned that the event was the latest symptom in my troubled vascular history. I decided it was time to meet with a doctor who specializes in the disease it seems most likely that I have but have not yet been officially diagnosed with — fibromuscular dysplasia. My appointment is on Aug. 3. Since writing the first 30-item bucket list, I have added six more tasks to accomplish; however, I admit that four of those si