Rentals and regrets

Hindsight, they say, is 20/20. That’s probably true. I remember last July I walked all over the place is Parque del Plata and saw not one aquilo sign. Not one. I tried different streets and different areas. Nada. I tried calling and the only thing were these apartments that I knew wouldn’t allow me the privacy I needed (no private entrance, overheard conversations, everyone knows your business and sees what you do, and asks nosy questions, etc). I asked a couple of my friends who said, “Oh no, no rentals here, either.” When I finally found the Oven, I figured i’d landed the One and Only Place Left. Only to find that all over that neighborhood were Aquilo signs, both temporidad and annual. I saw places that I wished I had taken. I told myself, “Maybe next year.” Many are still vacant, I’m sure. I wonder about some places, why they never get taken. Something tells me if they haven’t been snatched up, for sure there’s a good reason for that.

At this point, the challenge continues. Where to go. My temporary place is that. Temporary. I have this month and the rent is paid. But as for next month, I don’t know, and I’ve stalled a week to decide. I can’t decide until I see what’s out there. But I told my landlady today I’m still waiting on the bank nuisance. Well, that’s true, too. That’s not straightened out yet.

I’d love to stay here, but the rent’s more than I can afford. I’m not sure how this place handles winter. Never mind the leaks and the bugs. I said nothing about that, I’m just dealing with the bugs, putting up with it and mopping up after the fridge. I tell myself if I’m still here next month maybe I’ll unplug the fridge so I won’t have to mop up constantly. 

I can’t afford to move, can’t afford not to. I don’t have the energy to pack anyway. I don’t have energy to look for a place.  I try, but so far, not much but places for tourists. I hate the thought of having to move at the last minute again, or having to throw my stuff away.

Mostly, I get nothing done, I collapse most days, not much energy left now. Some of the time, when people ask, I smile and say everything’s fine. Cuz if I am honest, I get accused of whining. Oh please. That’s only because people don’t like honesty, they like pretty stories with frosting on top.

Another ignored binge eating danger: Too much natural licorice

Too much licorice poses a real medical danger to the human body. Even the FDA acknowledges this. It seems they paid attention around the time of Halloween 2011. Dr. Weil seems to have picked up on it, too, and points out that a licorice overdose can happen at any time of year:

Who is prone to eating too much licorice? Kids, perhaps. But you all’s out there reading my blog know better. Who is really at danger here? Folks like me who suffered in secrecy and silence. Folks like us who are told, “It’s nothing.” or to quit complaining or to stop being gluttons or “Why can’t you just go on a diet?” Yes, eating disorders are serious. You can die of this. I’ve been fighting to get someone to listen for years now. I was laughed at all my life. Well, it’s time the world wakes up.

This is only one small example of the many unknown dangers your doctor doesn’t even know about. There are plenty more.

Database specifically about psychiatrists now international

Check out This database is now international. The database is growing. You can do a search. Here’s a bit of old news I found in a random search on there that illustrates yet one more example of court systems gone amuck:

Sentencing for Psych Today

Here we have a court-appointed employee, an esteemed and senior psychiatrist, who was committing heinous crimes, and then, when it all came out and went to trial, his wife attempted to bribe a juror.

Ah, the drama goes on and on, doesn’t it?

When will Charles Capers come out? Or do I file that one myself?

Every "disorder" is a talent, every defect is what makes you unique.

Imagine if we were all alike. We would have the exact same skin color, the exact same faces, the exact same smiles and the exact same eyes. Imagine if we all were perfect. No one would ever need glasses like I do. We would all see perfectly. No more need for eye exams anymore, nor eye doctors. But how would we tell each other apart? I guess we’d have to wear number tags, or tattoo ourselves, wouldn’t we? I hope it never comes to that.

I hope we remain wonderfully imperfect. What are YOUR imperfections? I can tell you a few of mine. One of my thumbs doesn’t quite work right. My left isn’t quite up to snuff. This means playing a string instrument is either awkward or not even possible, or makes string teachers go cross-eyed trying to correct my “position.” I think the answer is to re-string the whole instrument and play leftie. However, I’m not a guitar player, so I you do not hear me bemoaning this defect all day long, do you? On the other hand, once I figured out why I ended up a guitar dummy, I enjoyed laughing over it. I played trumpet and composed music instead.

My mom had this amazing talent. She could turn her elbows inside out.  Can you do that? Do you know anyone who can? Psst: Don’t tell anyone. By the way, all the kids on my block said my mom was the strongest mom they ever knew. And she could climb mountains and dance, too.

Are you a leftie or a rightie? I’m hopelessly right-handed. I can’t do a darned thing with my left hand. I can’t believe anyone can do stuff backwards with the wrong hand. Are you so talented that you can? If you are, I’m amazed. I hear lefties are coveted by baseball teams, but maybe I got that one wrong.

Can you see without glasses? I can’t. That, too, amazes me. I can’t see without mine. If I drop mine on the floor I can’t see well enough to find them again. I have to feel around for a very bright light and then, pat my hands on my floor till I find my glasses again and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Imagine if someone caught that on film. Bet it would hit it big on You-Tube and I’d be a Big Star.

If we were not different, we would be boring. We would see nothing to like in each other. We would see nothing interesting nor funny, either.  I love to joke about being short. What if all women were all the standard five foot five? Uh oh, no more jokes over being short! What then? I wouldn’t have my fun anymore.

I am so glad I ended up being me. I hope you love being YOU, whoever and wherever you are.