Right now would be a nice time to have a boyfriend or a husband. I'm freakin the hell out all by myself.

she's got something to say.

"... Then I heard a redneck voice say, "hunt down and punish" and looked up and saw it was the voice of the man elected president by NOT ME."

The world has gone mad.

And of course, I'd never even heard of this guy.

I am a patriot. I love my country.

But I do not want to go to war.

I am filled with rage at the terrorism that has victimized us all. I too feel a need for vengeance. But I do not want my country to go to war. I do not want my country to bomb anyone.

I want to wave a flag and show how much I love my country, but I don't want my flag-waving to be read as support for bombing another country. That's not what it represents to me.

I am so scared.

I'm sitting by myself, watching the coverage on TV, with my baby somewhere else. I'm scared to death because he's not with me and seemingly the whole country is calling for blood. How can I go back to work and be away from him 9 hours a day? With war going on?!

Afghanistan says, according to the manipulation machine (read: the media), that its citizens should prepare for a holy war. That they will retaliate if the United States attacks. We would probably defeat them - although no country has ever been able to do so - and then the people and state of Afghanistan will be viewed as martyrs by many in Islam. And there will more holy wars against the US and "our allies". It. Will. Never. End.

How can I expect to parent my child in any way close to my hopes and plans, in the middle of a war?

How do you explain war to a 3 ½ year old? Especially when you have tried very hard to teach that child that violence is wrong and bad?

I'm fucking scared to death.

And please, y'all, if you see anyone out there attacking or victimizing someone because they are or look Middle Eastern, if you hear any derogatory remark being said about or to people who are Muslim or look or dress in Muslim clothing, dammit, don't let that shit slide! Don't let people get away with hatred against other Americans. Please.

I'm just so, so sick inside.

What can I say? That hasn't been said? I'm watching the news all day long and crying my eyes out. Just because my friends and family and associates are all safe and accounted for, doesn't mean I haven't been touched by the murderous attacks on New York and DC. It's so, so sad. I'm sad because it happened. I'm sad because hundreds of children have lost their mommies and daddies. I'm sad because it is unbearably depressing to watch on TV the hundreds of people wandering New York with pictures of their missing loved ones. I'm sad because idiot assholes are attacking Arab Americans and other people who follow Islam. I'm sad because Shrub will be bombing someone soon, and the vast majority of my fellow citizens will be happy. I'm sad because that smug, overfed sense of security I've had most of my life has given way to a fear and feeling of vulnerability that I'm afraid I will never shake.

Yes, I'm watching TV all day long. I'm home because I'm recovering from emergency surgery. Let me tell you what's been happening since I've been away...

I had a really bad cold August 20-23. The next weekend I lost my voice and had a pretty bad cough. I kept that cough the following week. My abdominal deformity, caused by an incisional hernia (from my c section in 97), would shift each time I'd cough. The hernia, and the entire area of my c section scar, felt pulled by each cough. Early on the morning of August 31, I woke up feverish and shivering, and it felt as if my hernia had been ripped open.

That morning I was supposed to be interviewing at my job, because they are going to make me permanent. It was a very important day. I figured I would go to work, get the sales reports out to all the VP's & execs, do the interview, and then go to the doctor. I don't know how I did it, but I got Jayden and myself dressed, called a cab, dropped him off at school, and went to work. But when I sat down at my desk, I couldn't even bend down and turn on my computer. The manager of my department came into my cube and said "oh no, you cannot work today. You need to go to the doctor." By this time I agreed. I called my mom, who borrowed her neighbor's car. She said "fuck the doctor, I'm taking you to the ER".

I don't remember much about getting to the hospital - by that time I was burning up and in so much pain. Apparently I was pretty delirious. My fever turned out to be 104.7. When the ER doc saw my gut he immediately called in a surgical team and sent me off to x-ray. The surgeons came and examined me & my x-rays, and consulted, and told me I was having surgery that day.

I wrote up a quick document detailing my desires, such as Jayden's custody arrangements, in the event of my death. I gave my mom a list of things to get from my house, and where everything was that she might need for Jayden, and she left after a couple of hours. My brother and his wife, on their way to a weekend getaway, stopped by the hospital to give me hugs & moral support. The surgeon came and explained that there were two scenarios possible: if, when they opened me up, there was no infection present in my abdomen, they would fix the hernia and insert a piece of plastic mesh that would permanently hold everything in place. But if they opened me up and there was an infection present, they would insert a temporary mesh, that would dissolve after a while, and then they would operate again a few months down the road.

I laid there in a little room in the ER for a few hours, in a lot of pain, feverish and scared and alone. I'd known for a long time that I needed surgery, but I'd been scared of the recovery. Who would take care of Jayden? My dog? Who would take care of me? How would I pay my bills without sick leave? And my head was splitting, my fever wasn't quite so high as when I'd first come in the ER, but it was still pretty high. I was cold but the nurses kept loosening the blankets to help my fever come down. I was terrified of the surgery.

Finally around 4 pm I went to the OR. The anesthesiologist did his spiel, telling me about the dope and what he'd be doing to me during the surgery. The surgeon came & talked to me but who knows what he said, the first of the drugs had started working by that time.

I woke up in the recovery room, in the worst pain I could remember feeling. I don't remember either of the c sections hurting so badly. I guess I was moaning or whatever, because the nurse came over to me and starting saying shit like "come on, be quiet, I know it hurts, you don't have to yell". I swear she told me like three times to be quiet! I know I tried to tell her about herself at one point but I was too out of it and just sounded whiny. And then I threw up. I said "it hurts, it hurts" and she said "well you say everything twice, don't you". I just gave up at that point. It would have been way too painful to cuss her bitch ass out so I just laid down and waited for someone to take me out of there.

The nurses on the floor were much nicer. I stayed in the hospital for one week, and for four days I was hooked up to a PCA - patient controlled administration, a machine with a Jeopardy-buzzer button to give myself shots of morphine. My blood sugar was very high, so they stabbed my fingers every three or four hours and gave me shots of insulin a few times. I couldn't have food or water for a couple days, all I could do was suck on ice chips, and I was dying for a big ass cup of water.

I got better pretty quickly. The morphine was taken away, and I had vicodin. I got up and walked, gossiped with the nurses, talked to Jayden on the phone. I had some pretty flowers from my brother and his wife and my girl Eileen. I read Sister Souljah's book The Coldest Winter Ever and tried to find the point. I watched TV and got phone calls from my supervisor & manager ("don't worry about your job, it will be here, just get better!"). Then I went home - going home was very traumatic, I don't want to talk about it, I finally got here and all was good. Albeit very lonely.

My play sister Debb came up from San Jose the next day, with my baby niece Kiyani. Because Jayden was at my mom's, it was the first time since she was first born that I was able to play with my niece without a jealous 3 year old acting out. I played with Kiyani while Debb cleaned up for me, and arranged stuff so I could get around with a minimum of effort. She'd also brought me some groceries, fresh healthy & easy to prepare food. Because she loves me.

So, here I am. I've seen Jayden a few times, my mom or brother will bring him by for a little while, and I'll get sweet boy hugs and kisses and talk about this & that with my son. I miss him like crazy, but I just cannot schlepp him around on the bus, and I'm unable to take care of many of his needs. So he's with my brother & sister in law during the week, because they have a car & can get him to school, and he's with my mom on the weekends. I hope to have him home sometime next week. He knows mommy has a big owie, and he's not to touch my tummy. I showed him the incision and everything. He thinks it's cool, especially because I have a Jackson-Pratt drain hanging from a hole in my belly.

So anyway, that's where I am. Sitting around by myself, semi incapacitated, watching the depressing coverage on TV because I don't have cable & it's the only thing on the networks. PBS comes in very grainy with shadows, but I still watched Sister Wendy last night.

And I've only got one Vicodin left.