I am going to die

On November 14th, I go in for a 20 minute procedure that may have taken 25 years or a little less to prepare for.

For the past few years, at least, I have had acid reflux issues that have gradually become worse. After attempting to reason with my family doctor, who swore I did not have an ulcer, and taking three different kinds of medication that helped (but did not cure) the problem, I finally (perhaps belatedly) took a trip to the Gastroenterologist. It was decided within the first 5 minutes that I needed an endoscopy.

This is by no means a fun procedure, unless you consider being drugged and putting a tiny camera down your esophogus...fun. Nevertheless, I've rocked and writhed and twitched, crying out like King Lear's "Hoooowwwwllll!" from the pain quite long enough, thank you.

The reason for my prediction of death is the mere thought of a strange, solid un-digestible object being swallowed...by me. A biopsy of my stomach lining will also be plucked from said organ while I am shivering in a stooper of anesthesia, which I'm sure will be lovely.

The kicker of all this was when my doctor told me that I will be partially awake throughout this entire ordeal. The IV will be pumping a certain kind of chemical (definition escapes me) that is identical to those proteins found in the brains of amnesia patients. That way, she said, you won't remember anything, either before or after the torture....I mean, the endoscopy. Right.

Great. They're going to make me forget. This is the liquid equivalent to that flashing stick Tommy Lee Jones used in Men in Black. The idea of me, control-junkie that I am, forgetting something like that is odd. I rarely forget my dreams or the snippet of conversations I hear as I walk by someone in the grocery store, let alone my own actions. Ohhhh.

So, we'll see what becomes of me. I know it will come and go and will be over before I know it, so I'm not all that worried. I'll be in pain for a few days, but thankfully I'll have the weekend to recover. Wish me luck and I will no doubt give you what details I can remember (WHICH WILL BE PLENTY! MMMWWWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!) when I return. :)

Lots of interesting things...

There's a lot going on this week that has caught my attention. Let me expound:

Dickinsonian Revelations

I got the American 19th century literary kick of my life this week, when my husband sent me an article that is no doubt the main subject on the tongues and minds of Dickinson scholars right now. Turns out the mystery of Emily Dickinson's enigmatic poetry and life is in reality quite ordinary: she was engaged (shocker!) to a poor but bright Amherst student, George Gould. Her father intervened in the classic Wimpole Street fashion, she pined away while he traveled to Europe, he came back, he married, she went mad with romantic grief and began writing poetry. Ohhh ok: so that's why her poetry exploded in a flurry of morbidity in the early 1860's (he married in 1862), one might say. Perhaps. As to wearing white and secluding herself in her father's home, that's still in question, still an intriguing anecdote that no one can really pin down.

Before I say anything else, I should mention that I love Dickinson. Her poetry, her life, her circumstances were by no means flowery, but it provides a backdrop to what I consider a dark, remote time in Eastern American history. It's the fodder for gothic-esque novels and films. I read the original article in the New England Quarterly (you can download it, for $10.00 unfortunately, at the MIT Press Journals site). They will no doubt do a movie on this, since the elements for the perfect tale examining her pre-creative years (much like Becoming Jane did with Jane Austen's young love story) and love affair are all there. There is, admittedly, only the basic information to build upon, leaving the writers an easy task for fictionalizing the script.

Georgian England...it's where I want to be.

I saw The Duchess last night, with Keira Knightley and Ralph Fiennes. Simply wanted to say that I adored it, it was everything I expected, something that is rare for me when it comes to film. I have high standards, what can I say. 8)

Glass, Warhol, and Brando...yes, this has a point!

The Charlotte Symphony Orchestra is teaming with CPCC this November 14th for a concert I am thrilled about: Phillip Glass' String Symphony No. 3, coupled with scenes from the film On the Waterfront and paintings of Andy Warhol, intertwined with Leonard Bernstein's score from the film. 20th century expression at its finest. Readings from Jack Kerouac is the only thing wanting. Remember the days when respected composers created soundtracks for film? Bernstein, Copland, even Rachmaninoff threw in something now and again. Glass is probably the only one who has achieved this, albeit discreetly: the score for the existential-ish, long-forgotten comedy The Truman Show was a product of his repetitive melodies. John Williams, Howard Shore and others have built their reputations upon writing exclusively for film, not vice versa. Nothing wrong with that, however!

Can't buy me loooooovvee!....

Remember my article from last November, when I waxed ecstatic about the tribute Beatles band, Rain? Well, they're coming back to Charlotte in a matter of weeks. This time, I'll bring my parents along and they can have a flashback to their youth. ;-)

That's it for now. Don't forget: read, sing, soar and inspire. Life is too lovely to waste it on Wii!