So I've decided that the serenity prayer (you know, the one they use for 12-step programs) is going to be my new mantra. Along with the phrase, "It's none of my business."

I think maybe that's the key to not being worried all of the time.

At any rate, there are so many things out there that are out of my control, I might as well just keep concentrating on the ones that I can actually do something about. Or, at least, trying to concentrate on them.

I'm a fixer. I want to make everybody happy and problem-free.

It's not going well.

I found this quote on the Wikipedias by an 11th century philosopher, Solomon ibn Gabirol, and I really like it. He said, "At the head of all understanding...is realizing what is and what cannot be, and the consoling of what is not in our power to change."

I know, I know. Wikipedia is not a real source. This isn't a real source either, so deal.

At any rate, this is my new thing. For today, at least, because most things really are none of my business, and I need to keep reminding myself that that's okay. At least, on paper. I can do this. Really.

Ugh. Got bad news yesterday, and now Mom's in for more treatment.

Just ugh.

I wonder if they're ever going to come with a cure for this thing. Like a whole body zap that you step into and it kills all of the bad cells and leaves the good ones intact, and then you just go through a human car wash type thingy and it takes all the dead cells out and you're all shiny and have that new car smell.

Except with people.

Yeah, I probably missed my calling as a scientist. That sounds totally feasible, right?

Oh, well.

Ugh.

It's been a while since I posted about cancer, so I figured it was time. Here goes.

Cancer is dumb.

There you go.

Seriously, I mean it. It's dumb. And once it's there, the person who has it has to live with the fact that it may come back at any time, so there's always a shadow hanging over everybody. And when you have multiple people in one family with it, especially when it's different kinds with different treatments, it's even scarier because you know what the treatments they haven't had do, and you wonder if they're going to have to do that next. Or who it will hit next.

Ugh.

So every time there's a checkup, it's scary. And every time somebody gets a cold, it's scary. When they feel more tired than usual or get what used to be anormal kind of illness, it's scary. It's just scary all the time.

Also, you remember all life events as either before the cancer or after the cancer, and the person becomes defined as the person with X kind of cancer, which is super awful.

So, cancer is dumb and I hate it.

A lot.

The end.

The following is a post about bodily functions. If you are easily offended by fart talk, you might want to skip reading this one.

I am working by myself in the office, and it smells like farts in here.

I am not farting.

Now, granted, I have been known to let one loose on occasion, but today I just haven't felt like it was necessary. Yet.

Every few minutes, though, I get a distinct whiff of pretty strong fart smell, and it's making me a little queasy because it's pretty burly. Like, cabbage, old socks and cow poop mixed into a nose-burning aroma that keeps getting sprayed in here.

BUT IT'S JUST ME TODAY.

Is there a fart ghost? Am I being haunted? If so, that's messed up. Worst kind of ghost I've ever imagined. 

Also, if it's fart smell from someone working in the other part of the office, they should patent that and use it as some kind of non-deadly (as far as I know) chemical weapon to subdue people who need to be, you know, subdued.

If it was me, I'd calm right down if I was threatened with this kind of nasal assault. It would really only take one time, and then I would totally behave forever.

I can't figure this out. How is it getting in here? Everyone else is so far away. Seriously.

There is one person whom I suspect is the culprit, but I can't figure out how she's spreading that holiday cheer up in my neighborhood. She hasn't even been near the door to my office. I really can't fathom her farts (which are truly impressive both in smell and longevity) traveling the amount of distance necessary to reek up the entire joint this way. 

I guess I'll never know.

For the love of Mike, guys, make it stop. My nose is extremely offended. Unsafe work environment. For reals.

I have to do a shoutout to my parents. After the events of the last 39 years, I feel like a blog post is the least I can do.

My parents did not want two kids, but I surprised them anyway, and they've always made me feel like an integral part of the Riedel experience, even though I was obviously deposited into my mother's baby growing area by aliens who have spent the last few decades guffawing at our family photos because, yeah.

I was the messiest child an OCD mother could've imagined, always crafting it up and such, and never really getting my dishes into the sink. They let me live, and never gave me crap because I had to create. They just tried to contain the tornado of Pegasus drawings and woodcrafts and scarves.

Ha ha ha. There's no containing that. Good try, though.

When it became apparent that I needed to have a career in the arts, and would therefore live on their couch forever, they never said an unencouraging word. They backed me up in every way, even when I chose the section of the arts that is the worst choice a bookwormy introvert could make. They got me trained up for my weird singing choice and always say super nice stuff. My dad even hooks me up sometimes with photos of performances in which I look decent. I know. It's amazing.

My parents are going through so much sicky barftasticness right now, and they remain kind, encouraging, and supportive. My mom even kept her sobbing down to five minutes when we broke the news about moving away so we could have a try at our dream house.

Really. Only the one time for five minutes and then she kept it together. Even when we moved into her house, made a nuisance of ourselves for three weeks, and then left again.

Everywhere I go, if they know my parents in the place, I hear about how special they are. And not just by people who want to kiss my butt because I'm fancy now. Every. Body. It's crazy.

But they are. And they are accepting and love all of our friends and never judge us, even when we do dumb things. Let's face facts: That happens A LOT.

(Just to clarify, that doesn't mean they don't give us crap...that is their right and privilege, and I would never want to take that away from them...that's the price you pay, man.)

So, mom and dad, who don't read this blog anyway so I can say what I want, thank you. Thank you for letting me be myself, even when myself is a mess. I love you right back.

As of today, we've been in our new house a month! We are really loving it, but there are some things to get used to.

First of all, the blinds in the bedroom are not blackout blinds. That means that by 6:30, the bedroom is fully light. Ugh. Sometimes on weekends, I like to sleep until 7:30. We are going to need to get some new window coverings. I need that extra hour.

Secondly, the tile floor has these weird random little black spots on it. They drive me crazy because I think, "MOUSE POOP!!!" and then I run and get all of my cleaning gear (mask, Lysol, gloves, hazard suit, you know, all the stuff normal people put on to clean up one tiny piece of excrement), and then I realize it's a spot on the floor. But, I guess, better safe than sorry.

The weirdest thing of all is the dark. We are from a tiny town. Tiny. No night life at all, and our street didn't have a light on it or anything, so I'm used to it getting pretty dark at night. Nothing like here, though. Last night I drove home from a late rehearsal, and I was honestly nervous that I would pull into the wrong driveway. It gets a level of dark here that is a little freaky. Definitely opens up possibilities for an alien invasion, I tell you.

Otherwise, it's been great. Santa Fe is an amazing town and we love being a little more out in the "country" even though we're closer to the city. The extra land is totally worth the drive every day. Except at 4:45 am. Then I hate it a little.

But only until I've had my coffee. Then it's good again.