Mood:  crushed out

The card Michael gave to me was addressed, "Beloved".  I can't be quite as mushy so I addressed my valentine card to "Mike".  Both cards said similar things although Mike's was longer and far more sentimental.  I am very lucky that I have married a man who wears his heart on his sleeve.  My heart is more hidden.  Along with the card came a package of eight large strawberries dipped in chocolate.  I have never eatten a strawberry dipped in chocolate before.  The crunch of the coating (the chocolate was hard from being refridgerated) and the cold mush of the strawberry inside is a very strange combination.  It was a bit painful eatting the strawberries because my teeth on one side are sensitive to hot and cold and the gums around the teeth on the other side had been burned by eating a hot cheese sandwich.  They looked beautiful, all had a long stem attached and green leaves.  The dark chocolate had been drizzled with swirls of white chocolate.  I bought Mike two bags of his favorite candy but now that I think about it I wish I had bought a traditional red valentine box of chocolates for him, it would have been more romantic.

I get taken care of so well that there is the danger of becoming lazy.  Mike cooks me dinner every night.  Last night he served it to me in bed.  For the last month he has been doing the dishes as well.  He never ever complains.  I think I married a caretaker.  Sometimes I think about what would happen to me if Mike died.  I would be lost.  It isn't just what he does for me, it is the spirit of the fact, that I am being nurtured by someone who loves me.  The loss of his nurturing would turn the world into a very cold, hard place to live.  I could do my own dishes and cook my own meals.  I've lived alone before.  What I've come to be dependent on is a man who loves me.  That love is manifested in all sorts of ways, caring comforting words, companionship, and sex.  But put these things together and you have the one fact that you are not alone.  In my marriage I never feel alone.  If Mike died I would feel horribly alone.

Right before I go to sleep is a strange time for me and some nights I get feeling waves of fear.  I tell Mike, "I am afraid" and snuggle close and clutch him.  Last time I did this Mike told me that the worst thing that could happen is that I die, and death in his eyes is not an ending.  He believes that you die and become part of Gaea, the Mother Earth Goddess.  The afterlife is a union with a much greater power that is big and beautiful and peaceful.  It is something that he is certain of, a true believer.  It is hard to remember my fear now, this morning, because I only feel it late at night.  It could be because I an tired and vulnerable after a long day or it could be because my medication is wearing thin and it is too soon to feel the affects of my evening dose taken with dinner.  All the things I fear, and it is hard to assign objects to this vague feeling, are listed below.

1. My teeth going bad.  I have expensive caps on my front teeth.  The teeth under these caps have been whittled down to tiny pieces of bone.  I fear that we won't be able to afford future dental work and I will have to have my teeth pulled and wear false dentures.  Right now a back tooth is rotten and I have to find a dentist and make an appointment.  This task weighs on my mind every day.  I am afraid to go to the dentist.

2. That I will accomplish nothing exceptional during my lifetime.  I will be a part-time artist and part-time writer and never have a steady career as one or the other.  I will spend years writing my book but after all that effort it won't be good enough to be published.  I will live my entire life never knowing what it feels like to make money and to be recognized as doing something good.

3. The illness has reduced me to something less than a half person.  I am a quarter person, a fifth or sixth of a person and no matter how hard I try I cannot compete any artistic field against people who have gone to school for their craft or who can work for hours upon hours every day.  My little efforts can never achieve greatness because greatness comes only after long hours of work.  I can do my bit every day and hope that the bits add up to something important but perhaps this is not the way it works.

4. I will lose Michael and in the process of going mad from grief all my creativity will dry up.

Posted by dignifyme at 12:56 PM EST

Updated: Wednesday, 14 February 2007 1:05 PM EST

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Mood:  energetic

This morning I thought that I was doing everything right.  I woke at 8:30am and had to be at the museum for my volunteer job at 11am.  Plenty of time to get ready.  Had to be careful though, with that little bit of free time I had to concider the state of my brain.  There are certain activities that I do not do before my volunteer job.  I do not read, write or make art.  These activities are delightful and engaging.  However, I'm going to have to be at my best during the three hours I sit in the museum at the information desk and I can't "peak" ahead of time.  Carefully I orchestrate my morning activities so that I don't exhaust myself before I exhaust myself at my job.  Activities that are acceptable to do before my job are light cleaning, like doing the dishes or grooming my dog, or watching television.  These activities are not intellectually stimulating and at the most involve simple, repetative behavior.  This morning I watched the movie "Evita".  I like watching Madonna.  I like looking at her arm and neck muscles.

All my clothing was color co-ordinated.  The dog was taken outside to go to the bathroom.  A fresh pot of coffee was brewed and poured in a thermus.  Put make-up on and brushed my teeth and hair.  But I forgot to eat breakfast and I forgot to take my morning medication.

Reality got pretty weird by the third hour I was at the museum.  My palms were sweating.  Time was going by very slowly, as if I were anxious about something.  I felt like I was shaking even though I don't think I was shaking.  And I had quite a bit of energy, I had woken up to a reality that was more off my medication then I was used to.  Objects seemed sharply defined and I noticed color and texture more than usual.  When the gallery was empty took a stroll around to look at the artwork.  I'm used to the exhibit that was there but I definely saw more details in the art then I had ever seen before, it was like looking with a fresh pair of eyes.  Leaving the museum I was afraid that I might trip and fall in the parking lot.  By then I was definately shakey and my legs felt wobbly.  Could have been low blood sugar but it also could have been withdrawl from my prescribed narcotic.  As long as I take it on time I don't notice that I am addicted to it.

It is now evening and I still feel weird.  London and Mike were talking and I kept wringing my hands. I think I got stressed out from being off my medication schedual by six hours, and now, I am going to finally settle down by taking a pinch more narcotic.  And maybe eating some ice cream.

Posted by dignifyme at 6:44 PM EST

Updated: Wednesday, 14 February 2007 1:02 PM EST

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Mood:  not sure

Mike came home from work yesterday with an interesting story.  Aparently two co-workers are giving off signals that they are an item.  The girl has started wearing make-up to work.  The guy is clearly enamoured with her.  I pressed Mike for details.  How do you know that they want to sleep together or already have slept together?  He said it was all there in the body language.

The girl is single and Mike said that on a scale of 1 to 10 she is a 9.  One of the prettiest girls in the shop.  The guy is married and has three kids.  His last son was born just several months ago.  Mike wants to say the the guy, "Opps, I tripped and fell and my penis just happened to slide into her" or some other dirty remark (which he delivered with a cheerful grin, obviously he thinks it is very funny).

But the fact that this man is messing up his home and life Mike doesn't find funny at all.  I got a passionate lecture about the dangers of having an affair.  Since Mike has never had an affair I guess this is a rule that he lives by.  Mike said that he could imagine having sex with the pretty girl for "recreation".  I take it from his manner of speaking that men like to look around and think what fun it would be to have sex with this one or that.  It is, Mike said once, the temptations of variety.  The fun of the experience of a new body.  But Mike would never want to risk losing the most important thing in his life, that is, me.  No "recreational activity" is worth the price of his marriage.  He believes that the two love birds in his shop are underestimating the consequences of their behavior.  She could fall in love with him, or he could fall in love with her.  The wife could find out.  Mike says he knows my body smell, and he bets that another man's oder would be obvious to him.  There are the excuses the man is giving to his wife to make time for his tryst.  And then there is the fact that everyone in the shop seems to know that they are having an affair.  Yes, there must be signs for the wife to see.

I asked Mike if he felt like living in a marriage was like living in a cage.  He admitted that there are things he just doesn't do anymore and isn't likely to do in the future because he is married to me.  Sky diving and hang gliding and riding horses was his list.  (But I would be happy to go ride a horse!)  Those are things he did decades ago before his daughter was born, while he was in the air force and still single.  Marriage seems a bit like an exuse for youth that has passed you by.  If he were single would he be doing these things?  I doubt it.  One never knows.

Frankly, I keep Mike pretty busy.  I always know where he is not because I am the jealous type but because our lives are so entwined that there are no secrets and free time is usually spent in one another's company.  He and I, we are little folk living a little life where we derive much of the satisfaction of our days from ordinary companionship.  When we watch a movie in bed we hold hands.  When we walk into a grocery store we walk across the parking lot holding hands.  When Mike comes home from work the first thing he does is come into the bedroom where I am resting and tell me about the day's events.  I have come to know the names and personalities of all his co-workers and even details about the paperwork he fills out.  As far as I am concerned there is never enough play time in the bedroom.  The only limit he knows is his body's limit!  As he gets older that is something I need to be gracious about.

I am enjoying my marriage more and more all the time.  For a time I really missed the money that my first husband gave me.  I actually resented Mike for taking me away from him!  "I wish I had never met you" I said while we were on a walk during the summer.  "I had everything I needed, all the money in the world and then you came and tempted me away from it."  It was a phase I went through, part of my adjustment period after I was married last January.  Now the weight of my creative work is growing and I am more satisfied outside of the marriage.  That is what shopping and spending money is, something you do outside of the marriage.  I have a purpose right now that fills my free time.  It pits me against myself, a gigantic struggle, all true creative work comes out of a struggle with the self.  I wouldn't be so satisfied with myself if the struggle were any easier.  Yes, strange as it may seem, the fact that I have work that consumes me adds to the strength of the marriage.  I must have a goal I am working toward or else I take out my boredom on my husband.  Poor man!  But I suppose if he were bored he might be more tempted by that "recreational" activity of having an affair. 

What makes our marriage really strong is that we both have individual creative pursuits.  Private struggles that fill our free time.  And we both like to read books.

Posted by dignifyme at 12:01 PM EST

Updated: Friday, 9 February 2007 12:21 PM EST

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Mood:  hug me

It is cold here in Vermont.  The only room heated during the day is our small bedroom with an electric heater.  I lie in bed and write my book and read the Fountainhead and watch old movies.  My butt gets numb.  My back is propped up by pillows.

It's funny how hard it is in the morning to start writing.  I really have to push myself.  You would think that a person would go eagerly toward something that their ego is so dependent on.  I need an accomplishment every day or else I don't feel good about myself.  When I was painting I couldn't wait to get started in the morning.  Sometimes I wanted to work so badly that I would forget to eat.  Writing is simply more painful than painting.  There is a little nasty shock to my system every time I try to pull a sentence out of me.  The consolation is that after I've acheived a paragraph that flows smoothly I get pleasure in re-reading it.

I listened last night to the Director's commentary to the movie "Little Miss Sunshine".  It took them six years to make.  That makes me feel better.  My book might take six years to make but I think I can do it in less.  The road is long before me but it has been long before other creative people as well.  One of the things the directors talked a lot about was how much was taken out of the movie.  They had chunks of dialogue between actors that never made it to the final cut.  And the directors (a husband and wife team) felt certain that the movie was better because of the strict editing.  Today I was re-writing old text and it felt very good throwing away a word here or a phrase there.  The writing became more streamlined and the voice more powerful.

Reading The Fountainhead gives me a good sense of Ayn Rand's genius.  The words seem to pour out of her.  It seems to me that she started the process with definite characters, that would have certain strengths and weaknesses.  Once the characters were established in her mind their dialogue came naturally.  There is a lot of dialogue in The Fountainhead and it seems to have been prodigiously created.  These characters all talk ideas and they do so passionately.  I can imagine how she "heard" the voices of her characters and then simply typed what she was hearing.  The next novel I will read after The Fountainhead is Anna Karenina by Tolstoy.  I want to compare his characters with Ayn Rand's characters.  Not what they stand for, good or evil, strong or weak, but to try to guess if the author had a similar process of starting the novel with a character and then driving the action through that character's personality and voice.

Whether or not my first novel gets published I plan for a second novel.  I am trying to imagine a creative process.  Mike says that when he is writing he gets to a point where the characters take over and write the book for him.  It must be so much fun to have characters in your head.  I'll live someone else's life.  It is what happens with paint and canvass, I carry the image and colors around with me all day long.

Now I have written and blogged and the morning is over.  I think I will get dressed and walk to the bank.  Funds have to be transfered out of savings to cover the cost of the couch we bought last weekend.  I need to take out of savings some money for curtains as well.  I am going down to Connecticut soon and want to buy new green curtains for the one window in our bedroom.  Since we painted the room green the old curtains are now too weak in color, they are washed out by the new vibrancy of the room.  There are more stores in Connecticut than Vermont.

With my old husband all I did with my free time was shop.  I miss it sometimes, having all that money.  But with the current husband and the isolation of where we live there is more emphasis on my creative pursuits.  It seems a more wholesome way of living, creating rather than shopping.

Posted by dignifyme at 1:17 PM EST

Updated: Wednesday, 7 February 2007 1:40 PM EST

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Mood:  happy

Yesterday I watched the old black and white movie, "The Fountainhead".  It was based on the book by Ayn Rand and the screenplay was written by Rand.  The characters were so stiff and everything coming out of the character's mouths was the core thoughts of her philosophic movement.  As a writer Rand was passionate and focused on her ideals.  The whole plot of the movie and the book came straight from her view of life.

So it got me thinking, what is my view of life?  Do I have any ideals?  I am what happens to a person when they are trying to survive one day at a time.  There isn't any fat.  There isn't any spare time to work oneself into a systems of beliefs, wether that is beliefs that are already established or beliefs that are new to the world.  You become instead a sort of sensualist, where immediate experience and immediate gradification fullfill all your needs.  I don't mean that you live a life of debouchery.  You simply live in the moment, whether that moment is full of pain or pleasure.

I am sitting on our new couch.  I gave me pause when Mike said, "That is three days worth of work", meaning it would take him three days of work to pay for it.  I absolutely wanted a used couch.  We looked in an antique store and found a mediocre couch, we looked in a used furniture shop and they only had three couches to choose from.  Two had patterned fabric and would have not gone so well in my work room.  My work room is already swimming in colors and pattern.  The third couch was golden yellow and seems to be from the 1950's or 60's.  I would have prefered a blue or green or dark red couch but when you buy something used you can only get what you find.  I said that the gold couch had my name written on it but Mike said, humor me, let's go to a new furniture store.  They were having an end of year cleareance sale but the prices were still shocking.  The couches were beautiful and they could all be made to order with the exact fabric you chose.  But as we walked through the store I was rather horrified thinking of spending so much for a couch for my work room, a room that is created for a woman who can't work and bring in any income of her own.  That thought is never far from my mind, that if I want anything it comes from Mike's earnings.  Of course I do make things in my work room, artwork and writings like this post.  Mike has his library room and I have my work room, separate places where we each pursue our creative projects and decorate as we please.  If I made a lot of money then I might buy a new couch.  But since I don't make money and only spend Mike's money it was essential that the couch be used.  It is a matter of dignity.  Some women would only be pleased if their couch was new.  I would only be pleased if my couch was used.

We put the yellow couch in the back of our car, hanging out the hatch door.  All down the street to our house while I held onto the arm of the couch I pleaded and prayed to God that a policecar would not cruise by.  I didn't want to pay the extra $20 for the seller to deliver with his truck.  Happily the used furniture store is only one long block from our house.

Today is a day off from writing my book.  Mike and I cleaned but we ran out of paper towels so I still have dusting to do.  My big chore was to change the cat litter, Mike vacumed.  My next big chore is to take a shower and go to the grocery store for more paper towels.  I might also putter around my work room, we have just converted it from a bedroom.  The house was in disaray when London moved out and Mike and I moved back into her bedroom where we had started from.   My greatest thrill is that I have my work table under the window with eastern light.  It had been sitting with a southern exposure and the light there was too harsh for me to use.  The eastern window lets in a difuse light, it illuminates but never is blindingly bright.

My first project in my work room is going to be some painting on glass.  I am very excited.  My mornings are to be used to write my book and my evenings are to be used to work on glass painting and blogging.

Hurah for my work room now back in working order.

Posted by dignifyme at 12:59 PM EST

Updated: Sunday, 4 February 2007 1:27 PM EST

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Mood:  chillin'

I walked down to the post office today and mailed my application for the A Room Of Her Own Foundation Grant.  It took about an hour to print out all the pages and finsih filling in the application forms.  Sad to say, when I got back from the post office I didn't have anything in me to start writing.  I guess I'm exhausted and burnt out.

The writing right now in my book is dangerous stuff to me.  I'm writing about my suicide attempt.  I find the subject horrifying, hopefully the reader will be horrified as well.  The next bit to clearify, where I left off yesterday, is why I hate myself so much for being schizophrenic.  It is painful to write and I think I need a day off before I go back in and present the details.  Oh, I know exactly what to write and how to write it, sticking to the rule of thumb that things and feelings should be shown rather than told.  So the way it goes is I'll show you a despicable person - me.  I'll give you a portrait of a nobody.  To be more exact, a person who has failed at being a person.  That is how I saw myself before my suicide attempt.

I've been reading some powerful short stories by Russian writers.  It makes me despair.  How can I match their energy and bold inventiveness?  As preparation for a writing career I've started reading the classics.  The quality I encounter is stunning.  I even wonder how it is humanly possible to create the kinds of thoughts that these writers have.  I feel so small and insignificant.  Actually it is comfortable to be beneith notice.  Every day I answer to nobody but myself.  Nobody is watching and waiting for me and husband lets me spend my time as I see fit.  At the bottom of it, even my husband could care less wether I write a book.

In my essay about writing that was part of the AROHO grant application I stretched the truth.  Truth is I don't feel as safe writing at the library as I feel writing in bed.  My bedroom is tiny and dark with one window.  The walls are painted mint green and they seem to close in on either side of me.  It is a cave.  It is a place where there is no people or movement or noise.  It is a good place to focus one's thought.  In my essay on writing I gave the indication that most of my writing takes place in the library.  The library is good for me because getting out of the house is good for me but I don't feel the same tight connectedness to my writing in the library as I do at home.  The library is lofty and expansive and I seem to have some residual fear about the people there.  They are all strangers.  Isn't that enough to cause fear?  I don't own my spot in the library like I own my spot in my bed.  At the library a person says, "It is my right to study here!" and this is true.  The library is created and owned by the public, all the luxuries it gives are for the public.  So what I need to do is to walk into the library and feel a sense of entitlement.  Which as of yet, I do not feel.

Wore my converse high top sneakers to the post office.  They are very hard to get in and out of.  But they are so comfortable.  They have become my footwear of choice.  I told my husband that I am going to wear them for the rest of my life.  He said, "Don't make promises about forever!"  But I then said, "How many pairs of shoes do I have and how many more are in storage in the barn?  I have extensive experience with all sorts of shoes.  And now I have found the perfect shoe!"

The isolation in Vermont is good for a writer.  It is difficult to endure but it gives the best incentive to produce.  Does God want me to write this book?  Has he brought me to a quiet place, a place where there is no place for me, just so that I will invent my own purpose?

Posted by dignifyme at 2:32 PM EST

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Mood:  down

Just finished a book about Alfred Kinsey, the sex researcher.  It was 773 pages long.  The prose was only adequate.  It is funny but I remember a phrase the author uses if it gets re-used just once.  To please me every discriptive phrase needs to be new.  The best parts of the book were about Kinsey's own kinky sex life.  Poor man would have been horrified how his personal life was exposed, right down to the toothbrush he shoved up his penis and the rope he tied around his scrotum.  All his hard work and this is the image I take from his life.  Remember Karen the power of the sexual image in a book or short story.  To please the reading always include one or two!

Today's goal is to walk downtown to the post office and put some bills in the mailbox.  Then tomorrow after work I'll go to the bank and make certain we have the funds to cover those checks.

It has been cold outside and I haven't been walking around much.  I have a new pair of high top converse sneakers to break in.  Since I woke at 4am and have been reading straight to about 10am my mind took one look at those lace up shoes and balked.  I don't have the mental energy to thread the new laces through their holes.  It is early in the morning and my motor is running on fumes.  Oh yes, took a break from reading to shower, a big accomplishment not to be forgotten.

After I stop at the post office I'll probably go to the used book store in town and see if there are any copies of Checkov's short stories.  The plan for this year is to make it the year of the writer.  I want to publish, to get more publishing credits to my name.  In addition to continuing work on my book I want to write several short stories to publish in literary art magazines.  Looked at the Keynon Review website yesterday and 1) they only take emailed submissions and 2) the submission period was from September of last year to January 31st.  This gives me lots of time to prepare for next year's submission period.  Taking a no rush policy suits me fine.

I want to publish to get the credit.  But I also want to publish to push myself forward with my writing.  To have goals and deadlines and above all - to be part of the big world out there.  I've got a stable marriage and a stable living arraingement and it is now time to start producing.  My main goal during the onset of my illness almost 20 years ago was to be a writer.  When I got my tubes tied, effectively sterilizing myself the doctor said, "How do you feel?" and I answered her, "I feel like a writer.  Not a mother, never to be a mother, but having taken a firm step towards being a writer."  I really self-sacrificed for the craft at one point in my life.

Why did I stop writing and start making art?  The first reason was that my boyfriend at the time found my writing boring.  He was unimpressed and it was a part of my life I couldn't share with him.  I tried sharing my writing with people in a psycho-social rehabilitation program but the people I loved, people with my disease, largely couldn't concentrate on my writing.  But they would respond to my artwork, just as my muddleheaded boyfriend responded positively to my artwork.  I didn't try to share my writing with strangers, a big mistake.  I stayed close to home to people I felt safe with.  Well, I'm safe now and my husband is really sharp.  I can share my writing with him.  And I'm not afraid anymore to get rejection slips from literary magazines.  In fact, I welcome them.  The main thing is the attempt to try to get published.  I don't want their money, that would only foul me up with Social Security Disability.  And I don't want to buy copies of the magazines I appear in so I can see my words in print.  I just want the credit and to have to guts to try and try again.  My writing will improve the more I try.  My writing has improved since I started this blog.  I need a game plan and a focus and this next year it is to publish.

Now to have some breakfast, take my morning medication and tie up those shoe laces.

Posted by dignifyme at 10:20 AM EST

Updated: Sunday, 28 January 2007 10:27 AM EST

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Mood:  a-ok

I am nearing the end of my aplication process for A Room Of Her Own Gift of Freedom Award.  My essays have been written and with the exception of one, they have all been checked and revised based on Mike's feedback.  What is left yet to do is gather financial data and write a resume according to their specifications.

Yesterday I emailed a friend.

Posted by dignifyme at 8:22 AM EST

Updated: Friday, 26 January 2007 8:25 AM EST

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Mood:  happy

Hopefully by now this blog site has worked out some of the bugs that were bothering me before.  My substitute blog site was elegant but I ran into worse bugs there than on this site. 

I need to blog.  It is something that releaves pressure in my head.

I've been spending many days applying for "A Room Of Her Own Freedom Gift award", which is a $50,000 writing grant taking place over two years.  If you win the award you are morally committed to a writing project, and I have offered to expand www.schizophreniaandart.com to include other artists and writers as well as finishing my book.  Can you imagine, a website where schizophrenics publish their creative writing like a literary magazine and display artwork like in a gallery?  I can do it only with the grant money, money nesessary to hire a web designer.

The AROHO foundation asks for answers to more than four essay questions and detailed financial information.  The essay questions had a limit of five pages and you know that I am using every single page available to me proving that I can write intelligently and extensively on every topic.  You have to prove that you aren't scared of a little work and that you can write prolifically.

Today I printed out the first two essay questions for my husband to read tonight when he gets home from work.  I'm excited because he will be my first audience.

The chances of me winning the award are very, very slim.  I looked at the profiles of the other winners and they all had more education than me and more experience having published their writing.  One was a writing teacher!  I feel like a cavewoman compared to the other women.  I practice my writing and that is my only education, me toughing it out with myself.  I don't have a graduate school professor giving me feedback on my writing, correcting the grammer and telling me what "works" and what doesn't "work".  The uncertainty over the quality of what I create is enormus.  Happily I've gotten several emails that bolster my spirit.  Here they are;

Hey, Karen, I found your site while doing a search on Schizophrenia and art.  I’m a nursing student and was curious about schizophrenic experiences and “source material” as you say.

I love your site and wanted to tell you that your prose is amazing.  You are a great writer.

I’ll share your site with the rest of the students in my class.

Take Care

Mike

Hello Karen,

My name is Evette. I am a student at Northampton Community College in Pennsylvania. I was given your website address by my professor because I am doing a paper on schizophrenia and art. My professor showed me some of the art work you have on the website and you amaze me. I started to read about your life and you are truely are an inspiration. I want to read the rest of your life story so I have submitted my email address for when your website is complete I can finish reading. I was wondering if I could interview you for my paper? Maybe by phone or in person? I would like to know more about your art work and about how you have changed your life to work for you, your mind and how you bring such life to your work not only in art form but in your writing as well. You have touched me in a way that I can not describe. I hope you consider the interview and I look forward to hear from you soon. Take care of yourself.

Sincerely,
Evette

Posted by dignifyme at 1:18 PM EST

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My new blog site is www.schizophreniaandart.blogspot.com.

I tried to set up a new blog on tripod because I like all their custom features.  Well, truth of the matter is I got attached to how the tripod blog looked and felt.  But when I went to set up a second blog on tripod I had many of the problems that I'm encountering here on this site.  Occationally I would get a screen "about blank" which is a virus that I think tripod might be infested with.  Hackers are bad people.  Leave a comment on the new site and tell me how you like it!

Posted by dignifyme at 11:58 AM EDT

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