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being nessasary

a quirky look into being

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Hello dear friends and critters alike!  I have been extremely absent, like kicked of of school absent, the in the past months – mostly because of school and dedication to another writing project (I plan on sharing a bite  soon!).

Enough about me, I’d like to introduce you to David Hass, cancer advocate and archeologist of my blog (it’s very rare for someone to dig up a blog written by someone who seems to have been carried off by a hawk).  He wanted to share his insight concerning the benefits of physical activities to those afflicted with cancer.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Mr. David Hass:

Many complications occur for cancer survivors who are doing some sort of treatment to deal with this disease. Various side effects are felt that may leave a patient feeling lethargic and have a reduced sense of self-esteem. Patients typically believe that these symptoms are here to stay and have no way to help fend off some of these problems. However, the truth is physical activity has a major role in allowing patients to feel better about their selves while increasing energy and mobility during this especially difficult time in their lives.

Any exercise routine is sure to allow for a person to feel better while gaining extra energy and bettering their emotional status. There are various exercises that can relieve symptoms that are often associated with mesothelioma treatment or any of the other various cancer therapies, including radiation or chemotherapy. Symptoms can often include fatigue, joint pain, muscle pain, loss of appetite, and frustration. Doing exercises such as jogging, walking, weightlifting, or swimming can help strengthen the core of the body while reducing the chances of the cancer spreading further.

Other side effects that are often overlooked are mental issues that are associated with chemical treatment. Many patients feel depressed, anxious, and stressed during their treatment. These issues usually have a deep root in the mental problems that can turn into physical problems. This may occur because with a reduced sense of confidence comes a lowered degree of overall fitness. This problem will often lead to inactivity and chronic fatigue that may be difficult to overcome. Inactive patients may have a harder time recovering as well as a higher likelihood for a recurrence. Those who were physically active and have put mesothelioma or breast cancer into remission were reported to have higher chances of survival according to The National Cancer Institute.

Physical activity is not a cure for cancer but can help influence the quality of life for someone who may have a hard time dealing with this difficult illness. Furthermore, the chances of survival are known to increase when a patient effectively incorporates physical activity into their lives, which can benefit them both mentally and physically.

[for more articles and blog posts by David, visit Haas Blaag]


My last post may have illuminated that I have been struggling a bit lately as far as anti-epileptic medications go.  Sleeping for 18 hours a day is not really my thing – there are way too many fun things to do out there in the world.  Including the anatomy homework I am about to attempt.

I forced myself out of bed this morning to do the most mundane and necessary of tasks:   laundry. I get a lot of peace from doing laundry – which I think is why I MUST have a washer and dryer in every apartment/condo I live in from now on.  Maybe even two sets:  one for when I go outside to play with my future mud-covered poochies/garden/hike/jump in a gross pond, and another for my amazing collection of underthings.

The thing is, I like simplicity.  It has been incredibly tough to apply the theory to my life the past 4 years with all the pitchy jazz that comes with cancer, the deaths of friends/those afflicted with cancer, medications, and relationships.  It takes a lot of deep breaths, a very strong support group, and a whole lot of the icey cream.

The more I attend my massage classes, the more I learn how many ways one can learn about their body, spirit, and the planet we live on.  The simplicity of having air in my lungs and a pair of hands to lay upon someone else’s body, gives me some of the simplicity I need – most of us are born with these two things.  No diamonds or decadent designs needed.

I suggest we all focus on simplicity, especially in the wake of the tsunami and earthquakes in Japan.  Many lost family, friends, homes, pets, and possessions.  I would much rather cope with the 10+ pills I swallow each day than lose my beloved family, friends, Betty and Maggie, and the roof over my head.

One of my favorite songs featured in the Waycross Camp songbook/sung at my grandmother’s funeral is called “Tis a Gift to be Simple.”  I will leave you with the lyrics:

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,

‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained

To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,

To turn, turn, will be our delight

Till turning, turning we come round right.

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First you gotta find the perfect box of cards. A difficult task when you are super sensitive to all religions and beliefs.  It is particularly challenging to locate a box of greetings that do not look like an elementary school teacher’s closet.  It took several stops this year to find some that are okay, just okay. Last year was much better: I had found postcards featuring vintage-looking holiday cartoons.  I loved them – plus my message space was limited.

I have struggled to send my well wishes to friends and family this year.  I have had a particularly busy December, but have had issues with being quite wordy.  The cards I selected are dramatically white on the inside!  THEY MUST BE BLANKETED IN BEAUTIFUL WORDS!!!  I want everyone that receives a card to feel a little more loved than, “Happy Holidays, Love Nessa (in some cases, “and Betty [pawmark]).”  I like to do a bit of updating, throw in a little thing that was special between me and the recipient, maybe even toss in a bad pun or two.

However, it has come down to the time where they are going to be belated.  If you haven’t received one and you are in my address book, I do love you!

I hope you can get by without your Nessa holiday cheer until after the 25th (I think anyone that is Jewish actually got theirs on time).  You may even get yours after the new year! How delightful to get a festive card post the “Winter is fun and joyous!” season.

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AHHHH! Only 20 minutes left of the the seventh of December 201o (well, at least here in lower region of Indiana). I am pretty much rushing this post for the sake of keeping my pact to write everyday this month.

To summarize my rushy day:

1. Successfully rolled out of bed

2. Was inspired to keep trying to get my writing out there by a nice man named Dave (meaning I need to write much, much more!).

3.  Went to work, stuffed folders, smelled a real nast. dog fart, got creeped out by a directory of doll collectors.

4. Left work, had a brief but very important meeting with a financial aid adviser.

5. Went back to work, got even MORE creeped out by a directory of doll collectors. Loudly announced my hatred for Windows 97 – DUDE, it’s nearly 14 years later!!!!!

6. Had an amazing dinner with a lovely friend (mmmmm mussels and frites!)

7.  Failed at finding a cute cocktail dress.

8. Learned how to use my scanner whilst doing laundry, cleaning, and sending e-mails.

Life is fast.  I am so used to living in a relaxed manner that I sometimes forget that people actually live their lives with this sort of stress.  It is exhausting.  No wonder people need massages!

Let us all take a few deep breaths!

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I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I am afraid of Santa Claus.

Would you put your child on the lap of a strange man in the mall?  Is it okay to welcome a man into your home late at night?  What about telling your children to trust a man who gives you things?  I am one for fairy tales and fantasy (but, in reality, most of the “true” versions of popular fairy tales are morbid), but Santa hits a bit too close to issues of today.

Most people love him, even though he kisses countless Mothers each year.  This makes him a legitimate factor in the rising divorce rates.

Kids are taught to love him from a very young age, mostly because he gives them presents to reward them for being nice.  Doesn’t this sound a bit like a creeper (in the tamest of ways for me to say)?  Don’t a lot of bad guys use the same Santa-like logic to get what they want/need from children?

And then there is just the whole concept of the Old Man sneaking past your security system via chimney, and creeping around your house to make sure all are deeply involved in gumdrop and lollipop dreams.  He knows exactly what you want, which pretty much means he has been watching you way too closely – this is unless you wrote him a letter (I’m proud of you – keeping personality in communication alive…).

Then there are the mall Santas.  Holy moley!  Not only is it strange that Santa has time to hang out in a mall, but also that his beard hangs little too loose on his face.  Also, why sit on this strange “Santa’s” LAP of all places??? He smells a lot like cigarette smoke, and his breath is seasoned with dragon bum and garlic.

I think A Christmas Story‘s Santa embodies much of my Santa fears, right down to the “HO HO HOOOOO!”

The only version of the Christmas Eve Intruder that I find remotely OK is Buddy the Elf’s Santa.  There is something about that version that makes me smile.  Maybe it is because Buddy speaks so highly of him, or perhaps it’s epic fist fight with the mall Santa.

Love him or hate him, he is a huge part of holiday tradition, and is surely going nowhere soon….unless….

HEY: Thanks to those of you that sent me some silly holiday stories yesterday, I would love to receive some more!  Please send me a story at, or leave me one in the comments!!!  Thank you so much!!!

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I am hereby admitting my delinquency to my beloved blog.  The Thanksgiving holiday/my birthday got a bit in the way of my creative endeavors – however, these festive times are no excuse for me to stop writing.

My lovely friend and superblogger/writer/lady, Lesalina, mentioned National Blog Posting Month, a clever little website for bloggers in need of inspiration, friends, and the much needed push any blogger needs to update his/her blog.

Unlike National Novel Writing Month (which has folks write a novel in the matter of one month), National Blog Posting Month gives bloggers any of the 12 months to try updating each of the 30ish days.  If a blogger fall off the boat, she can pick up the next month.

Unfortunately, it is not like playing basketball in elementary school:  bloggers don’t get that long- awaited green participation ribbon; we get the succulent satisfaction that our blogs are ignited, and our writing has gotten a speck better.

So here goes.  Some of these posts may be completely butt-terrible, but frankly, I am trying not to give a damn!

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Some mornings, your curls do not wave  hello, your clothes just don’t fit, and your makeup just doesn’t mask your distaste for office culture.  Your house may smell like last night’s stir fry and your roll of toilet paper may be gone. You guessed it, this was me after my alarm brought me back to life.

After trying on most of my pants, I finally accepted that they are barely buttoning (I am sure my doctors will love this, but I am not pleased that my once loose, “hot” jeans are now a little too eager to hug me).  All of my shirts are showing off my festively plump belly.  It seems the holiday 5 pound elf came a little early this year.  There was  a moment I frowned into my closet, and said to my cat, “I really do not want to go.”  She politely looked at me and proceeded to shred my nice garment bag.  No longer willing to look in a mirror or communicate with a creature that spends her time staring at specks on the wall, I went to the kitchen to take my morning cocktail of medication.  I ate a few black and blueberries, and told myself I needed to get over my morning nasties, for I am, after all, seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows:  Part 1 tonight!

It was game time, I either make it or break it.  Determined, I grabbed my purse and a box containing an ill-fitting sweater from Victoria’s Secret, and headed toward the local post office.  I loathe this particular post office.  The last time I was in there I was pushed to my breaking point.  I was sweating because I was so angry at the mean postal lady behind the desk.  I won’t go into it, but to say the least, I had to unload my story to the barista at the coffee shop next door.

♥ Flash forward to today:  I walk in, and the said cantankerous clerk was in position to torment me once again.  I felt the hair on my freshly shaven legs piercing through my skin.  She was scheming, I knew it – she would heckle my reuse of a box, the fact that I duct taped it close, and charge me even though I had free return postage.  I felt her hostility streaming in my direction. And then,

Her black beam of mean was diverted by a friendly smile.  An unfamiliar postal worker took up the register furthest from her.  He nicely said, “I can help you here, miss.”  Not only was his demeanor soothing, I was delighted he called me miss – I am not sure what calls for a woman to be called mam or miss, but I by no means  believe a 25 year old woman is a mam.  The polite postman looked over my slightly decrepit box, nodded and told me it would be in the mail today.  If life were a video game, the post office level, while being riddled with bad memories and a scary beastie,  rewarded me well.

Great Job!

♥ I traveled to the aforementioned coffee shop to get a delicious latte, and bumped into my friend Matt!  He is always someone that makes me giggle, and gives superb hugs. Matt is also a very good dinner date, even though we pretty much always go to La Piedad.  My friend and latte were just like that smiley face sticker you got on that spelling test in 3rd grade (m-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i).

♥ The final experience that solidly confirmed that my bad morning had come to an end follows this sentence, sort of.  This event may even trump my upcoming affair with Harry Potter.  Realistically, this story, beginning to now, deserves a post of its own (coming soon…maybe tomorrow).  This past summer I noticed a man who danced on any of the four corners of the Indianapolis intersection of 34th and College.  Once he had a Rallys burger in his right hand and a soda in his left, but he was still workin’ his hips and groovin’ to whatever jam was in his head.  I’d always look for his sweet, sweet moves as I drove to my  stagnant desk job.  He became a reliable smile, until one sad day he was gone.  A little bit of my heart broke away. Each day from then on, I looked for his distinct bounce, slide, and groove.  Months passed…until today!!!  As if I were in a poorly written commercial, coffee came squirting from my mouth as I pointed and waved to the oblivious, dance-crazed man.  The lazy guy that often doesn’t press play when we need a song to accompany our life’s most memorable moments actually clocked in for work today:  Paul Simon’s Call Me Al flooded the cabin of my truck.  Call Me Al is not only a quintessential happy song, it personally takes me to warm memories spent with friends.   It was like the moment was choreographed.  It was beautiful.  It was destiny preforming at its best.

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