Not blogging for a long time is quite like not talking to a friend for a long time. You want to do it, but you feel that since its been so long you have to block out an hour to make that phone call. That then makes the call daunting, so you put it off and so it goes.

I've been wanting to re-start for a while, but who wants to spend an hour an the phone, so this is going to be a short call just to let you know I've been thinking about you and we should get together soon.

My last entry heralded the Change America Banquet, which succeeded beyond my expectations. College Tribe made some money for its scholarship fund and folks from all over the country got their drink on. Check out the pictures here, and the next time I share an event, you know to be there.

Between the Ball and my last Blog I spent a week in the Hospital and suffered through another brush with the unpleasant. This time it was Septic Shock, which led to me being quarantined (which explained why the food service people left my tray outside my room)

The ordeal started with what I thought was a bladder infection (albeit from hell). The pain was frightful, the kind where you think to yourself, "this just cannot be real." Over the last eight years my illness has made me familiar with pain and I've developed a few coping methods of coping with it. First, I'm thankful that I'm experiencing the pain and not my son or partner (she does not like to be called wife--another blog entry for another day). This then leads to the chant of "Thank You," where I give thanks that the pain is with me and not with them.

For the first time, however, this did not work. The first ten hours in the hospital were an absolute challenge to my will. At one point I had not slept in 30 hours and two 12 year old doctors were trying with disaterous results to place a Aterial Line in me. In addition to repeatedly unsuccessfully sticking me with a huge needle the procedure required a sterile setting, which included a plastic bag over my head. While I'm sure there is a medical term for this, for all intents and purposes it was a bloody plastic bag over my head.

Forty five horribly unsuccessful minutes into this I lost it and started screaming "Abu Grave!" My partner stepped in and found a grown up doctor who gave me some wonderful drug that put me under. When I woke up various things were sticking out of me, but there was no pain and I was on the way to recovery.

While recovering I decided to change my life. This is a decision that I have made many times before and never completely followed up on. Over the years I've come closer to living the life that I truly want, but have never made the absolute commitment to it.

So this is me following my bliss.