I spent a large portion of time today, convincing a sixteen year old that his life would not end if he failed his AP physics midterm. That, even if it tanked his GPA, his life would still, somehow, be worth living. We talked about a lot of things - his (most likely situational) depression and how he doesn't think it's capital D Depression (and No, Thank You: He Would Not Like To Talk To Anyone About It, Auntie!); the fact that group projects have always, and will always, suuuuck; the fact that he puts all these roadblocks and excuses up in his own way, and makes it seem like things are impossible to accomplish, when they are not; the idea that he will be taking a much less stressful course load as a senior next year, and why can't it be senior year already; his belief that having driving lessons curtailed as a consequence to poor behavior is 'totally unfair', while I think it is 'maximum effort', and hopefully, never necessary. So Many Things. Hours worth of things.
And I never felt like I knew what the hell I was talking about.
I swear to you, I wanted to Google a million things while we were sitting there - building self confidence in teenagers, how to tell if a teenage boy is Capital D Depressed; what do colleges take into account beside your GPA, and on and on. I didn't, because texting while you're talking is considered (by me, at least) rude, so I didn't, but all of my answers felt, at the very least, humblingly inadequate.
"It's not fair that I should have to do all the work in a group project! I should just tell my teacher, or take the zero." "Um: No. If I find out you took a zero on a project just because the other people weren't pulling their weight, we're going to have an issue. Sometimes, you're going to have to deal with people who let you down, who don't do their share. You're right: It is 100% unfair, and you SHOULD mention it to the teacher - (bc one kid is dropping the class, he is doing literally no work for the project, and should not have been assigned to a group, IMO)- but, since it's due on Tuesday, at this point, you're either going to have to ride the other people in the group till they produce their part, or do their part for the sake of your grade. It's not fair, but it is Do-able."
"Well, the test will be scaled, so all I need to do is get about a 45, and that will still be a C, scaled up." (I have no idea how the math works on that, just that's what he said.) "You can - for sure - do better than a 45, and you need to set your sights a lot higher than that. Are you studying the right things; Is there anyway I can help you study, so you can do better? Because aiming for a low pass is something you're better than."
"I never should have taken this class, I'm in so over my head, and it's impossible to pass, and I'll probably get a 2 on my AP test, and then it will all have been a big waste of my time." "OK: I can see how it would feel that way, but you have to try to reframe it a bit, I think. It's not impossible to pass, because you are passing it. Even if you get a 2 on the AP test, you will still have passed AP Physics. Yes, I know your grades aren't where you want them to be, and here are 2 specific things I think you can do to bring it up some this next quarter, but stop thinking of it as impossible, because that just gives you an excuse if you don't do it. You ARE doing it. You don't need the excuses."
And on and on. I felt like a mix between one of my therapists, and a Hallmark "You can DO it: I have faith in you!" card. (Because that was literally something I said. It felt so sappy, but it's also 1000000% true, so I figured it needed to be said.)
Mostly what I wanted to say was this:
You are an amazing kid, and I don't like how overwhelmed and stressed out you are right now. I am going to help you find some better coping strategies, because this is not working out for you. I also think that maybe you should take some deep breaths, and listen to me when I say: This class - pass or fail, A or D - is not going to be the be-all-end-all of your life. I know it feels that way right now, because I went through it myself. But 15 years later? None of those things actually mattered. What matters is how I responded to tough parts; how you hang in there when things are hard - in school or in life - THAT IS WHAT MATTERS. So let me help you figure out how to hang in there. How to breathe, even in the midst of the really tough times. How to see a challenge that feels overwhelming, and still know - even if nobody else shows up - that you can tackle it. Because You Absolutely Can. And I will help you, for as long as you need my help, but I'm also going to show you how to do it yourself. Because those are the skills you need.
And off he goes, to take a test he's petrified of, and all I can do is say "Stub a toe" (our family's version of 'Break a leg') and cross my fingers, and know, even if he doesn't, that he can handle whatever comes at him.
Showing posts with label Ugh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ugh. Show all posts
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
so here i am
how I've been feeling lately: like pond scum. like a junkie, only I don't know what I need a fix of. like a crumpled up wrapper that someone tossed at the barrel, missed and now just keeps getting trod on underfoot, because everybody is too lazy to bend over and pick it up.
so, in general: just awesome.
according to my med tracker -into which I input my symptoms, vital signs, pain map, mood, meds, etc, daily - I'm doing just fine. I guess that goes to show you that there are limits to what computers can do.
It can't, for example, extrapolate from the fact that my pain levels have been at a consistent 8-10 level for the past....year, that my pain is, in fact, out of freaking control. (In fact it reports I have been "stable," which makes me want to strangle it, but it is but a website and has no neck to strangle.)
It can't use the data from my latest migraine - pain level: 9, days lasting (so far): three, meds taken to control it: at least 4, ability to move or live a life that requires doing more than rolling over in bed or taking the hottest shower possible; nil - to confirm that I have become some sort of cave troll, who lives in a twilight world where lights can't be brighter than twinkle lights, movements must all be made in slow motion, and noises can't be above a whisper.
It can take my three month mood average of 'okay' and filter it down into 36 days with at least one episode of tears; 5 days of actual, recorded laughter; at least two days when I felt like talking to people was as painful as pouring acid on myself; but it doesn't seem to register that my definition of an 'okay' mood is seriously lax, because I would've included most of those days in the roster. Or that my much lauded patience is at an all time premium - I have no time for nonsense (or only time for nonsense, I guess) - it depends on who you are and what you want, but if it's stupid, I'm outta there, because ain't nobody got time for that.
It can tell you that my blood sugar's been bloody high - a fact probably influenced by my inability to eat anything that doesn't come in the form of a cookie, potato or cupcake without wanting to throw it back up again. (Don't ask me: carbs are comfort food.) And even then, it's dicey.
It can tell you that my blood pressure's been kooky - per usual, of course - but my pulse has started to join in and beat a crazy rhythm whenever it feels like it. and sometimes I feel like it might just beat right out of my chest, as if it were a separate thing, growing inside of me, its own necessary beat that I cannot control.
Today's a tough day: I know it, as much as I know that these past six months have been hard months, and that - eventually - days won't be so hard, and months will pass without me taking such extreme note of them.
But right now, fighting this maximum migraine and the melancholy mood it has brought with it, everything seems like forever.
As if I am always just those numbers on the stupid chart, and nobody can see past them.
As if I don't remember that there's more to me than those stupid numbers, most of the time. As if that's what I boil down to, in the end. And what a sad end that would be - abnormal numbers and not a lot else.
All I want is to feel better, and I know that part of that is in my power, that there are things I need to do to make myself feel better, (less carbs, for example) but, when you keep trying and you wind up in the same position over and over and over again - and that position is basically curled in a ball on your bed, wishing there was something you could take that would MAKE IT STOP, just for a little while - it's fucking frustrating, is what it is.
I'm working toward my 19th year of chronic illness, and sometimes I feel like I have Got This Shit Down. I know it backwards and forwards and inside out. I can talk to anybody about conserving spoons and living with the ifs/whens and how to fire the doctors that make you feel like garbage and why you should put your pills in those little day packets and why abelism is a bunch of bullshit & you don't have to put up with it, and so, so many other, important, wonderful things. And I'm proud of all of that.
But there are days like today, when it feels as if I have learned nothing, where if feels like I've spent 19 years banging my head against the same fucking wall, and only wound up with a cracked skull for my troubles.
And I just want a break, just want a few days where I can breathe easily, and not worry about what I'll smell and how sick it'll make me. Where I can move without immediately regretting it or hiding how much it hurts. Where I can sleep and wake up rested; feel hunger, eat and then feel full; sit around for hours with people I love and not have to worry about where to plug in the heating pad, or whether or not I should take the next pill if I want to stay put.
It's little things and big things, and today they all feel like big things.
Most of that stuff doesn't matter to me, on an ordinary day, but I guess that's the patience thing again - the person I have the least amount of patience for is myself.
But I know this will pass, so I'm going back to my dark-ish room (even on it's dimmest setting, the laptop is too bright at night), and the soothing voice of Jim Dale as he & I re-traipse the grounds of Hogwarts with our favorite magical trio.
Here's hoping for better days ahead.
so, in general: just awesome.
according to my med tracker -into which I input my symptoms, vital signs, pain map, mood, meds, etc, daily - I'm doing just fine. I guess that goes to show you that there are limits to what computers can do.
It can't, for example, extrapolate from the fact that my pain levels have been at a consistent 8-10 level for the past....year, that my pain is, in fact, out of freaking control. (In fact it reports I have been "stable," which makes me want to strangle it, but it is but a website and has no neck to strangle.)
It can't use the data from my latest migraine - pain level: 9, days lasting (so far): three, meds taken to control it: at least 4, ability to move or live a life that requires doing more than rolling over in bed or taking the hottest shower possible; nil - to confirm that I have become some sort of cave troll, who lives in a twilight world where lights can't be brighter than twinkle lights, movements must all be made in slow motion, and noises can't be above a whisper.
It can take my three month mood average of 'okay' and filter it down into 36 days with at least one episode of tears; 5 days of actual, recorded laughter; at least two days when I felt like talking to people was as painful as pouring acid on myself; but it doesn't seem to register that my definition of an 'okay' mood is seriously lax, because I would've included most of those days in the roster. Or that my much lauded patience is at an all time premium - I have no time for nonsense (or only time for nonsense, I guess) - it depends on who you are and what you want, but if it's stupid, I'm outta there, because ain't nobody got time for that.
It can tell you that my blood sugar's been bloody high - a fact probably influenced by my inability to eat anything that doesn't come in the form of a cookie, potato or cupcake without wanting to throw it back up again. (Don't ask me: carbs are comfort food.) And even then, it's dicey.
It can tell you that my blood pressure's been kooky - per usual, of course - but my pulse has started to join in and beat a crazy rhythm whenever it feels like it. and sometimes I feel like it might just beat right out of my chest, as if it were a separate thing, growing inside of me, its own necessary beat that I cannot control.
Today's a tough day: I know it, as much as I know that these past six months have been hard months, and that - eventually - days won't be so hard, and months will pass without me taking such extreme note of them.
But right now, fighting this maximum migraine and the melancholy mood it has brought with it, everything seems like forever.
As if I am always just those numbers on the stupid chart, and nobody can see past them.
As if I don't remember that there's more to me than those stupid numbers, most of the time. As if that's what I boil down to, in the end. And what a sad end that would be - abnormal numbers and not a lot else.
All I want is to feel better, and I know that part of that is in my power, that there are things I need to do to make myself feel better, (less carbs, for example) but, when you keep trying and you wind up in the same position over and over and over again - and that position is basically curled in a ball on your bed, wishing there was something you could take that would MAKE IT STOP, just for a little while - it's fucking frustrating, is what it is.
I'm working toward my 19th year of chronic illness, and sometimes I feel like I have Got This Shit Down. I know it backwards and forwards and inside out. I can talk to anybody about conserving spoons and living with the ifs/whens and how to fire the doctors that make you feel like garbage and why you should put your pills in those little day packets and why abelism is a bunch of bullshit & you don't have to put up with it, and so, so many other, important, wonderful things. And I'm proud of all of that.
But there are days like today, when it feels as if I have learned nothing, where if feels like I've spent 19 years banging my head against the same fucking wall, and only wound up with a cracked skull for my troubles.
And I just want a break, just want a few days where I can breathe easily, and not worry about what I'll smell and how sick it'll make me. Where I can move without immediately regretting it or hiding how much it hurts. Where I can sleep and wake up rested; feel hunger, eat and then feel full; sit around for hours with people I love and not have to worry about where to plug in the heating pad, or whether or not I should take the next pill if I want to stay put.
It's little things and big things, and today they all feel like big things.
Most of that stuff doesn't matter to me, on an ordinary day, but I guess that's the patience thing again - the person I have the least amount of patience for is myself.
But I know this will pass, so I'm going back to my dark-ish room (even on it's dimmest setting, the laptop is too bright at night), and the soothing voice of Jim Dale as he & I re-traipse the grounds of Hogwarts with our favorite magical trio.
Here's hoping for better days ahead.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Today's tidbits of wisdom
Might just give you an idea how well I am dealing with all the family drama around here, and the fact that a person who's supposed to be a grown-up thinks it's OK to be selfish, OK to ignore the consequences of his actions, and lives behind a great wall of denial.
First up, some advice that I'm finding so difficult to put into practice, but that's not keeping me from trying, from Danielle La Porte,
Which brings us to some vital truth from Melissa McEwan, of Shakesville:
Next, a lesson from John Green:
Gonna work on not doing myself any more disservices, and I hope you do the same. See you tomorrow, peoples.
First up, some advice that I'm finding so difficult to put into practice, but that's not keeping me from trying, from Danielle La Porte,
"Want to improve your communication skills?
Then communicate.
Our most common communication blunder is not that we’re insensitive, or forceful, or misdirected. It’s that we fail to communicate at all.
We swallow. We hedge. We delay. We punish with silence. We freeze with fear. We open our mind to assumptions but keep our mouths shut. We lock down. We just don’t say anything.
When you grew up in a house like mine, where your opinion was neither asked for nor appreciated by certain people, and where intimidation is still a daily occurrence, that is a lot easier said than done. However, trying to turn myself into an actual adult, who takes responsibility for her own actions and expects others to do the same, I've realized that I can't do it by keeping my mouth shut (however much that is my comfort zone). I'm not too pleased with this realization, people, but I'm doing my best to work through my discomfort and other people's pissy attitudes.Most often, even weak or wobbly communication is far better than shutting down completely. Sincerity and courage go a lot further than “polished” communication skills any day.
Have the conversation. Say how you feel. Ask the question. Bring it up. Stumble with good intentions. Fly with an open heart. Communicate.”
Which brings us to some vital truth from Melissa McEwan, of Shakesville:
No one who has ever said "life is too short" to me has ever meant, "What can I do to make amends for having hurt you and restore trust between us as quickly as possible?"
They have always and only ever meant, "Your boundaries are stupid, and I am super impatient with your attempts to make me respect them, so here is some emotional manipulation to try to coerce you into letting me continue to treat you like shit without consequences."
What I'm saying is: I really hate the expression "life is too short."”
Next, a lesson from John Green:
“The good times and the bad times both will pass. It will pass. It will get easier. But the fact that it will get easier does not mean that it doesn’t hurt now. And when people try to minimize your pain they are doing you a disservice. And when you try to minimize your own pain you’re doing yourself a disservice. Don’t do that. The truth is that it hurts because it’s real. It hurts because it mattered. And that’s an important thing to acknowledge to yourself. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t end, that it won’t get better. Because it will.”
Gonna work on not doing myself any more disservices, and I hope you do the same. See you tomorrow, peoples.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Heading to a big family shindig
tonight. Doing my best to coast along on my meds as best I can. Not working all that well, as having company is a bit of an additional (but awesome) strain. I am so enjoying having heartfelt people in the house. Not overly happy, not upset, just genuine people. People I love and who love me, and who don't totally get it (seriously, Aunt Pam: stop with the patting!), but who try really hard and are on vacation and will stay up all night playing games and talking about whatever we feel like - heavy things and nothing things, and everything in between - and just breathing. Of course, my dad is still here, and he's like this heaviness over everything, but I'm doing my best to ignore that as well. I can tell it's a tad bit uncomfortable for them, but I'm not going to be able to just push everything aside and pretend all is fine and dandy, and I told them that. So, we're grown ups, we're not all getting along, we can be civil, and we're working from there. In the meantime, aside from that, and the fact that I feel like I'm being given electro-shock therapy (stupid new meds) AND being trampled by horses (just my regular fibro feelings), I'm having a perfectly lovely, agreeable visit. They've gone off on a Fenway tour, which gives me a chance to get some breathing time in, and I'm giving myself a two day pass on the NaNo, which means a lot of catch-up come Tuesday, but less pressure today tomorrow (since I know my brain is going to be worth nothing after all the drugs I'm going to need to make it through this wedding tonight). So, talk to you tomorrow, ladies and gents, hope your weekend is going smoothly too. :)
Friday, January 20, 2012
In the ball pit
I do this thing where I start thinking - really thinking - about something that's important: Have you noticed this about yourself? Is there a reason why you have to run your mouth like that/act so awkward around new people/ be unbelievably cranky for no good reason? And as soon as the truth about the thing starts rushing at me - as soon as I'm starting to get to the meat of the issue, or when it starts to sort of click in my head that this is not a unique occurrence, that I sometimes act like this and maybe it is a pattern... well, when the truth starts rushing at me, I start rushing away. Is there anybody who needs tending or talking to, or playing with? Isn't there a show on right now that I can escape into, be mindless with? Isn't there a book I could read that would take me anywhere but here, facing the truth? It's such an uncomfortable feeling, this realizing things about yourself, and I would do just about anything to avoid it, I think.
When it does come, and I have seen the whole, frustrating, ill fitting truth about myself, it sticks in my brain: a large scaly burr just big enough and irritating enough to block out anything else. I have no other qualities except this uncomfortable truth - I am no longer a good person, a caring sister, a hard worker - I am only an inveterate gossip, a gigantic fraud, a loathsome individual who feels lonely until she's with people and then wants nothing more than to be left alone. Even though I know that this is not true - that all the good things I am or do are not obliterated by some newfound/newly understood flaw in my character - it is how it feels, and sometimes how it feels is how it is.
I have recently come to quite a few uncomfortable realizations about myself, and trying to integrate those things - a certain pettiness here, a confounding inability stick to the straight facts there - into my vision of who I am is proving more difficult than I'd have guessed. I have always known that I wasn't perfect ~ contrary to what others may think, I am well aware that my goody-two shoes image is just something other people see me as - I have never seen myself as such, and wouldn't really care to. But these inconsistencies in my character - the difference between who I want myself to be and who I really am, these are things I want to fix, to change. And that means recognizing them first, figuring out how deep they run and (maybe) where they come from, and how to stop doing them. It's a lot of heavy mental lifting, and, for a person who has limited reserves of any kind of energy - physical, mental, emotional - it certainly seems Sisyphean.
So I keep looking for low energy escapes - can I ever get my Google Reader below a thousand again? Is Reddit being entertaining or insulting today? Is there any way I can get my uncle to have a conversation with people so that they don't think he's an ogre? Let me organize every photo you've ever taken in your whole life! - and then condemning myself for needing these escape routes. It feels like I'm stumbling around kicking at little pebbles, all the while trying to avoid all the heavy boulders I know I have to move if I want to move forward, but just can't even look at yet.
It feels that way about everything - about all the work I have to do to manage my illnesses (and the question of when I decided that just 'managing' is enough for me), about all the things in my own behavior that I'd like to change; about all the topics in my family that need addressing, and all the ways we find of not addressing them; about not making time for friends and then wondering why they aren't making time for me; about the world as a whole and all the things spinning out of control in it. It just feels like there's too many important things that should get looked at, poked at, lifted up and examined, fixed, and I don't want to touch a single one of them.
A perfect example in the physical world is that my space is still not undecorated from Christmas - oh, the actual decorations are down, but the furniture is still all in the wrong places for every day living. Thus making it more difficult to do things like get towels, because we moved the cart that holds the towels behind the chair, so you have to climb over the chair to get ready to take a shower. It's little ridiculous things like that, but also huge life changing things like deciding to call the PT again, and see where that takes me, or actually changing my diet enough to prevent this diabetes thing from happening - and I just don't want to face any of it at all.
And here I write the necessary caveats that "we've all been sick since Christmas! - and I mean sick sick, like the flu that won't die sick" and "I've just spent two months caring for a wonderful lady, whose head is harder than the stairs she fell down!" and "blah blah blah Chronic Illness, you idiot!" but all of that - while true and real and just so much - doesn't feel like enough of a reason to let everything else pass me by. I never feel like I am juggling half of the balls I need to juggle, there's just me, standing with maybe the three or four largest, most fragile balls, throwing them up and catching them (sometimes by the skin of my teeth, but still, catching them), and all the while, the floor around me is littered with a million other smaller balls.... It's basically me, standing up to my waist in the ball pit of Chuck E Cheese, trying to catch all these biggest balls, but knowing I've let a thousand more go. And not knowing which of those thousand was the next most important - the one that needed me now, and I won't get to it for another three weeks.
I don't know what to do about all that - how to climb out of the ball pit, or juggle better, or even begin identifying the colors of all the stupid things I'm standing in. I know this feeling will pass, or fade, because it has in the past, but it never goes away... I'm always fumbling something, and I wish I knew how to stop.
When it does come, and I have seen the whole, frustrating, ill fitting truth about myself, it sticks in my brain: a large scaly burr just big enough and irritating enough to block out anything else. I have no other qualities except this uncomfortable truth - I am no longer a good person, a caring sister, a hard worker - I am only an inveterate gossip, a gigantic fraud, a loathsome individual who feels lonely until she's with people and then wants nothing more than to be left alone. Even though I know that this is not true - that all the good things I am or do are not obliterated by some newfound/newly understood flaw in my character - it is how it feels, and sometimes how it feels is how it is.
I have recently come to quite a few uncomfortable realizations about myself, and trying to integrate those things - a certain pettiness here, a confounding inability stick to the straight facts there - into my vision of who I am is proving more difficult than I'd have guessed. I have always known that I wasn't perfect ~ contrary to what others may think, I am well aware that my goody-two shoes image is just something other people see me as - I have never seen myself as such, and wouldn't really care to. But these inconsistencies in my character - the difference between who I want myself to be and who I really am, these are things I want to fix, to change. And that means recognizing them first, figuring out how deep they run and (maybe) where they come from, and how to stop doing them. It's a lot of heavy mental lifting, and, for a person who has limited reserves of any kind of energy - physical, mental, emotional - it certainly seems Sisyphean.
So I keep looking for low energy escapes - can I ever get my Google Reader below a thousand again? Is Reddit being entertaining or insulting today? Is there any way I can get my uncle to have a conversation with people so that they don't think he's an ogre? Let me organize every photo you've ever taken in your whole life! - and then condemning myself for needing these escape routes. It feels like I'm stumbling around kicking at little pebbles, all the while trying to avoid all the heavy boulders I know I have to move if I want to move forward, but just can't even look at yet.
It feels that way about everything - about all the work I have to do to manage my illnesses (and the question of when I decided that just 'managing' is enough for me), about all the things in my own behavior that I'd like to change; about all the topics in my family that need addressing, and all the ways we find of not addressing them; about not making time for friends and then wondering why they aren't making time for me; about the world as a whole and all the things spinning out of control in it. It just feels like there's too many important things that should get looked at, poked at, lifted up and examined, fixed, and I don't want to touch a single one of them.
A perfect example in the physical world is that my space is still not undecorated from Christmas - oh, the actual decorations are down, but the furniture is still all in the wrong places for every day living. Thus making it more difficult to do things like get towels, because we moved the cart that holds the towels behind the chair, so you have to climb over the chair to get ready to take a shower. It's little ridiculous things like that, but also huge life changing things like deciding to call the PT again, and see where that takes me, or actually changing my diet enough to prevent this diabetes thing from happening - and I just don't want to face any of it at all.
And here I write the necessary caveats that "we've all been sick since Christmas! - and I mean sick sick, like the flu that won't die sick" and "I've just spent two months caring for a wonderful lady, whose head is harder than the stairs she fell down!" and "blah blah blah Chronic Illness, you idiot!" but all of that - while true and real and just so much - doesn't feel like enough of a reason to let everything else pass me by. I never feel like I am juggling half of the balls I need to juggle, there's just me, standing with maybe the three or four largest, most fragile balls, throwing them up and catching them (sometimes by the skin of my teeth, but still, catching them), and all the while, the floor around me is littered with a million other smaller balls.... It's basically me, standing up to my waist in the ball pit of Chuck E Cheese, trying to catch all these biggest balls, but knowing I've let a thousand more go. And not knowing which of those thousand was the next most important - the one that needed me now, and I won't get to it for another three weeks.
I don't know what to do about all that - how to climb out of the ball pit, or juggle better, or even begin identifying the colors of all the stupid things I'm standing in. I know this feeling will pass, or fade, because it has in the past, but it never goes away... I'm always fumbling something, and I wish I knew how to stop.
Friday, April 15, 2011
(PS - Spell check? If Unreedemed is a word, why isn't unredeeming?)
I spent the week feeling like I was in the middle of an ocean, floating and bobbing along, attempting to eat crackers and drink ginger ale without having them revisit me. That's what I get for trying new drugs. And now that that is starting to truly pass (hey: I ate real, non-cracker foods today... this is a plus! Except do you know what happens to your stomach when you try to put non-cracker foods in it after a week of crackers? It does not take kindly to the intrusion, I can tell you that!), I get to have huge emotional upheavals instead! Hooray!
Seriously. Sometimes I think moving to Australia* might be the wisest choice. I'm starting to think of aliases, see which ones fit me best. I don't want to talk about it again, right now, but suffice it to say that I have both cried and cursed more in the last 8 hours then I have in the last three years. Easily. If you are guessing that the drama is somehow sister related, you would be correct. You would also be correct if you guessed that there was no actual resolution (peaceable or otherwise) /conclusion achieved in the final analysis of the day. In fact, while I think some very important things were said, I'm not sure if any of the important things that needed to be accomplished were accomplished. But I tried. God almighty, I don't think I could have tried any harder, and that's all anybody can ask of me.
By "anybody", I of course mean 'anybody but me ', since I apparently am not satisfied with having done my best, but instead am upset that I wasn't able to achieve miracles and (our little) world peace while I was at it, but that's just because I am kind of a jerk to myself.
I am going to go and find something completely unredeeming to watch on television, or some cracktastic type of book to read, or a computer game that will devour my soul for a few hours. (Or perhaps all three of those things at the exact same time.) Anything to not be me for a little bit.
I'll check back in with you all soon, and hope your weekend is full of bright spots that don't include crackers or drama (unless crackers &/or drama are your idea of happiness, in which case, have at it!)
*Bonus points for all children's lit majors who managed to find the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad portion of today's post.
Seriously. Sometimes I think moving to Australia* might be the wisest choice. I'm starting to think of aliases, see which ones fit me best. I don't want to talk about it again, right now, but suffice it to say that I have both cried and cursed more in the last 8 hours then I have in the last three years. Easily. If you are guessing that the drama is somehow sister related, you would be correct. You would also be correct if you guessed that there was no actual resolution (peaceable or otherwise) /conclusion achieved in the final analysis of the day. In fact, while I think some very important things were said, I'm not sure if any of the important things that needed to be accomplished were accomplished. But I tried. God almighty, I don't think I could have tried any harder, and that's all anybody can ask of me.
By "anybody", I of course mean 'anybody but me ', since I apparently am not satisfied with having done my best, but instead am upset that I wasn't able to achieve miracles and (our little) world peace while I was at it, but that's just because I am kind of a jerk to myself.
I am going to go and find something completely unredeeming to watch on television, or some cracktastic type of book to read, or a computer game that will devour my soul for a few hours. (Or perhaps all three of those things at the exact same time.) Anything to not be me for a little bit.
I'll check back in with you all soon, and hope your weekend is full of bright spots that don't include crackers or drama (unless crackers &/or drama are your idea of happiness, in which case, have at it!)
*Bonus points for all children's lit majors who managed to find the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad portion of today's post.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Postage Stamp Island...
As much as my brother-in-law might laugh at me for attempting to rap (or, more accurately 'sing a rap song',) my current life resembles nothing so much as the line from Grandmaster Flash's The Message "Don't push me, cuz I'm Close. To. The. Edge. (I'm trying not to lose my head)"
My pain has been turning it up to eleven lately, following a couple of infection setbacks and my dumb insistence that I do not need as much down time as my body thinks it requires (because "downtime is boring!" ... So is suffering, you ass). Because of that, I am living with the near constant feeling that my muscles and bones are attempting to burst through my skin, as if I've taken some excess Skele-gro* without the accompanying broken bones. You know how on the Hulk (original TV show Hulk), his eyes would glow green, and then his clothes would start falling to pieces as he just expanded into this terrifying green monster? Yeah, it basically feels like that, complete with bonus "Hulk Smash!!!!#!@!" anger because who the hell wants to feel like that? It hurts to breathe, or move, or put clothes on - I literally cried the other day, when we had to leave the house and I had to put on a bra. (And yes, I know it is beyond stupid to put whether or not you look good over whether or not a piece of clothing makes you hurt so much you cry, but I can't get over it: Leaving the house without my bra makes me feel naked and not in a good way.) Sleep is a joke, because rolling over in bed is as dangerous as rolling through a field of landmines, and the other day I just got up and baked cookies at 2 in the morning because if I laid there for one more minute, I was going to flip out.
This is usually the point where my readers who don't have chronic illnesses say something like "Why don't you call your doctor and tell him/her that you're hurting so much?" And I appreciate the thought, I really do, but here's the thing: My doctor's know. They know, and it's not that they don't care, because they do - it's that they don't have the answer for me. They just don't know it. They keep trying - I am, in fact on my third new medication trial in as many months - but if you don't know the answer, you just don't. So calling them and telling them that I feel like the Hulk, it doesn't get either of us very far. "Give the meds more time to work" they say. Or "Did you take the narcotics I gave you - you don't have to be a hero" Right: because wanting to be present, even vaguely in my own life, is heroic. No - I am medicated to the gills, as much as I can be without just being completely out of it (and I can't guarantee that either, sometimes), but (so far), we just don't know the answer.
So there's that. But it's not just that: I feel near the edge on just about everything.
While I won't be homeless if the government decides to go offline this weekend (as I know some will), if it continues for any length of time I will be medication-less, which, for me is quite a serious condition. (I depend on my government to allow me to breathe: what do you depend on it for?) There's no way I could afford the $400 required for a 30 day supply of one of my medications, let alone the over a thousand dollars that would be their sum total - and that's just for the basics, not the 'optional' things like the stuff I use to treat my allergies or the cream I use when the allergy stuff doesn't work. Financial worries would start building if the government was shut down for any length of time, but that's biting off more worries than I need, at this point. But we're there - at the edge.
I'm at the edge with my family, with sisters who are so hurt and angry and frustrated/ing that I just feel like everything I do is wrong. With my mom who's obviously hanging on to her own edge, but won't admit it. With my dad who's having problems at work and thinks it's funny to come home early and say things like "I got fired." (Hint: it is not funny.) With pregnant cousins and non pregnant me, with sisters moving to freaking Iowa or getting married (with no plans, yet!) in the fall, and brothers who don't see the glory of their own children. With a grandmother who asks you for help picking out her funeral clothes when you go over to visit her, in the same breath that she tells you how well she is doing. ("It's not morbid: it's practical. I'm going to be 94." Well, let's be the opposite of practical, then, shall we?) With best friends who don't call or write, and with myself for not calling or writing.
I'm just so close to the edge that it feels like everywhere I turn, there's another edge. Like I woke up on an island, all of the sudden, instead of a continent. Like there's no place safe.
And yet, between me and those edges are little girls with curly hair who say things like "My tooth is loose, even though you can't feel it move," because the girl down the street got money from the "Tooth Bunny". There's 11-yr-olds who direct their own 60 second movie clips on low res digital cameras, that include such action packed sequences as "Fort elephante & how it crumbled!" There's three derpy fluffy bunnies made out of pom-poms and googly eyes, named KC, Sunshine & Band. There's meringue cookies at two o'clock in the morning, and the fact that I can make them sans recipe. There's the fact that the nurse at Zack's office, the much loved Maryellen, worked for five days to get the approval I needed for this latest medication, even though the MassHealth people were being assholes about it. There's Facebook statuses from people far away that I miss very much. There's the fact that my window is open right now, even though it's freaking April. There's all these words typed into little boxes all over the country that show up on my screen, right here on my bed. There's a lot of stuff that pushes me back, and I try to remember it.
The edges are still there though, and my island's getting smaller.
Print Available Here
*Shout outs** to Harry Potter, the Hulk, KC & The Sunshine Band and Grandmaster Flash in the same blog post? Yeah, I'm complicated.
** Using the term 'shout-out'? No, you're really not.
My pain has been turning it up to eleven lately, following a couple of infection setbacks and my dumb insistence that I do not need as much down time as my body thinks it requires (because "downtime is boring!" ... So is suffering, you ass). Because of that, I am living with the near constant feeling that my muscles and bones are attempting to burst through my skin, as if I've taken some excess Skele-gro* without the accompanying broken bones. You know how on the Hulk (original TV show Hulk), his eyes would glow green, and then his clothes would start falling to pieces as he just expanded into this terrifying green monster? Yeah, it basically feels like that, complete with bonus "Hulk Smash!!!!#!@!" anger because who the hell wants to feel like that? It hurts to breathe, or move, or put clothes on - I literally cried the other day, when we had to leave the house and I had to put on a bra. (And yes, I know it is beyond stupid to put whether or not you look good over whether or not a piece of clothing makes you hurt so much you cry, but I can't get over it: Leaving the house without my bra makes me feel naked and not in a good way.) Sleep is a joke, because rolling over in bed is as dangerous as rolling through a field of landmines, and the other day I just got up and baked cookies at 2 in the morning because if I laid there for one more minute, I was going to flip out.
This is usually the point where my readers who don't have chronic illnesses say something like "Why don't you call your doctor and tell him/her that you're hurting so much?" And I appreciate the thought, I really do, but here's the thing: My doctor's know. They know, and it's not that they don't care, because they do - it's that they don't have the answer for me. They just don't know it. They keep trying - I am, in fact on my third new medication trial in as many months - but if you don't know the answer, you just don't. So calling them and telling them that I feel like the Hulk, it doesn't get either of us very far. "Give the meds more time to work" they say. Or "Did you take the narcotics I gave you - you don't have to be a hero" Right: because wanting to be present, even vaguely in my own life, is heroic. No - I am medicated to the gills, as much as I can be without just being completely out of it (and I can't guarantee that either, sometimes), but (so far), we just don't know the answer.
So there's that. But it's not just that: I feel near the edge on just about everything.
While I won't be homeless if the government decides to go offline this weekend (as I know some will), if it continues for any length of time I will be medication-less, which, for me is quite a serious condition. (I depend on my government to allow me to breathe: what do you depend on it for?) There's no way I could afford the $400 required for a 30 day supply of one of my medications, let alone the over a thousand dollars that would be their sum total - and that's just for the basics, not the 'optional' things like the stuff I use to treat my allergies or the cream I use when the allergy stuff doesn't work. Financial worries would start building if the government was shut down for any length of time, but that's biting off more worries than I need, at this point. But we're there - at the edge.
I'm at the edge with my family, with sisters who are so hurt and angry and frustrated/ing that I just feel like everything I do is wrong. With my mom who's obviously hanging on to her own edge, but won't admit it. With my dad who's having problems at work and thinks it's funny to come home early and say things like "I got fired." (Hint: it is not funny.) With pregnant cousins and non pregnant me, with sisters moving to freaking Iowa or getting married (with no plans, yet!) in the fall, and brothers who don't see the glory of their own children. With a grandmother who asks you for help picking out her funeral clothes when you go over to visit her, in the same breath that she tells you how well she is doing. ("It's not morbid: it's practical. I'm going to be 94." Well, let's be the opposite of practical, then, shall we?) With best friends who don't call or write, and with myself for not calling or writing.
I'm just so close to the edge that it feels like everywhere I turn, there's another edge. Like I woke up on an island, all of the sudden, instead of a continent. Like there's no place safe.
And yet, between me and those edges are little girls with curly hair who say things like "My tooth is loose, even though you can't feel it move," because the girl down the street got money from the "Tooth Bunny". There's 11-yr-olds who direct their own 60 second movie clips on low res digital cameras, that include such action packed sequences as "Fort elephante & how it crumbled!" There's three derpy fluffy bunnies made out of pom-poms and googly eyes, named KC, Sunshine & Band. There's meringue cookies at two o'clock in the morning, and the fact that I can make them sans recipe. There's the fact that the nurse at Zack's office, the much loved Maryellen, worked for five days to get the approval I needed for this latest medication, even though the MassHealth people were being assholes about it. There's Facebook statuses from people far away that I miss very much. There's the fact that my window is open right now, even though it's freaking April. There's all these words typed into little boxes all over the country that show up on my screen, right here on my bed. There's a lot of stuff that pushes me back, and I try to remember it.
The edges are still there though, and my island's getting smaller.
Print Available Here *Shout outs** to Harry Potter, the Hulk, KC & The Sunshine Band and Grandmaster Flash in the same blog post? Yeah, I'm complicated.
** Using the term 'shout-out'? No, you're really not.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
"... handing tickets out for God"
I started writing (one day last week) about the Jesus Freaks who stopped by with their version of the "Good News" and somehow wandered way off topic and started going on and on about how I used to be a Jesus Freak myself, and therefore I don't mean the term in any offensive way, but more in the way former band geeks talk about current band geeks or ex-goths talk about emo kids: You've been there, so you know, and almost feel a sort of kinship, but you're really glad you're not there anymore. I don't think there's anything worse for a believer than a former-believer: all of my sarcasm and surety that I was made a fool for so many years is always right there, and I'm sorry if sometimes it slips out. I try not to be patronizing - I really am glad for you that you still believe - but when they start trying to convince me, all bets are usually off.
So that's the way the post was going, and then I realized that I'd written that post before - multiple times. Yes: the Catholic Church and I used to be BFFs and yes; I could probably write another 17 posts about that, but that wasn't the post I sat down to write, so it wound up in the draft folder (like a million other posts: seriously - my draft folder is a scary place). And now I'm back, attempting to tell you what it was about the Jesus Freaks that pissed me off .
It took me a while to put my finger on it myself, but eventually it boils down to this: It is the sense of judgment I feel when they're telling me how easy it is to fix who I am.
Here's the thing: Remember in the fall, how when I was living at Grandmother's house, helping her with her post-stroke recovery, things here at home were progressing on the 'build a ramp so NTE can get into the house more easily' front? Well, now we have this beautiful ramp that's slippery as hell in the winter, and takes up our entire front yard but makes my life about 200 times easier. And yet: it is a beacon for the 'people of the Lord.'
While we were building it, a woman walked by and asked my dad what the final product was going to be. When he explained that it was going to be a wheelchair ramp, she said "I'm so sorry," then returned a few days later to drop off some rosary beads and a scapula she thought I might like. I found them on my bed when I came home for a shower that week, and my dad didn't understand why I didn't think it was the 'sweetest neighborly' thing for her to do.
Twice (that I know of) since then, we've had various forms of preachers come to the door: The first time, the guy was Mega-pushy, and I felt no compunction about not letting him in the house or giving him a chance to speak: I kept him on the porch, while he started his spiel about 'those who turn to Jesus will find a way with him,' and how 'putting my feet on the path would help them walk again.' I know that you all know me well enough that I can admit I was sorely tempted to just walk out onto the porch just to see the look on his face, no matter that I would've fallen down eventually, or that it would've hurt like hell: I still am kinda sad that I didn't, because the "OMG: I AM TOTALLY WITNESSING A MIRACLE" moment would have changed one of our lives forever. ( I know, I am damned to hell, so I might as well enjoy it, right?)
This latest preacher though, was a very nice gentleman (and he came with a silent friend), and he specifically said "I don't want you to let us in, I'd just like to tell you some things, if that's alright with you. " Well now, I'm not a heartless bitch, so I opened the screen door and gave him the ok, give me your best lines, preacher-man, and I promise not to laugh. (Again: I'm good with you believing, but once you're trying to get me to believe, I can't promise that I'm going to be able to hide my skepticism.) So he starts off pretty swell, talking about God's willingness to help people, and how it was his job to try to find those that most need God's help and bring them his Word.
And then this well meaning fellow, with his quiet and (I could honestly tell) earnest sense of caring starts talking about miracles, and Jesus making the blind see and the lame walk, and I'll tell you. it took everything in me not to slam the door in his face. I just - can't hear it. I just... I don't even know how to explain how badly that makes me feel, how irritated it makes me just to hear it.
Just to have that experience of - once again - being a person, going about their normal day...I was making breakfast when the doorbell rang, playing with my 1 yr-old nephew and chatting with my sister... when all of the sudden someone interrupts your life to tell you how you are just not right, just not good enough the way you are, just not the way a person should be. I am not saying that that is what he said , because, again, he was kind of a sweet guy, but that is the way he made me feel. I had to sit there and be irritated and frustrated and ashamed, all because - in society's eyes, and I guess in 'God's' eyes too - there was something about me that was just wrong. Something that called for miracles and saving and the power of God.
That me, just being me, requires the intercession of God on my behalf, in order for me to be fixed? Pisses me the fuck off, I gotta tell you. Of course I wouldn't thumb my nose at a miraculous healing, should one decide to take place, but you know what? I'm not broken right now, or maybe I am, but not in the ways that you think I am. And if I am it's none of your damn business... I'm not asking to be saved just by virtue of living as who I am. Just by having improved my house to the point that I can finally get in and out of it on my own, I'm not giving you the right to comment on my life.
It's something I get a lot of, in a lot of random ways: people who see me 'walk' the steps to my chair and tell me I'm not sick enough to the handicapped parking placard, or strangers who tell me they'll pray for me when I'm out in public. When you're visibly disabled, everybody's got the right to comment suddenly. I didn't ask you for your opinion on what I'm eating - the fact that I'm having a cheeseburger is not in fact the reason I'm in this chair, but thanks for telling me all about how you stopped eating meat and your rash went away. I don't have to justify my applying for aid to some arsehole cousin who thinks that all social welfare programs are tools of the Communist Party, and I'm lucky that I get to spend his "tax money" on my "frivolities."
All I am trying to do here is live my life, and as nice as that preacher was, when he left behind a scripture for me to read and "think over with your heart", I was all too glad to close the door behind him. I appreciate his belief that I could use some blessings (because, holy hell, yes, I could use some blessings), but I don't like the assumptions he made about who I am, or the life I live, in order for me to earn his blessings. It feels like pity. It feels like ableism. It makes me feel like less than.
So I know I won't be opening the door to any more preachers, because their blessings tend to feel like curses, and I have enough of those. I'll take all the prayers and warm thoughts and fairy dust you want to send me, but don't assume that I need them because I'm in this chair... I'd much rather have a family that was kind to each other than a body that worked correctly. Or a baby that I knew I could provide for. Or an understanding of how to be happy, regardless.
I'd like to be healthy, sure: but I'm living my life the way it is, and that's not sad, or in need of fixing, or less than anybody elses, so don't make me feel like it is.
So that's the way the post was going, and then I realized that I'd written that post before - multiple times. Yes: the Catholic Church and I used to be BFFs and yes; I could probably write another 17 posts about that, but that wasn't the post I sat down to write, so it wound up in the draft folder (like a million other posts: seriously - my draft folder is a scary place). And now I'm back, attempting to tell you what it was about the Jesus Freaks that pissed me off .
It took me a while to put my finger on it myself, but eventually it boils down to this: It is the sense of judgment I feel when they're telling me how easy it is to fix who I am.
Here's the thing: Remember in the fall, how when I was living at Grandmother's house, helping her with her post-stroke recovery, things here at home were progressing on the 'build a ramp so NTE can get into the house more easily' front? Well, now we have this beautiful ramp that's slippery as hell in the winter, and takes up our entire front yard but makes my life about 200 times easier. And yet: it is a beacon for the 'people of the Lord.'
While we were building it, a woman walked by and asked my dad what the final product was going to be. When he explained that it was going to be a wheelchair ramp, she said "I'm so sorry," then returned a few days later to drop off some rosary beads and a scapula she thought I might like. I found them on my bed when I came home for a shower that week, and my dad didn't understand why I didn't think it was the 'sweetest neighborly' thing for her to do.
Twice (that I know of) since then, we've had various forms of preachers come to the door: The first time, the guy was Mega-pushy, and I felt no compunction about not letting him in the house or giving him a chance to speak: I kept him on the porch, while he started his spiel about 'those who turn to Jesus will find a way with him,' and how 'putting my feet on the path would help them walk again.' I know that you all know me well enough that I can admit I was sorely tempted to just walk out onto the porch just to see the look on his face, no matter that I would've fallen down eventually, or that it would've hurt like hell: I still am kinda sad that I didn't, because the "OMG: I AM TOTALLY WITNESSING A MIRACLE" moment would have changed one of our lives forever. ( I know, I am damned to hell, so I might as well enjoy it, right?)
This latest preacher though, was a very nice gentleman (and he came with a silent friend), and he specifically said "I don't want you to let us in, I'd just like to tell you some things, if that's alright with you. " Well now, I'm not a heartless bitch, so I opened the screen door and gave him the ok, give me your best lines, preacher-man, and I promise not to laugh. (Again: I'm good with you believing, but once you're trying to get me to believe, I can't promise that I'm going to be able to hide my skepticism.) So he starts off pretty swell, talking about God's willingness to help people, and how it was his job to try to find those that most need God's help and bring them his Word.
And then this well meaning fellow, with his quiet and (I could honestly tell) earnest sense of caring starts talking about miracles, and Jesus making the blind see and the lame walk, and I'll tell you. it took everything in me not to slam the door in his face. I just - can't hear it. I just... I don't even know how to explain how badly that makes me feel, how irritated it makes me just to hear it.
Just to have that experience of - once again - being a person, going about their normal day...I was making breakfast when the doorbell rang, playing with my 1 yr-old nephew and chatting with my sister... when all of the sudden someone interrupts your life to tell you how you are just not right, just not good enough the way you are, just not the way a person should be. I am not saying that that is what he said , because, again, he was kind of a sweet guy, but that is the way he made me feel. I had to sit there and be irritated and frustrated and ashamed, all because - in society's eyes, and I guess in 'God's' eyes too - there was something about me that was just wrong. Something that called for miracles and saving and the power of God.
That me, just being me, requires the intercession of God on my behalf, in order for me to be fixed? Pisses me the fuck off, I gotta tell you. Of course I wouldn't thumb my nose at a miraculous healing, should one decide to take place, but you know what? I'm not broken right now, or maybe I am, but not in the ways that you think I am. And if I am it's none of your damn business... I'm not asking to be saved just by virtue of living as who I am. Just by having improved my house to the point that I can finally get in and out of it on my own, I'm not giving you the right to comment on my life.
It's something I get a lot of, in a lot of random ways: people who see me 'walk' the steps to my chair and tell me I'm not sick enough to the handicapped parking placard, or strangers who tell me they'll pray for me when I'm out in public. When you're visibly disabled, everybody's got the right to comment suddenly. I didn't ask you for your opinion on what I'm eating - the fact that I'm having a cheeseburger is not in fact the reason I'm in this chair, but thanks for telling me all about how you stopped eating meat and your rash went away. I don't have to justify my applying for aid to some arsehole cousin who thinks that all social welfare programs are tools of the Communist Party, and I'm lucky that I get to spend his "tax money" on my "frivolities."
All I am trying to do here is live my life, and as nice as that preacher was, when he left behind a scripture for me to read and "think over with your heart", I was all too glad to close the door behind him. I appreciate his belief that I could use some blessings (because, holy hell, yes, I could use some blessings), but I don't like the assumptions he made about who I am, or the life I live, in order for me to earn his blessings. It feels like pity. It feels like ableism. It makes me feel like less than.
So I know I won't be opening the door to any more preachers, because their blessings tend to feel like curses, and I have enough of those. I'll take all the prayers and warm thoughts and fairy dust you want to send me, but don't assume that I need them because I'm in this chair... I'd much rather have a family that was kind to each other than a body that worked correctly. Or a baby that I knew I could provide for. Or an understanding of how to be happy, regardless.
I'd like to be healthy, sure: but I'm living my life the way it is, and that's not sad, or in need of fixing, or less than anybody elses, so don't make me feel like it is.
Saturday, March 05, 2011
You know what I'd like...
oh, about a million and a half things that aren't really things, but more like feelings. A million and a half positive feelings, that's what I'd like.
I'd like to be able to take a deep breath. And trust that the breath is going to go in the way it's supposed to and come out the way it's supposed to. Just to not have to doubt that.
I'd like to be able to leave a room without worrying about all the people I left behind in it. Or to not have to leave the room in the first place because of how uncomfortable I am.
I'd like for the words to flow, not get stuck up in my brain. Sometimes it feels like there's a clot there, a big negative clump, blocking all the good things from getting in, and all the good things from getting out: I know there are good things, but they rarely mean what I want them to mean.
I'd like to just be able to shut off the worry, for one goddamn day. Just all of it - off.
Hope you're having a good weekend - mine has been a little complicated (ugh), but I hope to be back soon!
I'd like to be able to take a deep breath. And trust that the breath is going to go in the way it's supposed to and come out the way it's supposed to. Just to not have to doubt that.
I'd like to be able to leave a room without worrying about all the people I left behind in it. Or to not have to leave the room in the first place because of how uncomfortable I am.
I'd like for the words to flow, not get stuck up in my brain. Sometimes it feels like there's a clot there, a big negative clump, blocking all the good things from getting in, and all the good things from getting out: I know there are good things, but they rarely mean what I want them to mean.
I'd like to just be able to shut off the worry, for one goddamn day. Just all of it - off.
Hope you're having a good weekend - mine has been a little complicated (ugh), but I hope to be back soon!
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Snow what?
Welcome to our Second Annual Random Eye Infection Week! This year with added "oh, well it could be related to your shingles" action, and, for the very first time, now including special "It's the 'Snowmageddon' so you must a) come in every single day and b) find an open pharmacy that has this drug that no pharmacist has ever heard of before" complications!
Woo freaking hoo!
I hate having to put yet another sad depressing poor-me post up, but this is where I am right now, so what good is a personal blog if I can't complain about it a little bit? On the upside, I actually got to go out in the snow, which I haven't done in forever, and that means that I - in stark contrast to just about everybody else in the entire Northeast - really enjoyed being out in the snow. I always did: it's got a kind of a hushed, secretive aspect to it that I appreciate. It feels like the rest of the world is as isolated as I often am, and, in a weird way, that makes me feel more connected to everybody. It's difficult for me to get any place, what with the wheels and all, but sitting outside for a little bit this morning while we waited to see if yet another drugstore would have the eye drops I needed (nope) was a nice change of pace for me. The entirety of Massachusetts may be sick to death of the snow - which is too bad because we're supposed to get another foot or so before this storm moves out on Thursday - but I liked it.
Sure, there are some real drawbacks - I miss my days with LilGirl - this is our third day without her in a row, and Thursday ain't looking too good either - but since I can only half see things anyways, maybe that's for the best. SisterS, who lives in New Hampshire, in the middle of nowhere, was complaining about the snow up there today, on her Facebook page. But at least they've got lots of places to put it... around here, the streets have gone from kind of narrow to simply straw-like; there's not a whole lot of maneuverability on the roads. Which works out ok for me, most of the time, because I don't have to go anywhere. Until I have to go somewhere, like this morning's eye doctor's appointment, in which case I feel really bad for everybody who's got to dig me out and drive me down there, even if, on a good day, the office is less than 3 minutes from here. (Today it took us 15.)
I tried to take a picture for you guys of the beautiful snowfall and all of that, but I have one eye that I can't open and one that was still recovering from having bright lights shone in it repeatedly (Off topic a bit here - does that make anybody else want to fall asleep? As soon as she started shining those lights in my eyes, I was so drowsy. Note to self: maybe the cure for your insomnia is bright lights in your eyes), so I didn't wind up with the clearest picture. None the less, it'll give you some idea of how things look around here, I hope.
If you're having some snow, I hope you're enjoying it. Or, at the very least, having a cup of hot chocolate because of it. (mm... marshmallows...)
Woo freaking hoo!
I hate having to put yet another sad depressing poor-me post up, but this is where I am right now, so what good is a personal blog if I can't complain about it a little bit? On the upside, I actually got to go out in the snow, which I haven't done in forever, and that means that I - in stark contrast to just about everybody else in the entire Northeast - really enjoyed being out in the snow. I always did: it's got a kind of a hushed, secretive aspect to it that I appreciate. It feels like the rest of the world is as isolated as I often am, and, in a weird way, that makes me feel more connected to everybody. It's difficult for me to get any place, what with the wheels and all, but sitting outside for a little bit this morning while we waited to see if yet another drugstore would have the eye drops I needed (nope) was a nice change of pace for me. The entirety of Massachusetts may be sick to death of the snow - which is too bad because we're supposed to get another foot or so before this storm moves out on Thursday - but I liked it.
Sure, there are some real drawbacks - I miss my days with LilGirl - this is our third day without her in a row, and Thursday ain't looking too good either - but since I can only half see things anyways, maybe that's for the best. SisterS, who lives in New Hampshire, in the middle of nowhere, was complaining about the snow up there today, on her Facebook page. But at least they've got lots of places to put it... around here, the streets have gone from kind of narrow to simply straw-like; there's not a whole lot of maneuverability on the roads. Which works out ok for me, most of the time, because I don't have to go anywhere. Until I have to go somewhere, like this morning's eye doctor's appointment, in which case I feel really bad for everybody who's got to dig me out and drive me down there, even if, on a good day, the office is less than 3 minutes from here. (Today it took us 15.)
I tried to take a picture for you guys of the beautiful snowfall and all of that, but I have one eye that I can't open and one that was still recovering from having bright lights shone in it repeatedly (Off topic a bit here - does that make anybody else want to fall asleep? As soon as she started shining those lights in my eyes, I was so drowsy. Note to self: maybe the cure for your insomnia is bright lights in your eyes), so I didn't wind up with the clearest picture. None the less, it'll give you some idea of how things look around here, I hope.
If you're having some snow, I hope you're enjoying it. Or, at the very least, having a cup of hot chocolate because of it. (mm... marshmallows...)
Saturday, January 29, 2011
"Being alone is not the most awful thing in the world...
You make out to do lists - reorganize linen cupboard, learn two sonnets. You dole out little treats to yourself - slices of ice cream cake, concerts at Wigmore Hall. And then, every once in a while, you wake up... and think I cannot do this anymore. I cannot pull myself together again and spend the next fifteen hours of wakefullness fending off the fact of my own misery."*
Today turned out to not be my best day ever... My original plan was to spend the day shopping with my mom and my sister, maybe have lunch, just be out in the world. (And, not incidentally, away from our house where my dad had declared he would be having a "taking care of me" weekend, the prospect of which is frightening at the very least.) But then my sister didn't feel up to going, so it was just me and my mom, who was in an off mood for whatever reason. But, equipped with lists and coupons and I even remembered to bring my own basket (mine is made of cloth as opposed to the ones in the stores which hurt like hell on my lap), we headed to our first scheduled stop, the craft store.
The store turned out to be wicked crowded and incredibly hot. And about 10 minutes after we got there, I knew that things were going wrong with me: There were a few too many smells, and too much noise, and it was so hot. I started getting weak and bumping into things, and even looking at my list, I was having a hard time concentrating on what I was looking for. I spent a while waiting for my mom to finish up her shopping, and trying not to slide out of the chair or topple over. I don't know why - it just happens like that sometimes. That's one of the things with CFIDS: you can't tell/plan when/why things are going to go to hell. It was so bad I thought I was going to pass out in the store, and waited outside while my mom went through line (she would not approve of that behavior, had she known).
I got the things I needed at the craft store, but between the intense heat and whatever was going on with my body, I was just done. Plum worn out. So instead of a full day of shopping and lunch and being out of the house, we headed home after less than an hour, where I was barely able to crawl back into bed.
A couple of hours of resting and Buffy marathoning later, I was feeling a bit better (less spinning head, more umph), so I turned the computer back on and started checking out the usual haunts. (For the record, those are basically my Reader, my mail, Facebook for chatting, and whatever other tabs I happened to not have finished the last time I signed off.) Reading through my FB activity feed, I see that one of my college friends has a new profile picture up, so I clicked on it.
And there sat nine little children on a couch, posing (as nicely as 9 children under 7 can) for the camera. Nine little children of all the girls I was most friendly with in college, our group of "Alumni Girls." The children of my closest friends, sitting on the couch of one of those friends, about oh 12 minutes down the road from where I am. Which means all of their mothers are sitting there too, and that I was not invited.
And I've missed out on a lot of things over the years - birthday parties and get togethers and weddings and whatnot - and I've not been invited to a few things too, as some of the girls and I hadn't seen each other for years, and grew further apart as time continued to pass. I know that, and, while it's hurt to have to miss things for health reasons, or because I just can't go, I've never really felt unwelcome before, never felt like I was deliberately not included.
Till today.
And I know that's not what it will wind up being - that there's no way anybody thought "Hey, let's not include NTE, because she's such a bitch," or whatever. I know that's not it. The way I figure it either my name never came up because all of my friends were arranging a playdate for their kids, and I don't have any kids, or they just decided not to ask me because the girl whose house it's at is inaccessible to me. So either I was forgotten because I'm not a mom, or I was not asked because they assumed I couldn't make it - but neither of those reasons really makes me feel all that much better.
And looking at that picture, of all those little smiling faces and bald heads and stuffed animals really just reminds me of how much I don't have, of how much I'm missing out on.
I don't have the family, or the kids. And I don't have a bunch of girlfriends that I can just have over to the house (I also don't have) whenever I want. I don't even really have anybody, outside of this computer, who will understand what it's like to not have those things. To want them so badly and just not be able to have them.
To instead be sitting here, with this body that won't even let you go unaided the 6 feet it takes to get into the bathroom, wondering what the fuck happened to the life you were supposed to have. To instead be sitting here in tears staring at nine kids - some of whom you've never even met, and others who call you auntie honorarily - and wishing there was a tenth. Wishing that their moms had thought to call you and say "Sorry you can't make it, but we'll be down the street today, want us to drop by after?" Wishing I'd managed being out in the world for longer than 45 minutes without having to rest for four hours. Wishing I knew how to get from where I am to where I want to be. Wishing I'd never seen the damn picture, and just kept watching Buffy instead, even if it was the one with the praying mantis teacher, and I've seen it 19 times before.
Just wishing.
*Zoe Heller, What Was She Thinking
Today turned out to not be my best day ever... My original plan was to spend the day shopping with my mom and my sister, maybe have lunch, just be out in the world. (And, not incidentally, away from our house where my dad had declared he would be having a "taking care of me" weekend, the prospect of which is frightening at the very least.) But then my sister didn't feel up to going, so it was just me and my mom, who was in an off mood for whatever reason. But, equipped with lists and coupons and I even remembered to bring my own basket (mine is made of cloth as opposed to the ones in the stores which hurt like hell on my lap), we headed to our first scheduled stop, the craft store.
The store turned out to be wicked crowded and incredibly hot. And about 10 minutes after we got there, I knew that things were going wrong with me: There were a few too many smells, and too much noise, and it was so hot. I started getting weak and bumping into things, and even looking at my list, I was having a hard time concentrating on what I was looking for. I spent a while waiting for my mom to finish up her shopping, and trying not to slide out of the chair or topple over. I don't know why - it just happens like that sometimes. That's one of the things with CFIDS: you can't tell/plan when/why things are going to go to hell. It was so bad I thought I was going to pass out in the store, and waited outside while my mom went through line (she would not approve of that behavior, had she known).
I got the things I needed at the craft store, but between the intense heat and whatever was going on with my body, I was just done. Plum worn out. So instead of a full day of shopping and lunch and being out of the house, we headed home after less than an hour, where I was barely able to crawl back into bed.
A couple of hours of resting and Buffy marathoning later, I was feeling a bit better (less spinning head, more umph), so I turned the computer back on and started checking out the usual haunts. (For the record, those are basically my Reader, my mail, Facebook for chatting, and whatever other tabs I happened to not have finished the last time I signed off.) Reading through my FB activity feed, I see that one of my college friends has a new profile picture up, so I clicked on it.
And there sat nine little children on a couch, posing (as nicely as 9 children under 7 can) for the camera. Nine little children of all the girls I was most friendly with in college, our group of "Alumni Girls." The children of my closest friends, sitting on the couch of one of those friends, about oh 12 minutes down the road from where I am. Which means all of their mothers are sitting there too, and that I was not invited.
And I've missed out on a lot of things over the years - birthday parties and get togethers and weddings and whatnot - and I've not been invited to a few things too, as some of the girls and I hadn't seen each other for years, and grew further apart as time continued to pass. I know that, and, while it's hurt to have to miss things for health reasons, or because I just can't go, I've never really felt unwelcome before, never felt like I was deliberately not included.
Till today.
And I know that's not what it will wind up being - that there's no way anybody thought "Hey, let's not include NTE, because she's such a bitch," or whatever. I know that's not it. The way I figure it either my name never came up because all of my friends were arranging a playdate for their kids, and I don't have any kids, or they just decided not to ask me because the girl whose house it's at is inaccessible to me. So either I was forgotten because I'm not a mom, or I was not asked because they assumed I couldn't make it - but neither of those reasons really makes me feel all that much better.
And looking at that picture, of all those little smiling faces and bald heads and stuffed animals really just reminds me of how much I don't have, of how much I'm missing out on.
I don't have the family, or the kids. And I don't have a bunch of girlfriends that I can just have over to the house (I also don't have) whenever I want. I don't even really have anybody, outside of this computer, who will understand what it's like to not have those things. To want them so badly and just not be able to have them.
To instead be sitting here, with this body that won't even let you go unaided the 6 feet it takes to get into the bathroom, wondering what the fuck happened to the life you were supposed to have. To instead be sitting here in tears staring at nine kids - some of whom you've never even met, and others who call you auntie honorarily - and wishing there was a tenth. Wishing that their moms had thought to call you and say "Sorry you can't make it, but we'll be down the street today, want us to drop by after?" Wishing I'd managed being out in the world for longer than 45 minutes without having to rest for four hours. Wishing I knew how to get from where I am to where I want to be. Wishing I'd never seen the damn picture, and just kept watching Buffy instead, even if it was the one with the praying mantis teacher, and I've seen it 19 times before.
Just wishing.
*Zoe Heller, What Was She Thinking
Monday, November 01, 2010
30 Days of Truth, Day 01
So here's my first official 30 Days of Truth post, which I found via more than one blog, but I'll search my Google Reader and post a few links, if you'd like. I'm sure you've seen them around, and some of the more stellar responses have gotten me to start thinking on the topics as well, so I figured - good topics? check; guaranteed NaBloPoMo posts everyday? Check; Deep thoughts? Also check. So here we are.
Day 01: Something you hate about yourself
Ugh. I feel like this list could go on forever and ever, and I hate that, for sure: that I'm not more happy with who I am or how I look or more comfortable in my own skin. Whenever I'm reading a book and a character is described just that way - "You could tell she was comfortable in her own skin" - I always think "But how? How did she get comfortable just being who she was? How is that even possible?"
I know it must be possible - I think I know enough people that are just who they are and that's that to know it is possible. But it seems like something that's possible for other people . Not for me. Maybe, some day. But if I'm being honest, I don't really think so. I don't really believe that I'll ever just be happy with how I look, or how I act. Or -if not happy, exactly - but happy enough.
Happy enough not to hate that I need to ask for help for things that I "should be" capable of doing. Happy enough not to hate that I can't drive myself (or walk myself) from point A to point B and have to depend on other people all the time. Happy enough to not hate the way I cry when I'm arguing with someone and how weak it makes me feel. Happy enough not to want to burn the piles down around me rather than hate how I procrastinate dealing with them.
Happy enough not to cringe when I see myself in the mirror in the morning. This is a new one for me, mostly because, at my house, what few mirrors we have are all at standing up person's eye level. If I want to look in the mirror, I have to make an extra effort, so I don't often look in the mirror unless there's a reason for it. But here at Grandmother's house there is a huge honking mirror in the little bathroom. I'm talking about an entire wall's worth of vanity mirror, so that if you were standing in the middle of the bathroom floor and stretched your arms out to the side to touch the walls (which you can do because that's exactly how small the bathroom is), you'd be able to see the whole thing in the mirrors. Which also means that you can see yourself from just about anywhere, including sitting down. And this is the only bathroom I have access to, and so, when I roll in there first thing in the morning, I see myself.
And I find that I am often not pleased with how I look. I even thought "holy crap: that's what you look like today. Ew" the other day. "Ew." Was an actual thought I had about myself, and it made me realize how harshly I judge my physical appearance. It's been on my mind ever since.
I knew I had issues with my weight - being on steroids and the Lyrica and god knows how many other drugs has definitely screwed with my poundage - but it usually only bothers me when I have to go shopping for something nice and nothing nice fits over my boobs. Or when I'm in a group picture - particularly one with all my sisters, and I realize I could put three of them together to equal me (almost, anyways). But, for the most part, it doesn't enter my mind - the good thing about having a body where you have to be measuring things against pain or exhaustion or sick levels in matter of importance is that you realize that being heavy does not equal the end of the world. Sure I'm a little bigger than I'd like to be, comfortably, but it doesn't physically hurt, so it moves way down on the list of things that concern me on a day to day basis.
It hardly ever even makes it onto the list, to be honest with you. I'm not generally embarassed by it and see no reason why I, or anyone else, should be - so it worries me that I can think so poorly about my appearance.
And it's not just the weight - it's the stuff I don't have the energy to devote to fixing: I'm lucky if I ran a comb through my hair twice last week (clip it up and be done with it is my usual motto), I don't wear makeup (although I could often use it) or nice clothes (nice and comfortable are apparently fashion's version of oil and water). I look... tired. And worn out.
And - even though I am tired and sore and worn out - I hate that I look that way. And I hate that it matters to me how I look at all, because if you had asked me a month ago, when I wasn't having to face myself in the mirror every day, I would've said it didn't bother me at all. I don't want it to bother me at all.
So I'm trying to look myself in the mirror now and think at least one positive thing, even if it's just "Look, you made it all the way in here, and you didn't think you were going to get this far today, so that's something" or "You have your mother's eyes, you know, so if you can't say those aren't pretty because she has gorgeous eyes. It's ok that they're tired today, they're still her eyes." Or - as was the case one day last week - "We are not leaving this room until you can think of something nice to say to yourself, you stubborn ass. Because if Lil Girl looked at herself in the mirror and thought "ew," even once, your heart would break, and the least you can do is figure out how to make the same be true for yourself."
I hate that I haven't figured it all out yet, I guess is what I'm saying.
Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Day 01: Something you hate about yourself
Ugh. I feel like this list could go on forever and ever, and I hate that, for sure: that I'm not more happy with who I am or how I look or more comfortable in my own skin. Whenever I'm reading a book and a character is described just that way - "You could tell she was comfortable in her own skin" - I always think "But how? How did she get comfortable just being who she was? How is that even possible?"
I know it must be possible - I think I know enough people that are just who they are and that's that to know it is possible. But it seems like something that's possible for other people . Not for me. Maybe, some day. But if I'm being honest, I don't really think so. I don't really believe that I'll ever just be happy with how I look, or how I act. Or -if not happy, exactly - but happy enough.
Happy enough not to hate that I need to ask for help for things that I "should be" capable of doing. Happy enough not to hate that I can't drive myself (or walk myself) from point A to point B and have to depend on other people all the time. Happy enough to not hate the way I cry when I'm arguing with someone and how weak it makes me feel. Happy enough not to want to burn the piles down around me rather than hate how I procrastinate dealing with them.
Happy enough not to cringe when I see myself in the mirror in the morning. This is a new one for me, mostly because, at my house, what few mirrors we have are all at standing up person's eye level. If I want to look in the mirror, I have to make an extra effort, so I don't often look in the mirror unless there's a reason for it. But here at Grandmother's house there is a huge honking mirror in the little bathroom. I'm talking about an entire wall's worth of vanity mirror, so that if you were standing in the middle of the bathroom floor and stretched your arms out to the side to touch the walls (which you can do because that's exactly how small the bathroom is), you'd be able to see the whole thing in the mirrors. Which also means that you can see yourself from just about anywhere, including sitting down. And this is the only bathroom I have access to, and so, when I roll in there first thing in the morning, I see myself.
And I find that I am often not pleased with how I look. I even thought "holy crap: that's what you look like today. Ew" the other day. "Ew." Was an actual thought I had about myself, and it made me realize how harshly I judge my physical appearance. It's been on my mind ever since.
I knew I had issues with my weight - being on steroids and the Lyrica and god knows how many other drugs has definitely screwed with my poundage - but it usually only bothers me when I have to go shopping for something nice and nothing nice fits over my boobs. Or when I'm in a group picture - particularly one with all my sisters, and I realize I could put three of them together to equal me (almost, anyways). But, for the most part, it doesn't enter my mind - the good thing about having a body where you have to be measuring things against pain or exhaustion or sick levels in matter of importance is that you realize that being heavy does not equal the end of the world. Sure I'm a little bigger than I'd like to be, comfortably, but it doesn't physically hurt, so it moves way down on the list of things that concern me on a day to day basis.
It hardly ever even makes it onto the list, to be honest with you. I'm not generally embarassed by it and see no reason why I, or anyone else, should be - so it worries me that I can think so poorly about my appearance.
And it's not just the weight - it's the stuff I don't have the energy to devote to fixing: I'm lucky if I ran a comb through my hair twice last week (clip it up and be done with it is my usual motto), I don't wear makeup (although I could often use it) or nice clothes (nice and comfortable are apparently fashion's version of oil and water). I look... tired. And worn out.
And - even though I am tired and sore and worn out - I hate that I look that way. And I hate that it matters to me how I look at all, because if you had asked me a month ago, when I wasn't having to face myself in the mirror every day, I would've said it didn't bother me at all. I don't want it to bother me at all.
So I'm trying to look myself in the mirror now and think at least one positive thing, even if it's just "Look, you made it all the way in here, and you didn't think you were going to get this far today, so that's something" or "You have your mother's eyes, you know, so if you can't say those aren't pretty because she has gorgeous eyes. It's ok that they're tired today, they're still her eyes." Or - as was the case one day last week - "We are not leaving this room until you can think of something nice to say to yourself, you stubborn ass. Because if Lil Girl looked at herself in the mirror and thought "ew," even once, your heart would break, and the least you can do is figure out how to make the same be true for yourself."
I hate that I haven't figured it all out yet, I guess is what I'm saying.
Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Saturday, September 18, 2010
"If I had my way I'd make health catching instead of disease."*
First off, I want to thank all of you for your very kind thoughts about my grandmother. She is much improved, and has moved from the hospital to a local (ish) rehab, where she's getting some much needed help with her leg strength and balance. Aside from being a bit more wobbly (which was an issue prior to her fall), there seem to be very few ill lasting effects. Knock wood, throw salt, praise the god/goddess/ancient deity/flying spaghetti monster of your choice. I do really appreciate the support I've received here, and can't tell you how much. We're working through it. Slow and steady.
One of the things I've been spending a good amount of time pondering during the endless hours of "hurry up and wait" or "the doctor/therapist/food will be here any time now" that have accompanied this experience is the shocking clarity of learning just how closely my grandmother's condition and my condition resemble each other. A few of the correlations I've seen just today -
So I can see the differences, and the parallels, and I have to wonder: how much of this is in my genes? How much of this - whatever this turns out to be - is in everybody's genes, just sitting there, only coming out when something goes wrong? Because I can also see the similarities between me and my mum (who's got ulcerative colitis), or my sister with depression, or my other sister who developed random allergic hives for 8 months that disappeared as suddenly as they came. So how much of what's wrong with me is laying dormant (or not-dormant, as the case may be) in the people I love? And how much of it is floating around in everybody's genetic code?
It's a scary thought: Both the "why did I wind up being the lucky one" part, and the "Holy shit, what is wrong with us???" part.
The main difference between us is that my grandmother's condition - aside from her extremely sensitive skin & occasional fainting spells - waited till she was in her eighties to attack. She had a full 'before' life - with 9 kids and a husband, and the mother in law from hell, and being a nurse during WWII, and helping to raise her granddaughter when her son died, and a million other things that happened before she started to become unwell. For me, my life before - the lesser (percentage wise) portion of my life, at this point - ended at 15. Before I had the chance to do so many of the things I wanted to do, and consisted mostly of being a child, a dancer, a reader, a babysitter/big sister.
But here's where I go back to our similarities, because my grandmother - then in her eighties and now in her nineties - dealt with it. All of the inconveniences and indignities of being ill and having to figure out how to live your life the best way you know how. And - while I may not always succeed as well as she does - I'm certainly going to do my best to make that our most striking similarity: the fact that giving up ain't really an option. That we are not the illnesses we've been battling, or whatever disabilities we may have, but only ourselves.
And that the weaknesses we've got in common don't matter near as much as the strengths we share.
*Robert Ingersoll
One of the things I've been spending a good amount of time pondering during the endless hours of "hurry up and wait" or "the doctor/therapist/food will be here any time now" that have accompanied this experience is the shocking clarity of learning just how closely my grandmother's condition and my condition resemble each other. A few of the correlations I've seen just today -
- Because she has an atrial fibrillation, her heart rate and pulse can drop dramatically, and she's been on multiple blood pressure meds to help control this. For me, that's the POTS, and the drugs she's been on? I've been on the majority of them too.
- She has weakness and swelling in her legs, and they're not really sure why. Ditto here.
- She has freezing cold feet - sometimes requiring three or four pairs of socks. I also have this problem (although it's not as constant as hers, and is complicated by the burning on the bottom of my feet sensation I get too), and most days, if you put your hand on my upper thigh and slowly move it down, you can feel about a 10 degree temperature drop by the time you get to my icy cold toes.
- She has an unexplained (but attributed to her heart condition) dizziness and vertigo; I have an unexplained (but attributed to my POTS) dizziness and vertigo.
- Neither one of us can stand, unaided, and straight. We invariably begin to tip after just a few seconds.
- She's passed out more than once - her history of fainting spells stretches back to when she was a teenager. Want to take a guess when mine started?
- She's weak and she's tired a lot, and they like to say things like "Well, you're ninety three, what do you expect?" when she complains about it. I'm tired a lot, and unreasonably weak, and they like to say things like "Well, you've got chronic health conditions, what do you expect?"
- We've both learned to sit at the edge of the bed, feet dangling for a minute, before we dare to get up. (And by 'learned', I mean to say we both remember it when we feel like it, and sometimes screw the consequences when we don't.)
- We both have extremely sensitive skin - her back has been as hot as coals ever since she was admitted to the ER, due to some combination of hospital/rehab soap and laundry detergent. They gave her some medicine to put on it, which I've been helping her with, but the rash I got on my hands spread like fire all the way up one of my arms, so I had to start using gloves to put it on.
- Neither one of us likes to be in the position of asking for help, and get frustrated by people telling us what/how we should be doing things. (Oh wait: this is unrelated to our medical conditions unless "stubborn as a jack ass" is now listed as a medical condition.)
- Same goes for physical therapy and occupational therapy. (See above point, re: jackassery.)
So I can see the differences, and the parallels, and I have to wonder: how much of this is in my genes? How much of this - whatever this turns out to be - is in everybody's genes, just sitting there, only coming out when something goes wrong? Because I can also see the similarities between me and my mum (who's got ulcerative colitis), or my sister with depression, or my other sister who developed random allergic hives for 8 months that disappeared as suddenly as they came. So how much of what's wrong with me is laying dormant (or not-dormant, as the case may be) in the people I love? And how much of it is floating around in everybody's genetic code?
It's a scary thought: Both the "why did I wind up being the lucky one" part, and the "Holy shit, what is wrong with us???" part.
The main difference between us is that my grandmother's condition - aside from her extremely sensitive skin & occasional fainting spells - waited till she was in her eighties to attack. She had a full 'before' life - with 9 kids and a husband, and the mother in law from hell, and being a nurse during WWII, and helping to raise her granddaughter when her son died, and a million other things that happened before she started to become unwell. For me, my life before - the lesser (percentage wise) portion of my life, at this point - ended at 15. Before I had the chance to do so many of the things I wanted to do, and consisted mostly of being a child, a dancer, a reader, a babysitter/big sister.
But here's where I go back to our similarities, because my grandmother - then in her eighties and now in her nineties - dealt with it. All of the inconveniences and indignities of being ill and having to figure out how to live your life the best way you know how. And - while I may not always succeed as well as she does - I'm certainly going to do my best to make that our most striking similarity: the fact that giving up ain't really an option. That we are not the illnesses we've been battling, or whatever disabilities we may have, but only ourselves.
And that the weaknesses we've got in common don't matter near as much as the strengths we share.
*Robert Ingersoll
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I did mention, right,
that I hate doctors?
So, you may remember that I was all on board train "face surgery" as much as any person could be anyways, when last we discussed it. Well, today I had some (unrelated) blood tests, and my liver came back SNAFU. My liver is like that - sometimes, it is fine and dandy, other times it grows things named after cartoon characters from the 1980s (Looking back, I realize that I was not actually writing this blog way back when I developed my hemangioma, which is pronounced exactly as it is spelled: He-Man-Ge-Oma, but that's what I am referring to). It has been labeled fatty (which hurt both our feelings), been ruled out as a donor organ, put on (and taken off of) various medications, and sends sudden, terrifyingly high bad cholesterol numbers to scare lab techs into making the doctor call me back on the very same day. Of course, the fact that those cholesterol numbers also drop dramatically every other time doesn't seem to bother them, but for right now, I'm supposed to be impressed that they are "startlingly high" for someone so young. (I'm not impressed, or bothered, and will just wait till next time before I panic, thank you very much.)
But aside from the cholesterol, my liver enzymes are elevated, which means ... what? Something. Maybe. Nothing? They are Not Sure. They want More Tests. They are Reviewing My Records. - Or, they will be doing all of that, they promise, when they return to the office in a Week and a Half. :sigh:
Which means the sinus surgery may have to be postponed, which I am not pleased about because, well, now that I am on board the train, I would like it to leave as soon as possible, so that I can get off of it as soon as possible. I do not like waiting. I do not like new problems to pop-up when I do not have the energy to deal with them. I do not need some new Skeletor to face, and I'd rather not have to deal with a recurrence of his arch-enemy either (Because, although all that that required was monitoring, liver ultrasounds - any ultrasounds - and me of the FM pain/tender body parts, do not get along well).
I'm just having the kind of the week where things seem to be crumbling/sucking no matter what I do... things that start off with the best of intentions are suddenly horrible and poisonous, and I have no idea where they went wrong or how to fix them.
So when the doctor - my primary care, whom I do not have much faith in at all - called and said "This is a problem. But I'm not going to be here to help you figure it out for two weeks", I wanted to dissolve into a puddle. I mean, I know, in my head, that there are things I can do - like calling the surgeon or Zack in that time, just so I know what their take on the whole thing is - but right now, all I want is for all the complications to Go Away.
Or, maybe I could go away: Where is Swift Wind when you needherhim?
(Did you know he was a he? I didn't.)
So, you may remember that I was all on board train "face surgery" as much as any person could be anyways, when last we discussed it. Well, today I had some (unrelated) blood tests, and my liver came back SNAFU. My liver is like that - sometimes, it is fine and dandy, other times it grows things named after cartoon characters from the 1980s (Looking back, I realize that I was not actually writing this blog way back when I developed my hemangioma, which is pronounced exactly as it is spelled: He-Man-Ge-Oma, but that's what I am referring to). It has been labeled fatty (which hurt both our feelings), been ruled out as a donor organ, put on (and taken off of) various medications, and sends sudden, terrifyingly high bad cholesterol numbers to scare lab techs into making the doctor call me back on the very same day. Of course, the fact that those cholesterol numbers also drop dramatically every other time doesn't seem to bother them, but for right now, I'm supposed to be impressed that they are "startlingly high" for someone so young. (I'm not impressed, or bothered, and will just wait till next time before I panic, thank you very much.)
But aside from the cholesterol, my liver enzymes are elevated, which means ... what? Something. Maybe. Nothing? They are Not Sure. They want More Tests. They are Reviewing My Records. - Or, they will be doing all of that, they promise, when they return to the office in a Week and a Half. :sigh:
Which means the sinus surgery may have to be postponed, which I am not pleased about because, well, now that I am on board the train, I would like it to leave as soon as possible, so that I can get off of it as soon as possible. I do not like waiting. I do not like new problems to pop-up when I do not have the energy to deal with them. I do not need some new Skeletor to face, and I'd rather not have to deal with a recurrence of his arch-enemy either (Because, although all that that required was monitoring, liver ultrasounds - any ultrasounds - and me of the FM pain/tender body parts, do not get along well).
I'm just having the kind of the week where things seem to be crumbling/sucking no matter what I do... things that start off with the best of intentions are suddenly horrible and poisonous, and I have no idea where they went wrong or how to fix them.
So when the doctor - my primary care, whom I do not have much faith in at all - called and said "This is a problem. But I'm not going to be here to help you figure it out for two weeks", I wanted to dissolve into a puddle. I mean, I know, in my head, that there are things I can do - like calling the surgeon or Zack in that time, just so I know what their take on the whole thing is - but right now, all I want is for all the complications to Go Away.
Or, maybe I could go away: Where is Swift Wind when you need
(Did you know he was a he? I didn't.)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Temporary pause
as the laptop has finally given up on me. Today's screen went from half pink to twitching to finally being blank. Although if I tilt it a certain way, I can see the vague impression of the screen behind the veil of black, so I know it's just the screen. But in the five years I have had this computer it has had to be sent away for repairs three times and I've had to use the Geek Squad twice. The battery's been replaced twice as well (which is not all that unusual), but I've also gone through 4 power cords, which is ridiculous. I could have bought a new laptop (plus) with what I've spent repairing the old one, and since one sister has been nice enough to offer up her store credit and another sister her employee discount card, I should be able to afford to get what I need/would like. Thankfully, Mum got a netbook from her sister for Christmas, so I can still do some research about what I'm going to get. So if you're wondering about the little bit light-ish (and picture-less) posting, not to mention the severely restricted blog browsing, that's what's up. Hope your week is going OK.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I lied...
about it being my last eye post. Sorry, but I thought I'd give you just a quick update: I have an infection on my cornea. It's a little bit abnormal, but the optometrist said it probably has something to do with my piece of crap immune system, and prescribed an eye drop I have to put in once every hour for the next few days, and then I go back on Monday. For my favorite-est of things: more eye drops (this time pretty colors - they make me cry yellow tears) and bright shiny lights directly into the very sore eyeball! Yay. Am wicked excited. But - today's drops have at least numbed my eye, so that I can talk to you nice people without turning the computer screen down so dim that I couldn't read it if I wanted to. Bonus.
Also, the optometrist seemed surprised that it had taken me so long to come in, which, I know ~ we've talked before about how, for me, having a strange-ass chronic illness (or multiple strange-ass chronic illnesses) makes it difficult to distinguish how real a problem actually is, but I have to say this fits right in there - it was something in my eye! Like an eyelash or something... How could that be a real problem? Everybody gets things in their eyes, and those things go away, right? And, ok, yes, I knew it was serious when it was still so sore a few days later, but that's why I bought the eye wash, and, when it didn't get better, that's when I called the doctor. I don't know: it seems reasonable both ways to me, even now. Who knows?
Anyways, the point is that ouch. My eye hurts. Especially when there is light, which is ALL THE FRIGGING TIME. My family grows more and more convinced that I am not really ill, but am, in fact evolving into a vampire. I am not entirely convinced that they are wrong.
Also, the optometrist seemed surprised that it had taken me so long to come in, which, I know ~ we've talked before about how, for me, having a strange-ass chronic illness (or multiple strange-ass chronic illnesses) makes it difficult to distinguish how real a problem actually is, but I have to say this fits right in there - it was something in my eye! Like an eyelash or something... How could that be a real problem? Everybody gets things in their eyes, and those things go away, right? And, ok, yes, I knew it was serious when it was still so sore a few days later, but that's why I bought the eye wash, and, when it didn't get better, that's when I called the doctor. I don't know: it seems reasonable both ways to me, even now. Who knows?
Anyways, the point is that ouch. My eye hurts. Especially when there is light, which is ALL THE FRIGGING TIME. My family grows more and more convinced that I am not really ill, but am, in fact evolving into a vampire. I am not entirely convinced that they are wrong.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
It's been about a week and a half,
since I've been here, and I apologize for that.
But I think I'm going to skip the long explanations that explain nothing, really, and just say: my brain has been tired, and I have not felt like ordering it to work. Which is fine, really, except that all the posts I wrote in my tired head during the past week are now gone into the ether, and I have to come up with something to write because we all know the longer I go without posting, the harder it gets to post.
So, onto today's post:
Did you know that my most popular post, the post that gets the most comments and hits (at least one a day, I am not kidding you) is this one? 42 comments, as of today. Apparently, something I thought only I was careless enough to do (accidentally getting gel deodorant squirted into my eye) is pretty damn common. The number of people who find me after Googling "got deodorant in my eye" is very high... that search is, by far, my biggest referral.
I'm not entirely sure I'm happy to be known on the Internet as the girl who got deodorant in her eye, but I'm glad that I'm not the only one. I'm also happy to let people know that, while I have no medical training, and cannot guarantee anything, all of the people who searched and found me after getting deodorant in their eyes, at the very least, saw well enough to type. So, while it stings worse than shampoo or most other things you may have accidentally got in your eyeball (I will refrain from judgement here), it will probably get better relatively quickly. If I remember correctly, my eye was fine after a few hours, and only red for a day or so.
Not like this week, in which I did absolutely nothing whatsoever to my damn eye, and haven't been able to see clearly for three days. I also can't keep the eye open any length of time and have taken to wearing my sunglasses inside the house. Although today, I just shut off all sources of light - I am typing this on it's darkest setting, and occasionally peeking behind a piece of paper to check for misspellings - and confined myself to a dark room. Where I couldn't read or write or watch TV or any of the things I usually do to distract myself from my normal pain, so guess what kind of a week I have been having? (*And, oh, how this is its own post, readers: distraction as pain management technique, and how the loss of those distractions is like flaying yourself raw and then swimming in the ocean.)
I honestly have no idea what got in there, because it has felt like a little crumb of something is just under my eyelid, but I don't see anything. I thought about going to the doctor, but what do I say: "My eye hurts, but I don't know why?" I am giving it until tomorrow to straighten up, though... if it ain't better/improving by then, screw it, I'm calling. And then, of course, my eye got all red and weepy (sorry - disgusting, I know), and for whatever reason when my eye gets watery, my nose starts to run, and ALSO, the more I blow my nose, the more my face gets all broken out, so now my nose and one eye are all red, and I've got little cuts all over the place, so basically I look like I've been fighting with a very angry cat that I am also allergic to, or something. Tres attractive, I am sure.
On the plus side, I can't look in the mirror, because it hurts to open my eye, so there's that.
I think it was at it's worst this morning, though, because it hurt so bad I actually did something about it. I sent my dad to the store for some Visine (even though it gives me a rash on my skin, I would deal with that for an eye that functions), and he brought home an eye wash/eye cup thing instead. Have you ever had to do this? The directions are simple and straightforward - fill cup with solution, put cup on eye, tilt head back, OPEN EYE AND ROLL IT AROUND with the solution pouring right into it, empty cup, pat eye dry.
Simple, right?
Except that you are talking to the only person in the history of my optometrist to learn how to put contact lenses on by finally being allowed to do it without looking. I was in my 20s, and it took 3 lessons. Because the guy who was giving the lessons kept saying, "You have to look at your finger when you're putting it in your eye!" and "I have taught 4 year olds how to do this, now look at your finger!" That approach did not work for me, so finally I said to him, "How about if we try it this way?" and I looked in the opposite direction and snuck it in my eye while I wasn't looking and then blinked a few times: voila! Mission accomplished. (Off Topic - this is also the way I taught myself how to swallow pills: put food/drink in your mouth first, then slip the pill in, and act like it isn't there and just swallow your food/drink. Easy peasy.)
So the whole, open your eye and swish the water around in it, thing? Not my cup of tea. Basically I wound up having to tip my head back, and then blink really fast for as long as I could. What? It seems to have helped, so why knock it?
My eye is still puffy and red and hurting, but it's getting better, I think.
This concludes my second - and hopefully last post about stuff getting in my eye (and if I ever figure out what it was this time, trust me that I will avoid that substance like the eye plague it truly is). Enjoy the rest of your day, and I'll try and come up with something less gross for tomorrow's post.
But I think I'm going to skip the long explanations that explain nothing, really, and just say: my brain has been tired, and I have not felt like ordering it to work. Which is fine, really, except that all the posts I wrote in my tired head during the past week are now gone into the ether, and I have to come up with something to write because we all know the longer I go without posting, the harder it gets to post.
So, onto today's post:
Did you know that my most popular post, the post that gets the most comments and hits (at least one a day, I am not kidding you) is this one? 42 comments, as of today. Apparently, something I thought only I was careless enough to do (accidentally getting gel deodorant squirted into my eye) is pretty damn common. The number of people who find me after Googling "got deodorant in my eye" is very high... that search is, by far, my biggest referral.
I'm not entirely sure I'm happy to be known on the Internet as the girl who got deodorant in her eye, but I'm glad that I'm not the only one. I'm also happy to let people know that, while I have no medical training, and cannot guarantee anything, all of the people who searched and found me after getting deodorant in their eyes, at the very least, saw well enough to type. So, while it stings worse than shampoo or most other things you may have accidentally got in your eyeball (I will refrain from judgement here), it will probably get better relatively quickly. If I remember correctly, my eye was fine after a few hours, and only red for a day or so.
Not like this week, in which I did absolutely nothing whatsoever to my damn eye, and haven't been able to see clearly for three days. I also can't keep the eye open any length of time and have taken to wearing my sunglasses inside the house. Although today, I just shut off all sources of light - I am typing this on it's darkest setting, and occasionally peeking behind a piece of paper to check for misspellings - and confined myself to a dark room. Where I couldn't read or write or watch TV or any of the things I usually do to distract myself from my normal pain, so guess what kind of a week I have been having? (*And, oh, how this is its own post, readers: distraction as pain management technique, and how the loss of those distractions is like flaying yourself raw and then swimming in the ocean.)
I honestly have no idea what got in there, because it has felt like a little crumb of something is just under my eyelid, but I don't see anything. I thought about going to the doctor, but what do I say: "My eye hurts, but I don't know why?" I am giving it until tomorrow to straighten up, though... if it ain't better/improving by then, screw it, I'm calling. And then, of course, my eye got all red and weepy (sorry - disgusting, I know), and for whatever reason when my eye gets watery, my nose starts to run, and ALSO, the more I blow my nose, the more my face gets all broken out, so now my nose and one eye are all red, and I've got little cuts all over the place, so basically I look like I've been fighting with a very angry cat that I am also allergic to, or something. Tres attractive, I am sure.
On the plus side, I can't look in the mirror, because it hurts to open my eye, so there's that.
I think it was at it's worst this morning, though, because it hurt so bad I actually did something about it. I sent my dad to the store for some Visine (even though it gives me a rash on my skin, I would deal with that for an eye that functions), and he brought home an eye wash/eye cup thing instead. Have you ever had to do this? The directions are simple and straightforward - fill cup with solution, put cup on eye, tilt head back, OPEN EYE AND ROLL IT AROUND with the solution pouring right into it, empty cup, pat eye dry.
Simple, right?
Except that you are talking to the only person in the history of my optometrist to learn how to put contact lenses on by finally being allowed to do it without looking. I was in my 20s, and it took 3 lessons. Because the guy who was giving the lessons kept saying, "You have to look at your finger when you're putting it in your eye!" and "I have taught 4 year olds how to do this, now look at your finger!" That approach did not work for me, so finally I said to him, "How about if we try it this way?" and I looked in the opposite direction and snuck it in my eye while I wasn't looking and then blinked a few times: voila! Mission accomplished. (Off Topic - this is also the way I taught myself how to swallow pills: put food/drink in your mouth first, then slip the pill in, and act like it isn't there and just swallow your food/drink. Easy peasy.)
So the whole, open your eye and swish the water around in it, thing? Not my cup of tea. Basically I wound up having to tip my head back, and then blink really fast for as long as I could. What? It seems to have helped, so why knock it?
My eye is still puffy and red and hurting, but it's getting better, I think.
This concludes my second - and hopefully last post about stuff getting in my eye (and if I ever figure out what it was this time, trust me that I will avoid that substance like the eye plague it truly is). Enjoy the rest of your day, and I'll try and come up with something less gross for tomorrow's post.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Pie for breakfast is healthy, right?
So, Thanksgiving was fabulous here (Until I sort-of passed out, while trying not to pass out, and thought I was being really discreet and all, but everybody started getting up and leaving. Oops.) ~ I hope it was fabulous for all of you too (minus the passing out part).
I am recuperating slowly, which means leaving bed only for necessities, and checking e-mail only for short periods of time that my fever is down and my brain is functioning, but today is so much better than yesterday that I just wanted to check in and say that I hope you are all having a great, restful, thankful weekend.
Be back manana (in one form or another).
Be As Well As Possible.
I am recuperating slowly, which means leaving bed only for necessities, and checking e-mail only for short periods of time that my fever is down and my brain is functioning, but today is so much better than yesterday that I just wanted to check in and say that I hope you are all having a great, restful, thankful weekend.
Be back manana (in one form or another).
Be As Well As Possible.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Just to prove
that all sorts of electric equipment hates my guts, today, the carbon monoxide detector went off. Repeatedly, and ear-splittingly. (It is much louder than even the smoke detector: Who knew?) And then it told me we were all dying because the CO was at 900 ppm. A good number is less than 35. So we had to call the fire department, and they told us that it was just malfunctioning, because their meters had it at 0-2.
On the plus side, my dad and I dismantled my computer, and then put it back together. and now it's working, and I am pretending that it will continue to do so. There was a hunk of dust trapped between the fan and the vent, and of course, to get to it I had to take EVERY SINGLE SCREW out, and remove the keyboard and the entire back, and the motherboard. I am not brave, and doing these things made me want to cry, but I figured I couldn't be any worse off. And now, my lap is not catching on fire as I type, and the computer is staying on. These are good things.
Tomorrow, maybe we'll replace the stove - the one that came with the new house - because the electrical system in it doesn't work - banana bread at 350? Normally is supposed to take an hour. I baked for 3.5 hours the other day, and it was still raw-ish in the middle. It beeps, randomly, all night long. Of course, I am the only one on this floor, so it doesn't bother anybody but me. Awesome sauce.
On the plus side, my dad and I dismantled my computer, and then put it back together. and now it's working, and I am pretending that it will continue to do so. There was a hunk of dust trapped between the fan and the vent, and of course, to get to it I had to take EVERY SINGLE SCREW out, and remove the keyboard and the entire back, and the motherboard. I am not brave, and doing these things made me want to cry, but I figured I couldn't be any worse off. And now, my lap is not catching on fire as I type, and the computer is staying on. These are good things.
Tomorrow, maybe we'll replace the stove - the one that came with the new house - because the electrical system in it doesn't work - banana bread at 350? Normally is supposed to take an hour. I baked for 3.5 hours the other day, and it was still raw-ish in the middle. It beeps, randomly, all night long. Of course, I am the only one on this floor, so it doesn't bother anybody but me. Awesome sauce.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Sorry guys: Another measly paragraph of a post today, since the computer has cut me down to 6 minutes at a go, and I spent most of the day trying to figure out how to get the fan out, only to find out that I have to go from the keyboard down, instead of the bottom up. Basically, they make it as ridiculously difficult as possible, so that you don't really have much of a choice but to take it to somebody to get it fixed. But - if at all possible - I am not going to spend $200 for the guy to tell me there's some dust or hair trapped in the fan. I'm going to have to ask for help, which is a complicated issue for me. It is something that I absolutely avoid as much as is humanly possible, because I feel like I ask for too much help that I don't have a choice in, health wise. It's like I can't ask for anything else, because I've used up my share of goodwill or that because I can't contribute as much as I would like to, I can't then turn around and ask for help. It's just one of my issues, and I'm going to have to suck it up here, because I definitely can't do it on my own. I didn't even think I'd get this up, but I asked my sister for her laptop, and here I am.
I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully. I'm not going to stress of NaBloPoMo, though: It's not a huge deal, and I'm just going to do what I can.
I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully. I'm not going to stress of NaBloPoMo, though: It's not a huge deal, and I'm just going to do what I can.
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