Monday, November 28, 2011


I am busily and productively reclaiming myself. I've gotten my home in order, cleaned out my kitchen for pest control, put said kitchen back together, written a letter, and read a self-proscribed number of pages from my current book (A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway in preparation of The Paris Wife for book club). I so easily adapt and detach and I know I am hurting someone and that bothers me. But I must maintain my tunnel vision and laser-like focus if I am to survive these last ten days of my thirtieth year.

Because in ten day's time I will be thirty one and my life should improve if it follows its usual pattern. Odd years have always suited me better for some reason, most likely magical thinking, but for whatever reason I don't care. I am leaning steadily into the wind as I slowly make my way to thirty one, pinning my hopes on this coming year, foolishly, haphazardly, dangerously, and joyously. I know that life can get far worse but I'm certain that things will improve as soon as I am out of this awful, despicable, fat age of thirty.

I wrote a letter to a friend who lives in a new world. She finds my language vulgar and my stories, thoughts, and blogposts to be blush-worthy. She has known me for at least nine years and I have always been vulgar and candid and foul-mouthed. I've not changed but she has. I love her and accept this about her but it makes me sad that I can't be as candid and open with her as I once was. But she does not exist for my benefit and I must remember that.

I had a truly good day today, phenomenal for a Monday, especially one following a five day vacation. Granted, I was sick for much of my holiday break but still. I rebounded with energy and happiness, even in the face of events that incensed me and news that broke my heart. I had a good day and I am trying to soak it all in so that I'll remember it all. I handled myself well and was reminded of how good I have it; and how easily it may be taken away. But I did not let fear over rule me. I simply understood that I will always adapt and will always keep putting one foot in front of the other. And I was given a wonderful quote on which I will end this post:

"Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out."
~ Anton Chekov

Saturday, November 26, 2011

A Few Musings

1: Justin Timberlake brought sexy back in 2006. I think the shelf life on referring to him and the term "sexy back" was met a few years ago. Can the media please stop now?

2: I really like the song "You and I" by Lady Gaga but the blatant grammatical error irks the fuck out of me. I'm not even a grammar nazi but really? Look it up kids.

3: The cool thing about being an adult is that you only have to obey the rules of The Man, and he is not your father.

4: The shitty part about being an adult is that The Man has far worse consequences than your dad.

5: The fact that I have a sharps container creeps me out too.

6: I give to charity all year long, whether it is my time or money, and hate having the bell ringers say "god bless you" when I put a dollar in the red tin. But I'm too big a pussy to say anything. That and I don't want to give anyone trouble. Poor fucker has to stand and ring that bell in whatever weather there is.

7: I give to charity because I can and because I was on reduced lunch as a kid. I could use those reduced lunch coupons now though.

8: I never liked Brittney Spears before but now I can't even recognize her music. I'm beginning to think she went off the deep end and was not healed but just died and they trotted out a cyborg in her stead.

I've been working on this for days - this is what happens when I try

Why do people like me?
I'm beginning to think that people should not trust me enough to give me access to their Facebook pages. My BFF had a baby in March and so, naturally, she posts a lot of baby pics on her page. I'm the asshole who rarely comments unless it is to caption the pictures with phrases suggesting the baby is high or drunk. If I'm lucky, the dog is in the picture as well. I've created a running theme in my head where their fat bagel (beagle crossed with some other dog) is a drug pusher who gets the baby (we will refer to her with the name Baby) to toke up. Bagel is really on the losing side of things, however, because she is older and has been in the house longer than Baby. So mom and dad just say "bad dog" and then give Baby something soft and malleable to put in her mouth (well, they don't give it to her for that reason but everything ends up there; hey, she's not even one yet and she's smoking dope at the level of a three year old so cut her some fucking slack).

And this is my best friend we are talking about, not some random person from high school whose friend request I accepted because I was drunk. I actively like BFF and even wrote a post about her once. But, evidently, if you are my friend, nothing is sacred. I do get some credit, however. My brother posted something that I could have totally run wild with and made all sorts of inappropriate comments about. But for one thing, he was talking about having done some charity (that is not a euphemism), for two, he has a lot of religious people on his page, and finally, he's in Abu Dhabi so why mess with the kid?

In sickness and in health
Johan is getting harder to ignore these days. He isn't, however, getting any smarter. I moved his cage and haven't returned it to the right spot yet he still only rattles the cage in the one spot; the one furthest from me. He was pretty stoked about coming home from the vet though. He was very intent to get out of his carrier and jumped into his home when I had it unzipped enough. Usually I have to open the carrier the whole way and place it in his cage and wait for Sir Waddles to sniff and slowly make his way out. I guess he really missed his stuff. Makes sense in some respects. I miss my bed and my belongings when I'm gone as well but his belongings comprise a food dish, a water bottle, a plastic igloo hide, and his own shit. I think I would be less enthusiastic about returning to such splendor.

J and I are going to try and see if we can fix our marriage or save it or whatever. We met and talked and it was pretty awful, but we agreed to start seeing one another more often, to hang out, and see if we thought it could work. We have a long road ahead of us but I think it will be worth it. I can't believe I really thought it was over without putting in any effort. All I can think is that I had a mini breakdown due to the MS diagnosis and the fact that my marriage was disrupted in any way at all. Now that I'm beginning treatment, I'm beginning to be a real person again, not this out of control lunatic girl who makes reckless choices and doesn't see beyond tomorrow.

Yes, I said treatment and beginning as in "I've recently started taking medication for my disease." Who knew this day would actually come? I mean, it only took five months from the date of my diagnosis. But now here I am, with a sharps disposal box on the table and a box full of syringes in my fridge. I've injected myself without help twice and with help once, the first time (obviously) at work with the aid of one of the nurses on staff who does home health stuff. So far it has been without incident save for the first time when I got some swelling and bruising. Self injecting is even less of a hassle than I thought it would be. After I got my first ever flu shot, I thought "this will be a breeze", and it totally is and takes almost no time after I've let the drug sit out in the open for 30 minutes to warm up. All I really have to do is wait for the alcohol from the swab to dry because if you inject and you still have alcohol on your skin? That shit stings.

Speaking of the flu shot... I got my first ever fucking flu this year too, right after I finally got over a two week cold I'd developed. Needless to say, I will not be taking that shot again.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

I have a "sharps container" in my home now. I have a small, red, plastic, disposal container for used needles. That is where I am. I am doing really well. I can give myself my own injection without help. This is a good thing since it it is for the rest of my life and I'm not having side effects which means I don't need the scary Tsyabri trial.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Top Shelf

I Said No, No, No! 
Where have I been? I've been 2,500 miles away visiting my Viking. She had bilateral iliac stent surgery, trying to get blood flowing through her legs. She developed a clot that didn't break up with heparin and nitropatches so they had to do more surgery. And I was so fucked up with what has been going on in my life that I needed my momma to take care of me.

So I booked a flight and flew to the desert. I have my issues with my mother and I complain and bitch about her. But one thing I always tell people is that she is incredibly strong. I didn't really understand how strong until this trip. I saw my beloved Viking in the hospital and she looked so frail and weak. Things got bad, she couldn't stand on her own, and mom had to spend a lot of time in the hospital. Then they transferred V to a rehab facility. Mom and I went to drop off her clothing and we ended up staying for awhile because it was evident that V was sicker than we'd been told. I watched as a nurse helped V up off the bed into a wheelchair. V had a lot of trouble and was wearing a diaper. I felt traumatized seeing that happen. That's when I realized that my mother has been watching this sort of thing for years. She's been sitting in a chair listening to V bitch, hallucinate, and cry because of the pain. I don't know if you've ever watched a loved one suffer, but if you have, imagine sitting with that person for ten hours at a time. Imagine seeing that person needing help to stand just to get into a wheelchair in order to get to the bathroom only to not make it in time. It is heartbreaking and I couldn't handle it. I dealt with it for maybe two hours. My mom has been dealing with it, witnessing it, and taking care of it for years. That is strength. One of my last nights there, mom had to go back to the hospital at 11pm when the rehab facility called and told her they were transferring V to a general hospital because she was too ill. Mom went and didn't come home until 3:30 a.m. She was called by the admitting physician at 4:00 a.m. She got no real sleep and was up the next day to go back to the hospital at 8 a.m. Then she came home around noon to take me to lunch and visit with me before taking me to the airport.

That is strength. She does it on her own. I went to see my Viking and be taken care of by my mother and I ended up treating my mom to various meals and cleaning parts of her home. In the end, everyone assumed I went out to take care of her. She even felt bad when she was driving me to the airport, saying she felt bad that I did not get pampered, that I had come out for a ruined trip. She asked if I regretted it but I didn't and I don't. I'm glad I was able to be there in some small way. She had one full day with me when she was able to window shop and eat out and relax. She gets so few breaks that I feel good that I was able to provide her with one. And I admire her all the more for the strength that she has.

First Class All the Way
The best part of my trip turned out to be the flight home. My flight out was terrible. The plane was an old one, tiny, with no room whatsoever. I'm not huge, I'm probably just average for an overweight American. But I couldn't read without lifting my arms up or else I'd hit the arm rests. I was in the middle, which is always awesome, and the seat in front of me was all up in my grill, as the kids say. My overhead light didn't work and if I wanted to use my tray table, I had to remove all the god damn magazines to put it up or down. I spilled shit all over my bag and felt like I was bothering my neighbors every time I went to get something.

So I splurged for an upgrade on the way home and experienced my first ever flight in first class. It really is all that you could imagine. You get to board first and as soon as you sit down the flight attendant offers you a glass of wine (or beer, or soda, or water, or whatever cocktail you might want). They give you a real meal! Not a box with a sandwich and some grapes but a real meal. I had ravioli with a mushroom cream sauce. That's what she said when she gave me my choices. Do you know what they brought me? A pre meal savory snack back followed by my ravioli with a side salad and a plate with smoked salami, fresh mozzarella, a gouda. Then she came out with a bread basket. I had a small wine glass that she kept refilling and when I couldn't eat more, she asked if I had room for dessert, delicious cheese cake.

Oh, and that wine? From a full size wine bottle, not those little ones they sell for $7 a pop.

And soooo much leg room! I was obviously the only person there who was a first class newbie and I was totally enjoying it. I even took pictures of the leg room and my food and my wine glass. The flight attendant took my picture and people behind me asked her why. I'm sure they thought it was hilarious when she told them. It was just so fucking rad. My friend told me I could have gone to sleep (night flight and I arrived home at 1:10 a.m.) but I told her "I couldn't! I had to stay awake to enjoy every minute of it!"

I will admit to feeling a bit snobby and awful when I breezed through the security line without any real wait (though I ended up being screened) and when I was sitting there with a glass of wine as the others slowly boarded and some ended up having to gate check their bags. But I think I've been ruined for coach and will have to plan way in advance before traveling again so that I can save up. I even signed up for the dividend program with hopes of being able to send J on a first class flight one day because it was amazing.

I don't know if it was on my bucket list, I'll have to look. But everyone should fly first class at least once.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Pity Party

Husband hates me.

One of my best friends thinks I'm a piece of shit.

Still haven't started treatment for my stupid disease.

Hate my boss.

It seems like all I do anymore is apologize.

Yep, things are looking good.

I don't think I really feel anymore, like at all. Maybe that is a good thing.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


My grandmother had surgery this morning, stents placed in her leg arteries. They did the least invasive and safest surgery possible due to her age. Wasn't entirely successful and she developed a clot, but she is doing well. I asked my brother, who is living overseas, to stay there. Mom always has him give me the bad news and if he is in the Middle East, he can't call me. So my grandmother will live forever.

I realized on Saturday that I do, actually, love and want J. I want him and who we were back. I fucking love him. But I fucked up and he will probably never take me back. My bed to lay in, I know. But I love him. I miss him. I want to fight and scrape, and tooth and claw my way back to where we were when we first fell in love. And when he says "no", I'll deal with it. I'll be devastated, I'll be ruined, but I'll come back, just missing a piece of me. But I will always hope the best for him.

My life is extremely fucked up right now. I'm not going to say it can't get worse because it totally can and I don't want to invite more trouble. But yeah, I'm currently fucked.

So I'll just prep myself and take back my reigns.

Being a grown up? I always knew it was overrated.

Monday, November 7, 2011


I am still ill a full week after the beginning of my cold. Granted, I feel much better than I did last week when my eye was gushing like a faucet and my nose was a double-barreled waterfall. I'm not finding myself suddenly sweating bullets and I'm not having those really awful dreams fueled by fever. But it's still here and it is irritating the hell out of me.

Wasn't a particularly good day. I spoke to someone to indirectly find out if it would be possible for me to have a new boss to essentially find out I'm fucked. I wasn't feeling well at that time of day, my medicine having worn off a bit, and so I ended up feeling just miserable. Drowned my sorrows in some scrubbing bubbles that have left my bathroom smelling oddly of feet and attempting to clip the pig's nails. Watching the Masterpiece Contemporary taped from last night and pondering a trip to the store because I forgot to get soda or juice when I went yesterday. Or perhaps I can continue reading The Handmaid's Tale but that is just as bleak as the PBS special I have playing. Eat some of the leftover pizza in the fridge? Nah, I had some earlier and it isn't worth it. A trip to Macy's for trousers since I only seem to have two pair that are not jeans but still fit? Too much effort.

So a trip to the store it will be, and then I can come home and watch something and sink into my illness until sleep. Jesus I sound depressed! And I'm not! I think I'm just wiped out from the cold.

Lousy supposedly over-active immune system.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Pros and Cons of Working From Home When Ill

Pro: Don't have to use vacation days.

Con: Feel compelled to work extra so no one thinks I'm fucking around.

Pro: Don't have to look at all presentable; the piggy doesn't care.

Con: End up feeling sweaty and dirty and disgusting because I don't have to look presentable.

Pro: No phone calls.

Con: Paranoia because I have forgotten to check my voicemail

Pro: No interruptions whilst in the middle of things.

Con: No one to talk to when in need of a distraction.

Seriously, working from home is really great when I'm ill because it means I don't have to use my precious, precious vacation time (which is almost out, actually). But it is lonely and all I do is work, work, work. I end up feeling like a robot, a sweaty, dirty, gross robot.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Open Letter to Kim Kardashian

Dear Kim,

Thank you for the lavish display of wealth you gave us with your seventy some day marriage to stay relevant. It is important during these times of economic turmoil, to remember what the 1% suffer by not having to be taxed like everyone else.


The other 99%

Things I've Accomplished Today

1: Did a load of laundry (well, this is ongoing but I'm doing it).

2: Made a pot of coffee.

3: Earned $118 rent credit (OK, this is just because of ongoing hot water issues but I did send an email)

4: Sorted dirty clothes from clean ones and separated for purposes of doing laundry (this is totally different from the actual laundry that I have in the dryer right now).

5: Wrote a blog post that included really bad pictures (this is important because those bad pictures took awhile).

6: Wrote in my diary.

7: Went through the shit in my purse.

8: Did some math. 

See? I'm sick and I'm on a vacation day but I still did a few things. I should probably sort my shoes or do some dishes but I'm playing the sick card.

Well that was easy

So far, we are friends again. Friend A picked me up last night so that we could talk and we worked it out; well, sort of. When we got to A's place I just said "look, how about we put this behind us and just make it a priority to not be assholes to one another." And A agreed. We are now both on board with aiming for the very low goal of not being dicks to one another. Goal two is not being dicks to other people. Goal three should really be to come up with better goals, act right, or just behave like normal people. But having two goals to meet should be fine. After all, the last time I set myself up with things to accomplish I failed epically at both (though I think I'm swearing less at the office).

In other news, here are some sounds my office makes:

And that is all I have because I'm working from my Mac and I haven't used the paint program in awhile. That is why these drawings are even shittier than usual.