Guys. You guys. Guys. It's official. It's been confirmed.
It will be two movies.
You know what this means, right? (Actually, I hope none of you have read it so I get to horrify you right here and now.) In order to get even one movie out of this god-forsaken aborted mess of a book, they will not only have to keep in everything, they may have to extend some parts. EXTENDED PREGNANCY/BIRTH SEQUENCE MAYBE?
I am trembling in terror and excitement.
PS - fingers crossed that "high-end director" means Uwe Boll.
Thursday
Tuesday
Cat photoshoot!
With bonus vistas of my basement floor.
Blurry
Arty
Pissy
(I didn't know the flash was on. Sorry cat! I colored in her pupils with photoshop, hence their lookin' all funky.)
Done with this.
(I didn't know the flash was on. Sorry cat! I colored in her pupils with photoshop, hence their lookin' all funky.)
Monday
Cat!
In a relatively recent development, I have a cat. Or rather, I have a cat in my house. I hesitate to claim any ownership, authority, or kinship, because she doesn't seem entirely thrilled about her circumstances. At least when she's not getting tuna.
Let's backtrack! Shortly after Christmas, my neighbor asked if we'd seen a little cat hanging around in back of the houses. I said "No," while mentally amending "...yet." Because, seriously, if there's a cat nearby, you can bet it will come to my house.
And so it did! She showed up a couple weeks later with that "I heard this was the place" look about her. We gave her some food. A lot of food. Then she would come back every few days or so. One time she brought a friend: a tom cat who has been around for a couple years. Only I don't actually know if they are friends, because she wouldn't let him eat anything, and he eventually went under the car and waited until she finished. We hope he's not her baby daddy.
For the past few months, it's been consistently below freezing. And this poor girl is seemingly terrified of everything in life. She was scared of a plane flying overhead. So, this sealed the deal on moving her inside. She'd been taking her meals on the porch, which is enclosed, but still well chilled. And the only napping I'd seen her do was scrunching up her eyes while sitting tense and contracted.
On Thursday evening, we decided to move her into the basement. This involved a carrier and no small amount of ingenuity. Unfortunately, it was completely traumatic for the cat. Like, "curling into a ball and shaking" traumatic. But, you know, at least she's not going to freeze to death. Which is progress.
So now she's in the basement. And she's not entirely convinced that we don't plan to eat her. We've made slow but sure progress in building a little trust back (food helps), but it's totally weird because I've never had a hiding cat before. Of course, the other cats I've had have either been from shelters/other homes, very young when we found them, or in Bert's case, special. Apparently this is not atypical. But seriously cat, when are you going to start doing cute crap?
I'll try to take a picture in the next few days, when she's in a relatively gregarious mood.
She's a mostly black tortoiseshell, with little bits of white on her eyebrows, front paws, and chest. Her name is Penny.
(PS Stephanie - I don't want to comment on the litter situation, because apparently there is still a learning curve.)
Let's backtrack! Shortly after Christmas, my neighbor asked if we'd seen a little cat hanging around in back of the houses. I said "No," while mentally amending "...yet." Because, seriously, if there's a cat nearby, you can bet it will come to my house.
And so it did! She showed up a couple weeks later with that "I heard this was the place" look about her. We gave her some food. A lot of food. Then she would come back every few days or so. One time she brought a friend: a tom cat who has been around for a couple years. Only I don't actually know if they are friends, because she wouldn't let him eat anything, and he eventually went under the car and waited until she finished. We hope he's not her baby daddy.
For the past few months, it's been consistently below freezing. And this poor girl is seemingly terrified of everything in life. She was scared of a plane flying overhead. So, this sealed the deal on moving her inside. She'd been taking her meals on the porch, which is enclosed, but still well chilled. And the only napping I'd seen her do was scrunching up her eyes while sitting tense and contracted.
On Thursday evening, we decided to move her into the basement. This involved a carrier and no small amount of ingenuity. Unfortunately, it was completely traumatic for the cat. Like, "curling into a ball and shaking" traumatic. But, you know, at least she's not going to freeze to death. Which is progress.
So now she's in the basement. And she's not entirely convinced that we don't plan to eat her. We've made slow but sure progress in building a little trust back (food helps), but it's totally weird because I've never had a hiding cat before. Of course, the other cats I've had have either been from shelters/other homes, very young when we found them, or in Bert's case, special. Apparently this is not atypical. But seriously cat, when are you going to start doing cute crap?
I'll try to take a picture in the next few days, when she's in a relatively gregarious mood.
She's a mostly black tortoiseshell, with little bits of white on her eyebrows, front paws, and chest. Her name is Penny.
(PS Stephanie - I don't want to comment on the litter situation, because apparently there is still a learning curve.)
Friday
Part 3.
Isn't it crazy how much I'm posting? All on the same thing! I haven't even told you about my cat!
Katherine was right to assure me! Turns out I have an ordinary (though sizable) chunk of whatnot floating around in my vitreous humor. Nothing is torn or sagging or broken or otherwise in danger of blinding me. So for the next several months I can just expect a little extra bling in my visual field. Optical razzle dazzle, if you will.
In other eyeball news, I mentioned that I was concerned that my vision has seemed less sharp in the past few years, since all the thyroid stuff. The doctor was very nice, but he glared at me through his spectacles with an "i hate you die" vibe that I have gotten lots of times in the past (and which, actually, I'll probably be getting from you in a moment!), before telling me that my vision is 20/15. Yay!! (Sorry.)
Then he got up in my grill about my scleral show. Not saying that there was anything of concern, just that it was weird. And man, whatever. Haters gonna hate.
Katherine was right to assure me! Turns out I have an ordinary (though sizable) chunk of whatnot floating around in my vitreous humor. Nothing is torn or sagging or broken or otherwise in danger of blinding me. So for the next several months I can just expect a little extra bling in my visual field. Optical razzle dazzle, if you will.
In other eyeball news, I mentioned that I was concerned that my vision has seemed less sharp in the past few years, since all the thyroid stuff. The doctor was very nice, but he glared at me through his spectacles with an "i hate you die" vibe that I have gotten lots of times in the past (and which, actually, I'll probably be getting from you in a moment!), before telling me that my vision is 20/15. Yay!! (Sorry.)
Then he got up in my grill about my scleral show. Not saying that there was anything of concern, just that it was weird. And man, whatever. Haters gonna hate.
Thursday
More on all that.
Today I am out:
[-] One-tenth of a unit of blood.
[-] More bucks.
[-] Of patience with the doctor I saw today. His parting suggestion to me was: "Why don't you try losing some weight? That should make you feel better." He means the weight that I gained after he lowered my thyroid dosage to an amount that he doesn't even remember, which I reminded him of several times, probably. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT EVER. He also asked how things were working out ("Good?") with the medication that I stopped taking over a year ago, because it was completely ineffective. I tried to be helpful by bringing in a typed list of my symptoms and complaints, and he told me he didn't have time to look at it. Gotta bounce! Call me next week sometime!
But I am in:
[-] An ophthalmology appointment tomorrow morning! Woooooo!!
[-] One-tenth of a unit of blood.
[-] More bucks.
[-] Of patience with the doctor I saw today. His parting suggestion to me was: "Why don't you try losing some weight? That should make you feel better." He means the weight that I gained after he lowered my thyroid dosage to an amount that he doesn't even remember, which I reminded him of several times, probably. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT EVER. He also asked how things were working out ("Good?") with the medication that I stopped taking over a year ago, because it was completely ineffective. I tried to be helpful by bringing in a typed list of my symptoms and complaints, and he told me he didn't have time to look at it. Gotta bounce! Call me next week sometime!
But I am in:
[-] An ophthalmology appointment tomorrow morning! Woooooo!!
Wednesday
A day in the life.
A while back I wanted to write something conflating the state of health care in the United States with my personal health care and insurance experiences. It was godawfully depressing, so I scrapped it. TL;DR: Health care reform doesn't only benefit the uninsured.
Anyway, here's a story.
Yesterday (It's Groundhog Day!) was my father's birthday. Just for reference. Shortly after waking up, I noticed a gray spot floating in my vision. If you'd like to help diagnose me, I will tell you that it's in the middle and slightly to the outside of the field of vision of my right eye. The best way I can describe it is that it looks like a sequin. It's perfectly round, with a hole in the middle, and sort of blinky. I can also see it when I close my eyes. My vision is not otherwise affected. I waited for it to go away or develop into a migraine or something, but it just kept on as is.
I hit the internet and learned all about floaters. From what I could tell, I was either perfectly fine and had nothing to worry about, or my retina was about to detach -- a completely painless process that might cause me permanent blindness. I think this is not likely based on what I've read, but you never know.
The best idea would be to call up an ophthalmologist. But of course, it is generally hard to get an appointment with a specialist in short order, which I figured is what I would need if something gruesome and irreversible were happening to me. So I opted to make an appointment with my primary care physician, who could at least let me know if I should start panicking and seek urgent care, or calm down and wait it out.
My doctor, it turns out, is on vacation for the next several weeks. I was able to secure an appointment instead with one of his associates. While this fellow may not have been the tooliest tool who ever tooled, he was still a real tool. I told him I had a spot in my vision. He then immediately told me that there was nothing he could do for me.
"Why didn't you go to your eye doctor?"
"Um, I don't have an eye doctor."
"Oh, so you need a referral."
"I don't know what I need. That's why I came here."
Before he scuttled out the door I asked if he could at least tell me whether or not my retina is detaching, and he told me know he has no way of knowing that. I did not, at that point, ask if I could have my money back. I should have though, because, seriously.
The referral actually came from the girls at the reception area. And, they are nice, but they are not doctors.
"Do you want someone in [the town where I live]?"
"Uh. I want someone who's good."
"Oh, they're all good. Here, this one's in [the town where I live]."
So I called this guy for an appointment when I got home. His receptionist kept trying to get me to specify a time window, and I tried to get her to specify a date. I mean, I can guarantee that I have more openings in my schedule than a doctor's office does in theirs. So you tell me what you have available, and I'll see if I can make it then. (I mean, seriously, is it me? With these people?) Anyway, the earliest appointment I could get is two weeks out. Which I now have, tentatively, booked.
Tomorrow I'm going to look for someone else who may have a closer appointment available. I called a place today called Retina Associates which seemed like a good bet, but was informed that, despite the fact that all the doctors there are listed as ophthalmologists, none of them are actually ophthalmologists. They deal exclusively with retina and inner eye issues, so unless I already know that's where the problem lies, they are not my best bet.
I'm seeing my endocrinologist tomorrow, and I'll ask him if he knows anyone, on the off-chance. Endocrinologists usually know people, I've found. He called me this morning to ask if he can bump my appointment up an hour. I agreed to it, but ... hell. That throws off my whole morning.
Basically, multiply this day by every 4-8 weeks or so, and you have what I do with myself all the time and where all my money goes.
Anyway, here's a story.
Yesterday (It's Groundhog Day!) was my father's birthday. Just for reference. Shortly after waking up, I noticed a gray spot floating in my vision. If you'd like to help diagnose me, I will tell you that it's in the middle and slightly to the outside of the field of vision of my right eye. The best way I can describe it is that it looks like a sequin. It's perfectly round, with a hole in the middle, and sort of blinky. I can also see it when I close my eyes. My vision is not otherwise affected. I waited for it to go away or develop into a migraine or something, but it just kept on as is.
I hit the internet and learned all about floaters. From what I could tell, I was either perfectly fine and had nothing to worry about, or my retina was about to detach -- a completely painless process that might cause me permanent blindness. I think this is not likely based on what I've read, but you never know.
The best idea would be to call up an ophthalmologist. But of course, it is generally hard to get an appointment with a specialist in short order, which I figured is what I would need if something gruesome and irreversible were happening to me. So I opted to make an appointment with my primary care physician, who could at least let me know if I should start panicking and seek urgent care, or calm down and wait it out.
My doctor, it turns out, is on vacation for the next several weeks. I was able to secure an appointment instead with one of his associates. While this fellow may not have been the tooliest tool who ever tooled, he was still a real tool. I told him I had a spot in my vision. He then immediately told me that there was nothing he could do for me.
"Why didn't you go to your eye doctor?"
"Um, I don't have an eye doctor."
"Oh, so you need a referral."
"I don't know what I need. That's why I came here."
Before he scuttled out the door I asked if he could at least tell me whether or not my retina is detaching, and he told me know he has no way of knowing that. I did not, at that point, ask if I could have my money back. I should have though, because, seriously.
The referral actually came from the girls at the reception area. And, they are nice, but they are not doctors.
"Do you want someone in [the town where I live]?"
"Uh. I want someone who's good."
"Oh, they're all good. Here, this one's in [the town where I live]."
So I called this guy for an appointment when I got home. His receptionist kept trying to get me to specify a time window, and I tried to get her to specify a date. I mean, I can guarantee that I have more openings in my schedule than a doctor's office does in theirs. So you tell me what you have available, and I'll see if I can make it then. (I mean, seriously, is it me? With these people?) Anyway, the earliest appointment I could get is two weeks out. Which I now have, tentatively, booked.
Tomorrow I'm going to look for someone else who may have a closer appointment available. I called a place today called Retina Associates which seemed like a good bet, but was informed that, despite the fact that all the doctors there are listed as ophthalmologists, none of them are actually ophthalmologists. They deal exclusively with retina and inner eye issues, so unless I already know that's where the problem lies, they are not my best bet.
I'm seeing my endocrinologist tomorrow, and I'll ask him if he knows anyone, on the off-chance. Endocrinologists usually know people, I've found. He called me this morning to ask if he can bump my appointment up an hour. I agreed to it, but ... hell. That throws off my whole morning.
Basically, multiply this day by every 4-8 weeks or so, and you have what I do with myself all the time and where all my money goes.
Saturday
Oh, right, my blog!
So, I made sauce today. It's quite good. I mean, I think it is. As far as I can tell it is. It's sort of hard to taste.
Incidentally, it's almost the 17th of January and I have not been well a single day this year. Impressive! I currently have a sinus infection, which came at the behest of a strangely intense flu. I don't know if it was the swine flu. Maybe! And this was after I rang in the new year with crackers and ginger ale for stomach virus.
There are things that I was going to say! About what I've thought about television shows, or the cat that doesn't want to be our friend (yet), or the stuff I've made with my hot* little hands, or ... well, probably not that, or Comcast, or this and that.
Hi, internet.
*my hands are usually cold.
Incidentally, it's almost the 17th of January and I have not been well a single day this year. Impressive! I currently have a sinus infection, which came at the behest of a strangely intense flu. I don't know if it was the swine flu. Maybe! And this was after I rang in the new year with crackers and ginger ale for stomach virus.
There are things that I was going to say! About what I've thought about television shows, or the cat that doesn't want to be our friend (yet), or the stuff I've made with my hot* little hands, or ... well, probably not that, or Comcast, or this and that.
Hi, internet.
*my hands are usually cold.
Friday
I consider it a draw.
Yesterday, my niece asked me: "So, um, do you like ... Twilight, and stuff?"
My reaction in full:
[I read the newspaper.]
[I look up from the newspaper.]
[beat]
"No."
[I read the newspaper.]
She does, she says. And on the inside I wept and rent my garments. But on the plus side, she doesn't actually seem to know that much about it. She's Team Jacob, she tells me, and seems mostly interested in Taylor Lautner's bazillion abdominal muscles. Also, she heard Edward dies or something. Oh honey. If only.
So today my sister is taking her to see New Moon. "I can't help it. I love this Twilight shit," she told me a few weeks ago. (We were in a supermarket, and she expressed concern at a tabloid headline suggesting the terrible breakup of KStew and RPattz. "Oh that's sad! They were dating?" "[beat.] No." The level of knowledge I have about these thing is truly unGodly and is impairing my social functioning.) I was not surprised because, frankly, I expect this sort of poor judgment from her. Whenever there's a desperately painful-looking comedy out on the market (like, say, that new one with Robin Williams and John Travolta), she deems that it "looks pretty funny!" I don't ... please. Anyway.
On another hand, my mother was the one to tell me about this outing. She said they were going to see "that 'Dark Moon' or whatever the hell it is." My mom =/= a Twimom. <3<3<3<3<3<3
My reaction in full:
[I read the newspaper.]
[I look up from the newspaper.]
[beat]
"No."
[I read the newspaper.]
She does, she says. And on the inside I wept and rent my garments. But on the plus side, she doesn't actually seem to know that much about it. She's Team Jacob, she tells me, and seems mostly interested in Taylor Lautner's bazillion abdominal muscles. Also, she heard Edward dies or something. Oh honey. If only.
So today my sister is taking her to see New Moon. "I can't help it. I love this Twilight shit," she told me a few weeks ago. (We were in a supermarket, and she expressed concern at a tabloid headline suggesting the terrible breakup of KStew and RPattz. "Oh that's sad! They were dating?" "[beat.] No." The level of knowledge I have about these thing is truly unGodly and is impairing my social functioning.) I was not surprised because, frankly, I expect this sort of poor judgment from her. Whenever there's a desperately painful-looking comedy out on the market (like, say, that new one with Robin Williams and John Travolta), she deems that it "looks pretty funny!" I don't ... please. Anyway.
On another hand, my mother was the one to tell me about this outing. She said they were going to see "that 'Dark Moon' or whatever the hell it is." My mom =/= a Twimom. <3<3<3<3<3<3
Thursday
In a related story: Goddamnit, Michael Sheen.
Michael Sheen, what were you thinking? You are an excellent actor. You were going to be set playing any and every English person of note that you even vaguely look like. You were even in all three Underworld movies and still managed to hang on to your good will.
But frankly, sir, your career deserves what it gets.
And I see you in the back, there, Grindelwald. You're young, and you're pretty, but don't think you have an excuse.
PS ... lol.
But frankly, sir, your career deserves what it gets.
And I see you in the back, there, Grindelwald. You're young, and you're pretty, but don't think you have an excuse.
PS ... lol.
Tuesday
Friday
Nostalgia is stupid.
So, yesterday I discovered that Rainbow Brite is getting a makeover. Today I saw the story picked up by a couple other places.
Oh, God, I didn't even know about the Care Bears. No one give me details.
Of course my primary reaction is "kill it with fire," but I keep being distracted by what I'm seeing in the comments. No, I don't know why I'm reading the comments. They must contain tar and nicotine. To wit: "What's next, Jem??" and "They better leave Jem alone!!!"
Really, internet? Really? A few things.
1. You meant: They better leave Pizzazz alone. I've always been a Misfits girl. (Don't pretend to be surprised.)
2. Where was your rage over that singer chick from five years ago? I was alone then.
and
3. Jem is already trampy. That's, like, the point of Jem. Whose virtue will you protect next, She-Ra? Who fights the Horde in a lamé bathing suit?
Oh, God, I didn't even know about the Care Bears. No one give me details.
Of course my primary reaction is "kill it with fire," but I keep being distracted by what I'm seeing in the comments. No, I don't know why I'm reading the comments. They must contain tar and nicotine. To wit: "What's next, Jem??" and "They better leave Jem alone!!!"
Really, internet? Really? A few things.
1. You meant: They better leave Pizzazz alone. I've always been a Misfits girl. (Don't pretend to be surprised.)
2. Where was your rage over that singer chick from five years ago? I was alone then.
and
3. Jem is already trampy. That's, like, the point of Jem. Whose virtue will you protect next, She-Ra? Who fights the Horde in a lamé bathing suit?
Saturday
I am not touched by your effusive sympathy!!!!
Guys, you know what's little and has fangs? ... Besides tiny vampires?
SPIDERS, PEOPLE. SPIDERS.
To be fair, I don't know if it was actually a spider. I'm just assuming it was because of, you know, logic. Mainly the preponderance of spiders in my house, and the lack of anything else that would do such a thing. And my having engaged in certain activities wherein I disturbed things in which spiders might live and then put my loungin' pants atop those things. And, you know, just in general. Although I must state that, while I remember feeling a pinch, it wasn't terrible enough that I thought that it was something that needed to be checked.
I was waiting to freak out because I naturally assumed that all my flesh was going to fall off and then I'd die. But it's now been over 48 hours, and it seems to be okay. It's not swollen, it's less red, the stab wounds scabbed, and it doesn't even itch. -- Which is completely suspicious if you ask me. Of course, it's possible that it was a dry bite. That happens, I'm told.
Either that or this was only a first exposure, and the inevitable next time I will go into anaphylaxis and die.
NOW COMFORT ME DAMMIT.
SPIDERS, PEOPLE. SPIDERS.
To be fair, I don't know if it was actually a spider. I'm just assuming it was because of, you know, logic. Mainly the preponderance of spiders in my house, and the lack of anything else that would do such a thing. And my having engaged in certain activities wherein I disturbed things in which spiders might live and then put my loungin' pants atop those things. And, you know, just in general. Although I must state that, while I remember feeling a pinch, it wasn't terrible enough that I thought that it was something that needed to be checked.
I was waiting to freak out because I naturally assumed that all my flesh was going to fall off and then I'd die. But it's now been over 48 hours, and it seems to be okay. It's not swollen, it's less red, the stab wounds scabbed, and it doesn't even itch. -- Which is completely suspicious if you ask me. Of course, it's possible that it was a dry bite. That happens, I'm told.
Either that or this was only a first exposure, and the inevitable next time I will go into anaphylaxis and die.
NOW COMFORT ME DAMMIT.
Thursday
I'm not knocked up.
I just wanted to say that first, because I'm about to post a side-view of my abdomen, and I didn't want anyone to be confused. ... But then I cropped it anyway, so you can't really tell what part of my body this is. ... But just sayin', it's a side-view of my abdomen. My fragile, squishy abdomen, where any number of things go wrong on a daily basis. ... Just sayin'.
Feel free to zoom!
Friends. Citizens. What does this look like to you? DON'T SPARE MY FEELINGS.
I'm trying to save my freaking out until it's absolutely necessary. But I am not happy.
Feel free to zoom!
Friends. Citizens. What does this look like to you? DON'T SPARE MY FEELINGS.
I'm trying to save my freaking out until it's absolutely necessary. But I am not happy.
Wednesday
Oh God, are you still seeing that terrible story?
I did attempt to update a couple times, but then I got bored or petulant or some other emotion that made me not want to do it. So you missed out on me talking about: knitting; dreams; computer programs. Please ... do not weep.
So, anyway, who's good at Excel and is willing to give me pointers? Apparently I've never had cause to use spreadsheets before. I know, right? So now here we are.
So, anyway, who's good at Excel and is willing to give me pointers? Apparently I've never had cause to use spreadsheets before. I know, right? So now here we are.
HORROR MOVIE IN REAL LIFE.
Today I drove my car to market. Actually, first I drove it to the McDonald's to pick up the giant sweet tea that I often get to reward myself for leaving the house when I don't strictly have to. My life is soberingly predictable most of the time.
So, this is the scene: I am in my car. I am driving down a largish street. It is at this time that I notice something crawling up the frame of my driver's side window. It is a spider. It is inside. And of course it's not just any spider, either! It's one of those ulcerating necrotized bite wound spiders! OF COURSE IT IS! Those things fucking love me!! So as I'm cruising along at around 40 mph, in moderate traffic, I lower my window in the hopes that it will simply slip outside. And then maybe I could crush it squishily by rolling up the window real fast again, or maybe it would just be violently ripped from the window by the outside air flow. I wasn't picky.
BUT IT WAS ON TO ME.
Instead of going out the window, it decided to head for the roof of the car, slipping with sickening awkwardness as it ran along the vinylene or whatever the roof is made of. For the aid of your visualization, I will point out that the part of the roof adjacent to the window is directly over my head. It was one good jostle away from falling in my hair or onto my eyeball or whatever biteable part of me physics would get it to.
It was at this point that I was able to turn onto a small side street, so there were only about 30 seconds in which I might have crashed due to spider terror. So I stopped, turned on the very apt hazard lights, and proceeded to crawl backwards over the seat divider, not taking my eyes of it for a moment. God it was so hideous. Then I got out.
At some point my eyes looked away, and when they looked back it had, naturally, disappeared. Which meant I was going to have to hunt it and kill it or else I would never get home. The street I was stopped on was GREGORY TERR, which was almost prescient. I was a teardrop away from calling my father and telling him I couldn't get back in my car. BUT MY PHONE WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF SPIDER TERRITORY.
Also, it was hot. Hotter than it's been in recent days, and I was wearing long pants and sleeves. I guess at the weather, usually. The radio was still on, and I was listening to the station that I like most of the time. Only now, they had on the DJ that I hate -- he wasn't even supposed to be on yet! -- and they were playing a long block of Bruce Springsteen because apparently, if you're into this, today is his birthday. HE WOULD. (I don't really dislike The Boss all this much, but this was no time for nuance.) And, I mean, have I mentioned about the venomous spider roaming freely in the mystery places of my car? It was, and really, I want to stress this: IT WAS NOT OKAY.
But let's cut to the heroic battle already: I eventually located it, constructing what appeared to be a lair, in the space between the driver's seat and the arm rest. I shuddered for ages. I knocked at things and it fell to the floor. I grabbed my ice scraper like a cudgel. After a few tricky plays, I was finally able to squish it like few invertebrates have been squished before.
Later, after I had made it to the mart, I felt the sudden urge to fall asleep on my feet. That's adrenaline for you. Then I discovered that they were out of that microwavable Pad Thai that I like, so that's why I'm now sitting here eating Lucky Charms. My diet is amazing.
So, this is the scene: I am in my car. I am driving down a largish street. It is at this time that I notice something crawling up the frame of my driver's side window. It is a spider. It is inside. And of course it's not just any spider, either! It's one of those ulcerating necrotized bite wound spiders! OF COURSE IT IS! Those things fucking love me!! So as I'm cruising along at around 40 mph, in moderate traffic, I lower my window in the hopes that it will simply slip outside. And then maybe I could crush it squishily by rolling up the window real fast again, or maybe it would just be violently ripped from the window by the outside air flow. I wasn't picky.
BUT IT WAS ON TO ME.
Instead of going out the window, it decided to head for the roof of the car, slipping with sickening awkwardness as it ran along the vinylene or whatever the roof is made of. For the aid of your visualization, I will point out that the part of the roof adjacent to the window is directly over my head. It was one good jostle away from falling in my hair or onto my eyeball or whatever biteable part of me physics would get it to.
It was at this point that I was able to turn onto a small side street, so there were only about 30 seconds in which I might have crashed due to spider terror. So I stopped, turned on the very apt hazard lights, and proceeded to crawl backwards over the seat divider, not taking my eyes of it for a moment. God it was so hideous. Then I got out.
At some point my eyes looked away, and when they looked back it had, naturally, disappeared. Which meant I was going to have to hunt it and kill it or else I would never get home. The street I was stopped on was GREGORY TERR, which was almost prescient. I was a teardrop away from calling my father and telling him I couldn't get back in my car. BUT MY PHONE WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF SPIDER TERRITORY.
Also, it was hot. Hotter than it's been in recent days, and I was wearing long pants and sleeves. I guess at the weather, usually. The radio was still on, and I was listening to the station that I like most of the time. Only now, they had on the DJ that I hate -- he wasn't even supposed to be on yet! -- and they were playing a long block of Bruce Springsteen because apparently, if you're into this, today is his birthday. HE WOULD. (I don't really dislike The Boss all this much, but this was no time for nuance.) And, I mean, have I mentioned about the venomous spider roaming freely in the mystery places of my car? It was, and really, I want to stress this: IT WAS NOT OKAY.
But let's cut to the heroic battle already: I eventually located it, constructing what appeared to be a lair, in the space between the driver's seat and the arm rest. I shuddered for ages. I knocked at things and it fell to the floor. I grabbed my ice scraper like a cudgel. After a few tricky plays, I was finally able to squish it like few invertebrates have been squished before.
Later, after I had made it to the mart, I felt the sudden urge to fall asleep on my feet. That's adrenaline for you. Then I discovered that they were out of that microwavable Pad Thai that I like, so that's why I'm now sitting here eating Lucky Charms. My diet is amazing.
Tuesday
Let's talk about how I'm sick.
Meme via Valerie.
1. The illnesses I live with are: Polycystic ovarian syndrome, endometriosis, thyroid disease, plus a mess of fun complications.
2. I was diagnosed with it in the year: 1999, 2007, 2002
3. But I had symptoms since: 1993, 1996, 2002
4. The biggest adjustment I've had to make is: I guess just generally being unwell? I take pills everyday, I see doctors all the time, I get bloodwork and other tests done frequently, I rage about health insurance and doctor incompetence.
5. Most people assume: I don't know if they really assume anything. I mean, unless I say something. A few months ago I mentioned my medication to my niece, and she asked me, "Why are you on medication? You're not crazy." ... It was funny because most people we know are on medication because they're crazy. Although, off medication, people have thought I was crazy, because crashing mood swings are a thing.
6. The hardest part about mornings is: Getting up? I've never been a morning person, though, so I can't say if this is to blame.
7. My favorite medical TV show is: Mystery Diagnosis.
8. A gadget I couldn't live without is: I don't really have gadgets. My pill carrier is pretty useful, but I can find other ways of toting them around.
9. The hardest part about nights is: Getting off the computer? I don't know, it's not really a day/night sort of deal.
10. Each day I take 8 pills & vitamins. I take Glucophage, Yaz (though I need something else, because it sucks), Magnesium, B6, Levothyroxin, Singulair, and Zyrtec. (Oh, I'm also pretty much allergic to everything, but that's not really a disease.)
11. Regarding alternative treatments, I: think they're okay? I mean, alternative treatment in this case means exercise and restricted diets, which I don't do with regularity because in my case they don't make a difference.
12. If I had to choose between an invisible illness and a visible one, I would choose: Invisible. I mean, I guess visible illnesses are good (... you know what I mean) because other people can understand them easily and give you appropriate support. But most people probably wouldn't guess that I'm a sickly person, and I really like that better.
13. Regarding working and career: Well, I tried to work in an industry that requires the constant maintenance of youth and beauty while fighting a condition that makes you fat, hairy, discolored, and broken-out. So, there's at least one reason that didn't turn out so well.
14. People would be surprised to know: Well, no offense lady, what you don't know could fill a warehouse.
15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality is: Nothing? I mean, at this point it's been over ten years, and I don't really know anything else. Before that I was a child, and that just doesn't count.
16. Something I never thought I could do with my illness was: 1. Be off medication and 2. have babies. 1. I can't, and 2. it's never come up.
17. The commercials about my illness There are no commercials about my illness.
18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed: Again, I don't really know anything else.
19. It was really hard to give up: Nothing? I mean, I wasn't doing anything that I shouldn't have been doing.
20. A new hobby I've taken up since my diagnosis is: ... Every hobby I've taken up since I was 15. ... I think I'm doing this wrong.
21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again, I would: Really, I think I'm doing this wrong. My health issues are so intertwined with everything else in my life, I can't really think about them separately.
22. My illness has taught me: You have to be an active advocate for your own health. You must stay on top of it, because you're the only person who can. Do not rely on doctors. The only difference between a doctor and you is information: if you had the information they had, you'd be a doctor. That said: use doctors. If what they're doing isn't making you better, make them change or get someone who will help you. Do not be passive and do not let things go.
23. Want to know a secret? One thing people say (about my illness) that gets under my skin is: It's caused by being fat, and if you lose weight, you'll be fine. I get that this is true for a lot of conditions, and frankly sometimes I'm petty about it. I call Type I diabetes "real diabetes" and anytime I hear that someone stopped taking medication after losing weight, my inky heart shrinks a fraction. I've been an healthy and attractive weight, exercised constantly, stuck to a dietitian's plan*, and had optimal levels of all the things medical science worries about**. I was just as sick, just as symptomatic as when I did absolutely nothing. So it goes.
* although there's little about my usual whole-grain organic water-guzzling vegetarian diet you could find fault with. I caught part of this special on television the other day where a woman said she was able to lose weight after she stopped having cookies and soda for breakfast. Christ, I could have spit.
** this is also just generally true. I'm in pretty good shape aside from all the things that are wrong with me.
24. But I love it when people: Are duly impressed at the wealth of things that are wrong with me. Just for a minute. Because, well, yes, it does suck. Thanks for noticing.
25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: Ha! Not to sound like my mother or anything, but other people have it a lot worse. I mean, not that that makes it suck any less, but I don't have something terminal. It's nothing to shake my fist at God over.
26. When someone is diagnosed I like to tell them: I don't. I like to listen.
27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: It's surprisingly easy. People apparently freak out at the idea of having to take pills forever and seriously you guys, you guys seriously, it's not that big a deal. Honestly, the biggest problem is how much it all costs. Which once again proves that money can buy you happiness because if I had more money it seriously would fix everything.
28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn't feeling well was: I can't think of anything. Please feel free to infer that this says horrible things about my life.
29. I'm involved with Invisible Illness Week because: Oh man, I'm totally not involved with anything!
30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel: Suspicious and anxiously secretive.
1. The illnesses I live with are: Polycystic ovarian syndrome, endometriosis, thyroid disease, plus a mess of fun complications.
2. I was diagnosed with it in the year: 1999, 2007, 2002
3. But I had symptoms since: 1993, 1996, 2002
4. The biggest adjustment I've had to make is: I guess just generally being unwell? I take pills everyday, I see doctors all the time, I get bloodwork and other tests done frequently, I rage about health insurance and doctor incompetence.
5. Most people assume: I don't know if they really assume anything. I mean, unless I say something. A few months ago I mentioned my medication to my niece, and she asked me, "Why are you on medication? You're not crazy." ... It was funny because most people we know are on medication because they're crazy. Although, off medication, people have thought I was crazy, because crashing mood swings are a thing.
6. The hardest part about mornings is: Getting up? I've never been a morning person, though, so I can't say if this is to blame.
7. My favorite medical TV show is: Mystery Diagnosis.
8. A gadget I couldn't live without is: I don't really have gadgets. My pill carrier is pretty useful, but I can find other ways of toting them around.
9. The hardest part about nights is: Getting off the computer? I don't know, it's not really a day/night sort of deal.
10. Each day I take 8 pills & vitamins. I take Glucophage, Yaz (though I need something else, because it sucks), Magnesium, B6, Levothyroxin, Singulair, and Zyrtec. (Oh, I'm also pretty much allergic to everything, but that's not really a disease.)
11. Regarding alternative treatments, I: think they're okay? I mean, alternative treatment in this case means exercise and restricted diets, which I don't do with regularity because in my case they don't make a difference.
12. If I had to choose between an invisible illness and a visible one, I would choose: Invisible. I mean, I guess visible illnesses are good (... you know what I mean) because other people can understand them easily and give you appropriate support. But most people probably wouldn't guess that I'm a sickly person, and I really like that better.
13. Regarding working and career: Well, I tried to work in an industry that requires the constant maintenance of youth and beauty while fighting a condition that makes you fat, hairy, discolored, and broken-out. So, there's at least one reason that didn't turn out so well.
14. People would be surprised to know: Well, no offense lady, what you don't know could fill a warehouse.
15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality is: Nothing? I mean, at this point it's been over ten years, and I don't really know anything else. Before that I was a child, and that just doesn't count.
16. Something I never thought I could do with my illness was: 1. Be off medication and 2. have babies. 1. I can't, and 2. it's never come up.
17. The commercials about my illness There are no commercials about my illness.
18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed: Again, I don't really know anything else.
19. It was really hard to give up: Nothing? I mean, I wasn't doing anything that I shouldn't have been doing.
20. A new hobby I've taken up since my diagnosis is: ... Every hobby I've taken up since I was 15. ... I think I'm doing this wrong.
21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again, I would: Really, I think I'm doing this wrong. My health issues are so intertwined with everything else in my life, I can't really think about them separately.
22. My illness has taught me: You have to be an active advocate for your own health. You must stay on top of it, because you're the only person who can. Do not rely on doctors. The only difference between a doctor and you is information: if you had the information they had, you'd be a doctor. That said: use doctors. If what they're doing isn't making you better, make them change or get someone who will help you. Do not be passive and do not let things go.
23. Want to know a secret? One thing people say (about my illness) that gets under my skin is: It's caused by being fat, and if you lose weight, you'll be fine. I get that this is true for a lot of conditions, and frankly sometimes I'm petty about it. I call Type I diabetes "real diabetes" and anytime I hear that someone stopped taking medication after losing weight, my inky heart shrinks a fraction. I've been an healthy and attractive weight, exercised constantly, stuck to a dietitian's plan*, and had optimal levels of all the things medical science worries about**. I was just as sick, just as symptomatic as when I did absolutely nothing. So it goes.
* although there's little about my usual whole-grain organic water-guzzling vegetarian diet you could find fault with. I caught part of this special on television the other day where a woman said she was able to lose weight after she stopped having cookies and soda for breakfast. Christ, I could have spit.
** this is also just generally true. I'm in pretty good shape aside from all the things that are wrong with me.
24. But I love it when people: Are duly impressed at the wealth of things that are wrong with me. Just for a minute. Because, well, yes, it does suck. Thanks for noticing.
25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: Ha! Not to sound like my mother or anything, but other people have it a lot worse. I mean, not that that makes it suck any less, but I don't have something terminal. It's nothing to shake my fist at God over.
26. When someone is diagnosed I like to tell them: I don't. I like to listen.
27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: It's surprisingly easy. People apparently freak out at the idea of having to take pills forever and seriously you guys, you guys seriously, it's not that big a deal. Honestly, the biggest problem is how much it all costs. Which once again proves that money can buy you happiness because if I had more money it seriously would fix everything.
28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn't feeling well was: I can't think of anything. Please feel free to infer that this says horrible things about my life.
29. I'm involved with Invisible Illness Week because: Oh man, I'm totally not involved with anything!
30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel: Suspicious and anxiously secretive.
Saturday
Theme days.
Once again, here's a list of things that, while contemporaneous, are not at all related to each other.
People keep asking me to be physically responsible for various minors. And by "keep asking" I mean I've been asked twice. Which is two more times than I've ever previously been asked to do so. Most of my experience is with e-babies. I still assume it's like holding a cat.
I've been watching Disney movies on tape. I have many of those puffy tape cases. Up to Pocahontas. Because shortly after that I declared my moving on from Disney. So far Dumbo is the most surprisingly racist.
Speaking of people with e-children, would any of you like a doll house? I recently rescued one, only mildly abused. It's about yay big, and would come with a doll-sized grand piano with no front legs, and a doll-sized wall portrait of Patrick Stewart.
People keep asking me to be physically responsible for various minors. And by "keep asking" I mean I've been asked twice. Which is two more times than I've ever previously been asked to do so. Most of my experience is with e-babies. I still assume it's like holding a cat.
I've been watching Disney movies on tape. I have many of those puffy tape cases. Up to Pocahontas. Because shortly after that I declared my moving on from Disney. So far Dumbo is the most surprisingly racist.
Speaking of people with e-children, would any of you like a doll house? I recently rescued one, only mildly abused. It's about yay big, and would come with a doll-sized grand piano with no front legs, and a doll-sized wall portrait of Patrick Stewart.
You've made some very compelling points.
Top pro, from the Steph: I would make great Tweets. No one would know what I was talking about. That was the whole appeal, basically.
Top con, from the P@: I hate interacting with other humans! It's rather low on my list of likes, and very high on my list of dislikes.
So, percentage wise, how much do you predict my hypothetical Twittering could involve:
- Me entertaining myself (and perhaps, as a bonus, others) by shouting into the void
- Me actually talking to, interacting with, and, god forbid, meeting new others?
This is like part two of the Twitter Interview. The Twitter Callback. It's between Twitter and one other candidate. (The other candidate is "No Twitter".)
Also, as if this entry weren't already ridiculous enough: According to GoodReads, my post tag is literally actually true.
Top con, from the P@: I hate interacting with other humans! It's rather low on my list of likes, and very high on my list of dislikes.
So, percentage wise, how much do you predict my hypothetical Twittering could involve:
- Me entertaining myself (and perhaps, as a bonus, others) by shouting into the void
- Me actually talking to, interacting with, and, god forbid, meeting new others?
This is like part two of the Twitter Interview. The Twitter Callback. It's between Twitter and one other candidate. (The other candidate is "No Twitter".)
Also, as if this entry weren't already ridiculous enough: According to GoodReads, my post tag is literally actually true.
Thursday
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