Went to my GP, Dr. Weng, today. Got my quarterly blood test results.
My a1c went down from 6.1 to 5.8. This means that the percentage of my blood cells with glucose stuck to them went down 3 tenths...which is awesome.
My TSH (thyroid stimulating hormone) went from 5.3 a month ago to .7. This means my body isn't working as hard to make sure I have some thyroid hormone which is great!
My cholestorol levels were good, and my triglycerides are just barely over range (amazing considering less than a year ago they were so high they couldn't get a real reading.
Everything else looked good as well.
SOOO good in fact, that I don't have to go back for 6 months!
YAY!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Thoughts today.
My brain decided to take the day off, I believe. It's so good to have my supplements again. I will have to take Lucky Vitamin up on their re-order option, although shipping did take longer than expected, I think I'll just buy all my vitamins there earlier. It was really stinking cheap. Like, so cheap, that with the name kinda sounding Engrish, I thought they might be located in China, but nope - Pennsylvania. Says so right here on the box.
I went to the orthopedic doctor today. I've been having worsening pain in my neck, shoulders, arms and hands. (I call them my T. Rex arms now, because they're useless if I get stuck in a mud pit.) Driving and typing for long periods aggravate it. So, it's been awhile since my last post...and I'm going to be doing a lot of driving soon...thus to ortho I went. My ulna doesn't sit in the wrist like a normal person. Dr. Sheely says it's short. I got my smarts, smile, rebellious spirit and open-mind from my mom, my hazel eyes, charm, sense of humor and mischief from my father, dark hair from the both of them, and then ALL their bad genes. Every single thing that lay dormant or recessive, or was out in the open, funneled into this genetic chaos that is Wendy. Point is, I'm a freak of nature, but I'm dealing with it. It's not easy to deal with, though. My hands are curling in, and the doctor didn't go into details, but she mentioned it could be Dupreytins...or something like that. Basically, a cord formation in your fascia that pulls your fingers down into a half fist. Bugger, let it be something else! I got fitted for new braces. And, then, when I get back from Georgia, a nerve test! This means a neurologist will stick needles in my muscles to see if my nerves are correctly transferring signals. They're not, you know...but I guess we gotta do tests. I really must be a masochist, trying to get better.
I went to the orthopedic doctor today. I've been having worsening pain in my neck, shoulders, arms and hands. (I call them my T. Rex arms now, because they're useless if I get stuck in a mud pit.) Driving and typing for long periods aggravate it. So, it's been awhile since my last post...and I'm going to be doing a lot of driving soon...thus to ortho I went. My ulna doesn't sit in the wrist like a normal person. Dr. Sheely says it's short. I got my smarts, smile, rebellious spirit and open-mind from my mom, my hazel eyes, charm, sense of humor and mischief from my father, dark hair from the both of them, and then ALL their bad genes. Every single thing that lay dormant or recessive, or was out in the open, funneled into this genetic chaos that is Wendy. Point is, I'm a freak of nature, but I'm dealing with it. It's not easy to deal with, though. My hands are curling in, and the doctor didn't go into details, but she mentioned it could be Dupreytins...or something like that. Basically, a cord formation in your fascia that pulls your fingers down into a half fist. Bugger, let it be something else! I got fitted for new braces. And, then, when I get back from Georgia, a nerve test! This means a neurologist will stick needles in my muscles to see if my nerves are correctly transferring signals. They're not, you know...but I guess we gotta do tests. I really must be a masochist, trying to get better.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tonight, my hubby and I were out with some friends at a bar. A bunch of bands were playing, and like normal, I was hiding in the back in my wheelchair. I was feeling really cute. I'm still feeling really cute. <br /><br />I'm not sure how to go about this story, so I'll just hop right in. <br /><br />I saw a short fat woman there who was middle-aged, and wearing a sequins scarf that looked like tinsel. I didn't think much about her at first other than, hey she's relatively my same size and shape and ew...sequins (only because I personally dislike sequins). Later, however, I realized she was a part of one of the bands, and changed into costume. Her costume was basically a tube top and pink tutu. After her performance (I have no idea what she did because I couldn't see the stage and was violently bored by the band), she put on a hoodie and joined the audience. I thought she looked so cute and so much younger in this other outfit. As she was getting settled back into the audience I heard the couple who was sitting behind us for most of the show, and their friend have this conversation:<br /><br />Friend: Is that a tutu? <br /><br />(giggles)<br /><br />Man of couple: I think it's a four four. <br /><br />At this all three of them cackled and the laughter of the couple carried on for several minutes. Way too long for a good, normal joke.<br /><br />I was horrified. I hope that lady didn't hear them, but I had ear plugs in and heard them plain as day. What I found most shocking of all is these weren't 'normies' or even 'inbetweenies'. These people were fat. The woman from the couple probably weighed the same amount as the other woman, but was at least a foot taller, maybe more. Doctors would definitely call these people obese. <br /><br />As the laughter continued, I texted my husband: Don't those people realize they're fat? He whispered in my ear he was thinking the same thing. <br /><br />I also saw another woman gesturing to her friend about how tutu lady was shaking her hips. There was a little bit of giggles, but I don't really know, maybe they thought her attitude was cute....but it really seemed like they were making fun of the fat lady in the tutu. And here again this woman doing the gesturing was fat.<br /><br />I found this all rather upsetting, and I didn't feel right at that place anyhow...so we left early. <br /><br />I talked to my husband about it over fries and he agreed the tutu lady was adorable. I thought she was very brave to get on stage at all, and then in a tutu! We just didn't understand how these people could joke so openly about this other woman's size when they were fat people, too.</p>I guess I could've yelled in their faces, "YOU ARE FAT!" I definitely felt like doing so, but I'm gimpy and can't run away and I hate confrontation. <br /><br />I really just wanted to vent and share this experience, I suppose, but I'd also like to hear your thoughts. <br /><br />Also, here is a pic of me and my hubby tonight, because I know you people love to look at pictures. <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=415823&id=1714588905">http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=415823&id=1714588905
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A few more...
Leonard Cohen
It's the tantalizing curiosity
of a dank, dark alleyway...
and it dares you to
brave its mystery.
Anticipation
tugs,
and you step forward
in the face
of danger.
Deep in the midst
of its
cold, cold
blackness
wisps of smoke
like ghost-arms
curl around
you.
Through this...
Embrace of Oblivion,
comes the laughter of
an aging playboy,
and the assurance
that
all
is
well.
Golden Girls.
Tiny little lines around my eyes.
Most women dread and fear them,
but I'm thinking I'll embrace mine.
How do I know that I won't be
exponentially cuter with
a few more creases,
folds,
pounds?
I want to grow cute-old
like Betty White,
being me,
living life.
If you come along,
maybe one day I'll
thank you for being a friend.
Behind a smile that asphyxiates.
A laugh that lies.
Far from the vain banter and passion-choking, soul-munching drudgery...
Drink a cup of tea with me.
We'll shed the masks we use to pass through this world.
Slough off this decay.
Be new and intimate again.
Twins in the womb.
Warm.
Safe.
Dec 1, 2005
This tattoo on my arm
Mocks me.
Never Give Up.
I want to cut it out.
It was one year ago
This week
I got it.
Tacoma was there.
The last trip I
Saw him out of
A hospital bed.
We smoked pot
And ice
(in broken lightbulbs
because I shattered the pipe
fiending)
at my suite
in the Hampton Inn,
and hid a fugitive
for awhile.
I (like always)
Spent too much money
On people
That will never
Appreciate it.
But
For the moments longer
It gave me with my
Beloved,
I would burn everything
I have now.
For one more conversation,
Hug
Or
Kiss…
I’d torch it all.
True friendship is not
A marriage of
Convenience,
But
A labour of love
That bridges distance,
Status, age, creed,
race and reason.
Dec 3, 2005
Go ahead.
Sip that coffee-
Black.
Peer out over this river
Of nameless faces.
Judgement waters
Your eyes
Like pre-cum.
Don’t think I don’t know.
That I can’t feel
Those waves of contempt
Crash over me.
Suck on my sweet smile,
On my coy, demure shell.Temp Job - 1
Temp Job - 2
I won’t be one of your
Little ducks,
Or pretty maids
all in a row.
I won’t go gently into that good night.
Like Dylan Thomas said,
I’ll rage against the dying of the light.
I won’t race to climb into my casket,
I’ll live to be the thorn in your side.
I’ll be that pebble in your loafer, motherfucker.
The reason you can’t sleep at night.
Winston Churchill, I'm sorry..7
Molly. An unfinished short story.
Oct 2, 2006
A miniscule grey spider paused on the ragged edge of the cracked porcelain before diving into the darkness. He spun his web inside, behind Molly's tattered face. She named him Ned. For a few days, they spent quite a lot of time together. Ned scurried around trapping gnats for dinner and Molly would talk to him while he slurped, but Ned wasn't much for conversation. Eventually, he realised he had not, in fact, chosen the perfect place for attracting his meals and Ned left for good. He didn't even bother to tear down his snare.
Years before, Enid Snitchkins, the blonde, skinny and bad-mannered neighbor girl decided Molly wanted to bounce on the trampoline, when Molly was quite sure that she did not. One good hop and Molly was tumble-soaring. She saw the sky, blue and speckled with white clouds. She saw waves of green bushes dotted with purple and blue flowers. And, just a second before her cheek made contact with the rusty metal bed, Molly saw the bright yellow dump truck, forgotten in the tallest grass. That was the day that Mrs. Welsh, having seen the jagged hole where applish cheek should be, declared Molly 'ruined' and banished her to the dark, musty attic. Since then, a plethora of eight-legged friends - some for days, others for weeks, rarely for months - had rented out the space in her head. Needless to say, Molly had cobwebs for brains.
When Molly was first given to the Welsh's oldest daughter, Cynthia, she was flawless and terribly excited. She was soon disappointed. Cynthia was nice enough, but dull as a butter knife and did not like to play with dolls. So, when she finished brushing Molly's lovely chocolate brown hair, she always put her right back on the shelf. Molly felt like a very bored trophy. She longed for full on adventures.
Most people forget as they grow older that every toy that's handcrafted with care, as Molly was, has a bit of the maker's soul built in. That toy (even the simplest grandma-fashioned ragdoll) has emotions and desires, same as anybody. As the toy is played with, they collect the love and laughter of children, which becomes a sort of battery charge. Mix the charge with the toy soul and you have what some call "doll magic". It takes a lot of concentration, but occasionally when a toy has built up enough reserve, they can use that doll magic to move or speak. Toys that are especially adored and played with, build that charge quickly and sustain it for longer. Adults, and some mean, spiteful children will not notice, but if a little girl squeezes her beloved, fuzzy brown teddy bear, he really returns that hug. Now, this is not the same with plastic, factory toys, because they are mass-produced by machines with no soul.
It was one year, nine months, six days, seventeen hours and forty five seconds before Molly had charged enough from her occasional brushings to explore the rest of the house. The journey down from the shelf alone was arduous. She hopped onto Cynthia's bureau with a faint clack of porcelain, and then slid carefully down the wooden face. Molly found her legs were sturdy enough to hold her upright, but it took a few minutes to adjust to the soft, cloth joints that connected her firm limbs. The fluffy, white petticoat ruffled softly under her royal blue velvet and Queen Anne's lace frock, and she glanced at Cynthia. The child did not even stir. Molly raged with excitedment as she neared the dark doorway, and peered out into the dimly lit hallway.
The first room Molly encountered smelled awful. Sometimes, Cynthia made funny noises and soon after a similiar stench would fill her bedroom. Molly determined that this was the designated spot for the entire family to engage in such foulness. By this time, she was down to about a quarter of a tank of magic, but she couldn't stop. Just one more room, and then she'd return.Molly.
A miniscule grey spider paused on the ragged edge of the cracked porcelain before diving into the darkness. He spun his web inside, behind Molly's tattered face. She named him Ned. For a few days, they spent quite a lot of time together. Ned scurried around trapping gnats for dinner and Molly would talk to him while he slurped, but Ned wasn't much for conversation. Eventually, he realised he had not, in fact, chosen the perfect place for attracting his meals and Ned left for good. He didn't even bother to tear down his snare.
Years before, Enid Snitchkins, the blonde, skinny and bad-mannered neighbor girl decided Molly wanted to bounce on the trampoline, when Molly was quite sure that she did not. One good hop and Molly was tumble-soaring. She saw the sky, blue and speckled with white clouds. She saw waves of green bushes dotted with purple and blue flowers. And, just a second before her cheek made contact with the rusty metal bed, Molly saw the bright yellow dump truck, forgotten in the tallest grass. That was the day that Mrs. Welsh, having seen the jagged hole where applish cheek should be, declared Molly 'ruined' and banished her to the dark, musty attic. Since then, a plethora of eight-legged friends - some for days, others for weeks, rarely for months - had rented out the space in her head. Needless to say, Molly had cobwebs for brains.
When Molly was first given to the Welsh's oldest daughter, Cynthia, she was flawless and terribly excited. She was soon disappointed. Cynthia was nice enough, but dull as a butter knife and did not like to play with dolls. So, when she finished brushing Molly's lovely chocolate brown hair, she always put her right back on the shelf. Molly felt like a very bored trophy. She longed for full on adventures.
Most people forget as they grow older that every toy that's handcrafted with care, as Molly was, has a bit of the maker's soul built in. That toy (even the simplest grandma-fashioned ragdoll) has emotions and desires, same as anybody. As the toy is played with, they collect the love and laughter of children, which becomes a sort of battery charge. Mix the charge with the toy soul and you have what some call "doll magic". It takes a lot of concentration, but occasionally when a toy has built up enough reserve, they can use that doll magic to move or speak. Toys that are especially adored and played with, build that charge quickly and sustain it for longer. Adults, and some mean, spiteful children will not notice, but if a little girl squeezes her beloved, fuzzy brown teddy bear, he really returns that hug. Now, this is not the same with plastic, factory toys, because they are mass-produced by machines with no soul.
It was one year, nine months, six days, seventeen hours and forty five seconds before Molly had charged enough from her occasional brushings to explore the rest of the house. The journey down from the shelf alone was arduous. She hopped onto Cynthia's bureau with a faint clack of porcelain, and then slid carefully down the wooden face. Molly found her legs were sturdy enough to hold her upright, but it took a few minutes to adjust to the soft, cloth joints that connected her firm limbs. The fluffy, white petticoat ruffled softly under her royal blue velvet and Queen Anne's lace frock, and she glanced at Cynthia. The child did not even stir. Molly raged with excitedment as she neared the dark doorway, and peered out into the dimly lit hallway.
The first room Molly encountered smelled awful. Sometimes, Cynthia made funny noises and soon after a similiar stench would fill her bedroom. Molly determined that this was the designated spot for the entire family to engage in such foulness. By this time, she was down to about a quarter of a tank of magic, but she couldn't stop. Just one more room, and then she'd return.Molly.
One of these was published...
Mar 19, 2007
Though thy colour recalls,
sick urine...
thy tangy-sweetness
doth
draw me in.
Oh, that I might multiply thee,
exponentially,
like Jesus
with the bread and herring.
Guard thee,
day and night,
for though there be a-plenty...
Thou, Apple Juice, are not for sharing.
Mar 18, 2007
Standing and singing,
with arms around shoulders,
and fists in the air,
pushing,
and tipsy teetering.
ears bleeding,
emersed,
deep in the heart.
My envy churns,
here, sidestage,
where they give too much space,
and don't know the words.
Oct 25, 2006
A Bit of Gratitude.
Tiny dancer,
Perrenial smiles
sunshining out my shadow.
Envy wielded caustic words.
Punched, bit, kicked...
but, secretly, I was always on your side.
You are my advocate.
My therapist.
My confidant,
my friend.
I am a worm,
baking on the sidewalk
after a rainstorm.
You pick me up,
tell me I'm beautiful,
and return me
to the safe,
yummy
dirt.
Oct 12, 2006
Sometimes
you gotta do
what no one else understands.
Simply so that
YOU
can have
understanding.
Sometimes
you gotta say shit
that only you think is funny.
Simply so that
YOU
can
laugh.Art and Blather.
Aug 22, 2006
I am self-absorbed.
I am an introvert.
Gotta stay on my tiptoes.
Wary of the eggshells...
always...
Wary of the eggshells.
I've had vacations.
Tropical paradise.
Floating in the water,
on hot, summer nights.
Flip. Switch. Back.
All the things I've left undone.
All the things I can't remember.
All the things I want to forget...
taking turn to ridicule.
My back against the brick at recess.
The stares.
The names.
They say to laugh it off...
(because it's oh so funny).
They tell you it will stop if you ignore...
(and it hurts so much, that for a time you believe with all your heart).
But, it never stops.
You grow older,
and you are still on the outside...
peekin' in.
Survival is-
juggling flaming torches
on a unicycle...
balanced on a tightrope
above a shark tank-
whistling Dixie.
Aug 7, 2006
Deja vu yields nausea.
I remember what I said to you.
I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid.
I loathe who I was when I ran with your blind multitude.
Or rather who I tried to be.
Fleeting glimpse then I cannot shake and..
I want to claw out my own lobotomy.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
Break.
Spoil.
Fail.
Rot.
Be bruised, wounded and afflicted.
Be fruitless, and divide.
Pestilence on the crops of your pseudo-good deeds.
No treasures laid up.
No great and mighty things.You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry5:30 am...thoughts...a bit unfinished.Still, I'd Rather Have This Than Silence.Ode to the Most Delicious of Juices
Though thy colour recalls,
sick urine...
thy tangy-sweetness
doth
draw me in.
Oh, that I might multiply thee,
exponentially,
like Jesus
with the bread and herring.
Guard thee,
day and night,
for though there be a-plenty...
Thou, Apple Juice, are not for sharing.
Mar 18, 2007
Standing and singing,
with arms around shoulders,
and fists in the air,
pushing,
and tipsy teetering.
ears bleeding,
emersed,
deep in the heart.
My envy churns,
here, sidestage,
where they give too much space,
and don't know the words.
A Bit of Gratitude.
Tiny dancer,
Perrenial smiles
sunshining out my shadow.
Envy wielded caustic words.
Punched, bit, kicked...
but, secretly, I was always on your side.
You are my advocate.
My therapist.
My confidant,
my friend.
I am a worm,
baking on the sidewalk
after a rainstorm.
You pick me up,
tell me I'm beautiful,
and return me
to the safe,
yummy
dirt.
Sometimes
you gotta do
what no one else understands.
Simply so that
YOU
can have
understanding.
Sometimes
you gotta say shit
that only you think is funny.
Simply so that
YOU
can
laugh.Art and Blather.
Aug 22, 2006
I am self-absorbed.
I am an introvert.
Gotta stay on my tiptoes.
Wary of the eggshells...
always...
Wary of the eggshells.
I've had vacations.
Tropical paradise.
Floating in the water,
on hot, summer nights.
Flip. Switch. Back.
All the things I've left undone.
All the things I can't remember.
All the things I want to forget...
taking turn to ridicule.
My back against the brick at recess.
The stares.
The names.
They say to laugh it off...
(because it's oh so funny).
They tell you it will stop if you ignore...
(and it hurts so much, that for a time you believe with all your heart).
But, it never stops.
You grow older,
and you are still on the outside...
peekin' in.
Survival is-
juggling flaming torches
on a unicycle...
balanced on a tightrope
above a shark tank-
whistling Dixie.
Aug 7, 2006
Deja vu yields nausea.
I remember what I said to you.
I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid.
I loathe who I was when I ran with your blind multitude.
Or rather who I tried to be.
Fleeting glimpse then I cannot shake and..
I want to claw out my own lobotomy.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
Break.
Spoil.
Fail.
Rot.
Be bruised, wounded and afflicted.
Be fruitless, and divide.
Pestilence on the crops of your pseudo-good deeds.
No treasures laid up.
No great and mighty things.You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry5:30 am...thoughts...a bit unfinished.Still, I'd Rather Have This Than Silence.Ode to the Most Delicious of Juices
I'm throwing several in here.
.23
I got the bad.
Both rush in
and out
like
karmic tide.
I've been dear - tried to straighten that curl.
I've been horrid.
You can flip that nickel,
a hundred times.
See Jefferson ninety nine,
but bet the last is Monticello.
Or, Shame On Us Both
a call to Arms.
Battlecry -
unsheath your Swords.
Able bodies,
cease wasting idle.
Become the wails
of maimed infants in
the street...
"Our blood is on your hands."
Severe Thunderstorm Warning
and I was sprinkled as
I left my first art lesson.
I glanced at the interstate,
and I chose to take the highway as
I noted streams of melting brake lights.
I hydroplaned into an empty lane,
and righted myself as
I took the on ramp.
I could just make out
the strong current that
already engulfed the asphalt,
then lamp posts failed
and the only light
was streaking
veins like eels
from the sky
touching down
in the not so distant
yonder.
I took the wrong exit,
and failed to realise until
I was back where I started.
I thought there was no use,
and didn't bother turning until
I came across a familiar side street.
I struggled to keep in my lane,
and refused to panic until
I felt the sprays rushing under my floorboard.
I began to fear I would not
make it home,
the thunder
like a motorcycle
revving
in the passenger's seat,
hitting every wicked spot
in this once familiar
now Twilight Zone
eerie and too long
road.
I contemplated:
that Garcia boy
who drowned last week in Killeen,
Flash floods,
sinkholes,
grabbing my cigarettes,
before my car was swept away
having a smoke,
while attached to
a street sign
waiting to be rescued.
and
muddy live burial -
the last moments
before death,
hopeless, helpless
in the myre,
alone
with
my dirty thoughts.
distracted.
distracted.
america, the faux-free bubble.
count your calories.
get your new gadgets.
let your debt pile up.
forget the hungry,
and displaced.
yes, darling.
there's a war...
but, it's so very far away.
no, darling.
nothing like that happens here
so, you don't have to worry.
I think I'll listen to the blues today
and offer a prayer to St. Francis de Sales,
cuz nobody knows the trouble I've seen,
well,
nobody 'cept Bessie Smith.
I might smoke too many cigarettes,
throw some of this frustration to the wind,
searching for a glimpse of inspiration
on the faces of coins,
and the bottoms of ashtrays.
God knows, I want to be a vessel.
Thalia come sail on me.
Apr 10, 2007
I braked as the light changed from yellow to red,
second in line to turn.
A raggedy heap
of dirty clothes
perched on the guardrail -
a buzzard scavenger
with a cardboard beak.
I cocked my head to the side, and shut one eye.
He disappeared into my blindspot.
I had a brief philosophical discussion with myself,
about how easy it is
for the fed
to dismiss the hungry,
as I fiddled with the change in my armrest.
35 cents was all I could spare,
and 35 cents seemed embarassing.
So, I pretended I didn't care,
turned, and gave him nothing.
I Can't Afford to Be the Hero.Blank Screen Blues
Aug. 7th 2007
I'd like to believe
that change is coming
and the next 'election'
will stave off
treachery and treason
for a while.
I'd like to believe
that the people of
tomorrow,
won't be pointing their finger
at the people of today
screaming,
"You knew and did nothing."
I'd like to believe
that we won't let
invisible or omnivisible
conglomerate
monstrocities
continue to
rape our souls.
I'd like to believe
that the true
grassroots revolution
of the mind
is building
and spreading -
wildfire.
I'd like to believe
eyes can be opened
and that ignorance
will no longer
be bliss,
or
willful.
I’d Like to Believe...
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
May 29, 2008 - I really don't remember what this is about.
wishing for Strawberry soda
while questions that remain unanswered
pirouette and leap in my mind.
dancing for their supper,
dancing for resolution
patience, that virtue I'll never posess
dangling carrots
one red
one blue
both so alluring...
ah, but, I know my path
is one step at a time
thinking I CAN
concentrating sorrows,
negatives,
and pain
into the black sea
of my hair
the waves crash
against my face
now I shall be resolved
to seldom grant
them entrance
that I may
grow out of this
residual grief
and shed these concrete shoes.
try holding me back,
try weighing me down,
and I will cut you loose
like a sandbag.
maybe answers will bubble up
like beverly hillbilly crude
I'll munch on purple carrot cake
washed down with Dr. Pepper
and take a hot-air balloon
to visit my sister.
I knew an angel for a while...
and I loved her.
A Navy wife,
she raised three boys,
the middle child, my mother married.
Her name was Loretta,
and she was beautiful.
Bittersweet smile,
the kindest disposition.
She would've done anything for me.
Her name was Loretta,
and she loved me.
I watched a single tear,
plump and perfect slide down her cheek,
at the end of one of our vacations.
Her name was Loretta,
and her body grew so frail.
She wore a back brace,
and slept with me when I visited,
nevermind the pain.
Her name was Loretta,
and I didn't understand.
The hankerchiefs and the wigs.
I was scared to embrace her,
and can't forgive myself.
Her name was Loretta,
and I still miss her.
May 8, 2006 - I had begun a numbers system.
.12
In a complacent
delusion of
safety and peace
In a bubble of
reclusion and
entertainment.
Every Kite has
its string.
and every string has
its spindle
and every spindle is
held in the hands
of a man, woman
or child.
And they like the
vivid color and
they like to watch
it soar,
but there's
a definite science
to having something
wonderful and free
under your control.
Maybe I'm that toy
put to the skies
for all to see...
I don't want to
tell the world the end
is near,
but there is
no hidingplace
for me.
In a complacent
delusion of
safety and peace
In a bubble of
reclusion and
entertainment.
Every Kite has
its string.
and every string has
its spindle
and every spindle is
held in the hands
of a man, woman
or child.
And they like the
vivid color and
they like to watch
it soar,
but there's
a definite science
to having something
wonderful and free
under your control.
Maybe I'm that toy
put to the skies
for all to see...
I don't want to
tell the world the end
is near,
but there is
no hidingplace
for me.
Very old, probably the most traditional thing I've ever written.
like a pawn in the queen's alley,
vulnerable,
I step out.
Wonders
never
cease.
a tiny ship in a raging sea,
tossed about
by my ponderings.
Wonders
never
cease.
a fledgeling's wings,
at first-flap,
tentative.
Wonders
never
cease.
words slicing silence
intruders,
in the crowd.
Wonders
never
cease. Wonders Never Cease.
Romance.
X Marks the Spot.
I don't feel empty anymore.
I feel rather like this body
is a treasure chest.
And, you know what that makes me.
The buried thing, though.
That's got me down.
Because, I'm not so sure my map was correct.
Or,
that it still exists.
I imagine it does.
Somewhere.
Waiting for the right explorer.
Not conquistador like Cortes,
deceiving and pillaging.
His men plunder-drowning one on top of the other,
As they strived to escape,
weighed down by stolen wealth.
I'm talking about a lone cowboy.
(or cowgirl.)
A bounty hunter.
Grit and spit.
On what might be a wild goose chase.
A swashbuckling anti-hero,
Who can't help but do right,
And finally finds his
Then…
FUCK the
WORLD!
We'll go on adventures.
Fuckitol.
Saturday was one of the worst days I've had in a long time. After months of inspiration, weeks of preparation and days of frustration, I got my shit together to rent a booth to sell my jewelry. I picked Market Days in my hometown of Bay Shitty, because even though I hate the place, my grandparents are well-known in the community. Hell, I'm well-known in the community. Everywhere I go in that town I run into someone who went to school with my mom or an uncle, or folks from Granny's church or other churches I've attended.
George and I arrived at my grandparents' house around 6pm Friday evening. Had a yummy dinner of roast and potatoes and green beans. I decided that I needed to get up around 5:30am to get down to set up my booth around 7. I laid in bed a few hours, but was never able to sleep. My usual falling asleep time is 4-5:30 am anyhow because I have a wonky circadian rhythm. My insomnia is worse on days when I know I have to be up at a certain time, and when rest is important. I was wide awake when the alarm went off. After setting up the table at the courthouse square, I realized it was way too small, but there was nothing to be done at that time, so I made do with what I had.
Through out the day, a multitude of people I recognized walked right passed my booth, avoiding eye contact with me. Some people came up to talk to my grandmother for 10-15 minutes, blocking my booth, and then left without even dropping me a fiver. These are the more affluent people of the area I'm talking about, the richest people I know. Then there were others who paused at my booth, said hi to me and said, "Oh, this is cute...blah blah.", and walked on. Only two people I knew bought things from me. One was a friend of my mother's I haven't seen in 25 years at least, and the other was my aunt who complained that I had the 'good rocks' and not enough stuff that was 'cheap like <her>'. Granted, most of the stuff I brought was mid-range precious stones, but I had plenty of stuff that was $5-$10. I got compliment after compliment on how beautiful my work is, but no one was buying.
I was filled with animosity towards those people, who couldn't even be bothered to drop $10 at my table, despite their connection to me or my grandparents. I guess they owe my grandparents too much money, to throw some cash at me. I spent all this time and effort, drove something like 320 total miles, smiled sweetly, made small talk (something that I'm terrible at) and didn't even make enough money to buy groceries or supplements. Fuck those people. Fuck them all. I hated them when I lived in Bay City, and I hate them even more now.
What made matters worse, was that after we were packed up and stopped at my grandpa's office to go to the bathroom, I had to deal with his ignorance. He told me that George had said the experience had been 'disappointing'. I told him I was disgusted, and told him about all the people I knew who couldn't even be bothered to say hi, let alone drop a couple of dollars my way. He asked me what I thought I could've done differently. I said I was brilliant, but people just weren't willing to buy. He responded by telling me they must've been unimpressed. Maybe I shouldn't say this about the old man...but FUCK HIM, TOO.
Later, back at their house, a conversation about my uncle taking his boys hunting turned into my grandmother dropping another racial slur that I will not even repeat here. This conversation also brought on an unsolicited lesson in guns and ammo.
Let me prefice the following with a little bit of side story. I HATE GUNS. I once had a guy in my apartment showing off one of his pistols that he was trying to sell to a friend. I had been taught prior to this incident how to respect a firearm (always check to make sure it's unloaded, never aim at anyone, make sure the safety is on...and so forth). I checked out the gun myself. This guy later shot and killed his parents with this gun. He was on America's Most Wanted, but he was stupid and actually was caught prior to the airing of the show. So, yeah, I FUCKING HATE GUNS.
Well, my grandpa siezed the opportunity to bring out about 5 different kinds of bullets, and explained the difference in sizes and amount of destruction upon impact and what kind of trajectory they'd get etc. I sat through at least half an hour of that. Oh, but he wasn't finished there. After this he brought out his 4 pistols. Lemme rephrase this. He showed off his 4 FULLY LOADED pistols. Even after expressing my distress (ie. I'm not comfortable with this...Accidents happen...) he pressed on with his demonstration. So, now I know that my grandparents have 4 loaded pistols, and 2 loaded rifles at their house (before I was only aware of the one pistol). I don't have to worry. If someone breaks in, or if there's a zombie apocalypse, my grandparents are prepared. However, they can count on me not visiting for a very long time, if ever again.
Granny is welcome to come visit me, but really I have no use for my grandpa anymore, not that I really have since I was a little kid.
Anyhow, so I've got about 65-70 bucks to get to Dec. 3rd. I have two gluten-free pizza crusts, and a bag of gluten-free pasta and after that I don't know what I'm doing for food. I'm also out of Magnesium and CoQ10, and low on a couple of other supplements that along with eating gluten-free keep me at about a 60-70% functioning person instead of a more like 40% functioner.
I was really hoping to make enough money to start saving some for a trip to Georgia. I haven't seen my parents and brother since my wedding day (4-25-09) and I've only seen my sister once for about a day since then. I haven't seen my friends in Georgia for years. This is really taking a toll on my sanity, because it's extremely painful not to see them, and I have no idea when I will see them again. How can I ever afford to make a trip when I'm still trying to live on $699 a month?
I'm going to end here, because I've got shit to do...but I'm not really finished. This is only part of what is bothering me at present.
George and I arrived at my grandparents' house around 6pm Friday evening. Had a yummy dinner of roast and potatoes and green beans. I decided that I needed to get up around 5:30am to get down to set up my booth around 7. I laid in bed a few hours, but was never able to sleep. My usual falling asleep time is 4-5:30 am anyhow because I have a wonky circadian rhythm. My insomnia is worse on days when I know I have to be up at a certain time, and when rest is important. I was wide awake when the alarm went off. After setting up the table at the courthouse square, I realized it was way too small, but there was nothing to be done at that time, so I made do with what I had.
Through out the day, a multitude of people I recognized walked right passed my booth, avoiding eye contact with me. Some people came up to talk to my grandmother for 10-15 minutes, blocking my booth, and then left without even dropping me a fiver. These are the more affluent people of the area I'm talking about, the richest people I know. Then there were others who paused at my booth, said hi to me and said, "Oh, this is cute...blah blah.", and walked on. Only two people I knew bought things from me. One was a friend of my mother's I haven't seen in 25 years at least, and the other was my aunt who complained that I had the 'good rocks' and not enough stuff that was 'cheap like <her>'. Granted, most of the stuff I brought was mid-range precious stones, but I had plenty of stuff that was $5-$10. I got compliment after compliment on how beautiful my work is, but no one was buying.
I was filled with animosity towards those people, who couldn't even be bothered to drop $10 at my table, despite their connection to me or my grandparents. I guess they owe my grandparents too much money, to throw some cash at me. I spent all this time and effort, drove something like 320 total miles, smiled sweetly, made small talk (something that I'm terrible at) and didn't even make enough money to buy groceries or supplements. Fuck those people. Fuck them all. I hated them when I lived in Bay City, and I hate them even more now.
What made matters worse, was that after we were packed up and stopped at my grandpa's office to go to the bathroom, I had to deal with his ignorance. He told me that George had said the experience had been 'disappointing'. I told him I was disgusted, and told him about all the people I knew who couldn't even be bothered to say hi, let alone drop a couple of dollars my way. He asked me what I thought I could've done differently. I said I was brilliant, but people just weren't willing to buy. He responded by telling me they must've been unimpressed. Maybe I shouldn't say this about the old man...but FUCK HIM, TOO.
Later, back at their house, a conversation about my uncle taking his boys hunting turned into my grandmother dropping another racial slur that I will not even repeat here. This conversation also brought on an unsolicited lesson in guns and ammo.
Let me prefice the following with a little bit of side story. I HATE GUNS. I once had a guy in my apartment showing off one of his pistols that he was trying to sell to a friend. I had been taught prior to this incident how to respect a firearm (always check to make sure it's unloaded, never aim at anyone, make sure the safety is on...and so forth). I checked out the gun myself. This guy later shot and killed his parents with this gun. He was on America's Most Wanted, but he was stupid and actually was caught prior to the airing of the show. So, yeah, I FUCKING HATE GUNS.
Well, my grandpa siezed the opportunity to bring out about 5 different kinds of bullets, and explained the difference in sizes and amount of destruction upon impact and what kind of trajectory they'd get etc. I sat through at least half an hour of that. Oh, but he wasn't finished there. After this he brought out his 4 pistols. Lemme rephrase this. He showed off his 4 FULLY LOADED pistols. Even after expressing my distress (ie. I'm not comfortable with this...Accidents happen...) he pressed on with his demonstration. So, now I know that my grandparents have 4 loaded pistols, and 2 loaded rifles at their house (before I was only aware of the one pistol). I don't have to worry. If someone breaks in, or if there's a zombie apocalypse, my grandparents are prepared. However, they can count on me not visiting for a very long time, if ever again.
Granny is welcome to come visit me, but really I have no use for my grandpa anymore, not that I really have since I was a little kid.
Anyhow, so I've got about 65-70 bucks to get to Dec. 3rd. I have two gluten-free pizza crusts, and a bag of gluten-free pasta and after that I don't know what I'm doing for food. I'm also out of Magnesium and CoQ10, and low on a couple of other supplements that along with eating gluten-free keep me at about a 60-70% functioning person instead of a more like 40% functioner.
I was really hoping to make enough money to start saving some for a trip to Georgia. I haven't seen my parents and brother since my wedding day (4-25-09) and I've only seen my sister once for about a day since then. I haven't seen my friends in Georgia for years. This is really taking a toll on my sanity, because it's extremely painful not to see them, and I have no idea when I will see them again. How can I ever afford to make a trip when I'm still trying to live on $699 a month?
I'm going to end here, because I've got shit to do...but I'm not really finished. This is only part of what is bothering me at present.
Monday, November 15, 2010
So, Lyrica can suck it.
I haven't really been posting lately because I've been exhausted and depressed.
We went to Fun Fun Fun Fest and saw some great bands. I made it through 3 days of sitting outside in the cold and dust and smoke despite having bronchitis and terrible allergies. I had energy shots, antibiotics, cough drops, dust masks, kleenex, expectorant and ibuprofen. Sawborg of GWAR, walked right past the front of my wheelchair. I got to see Oderus (sp?) of GWAR arrive in the back of a van. When he stepped out he flopped his giant costume schlong at the audience...which was basically right in my direction. Later, when they performed, they annihilated Sarah Palin. Also saw the amazing Weird Al Yankovic, the Casualties, Municipal Waste, The Gories, The Vandals, Bad Religion, and the DESCENDENTS! Worth feeling like crap and dealing with terrible handicap accessibility.
However, over the last week, I've been having more and more bouts of explosive depression that have interrupted my ability to properly function. I attribute it to the Lyrica, because although I've got stressors, they rarely induce this sort of self-harm/suicidal rage. I envisioned stabbing myself in the face last night, and have been having extreme moments of horrific sad. Also, there's the want to stick myself with needles or pocket knife my arm. I haven't been this close to acting on an urge like that in at least 5 years. So, I'm attributing this to the Lyrica, and though I haven't consulted the doctor, I stopped taking it last night. I can't imagine where I'd go mentally if I continued on it, and that was the lowest dosage. I plan on calling the doctor and letting him know, but honestly, I don't think he's going to be much use to me. What's his next suggestion? Savella? Cymbalta? I've heard time and time again Savella has horrible side effects and Cymbalta caused a 19 year old girl to kill herself. So, we're talking another couple of months of testing with side effect craziness. That's DEPRESSING. Hahahahaha.
I've gotta wash my hair.
This weekend, I'm doing a show to sell my jewelry. If I make enough maybe I'll go see my family. If not, I'm buying a PS3. Either should cheer me up!
We went to Fun Fun Fun Fest and saw some great bands. I made it through 3 days of sitting outside in the cold and dust and smoke despite having bronchitis and terrible allergies. I had energy shots, antibiotics, cough drops, dust masks, kleenex, expectorant and ibuprofen. Sawborg of GWAR, walked right past the front of my wheelchair. I got to see Oderus (sp?) of GWAR arrive in the back of a van. When he stepped out he flopped his giant costume schlong at the audience...which was basically right in my direction. Later, when they performed, they annihilated Sarah Palin. Also saw the amazing Weird Al Yankovic, the Casualties, Municipal Waste, The Gories, The Vandals, Bad Religion, and the DESCENDENTS! Worth feeling like crap and dealing with terrible handicap accessibility.
However, over the last week, I've been having more and more bouts of explosive depression that have interrupted my ability to properly function. I attribute it to the Lyrica, because although I've got stressors, they rarely induce this sort of self-harm/suicidal rage. I envisioned stabbing myself in the face last night, and have been having extreme moments of horrific sad. Also, there's the want to stick myself with needles or pocket knife my arm. I haven't been this close to acting on an urge like that in at least 5 years. So, I'm attributing this to the Lyrica, and though I haven't consulted the doctor, I stopped taking it last night. I can't imagine where I'd go mentally if I continued on it, and that was the lowest dosage. I plan on calling the doctor and letting him know, but honestly, I don't think he's going to be much use to me. What's his next suggestion? Savella? Cymbalta? I've heard time and time again Savella has horrible side effects and Cymbalta caused a 19 year old girl to kill herself. So, we're talking another couple of months of testing with side effect craziness. That's DEPRESSING. Hahahahaha.
I've gotta wash my hair.
This weekend, I'm doing a show to sell my jewelry. If I make enough maybe I'll go see my family. If not, I'm buying a PS3. Either should cheer me up!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Rains and pours.
I'm not very much in the typing mood.
Rick Perry AKA Capt. Hairdo won again. A man who says he may not finish this term.
Also, I'm pretty sure I have bronchitis. Going to the GP in the morning. No more concerts without a dust mask for me.
Rick Perry AKA Capt. Hairdo won again. A man who says he may not finish this term.
Also, I'm pretty sure I have bronchitis. Going to the GP in the morning. No more concerts without a dust mask for me.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Post Halloween.
We watched the first episode of AMC's "The Walking Dead" last night, and I don't think I've ever been quite so impressed and excited about a TV show. It's like they had me in mind when they were making it. This one's for Wendy. I described my feelings about the show to my husband something like this:
It's like you have an apple. It's your favorite kind of apple, and you've had to wait through seasons for it. The flesh looks perfect, it has a nice solid feel, no bruising. You've just washed it, and are ready to take a bite. You're already anticipating the texture and taste. Then, you take a bite, and it is crisp and that longed for tangy sweet. You have to suck the juices into your mouth, lest they dribble down your chin, it's that ripe.
You've got yourself a good apple. It's rare and you savor every last bit, nibbling down to the core.
"The Walking Dead" is a good apple in a sea of bad ones. Who wants a bad apple?
I don't like to spoil anything, so I won't...although I really want to this time.
~~~
I felt pretty good yesterday. Got some exercise wheeling myself around the bead show. Saw lots of pretty things, and came home with lots of crystals and gemstones (red aventurine roses, kambaba jasper, picture jasper, red striped agate, botwana agate, black lace agate dyed bright blue, sesame jasper) and also some brightly colored skulls for Day of the Dead jewelry. One vendor had silver wire, and it was a GREAT price. If it weren't the end of the month and I weren't so broke, I woulda bought some. I'd really like to move into concentrating on sterling silver wire jewelry, but I don't really have the bankroll for that. I'm hoping to do a show in a couple of weeks, and perhaps I can use a portion of those sales to go to production. If I do well, I could be sitting on several hundred dollars. Eventually, I want to save enough of that money up to go to Georgia and visit my folks and siblings and friends. I'd like to renew vows there, because so many of my friends didn't make it to the wedding. However, if I don't do as well and only bring in about $300, I'm getting a PS3. Haha. I want one sooooo bad, for blu-ray and zombie killing reasons. I don't think Dead Rising 2 is coming out on the Wii....and it looks so amazing. So, I've got to get busy making jewelry.
I'm not sure about posting photos of my jewelry here, so you can vote about that in the comments, if you are reading this.
~~~
Well, obviously, Lyrica is no longer making me as sleepy as in the beginning. Last night, I was hurting almost to the point where I'd normally take a pain pill if I had them, but I didn't actually have to go there. So, maybe there's a slight difference? Maybe I was a 6-7 where I'd otherwise be a 7-8? Maybe? I can't be sure. I need more time. Every day is a different struggle. I never know where or when I'm going to hurt. Or if I'll be dizzy, or slug-like, or confused.
That sounds depressing, but it's just the truth. Fact is fact.
Fact is, I'm actually quite happy despite it all.
It's like you have an apple. It's your favorite kind of apple, and you've had to wait through seasons for it. The flesh looks perfect, it has a nice solid feel, no bruising. You've just washed it, and are ready to take a bite. You're already anticipating the texture and taste. Then, you take a bite, and it is crisp and that longed for tangy sweet. You have to suck the juices into your mouth, lest they dribble down your chin, it's that ripe.
You've got yourself a good apple. It's rare and you savor every last bit, nibbling down to the core.
"The Walking Dead" is a good apple in a sea of bad ones. Who wants a bad apple?
I don't like to spoil anything, so I won't...although I really want to this time.
~~~
I felt pretty good yesterday. Got some exercise wheeling myself around the bead show. Saw lots of pretty things, and came home with lots of crystals and gemstones (red aventurine roses, kambaba jasper, picture jasper, red striped agate, botwana agate, black lace agate dyed bright blue, sesame jasper) and also some brightly colored skulls for Day of the Dead jewelry. One vendor had silver wire, and it was a GREAT price. If it weren't the end of the month and I weren't so broke, I woulda bought some. I'd really like to move into concentrating on sterling silver wire jewelry, but I don't really have the bankroll for that. I'm hoping to do a show in a couple of weeks, and perhaps I can use a portion of those sales to go to production. If I do well, I could be sitting on several hundred dollars. Eventually, I want to save enough of that money up to go to Georgia and visit my folks and siblings and friends. I'd like to renew vows there, because so many of my friends didn't make it to the wedding. However, if I don't do as well and only bring in about $300, I'm getting a PS3. Haha. I want one sooooo bad, for blu-ray and zombie killing reasons. I don't think Dead Rising 2 is coming out on the Wii....and it looks so amazing. So, I've got to get busy making jewelry.
I'm not sure about posting photos of my jewelry here, so you can vote about that in the comments, if you are reading this.
~~~
Well, obviously, Lyrica is no longer making me as sleepy as in the beginning. Last night, I was hurting almost to the point where I'd normally take a pain pill if I had them, but I didn't actually have to go there. So, maybe there's a slight difference? Maybe I was a 6-7 where I'd otherwise be a 7-8? Maybe? I can't be sure. I need more time. Every day is a different struggle. I never know where or when I'm going to hurt. Or if I'll be dizzy, or slug-like, or confused.
That sounds depressing, but it's just the truth. Fact is fact.
Fact is, I'm actually quite happy despite it all.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Aunt Flo visits for Halloween.
I started my period today, which makes me wonder if all that joint pain was weather and hormones.
I don't have much to say, just want to pig out on chocolate, and go to the bead show with my mother in law.
I don't have much to say, just want to pig out on chocolate, and go to the bead show with my mother in law.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Day 4-5 Lyrica, gluten intolerance, plus Danzig
First of all, Danzig was amazing. I wore my nun costume and some drunk girl told me she loved me 3 or 4 times and wanted me to be beside her in the VIP section, which just wasn't possible. Another drunk told me to check out Slaughtered Priests and their song, "Bestial Nun Sluts". He was convinced I'd love them, haven't checked yet, but still find that amusing.
I didn't have any energy shots left like I thought I did, so getting ready for the show was trying, and I only had chance to down a protein shake before leaving, so by the time the show was over I was HOOOOOOOOONGRY. Now, hungry for a diabetic is different for others. When we don't have enough carbs-glucose in the blood, our heads go cuckoo, and there's the shakes and whatnot. I can be a real nonsensical bitch. So, the first chance to eat we stopped and I had onion rings, and then an irresistable piece of texas toast. Until last night, it'd been so long since I ate white bread, I don't remember when I did. I knew the breading for the onions had wheat flour in it too...but I was hungry and weak. And, besides that, I really needed to test my gluten intolerance. Immediately, a new headache appeared in my head and I started getting the sniffles. Later, I had intestinal distress I won't describe. So, I've figured that I may not have celiac disease, leastways, I may never be tested for it...but I KNOW definitely that there's intolerance that acts like an allergy.
As far as Lyrica goes...the sleepiness seems to have dissipated. Which is great. Whether or not it's helping my pain levels is up in the air. I'm having terrible joint pain all over my body. Could have something to do with the change in the weather...but it's weird and annoying. I guess I'll keep taking the Lyrica at least until my 2 weeks update with the rheumatologist and see if I feel any different.
I didn't have any energy shots left like I thought I did, so getting ready for the show was trying, and I only had chance to down a protein shake before leaving, so by the time the show was over I was HOOOOOOOOONGRY. Now, hungry for a diabetic is different for others. When we don't have enough carbs-glucose in the blood, our heads go cuckoo, and there's the shakes and whatnot. I can be a real nonsensical bitch. So, the first chance to eat we stopped and I had onion rings, and then an irresistable piece of texas toast. Until last night, it'd been so long since I ate white bread, I don't remember when I did. I knew the breading for the onions had wheat flour in it too...but I was hungry and weak. And, besides that, I really needed to test my gluten intolerance. Immediately, a new headache appeared in my head and I started getting the sniffles. Later, I had intestinal distress I won't describe. So, I've figured that I may not have celiac disease, leastways, I may never be tested for it...but I KNOW definitely that there's intolerance that acts like an allergy.
As far as Lyrica goes...the sleepiness seems to have dissipated. Which is great. Whether or not it's helping my pain levels is up in the air. I'm having terrible joint pain all over my body. Could have something to do with the change in the weather...but it's weird and annoying. I guess I'll keep taking the Lyrica at least until my 2 weeks update with the rheumatologist and see if I feel any different.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
RE: a livejournal fatshionista blog post about the now infamous 'Fatties' article.
Maura Kelly's article, like all acts of willful ignorance, made me crazy-eyed, spittin' mad. Her attitude isn't just size-ist, but also classist and ableist.
I'm a fat, disabled woman. My husband is out of work at the moment, and we have to live with his parents. I get less than $700 a month for us to live on. So, I guess you can say this article had a tri-fold attack on me.
To assume that I am fat because I'm continuously shoving junk down my throat, or that I have no clue when it comes to nutrition or fitness is despicable. For many years, all I could afford was peanut butter and jelly on white bread and soups with crackers. I imagine that a huge percentage of the population is probably in that boat. Nowadays, because of my living situation, I have access to more nutritious foods. Still, I struggle, because I have to eat gluten-free, and gluten-free products can be so very expensive. Also, I would like very much to be an active person. I would love to be able to hop on a bike and take off down the road, or play softball, or catch, or volleyball or tennis or just go for a jog, or walk. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to do any of these things in many years, because I live with multiple pain disorders. I can't even stand up long enough to do a load of dishes.
With the addition of a wheelchair to my life, I've been able to get out a lot more, when we can afford it. I'm constantly aware of glares, disgusted whispers, and giggles. Waiting in line at the grocery store, more than once, I've heard people start having a conversation about "obesity" or "morbid obesity". If I'm with my husband, I'll try to come up with conversation about "morons"...but usually, in the moment, I can't get that witty brain of mine to budge, which is frustrating. Often, people will avoid making eye contact with me, or ignore me completely. Fuck 'em.
So, yeah, the article got to me. My entire childhood I was singled out to be ostracized because I was fat. My parents tried to make me a thin person, we ate a mostly strict "Fit for Life" diet, and my dad took me to the track to walk/run his exercise plan. I had 'friends', but until 8th grade, I didn't have anyone I could really trust. Moving around a lot didn't help. New and fat is so difficult. Boys that had crushes on me were always afraid to act on it publicly. I wouldn't say that I was anyone's 'secret girlfriend', but several times a boy would pick on me when he was with his friends and try to kiss me when no one else was around. Or, a friend had no problem coming over to my house to play, but they didn't want to be seen in the hall with me at school. I still have severe social phobia that I have to work through every time I have a conversation in public.
The thing is, I KNOW, I'm wonderfully awesome, and I've learned to except and cherish my curves. I know there are a lot of other females out there that haven't made it to the same place. That damaging article has probably caused hundreds of spectacular women to momentarily doubt their self-worth. This enrages me. I imagine that text set ablaze, a fire under my big fat ass to work against its esteem-crushing evil and edify big women.
I started a blog of my own, and am x-posting there.
P.S. I need to dig out my, "KNOW FAT CHICKS" button and wear it proudly.
I'm a fat, disabled woman. My husband is out of work at the moment, and we have to live with his parents. I get less than $700 a month for us to live on. So, I guess you can say this article had a tri-fold attack on me.
To assume that I am fat because I'm continuously shoving junk down my throat, or that I have no clue when it comes to nutrition or fitness is despicable. For many years, all I could afford was peanut butter and jelly on white bread and soups with crackers. I imagine that a huge percentage of the population is probably in that boat. Nowadays, because of my living situation, I have access to more nutritious foods. Still, I struggle, because I have to eat gluten-free, and gluten-free products can be so very expensive. Also, I would like very much to be an active person. I would love to be able to hop on a bike and take off down the road, or play softball, or catch, or volleyball or tennis or just go for a jog, or walk. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to do any of these things in many years, because I live with multiple pain disorders. I can't even stand up long enough to do a load of dishes.
With the addition of a wheelchair to my life, I've been able to get out a lot more, when we can afford it. I'm constantly aware of glares, disgusted whispers, and giggles. Waiting in line at the grocery store, more than once, I've heard people start having a conversation about "obesity" or "morbid obesity". If I'm with my husband, I'll try to come up with conversation about "morons"...but usually, in the moment, I can't get that witty brain of mine to budge, which is frustrating. Often, people will avoid making eye contact with me, or ignore me completely. Fuck 'em.
So, yeah, the article got to me. My entire childhood I was singled out to be ostracized because I was fat. My parents tried to make me a thin person, we ate a mostly strict "Fit for Life" diet, and my dad took me to the track to walk/run his exercise plan. I had 'friends', but until 8th grade, I didn't have anyone I could really trust. Moving around a lot didn't help. New and fat is so difficult. Boys that had crushes on me were always afraid to act on it publicly. I wouldn't say that I was anyone's 'secret girlfriend', but several times a boy would pick on me when he was with his friends and try to kiss me when no one else was around. Or, a friend had no problem coming over to my house to play, but they didn't want to be seen in the hall with me at school. I still have severe social phobia that I have to work through every time I have a conversation in public.
The thing is, I KNOW, I'm wonderfully awesome, and I've learned to except and cherish my curves. I know there are a lot of other females out there that haven't made it to the same place. That damaging article has probably caused hundreds of spectacular women to momentarily doubt their self-worth. This enrages me. I imagine that text set ablaze, a fire under my big fat ass to work against its esteem-crushing evil and edify big women.
I started a blog of my own, and am x-posting there.
P.S. I need to dig out my, "KNOW FAT CHICKS" button and wear it proudly.
Zombies and Lyrica Day 3.
I was able to get up at a proper time today, but same situation. Excessive sluggish/sleepiness and nightmares remembered. Now, these were about zombie apocalypse, so it was kinda fun for me. In my dreams, I'm a zombie-fighting bad ass. I can do all the things I can't do in real life; ie. stand or walk for any significant length of time, run, punch or kick through walls and doors...etc. Still, when it gets to the point where I'm surrounded by zombies in an enclosed space and there's nothing I can do, certain death awaits; that is a dream that screws with your head. I don't know if that was proper use of a semi-colon. I need to take English 101, again.
Well, now that I'm up for about an hour, I'm decided less sleepy. I'm unsure of whether or not my pain levels are decreased. I'm always having at least an hour of waking stiffness. Right now my lower back aches, and that radiates all the way up to my neck and down into my thighs. No, pins and needles or burning pain at present, but I don't have that 24/7, so I can't really say I've noticed a significant change in pain levels yet. My feet are less swollen today, which is good. They swell up so much sometimes that it literally feels like they will explode. In case you've never experienced this...it effin' hurts.
Husband is going to see Bad Brains tonight without me. We're on the broke side, and as ridiculous as it might seem, BB is just one band I've never synched with, and it's not for lack of trying. It doesn't make sense to me, either, just is. So, George gets to go see one of his favorite bands, and I get my laundry done for me. It's a win-win.
Well, now that I'm up for about an hour, I'm decided less sleepy. I'm unsure of whether or not my pain levels are decreased. I'm always having at least an hour of waking stiffness. Right now my lower back aches, and that radiates all the way up to my neck and down into my thighs. No, pins and needles or burning pain at present, but I don't have that 24/7, so I can't really say I've noticed a significant change in pain levels yet. My feet are less swollen today, which is good. They swell up so much sometimes that it literally feels like they will explode. In case you've never experienced this...it effin' hurts.
Husband is going to see Bad Brains tonight without me. We're on the broke side, and as ridiculous as it might seem, BB is just one band I've never synched with, and it's not for lack of trying. It doesn't make sense to me, either, just is. So, George gets to go see one of his favorite bands, and I get my laundry done for me. It's a win-win.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
I need to stop reading the comments these idiots make. It's just pissing me off over and over.
One person actually said, "No one should be born fat."
No one would be born fat if all mothers were crack heads. This should save us all from the dreaded fat babies.
Forget what Whitney Houston said...CRACK IS BACK!
One person actually said, "No one should be born fat."
No one would be born fat if all mothers were crack heads. This should save us all from the dreaded fat babies.
Forget what Whitney Houston said...CRACK IS BACK!
Day 2 Lyrica
None of the itchy crawlies last night, but I still felt weird. A few minutes after taking it, I began to feel drowsy. Insomnia has plagued me all of my life, so I don't really trust a sleepy feeling. I've been exhausted physically before and still unable to turn off the brain. Since, the events of the summer, with the heightened anxiety level, I've found taking a .5-1mg of alprazolam before I lay down, helps me fall asleep rather quickly and usually I don't remember my dreams. This is extremely beneficial to me, because sleep is so important and my horrific nightmares tend to leak into my waking life causing extreme low moods. I've been prescribed many medications over the last 7 years and alprazolam is the only thing with the potential to calm the storm in my head. However, the Lyrica made me so drowsy, I might not need the alprazolam, except that I DID remember my dreams, and they were upsetting.
I went to bed at 4am, and woke up several times in the afternoon, but was so sleepy that I couldn't really get up, other than to use the bathroom. I've been up for about an hour now, and I still feel "hungover". I don't know if noticed a difference in my pain levels. My feet were swollen up last night. They've gone down a lot, but are still a little swollen. If I don't notice a difference in pain levels this month, and the drowsiness does not let up, I'll obviously stop taking this drug. I have little hope that it will significantly help me, but I guess I have to give it a try, right?
I know this is the most fascinating blog post you'll ever read.
I went to bed at 4am, and woke up several times in the afternoon, but was so sleepy that I couldn't really get up, other than to use the bathroom. I've been up for about an hour now, and I still feel "hungover". I don't know if noticed a difference in my pain levels. My feet were swollen up last night. They've gone down a lot, but are still a little swollen. If I don't notice a difference in pain levels this month, and the drowsiness does not let up, I'll obviously stop taking this drug. I have little hope that it will significantly help me, but I guess I have to give it a try, right?
I know this is the most fascinating blog post you'll ever read.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wow, that woman pissed me off.
And, I'm not the only one, there's 319 comments on that piece of trash. In case you didn't see the article, you can find it here: http://www.marieclaire.com/sex-love/dating-blog/overweight-couples-on-television#comments.
I know this woman isn't the only person who sees fat people in such a close-minded way. I haven't felt so much like I was back in high school in a long while. Probably, the last time was in '05 or '06 (faulty memory, thanks fibro-fog) when I was taking my friend's little girl into the mall to meet her mom after work. We had had a lovely afternoon of playing and pretending, and that little girl who always smiled up at me with an admiring sparkle in her eyes was holding my hand as we walked. This was when I was still young and vain enough to shy away from using a cane, and I was huffing through the pain and instability, because I had to be strong with this little angel at my side. If you've been to Barton Creek Mall, you know there's plenty of seating outside the entrance near the AMC theater. I could've sat down and had a rest break, like normal, however, there was a group of random, unsupervised teenagers, ready to pounce. As I neared them, I heard some sort of idiotic, derogatory fat comment that I don't remember. I ignored it, and kept walking. Seconds later, I hear, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue...or did you eat that, too?". A chorus of laughter followed. I probably winced inside, but I kept my head held high. I wanted to flip them off, or yell a retort, or put my fist through all their faces. If I hadn't had this innocent, darling, Wendy-idolizing tot at my side, I would've done at least one of those things, but I wanted to shelter her from such ugliness. I really wished the world could be the magical fairy land we pretended it was, and we could all ride around on unicorns. I certainly wasn't going to introduce her to fat hatred and bigotry. I was still in grief at this time in my life, and the blow to my ego certainly didn't help, but I've dealt with this brand of asshole all my years, and thankfully I've always known I was the better person.
I HATE the mall.
I took my first dose of Lyrica last night, and other than a short time of feeling like things were crawling on me, and being itchy and sleepy...I don't notice any significant difference or ill side effects.
There are donuts on the kitchen table. Donuts that I can't eat. Donuts that I refuse to eat. There are gluten-free donuts in the fridge that I can eat. Gluten-free donuts, that are still sugary and high calorie. Gluten-free donuts that I shouldn't eat, but I find comfort in their presence. Why? Because, I know that as bad as they might be for me, if I can not stand the craving anymore, they aren't as bad as those donuts on the table. Still, those table donuts call out to me, because I can see them...they shriek out my name, begging me to come and free them from their donut box prison. They are a cruel temptation.
@#$% you, table donuts.
I know this woman isn't the only person who sees fat people in such a close-minded way. I haven't felt so much like I was back in high school in a long while. Probably, the last time was in '05 or '06 (faulty memory, thanks fibro-fog) when I was taking my friend's little girl into the mall to meet her mom after work. We had had a lovely afternoon of playing and pretending, and that little girl who always smiled up at me with an admiring sparkle in her eyes was holding my hand as we walked. This was when I was still young and vain enough to shy away from using a cane, and I was huffing through the pain and instability, because I had to be strong with this little angel at my side. If you've been to Barton Creek Mall, you know there's plenty of seating outside the entrance near the AMC theater. I could've sat down and had a rest break, like normal, however, there was a group of random, unsupervised teenagers, ready to pounce. As I neared them, I heard some sort of idiotic, derogatory fat comment that I don't remember. I ignored it, and kept walking. Seconds later, I hear, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue...or did you eat that, too?". A chorus of laughter followed. I probably winced inside, but I kept my head held high. I wanted to flip them off, or yell a retort, or put my fist through all their faces. If I hadn't had this innocent, darling, Wendy-idolizing tot at my side, I would've done at least one of those things, but I wanted to shelter her from such ugliness. I really wished the world could be the magical fairy land we pretended it was, and we could all ride around on unicorns. I certainly wasn't going to introduce her to fat hatred and bigotry. I was still in grief at this time in my life, and the blow to my ego certainly didn't help, but I've dealt with this brand of asshole all my years, and thankfully I've always known I was the better person.
I HATE the mall.
I took my first dose of Lyrica last night, and other than a short time of feeling like things were crawling on me, and being itchy and sleepy...I don't notice any significant difference or ill side effects.
There are donuts on the kitchen table. Donuts that I can't eat. Donuts that I refuse to eat. There are gluten-free donuts in the fridge that I can eat. Gluten-free donuts, that are still sugary and high calorie. Gluten-free donuts that I shouldn't eat, but I find comfort in their presence. Why? Because, I know that as bad as they might be for me, if I can not stand the craving anymore, they aren't as bad as those donuts on the table. Still, those table donuts call out to me, because I can see them...they shriek out my name, begging me to come and free them from their donut box prison. They are a cruel temptation.
@#$% you, table donuts.
Why?
I'm starting this blog because...
...for years I've been told, by people I respect, that keeping a journal would help.
...I've bought too many notebooks, scribbled and filled a few pages, with good intention, and then abandoned them like the kid with the Velveteen Rabbit. They're around here somewhere.
...it's hard to doodle on a keyboard, and if I have a pencil I'm probably drawing cartoons.
...medically, it would be good documentation.
...I want something to leave behind.
...I feel a bit of an obligation to open up and give out what's inside me - the light and dark parts.
...my ego needs feedback and encouragement
...I need to speak frankly about my life's struggles and joys.
...I have something to say.
So, if you are coming along for the ride, be forewarned: it may get rough, but you might find you like it that way.
...for years I've been told, by people I respect, that keeping a journal would help.
...I've bought too many notebooks, scribbled and filled a few pages, with good intention, and then abandoned them like the kid with the Velveteen Rabbit. They're around here somewhere.
...it's hard to doodle on a keyboard, and if I have a pencil I'm probably drawing cartoons.
...medically, it would be good documentation.
...I want something to leave behind.
...I feel a bit of an obligation to open up and give out what's inside me - the light and dark parts.
...my ego needs feedback and encouragement
...I need to speak frankly about my life's struggles and joys.
...I have something to say.
So, if you are coming along for the ride, be forewarned: it may get rough, but you might find you like it that way.
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