[.l.o.s.t././.i.n././.t.r.a.n.s.l.a.t.i.o.n.]

Since I’m terribly bad at updating here – and elsewhere, for that matter, I’m giving those of you who care yet another way to peek into some of the corners of my dark life. Hopefully, I’ll get back into the regular routine of updating Plurk on a semi-daily basis. However, given the enormous tidal wave of . . . stuff . . . that’s hit my life of late even that may turn out to be a feat in and of itself. Things have been so chaotic and topsy-turvey that even my much beloved Bipolar World Cafe has gone by the wayside where my regular participation is concerned. Some things occupying my time are good, whereas others I’d ask that this cup be taken from my lips, to get Biblical for a minute. Anyhow, below is a mini-timeline of my Plurk posts. Enjoy!

A friend of mine, Rob, pointed out in a recent e-mail that I actually hadn’t updated this thing with any real news in some time. So, here I shall make an attempt to do so, although with everything that’s happened in the last few months it’s not going to be an easy undertaking.

Business is dead slow right now, so I’m looking for another full-time gig. Right now, I kind of don’t care what I end up with as a full-time gig as long as it’s not boring because I’m heading back to school this fall at least part-time (if I can’t find a way to finance a full-time run of it). I still plan on keeping the business going while in school, though. And maybe that’s crazy, but I am a master at insane undertakings.

Halloween made five years sober. Yay. I made it into 2009 not in the hospital – which I wasn’t sure if I would be or not because I was fighting off a pretty nasty MRSA infection. In other medical news, I was diagnosed with RA after months of testing and re-testing and wondering what was going on with me. It’s painful, yes, when it flares. I’m trying to find a manner of pain management for the flare-ups that isn’t as crazy as what was first tried: methadone. I withdrew from that just before the MRSA attack – and probably picked up the MRSA in the hospital, as irony would have it.

I’m taking care of a friend of mine who is terminally ill with bullous pemphigoid, which is a rare disease. Very rare. She was taken to the Mayo Clinic when she was first diagnosed so that they could study her. Anyhow, that aside, I’m taking care of her because there’s nobody else to do it. Some days are good, some are bad. But that’s the way these things go. 

I got into a huge fight with Kevin. Meh. I’d explain part of it but right now if I did, I think my head would explode from frustration over the situation. Speaking of frustration, I’m still trying to help Leon out, but that’s not going so well. I hope that changes soon enough, though.

We’re moving soon and looking for a new place. Suggestions are welcome, although I think we’ve already settled on a place. We haven’t filled out the apartment applications or anything yet, so it’s not set in stone. If we go with the place I’m thinking we’ll go with, then we won’t need to get the gym memberships that we were thinking about because this place has a GREAT in-house gym, a sauna, a theraputic hot tub, tanning beds, a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE pool (part of which is heated!! T3h y4y!!), and more.

Life’s pretty quiet. All’s well between Steve and I. B’s moving to St. Louis (that’s the sad part) to get married (that’s the good part). I’ll miss him. He’s become more like a brother and less like a roommate.

I’d written a rant a few weeks ago which I still have saved in my "Drafts" folder, but somehow it seems irrelevant now. Meh.

From a CNN Health article I just read:

"And what are those beneficial things? Klein notes that in the Prostate Cancer Prevention Trial, the drug finasteride reduced a man’s chances of developing prostate cancer by 25 percent.

The drug tested in that trial is the same medication in the anti-baldness drug Propecia, but at a higher dose. Klein suggests that men concerned about their prostate cancer risk talk to their doctor about taking finasteride."

For some reason I find it funny that a drug designed to fight hair loss possibly fights prostate cancer. Then again, I’m in a strange mood.

(ephemeral)

The equation in the subject line explains pretty much it all, though my dissappointment probably doesn’t come through quite so well. Oh, well. I was looking for a good romp in the sack with my hubby tonight, post the Trinala show on SL, but as he’s currently puking from King Bacardi Select, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Oh, well. God knows I’ve got cigarettes, right? And I can stay up trying to figure out why the code on the Bipolar forum broke when we tried to reapply the chat room module to it. So I guess I have distraction . . . and distraction is always good when you were expecting sex and then find out you’re not going to get it.

About the stitches . . . Last night I tried not to use the running boards on my Explorer to get into it. Bad idea. I ended up hurting the soft tissue on my left ass cheek and on my left deltoid on down a bit and cutting open a half inch deep by half inch wide gap into my knee. Now, I could’ve gone to the hospital and had them stitch it up, but I’m a certified First Responder, which means I know how to at least stitch people up. So I did it myself at home, after we went out for dinner at China Cafe. I didn’t yelp or scream like I thought I might. I whimpered on the first one, but after that I was conversationally keeping my former Army Medic husband informed of my progress in a casual tone. When I was done he said I’d done a great job and that I was truly hardcore.

Right now I don’t feel so damn hardcore. He’s puking and since the toilet backed up – AGAIN - while he was puking, guess who got to clean up the mess? And he’s still puking. He said he’d let me know when he’s done so I can go back to plunging the night away.

And then I think I’ll just stay up and code away my dissappointment and frustration. Why not? I’ve got enough cigarettes to hold me until morning when I can go get more. So . . .

I hear snoring coming from the bathroom. So, he’s definitely done puking and while I’ve tried to get him to drink water, he wouldn’t listen to me on that. So he’ll have a head splitting headache in the morning. And if I leave him in the bathroom, asleep atop the toilet . . . Nah, I can’t do that. I’d better wake his ass up and get him to bed. Even if I can’t sleep, why should I keep him out of bed and let him sleep on top of the porcelain king until he wakes up for himself and stumbles into bed, where I won’t be.

And we were talking about having such fun, too. I really can’t express my dissappointment in all this.

You know, and after something that was said by him about another SL user and how good she gave blow jobs, I feel really low on the totem poll. I’m wondering what my incentive is. For anything.  

(ephemeral) 

My last appointment that I got weighed at was Monday, March seventeenth. I just checked my calendar to make sure of the date. I got weighed yesterday and since that date I’ve lost almost thirty pounds. I’ve been dropping through sizes so fast it’s crazy. And I’m sober, so I know it’s not because of anything crazy messing with my neurochemistry and metabolism. The seventeenth is when they gave me Depo, and while most people gain weight on it, there’s a small population that loses weight on it – apparently I’m in that population.

I don’t think it’s thyroid storm because I’d be sick and that’s nasty, although I’m still – duh – on thyroid medication and taking it daily. But even with it, exercise, and watching what I eat like a hawk during the past three years that I’ve been on thyroid replacement therapy I haven’t lost any weight. If anything, I’ve fought to stay the same or gained weight. So . . .

Really, I’m not complaining about the weight loss. It’s nice to be able to wear clothes I haven’t been able to touch since, oh, three years ago or so. It’s nice to be looking better physically. And if I exercised more, I’d probably be even that much better off for it. I just haven’t had the time.

(ephemeral) 

dis·hon·est

1. not honest; disposed to lie, cheat, or steal; not worthy of trust or belief
2. proceeding from or exhibiting lack of honesty; fraudulent
3. deceptive or fraudulent; disposed to cheat or defraud or deceive
4. characterized by lack of truth, honesty, or trustworthiness : unfair, deceptive

Don’t fuck with me or lie to my face, especially when: a) I’ve got proof from other sources – hard proof – that shows that you’re lying and b) I’ve got a witness that can prove that you’re either just a sadist and like to make people’s lives as miserable as possible or that you’re just incapable of telling the truth . . . or, in this case, probably both.

When you screw with me like this, to where not only my life is affected but the lives of others . . . to the point where you’re damaging my ability to work; to perform even the most minimal of tasks around  the house because I might succumb to narcolepsy while, oh, cooking, and burn down the house; to the point where I’m afraid to drive unless absolutely necessary because I feel like I might pose a threat to others should – God forbid! – anything happen; to the point where I’ve scared the holy living fuck out of my husband a few times because of this . . . and it’s because of your negligence, dishonesty, and irresponsibility, you’d better be ready for what comes next.

To qoute Eminem:

"No more games, I’m a change what you call rage. Tear this mothafuckin’ roof off like two dogs caged. I was playin’ in the beginning, the mood all changed. I been chewed up and spit out and booed off stage. But I kept rhymin’ and stepwritin’ the next cypher. Best believe somebody’s payin’ the pied piper. All the pain inside amplified by the fact that I can’t get by with my nine to five and I can’t provide the right type of life for my family . . .  This is my life."

Don’t. Fuck. With. Me.

(ephemeral) 

So . . . spinal taps aren’t fun.

I’ve been through one before. The techniques have improved, though, as I got to witness today, while watching my baby going through one while I held his hand. That sucked. Let me tell you. I hate watching people go through pain that I can’t take away, but I’m not God or any other diety . . . at least last time I checked or. if I am, I haven’t been notified, so I’ll take it that, nope, I’m not anything of the sort. Nor would I want to be. It’s too much responsibility.

But I digress.

 
I watched my baby go through a spinal tap. And it sucked. They found a high level of protiens in his cerebrospinal fluid. Not good. Now he’s got to see a neurologist in the next few days to determine what this could mean, but none of it sounds really good right off the bat, at least with the reasearch that we’ve been able to do on our own thus far.

I’m praying for rain. I’m praying for tidal waves.

(ephemeral)
 

 I just need eveything to stop for just one moment.

 And then in that moment I need some serenity.

(ephemeral) 

All day
Staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night
Hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Hold on
I’m feeling like I’m headed for a
Breakdown
I don’t know why
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Me
Talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
I know
I know they’ve all been talking ‘bout me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong
With me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow
I’ve lost my mind
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I been talking in my sleep
Pretty soon they’ll come to get me
Yeah, they’re taking me away
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Hey, how I used to be
How I used to be, yeah
Well I’m just a little unwell
How I used to be
How I used to be

Matchbox 20 – Unwell

(ephemeral) 

I took a look at my baby’s throat late last night and it seems that his tonsils are all red, swollen, and pussy on top. I’m no doctor, but that to me looks like a definite sign of infection! He’s all feeling icky and bad and has been for the last few days, but it’s just been getting worse and worse when I thought that it should be getting at least a little better. He can barely swallow anything or talk and his throat hurts when he has to do either.

Personally, I don’t know if it’s tonsillitis, but he seems to think so . . . and I wouldn’t necessarily disagree, either, the way things look. If this hasn’t gotten any better by tomorrow night, then guess where he’s going? 

 ’H’ is for hospital.

(ephemeral) 

[23:33] ephemeral_ether: so, two klowns are about a barback
[23:33] ephemeral_ether: lol
[23:34] ephemeral_ether: two klowns serve drinks REAL well, you could say
[23:34] ephemeral_ether: with four klowns you WON’T remember what you’re serving.
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: which is why i couldn’t believe my shrink recommended i talk to four klowns a day, haha
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: funny stuff
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: but i never do
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: laughter is the best medicine

(ephemeral) 

Well, I get to have an MRI done today. Specifically, I’m having what’s referred to as a contrast MRI, which according to my roommate, Jesse (who’s an anesthesia tech at one of our local hospitals), it burns when they do it. Uhhhhh, that sounds GREAT!! Yeah, so I’m just jumping for joy at the prospect . . . rather, the inevitable. shudder

So, why the MRI, you ask? Ooooh, now that gets fun! See, for the last, oh, two years, give or take, I’ve had these strange symptoms that don’t really point to one particular thing, but to a thyroid issue, an endocrine issue, a rheumatoid issue, and a metabolic issue wrapped all into one. So a few weeks ago I decide to apply for Medicaid – because I had to get denied for it (or, really, wanted to because I didn’t want to lose my MHMR benefits . . . which I don’t lose them anyway, despite getting approved for Medicaid!!). And, like I said, I didn’t get denied. But what this meant is that I suddenly – for the first time in what seems like an eternity – have medical benefits!!

So I decided, when I got these illustrious benefits, to make an appointment with a thyroid specialist since my thyroid seemed to be the primary concern and most likely cause of all the other issues. With the aide of my wonderful roommate, Jesse, I found a wonderful, very cool specialist who saw me straight away. He, upon reviewing my previous medical records and spending extensive time interviewing me, decided that an MRI was needed because he thinks the ultimate culprit is . . . drum roll, please . . . my Pituitary Gland!

Now this means that later this morning I get to be put in a big, metal donut and try not to freak out while they take a picture of my brain.

Supposedly, they’re going to sedate me, but we’ll see about that.

(ephemeral)