When it rains…

Just a short post tonight, as I’m currently working on a borrowed computer and I don’t know when my brother will want it back for his pressing vital purposes. Vivid.com can’t visit itself, you know. So, here’s what’s happening…

Re: my eye…I survived my three hour odyssey at the specialist’s office last week, and without any Valium, even though at one point there was a Q-tip in my eye. Yeah, my eye was numb, but goddammit I knew it was there. I’ve been back on steroid eye drops every waking hour since. I go back on Thursday morning first the first of a series of steroid injections. Said injections to be administered into my eyelid. There will be drugs.

This doc also ordered some blood tests to rule out some known causes of this type of eye disease: sarcoidosis, some rare genetic thing, TB, and syphilis. Fantastic. I haven’t had sex since the Clinton administration, and there I was today at the local lab getting tested for an STI. Of course, if I’ve had the syph–for a decade–that might go a long way toward explaining my particular brand of nuttiness.

So today I had to go out (in the cold, shitty rain), wait in line for the pleasure of having a big needle jabbed into my arm (twice, because once would have been too easy), then go drop off my beloved laptop, Ms. Thang, for a return visit with the Nerd Herders. She needs a little professional attention, since she yesterday took on all the useful characteristics of a small, but colorful, boat anchor. Looks like there’s some major surgery in Ms. Thang’s future, and the cost of a new hard drive in mine.

Oh, and the joy of reconstructing all my files from a month-old backup, the excitement of going to get a TB skin test, and the giddy antici…pation of HAVING A NEEDLE STUCK INTO MY FUCKING EYE. And I just remembered that I get to babysit tomorrow for two very sweet, but extremely annoying kids. So, to summarize and in closing, GAH…


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Up-dating (it’s the only kind of dating I ever get to do)…

So I’m still seriously freaked out about tomorrow, but I think my vision is a little better than it was yesterday. Also, I got in touch with my family doctor just before his office closed on Friday and he called in a prescription for a couple of Valium to get me through the day. I love him.

Also, I discovered that a large part of my super-toxic mood on Friday was likely the result of the early arrival of my period. Thanks, hormones…that’s just what I needed! Where the hell is that early menopause I ordered?

I see little Tommy Terrific’s team won today, in spite of him. Dandy. Still the most occupationally fortunate man since Ringo Starr. I can hardly wait for the next two weeks of Hoodie Hype.

I’m having a little love affair with this guy. Don’t tell the twins–they’re jealous little beasts.

A little required reading…

Aaaaand the New York Giants are going to the Super Bowl! If I had told you that two months ago you’d have had me fitted for hard restraints. The best thing about it is that Manning haters across the nation have begun planning their ritual suicides.

Time for all good little crippled girls to sign off and take some Tylenol P.M. Assuming I survive tomorrow’s gauntlet, I’ll be updating again. After I allow myself a little Sephora splurge. I’m thinking this in Pomegranate. Or Peony?

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I’m a mess. I am the kind of nervous/apprehensive/distracted/under-performing mess that many psychiatric drugs have gone down my gullet specifically to prevent. All the pharmacological assistance in the world isn’t helping with this problem, though.

So, I went back to my ophthalmologist yesterday, thinking that I was having yet another recurrence of iritis in my right eye. I convinced myself of this despite the fact that none of the symptoms were the same, but it was the same eye so it must be the same thing, right, and so I’ll wait a week before going to the doctor, and she’ll just click her tongue and hand me eye drops and everythingwillbefine…but I have to go see this guy on Monday morning for what I’m told will be a one to three hour appointment. As is common, I have issues…

  1. I can barely make it through a regular eye exam without freaking-the-fuck out. I was fantasizing about punching my doctor yesterday, and that was just for holding my eyelid open and shining her brightest light in it (I think I may have seen God, though. He said hi, and bet on the Patriots). Click around on that specialist’s website. They throw around words like angiography in relation to eyes, for shit’s sake! There is no way I’m going to live through this.
  2. Since everything below my neck is some form of fubar and/or lost to me, I tend to be over-protective of what is left intact (i.e., my head). So, giving me three whole days to think about the prospect of permanently losing some of the vision in my eye is not. cool. Also not cool–Googling various diseases and conditions you might possibly conceivably have in a worst-case scenario. Wondering if waiting that few days to go to the doc will make a difference. Thinking maybe it’s a sign of some hidden chronic or auto-immune disease I don’t even know I have yet. Pointing out that it’s damned hard to drive a power wheelchair in a crowd without peripheral vision on one side.
  3. These are the things I do to distract myself: read, watch tv, internet, eat. Currently: foggy and floater-filled vision in one eye makes it hard to focus on pages/computer screen, television overrun by strike-induced storm of unwatchable crap, appetite in fine shape. Did you know Sam’s Club makes delicious cookies in their bakery, and they come assorted in big packages? Also, they’re excellent for breakfast.
  4. I am, as always, not allowed to cry, because it upsets my family. My default reaction to frustration, anger, and fear is tears. Therefore, I am carrying enough pressure inside my head that it is possible I might geyser steam if stuck with a tack.
  5. The thing that pisses me off the most about myself is the tendency I have to let things go, to float through life on a cloud of unfinished should do’s, until something goes awry and bites me in the ass.  Then I hate myself for a while and bust ass to make sure everything on my To Do list is done before I fall asleep at night.  Times passes, and rinse, repeat.  And so, here I am again.
  6. My appointment on Monday is at 9:45.  Yes, A.M.  The doctor’s office is a half-hour drive from my house.  It takes me two hours to get my crippled ass ready to go.  My natural sleep pattern is from 1:00 to 10:00 a.m., and the Packers/Giants game kicks off sometime after 6:30 Sunday night.  That’s some scary math.

On the bright side, I have the douchebag/pretty boy QB battle to look forward to on Sunday afternoon.

Jesus.  I may be crazier than Britney by Monday afternoon…

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Obviously, I’m not doing so well with the writing. Actually, I’m not making much of a dent in anything, other than my mattress. It’s not me, I swear–it’s what’s bugging me.

I have yet another UTI featuring the bacterial equivalent of John Travolta’s career–no matter how much ridiculous shit hits it, it just won’t die. In the last two months I’ve been on five different antibiotics: septra, cipro (twice), levoquin (ten days), 2 1/2 days of macrobid (made me sicker than Battlefield Earth), and now a week of doxycyclene. I can’t say for sure that it’s working, but I do know that it has been two whole days since I last pissed on myself, and that’s progress. In the meantime, all that medication has left me with all the energy, drive, and charm of Perfect. I’m a real peach.

Adding to my pleasure, my laptop has also decided to bug out. I’ve seen more error messages and blue screens in the past two weeks than I ever feared existed. I’ve done every repair I can myself, up to and including reformatting the hard drive and rebuilding the whole damned thing from scratch, and I’m back to weird-ass errors and bad clusters. So tomorrow it’s off to visit the Nerd Herd for some professional therapy–assuming I can let go of it without the assistance of hostage negotiators. Stay tuned…

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Christmas at Kel’s…

Only with more profanity. And less jelly.

Whatever you celebrate, however you celebrate it–here’s hoping it’s happy! Love one another. Imagine peace.

Pass the Tylenol.

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And just where in the hell have you been?

I kid, of course. “You” have been busy, I imagine, getting along just fine in my absence. In contrast, my life since my last (shallow and girly) post on Halloween has been an epic tale of illness, anxiety, work, depression, triumph, and sloth.

Okay, maybe not “epic” in the traditional sense. Or any other sense, really. But my family and I have been dealing with some serious shit, and I’ve been way too discombobulated to organize my thoughts into intelligent coherent um, words and stuff. It seems that life is returning to my twisted version of normalcy, though, so I’m giving this blogging thing another go.

Let’s get started with some quick updates:

My hair panic from my last post…my stylist ended up having an emergency C-section, followed by an infection of her incision and emergency surgery on the baby. They are all fine now, thank goodness, but obviously she couldn’t help me. One hour before going out that Saturday night, I snapped, and in my desperation I turned to <gulp> my mother. She cut it, and…it really looks cute. It’s a little too conventional for me–very minivan-with-a-Romney-sticker mom in the ‘burbs bob–but it’ll work until I can get some razor-layering done to funk it up…

My high school reunion…surprisingly fun. Most of my teenage BFF’s were there and we commandeered the back table (closest to the dessert table and bar, farthest from the dance floor and the display of photos from our production of “Horton Hatches the Egg”). Plenty of material from the evening to make for a post on its own, including my receiving a Major Award (Boy, do I wish it was a leg lamp). Stay tuned…

On my ongoing search for employment…I’ve been working for free for our family business for six months, with the understanding that I’d be getting paid starting in January. Slight change of plans: rather than growing and diversifying the company, my brother is selling it and Dad is retiring. So I’ve put away the promotional materials and have set about all the busywork of closing a business. Dad’s happy, brother’s happy, and I’m…still on the dole. And for my new (unpaid) life’s work, I get to teach my mother how to live on a budget.

Which might be my biggest challenge since I had to re-learn how to put on my makeup–and may involve just as much eye gouging…

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I am struggling with a serious dilemma. No, it’s not “serious” in the sense that any lives or anyone’s livelihood are in any danger or that any attention needs to be paid by anyone outside of–well, me. But dammit, it is deadly fucking serious to me in the way that ridiculous, trivial, superficial shit can truly strike fear into the soul of a woman. It concerns…my hair.

Until early this year, my hairstyle was best described by the words ‘short’ and ‘spiky.’ It was cut with a razor and clippers. I kept it that way mainly for practical purposes; since my mother has to wash and style my hair, I figured to keep it as simple as possible for her. She gave me her blessing, though, and so I started growing it out. Ten months later I have reached my goal–my formerly forehead-grazing bangs now get stuck in my lip gloss and the 2″ long layer at the crown has at least tripled in length. At this point, I tend to look like the crazy bag lady downtown who used to offer to sell me her empty coffee cup every morning. (And as a not insignificant aside, my eyebrows are taking on a Bert-like quality as they slowly meet in the middle). I need my stylist.

My stylist–and good friend–who comes to my house on her day off from the salon to cut my hair and wax what is becoming more and more of my face as odd little black bristles sprout in odd spots (aging is GREAT, yeah?), has been waiting patiently for me to call her when I was ready. She has also been waiting out her pregnancy, which is supposed to end sometime today with the birth of little Jackson. Good for her…bad for my head. My timing, as usual, is impeccable: I asked her last Wednesday if she was still working. Last Monday was her last day.

And so, my dilemma. Do I wait for her to go back to work, or do I trust a stranger with my ‘do? In my normal homebody/shut-in/Unibomber existence I wouldn’t feel any urgency to get it done, but I’m facing down an event that is even more frightening than the prospect of strange scissors giving me a new hair style: high. School. Reunion.

I am a strong person. Seeing people I haven’t seen in 20+ years I can handle. Seeing those same people reacting in shock to the sight of crippled me and my overfed ass stuck in my wheelchair I can tackle. Taking my brother as my date to this thing I can tolerate. But as God is my witness, I will not travel crosstown to that judgment fest with bad, shaggy hair. I have my limits.

There may be ’80’s nostalgia aplenty at this shindig, but there’s no way in hell I’m attending with Brooke Shields’ eyebrows…

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