Friday, April 06, 2007

Don't doubt the power of words.

Last night, I felt blue for no reason - well, maybe there is a reason. I am all alone, when it comes to people, until Sunday night. But I've dogsat for longer, and everyone's a cell phone call away. My Lyrica dosage has been increased by 25%, from 75mgs three times a day to 100. Yesterday was the first day of 300mgs, so I looked up Lyrica to see if it had any mood or mental side effects. It didn't have depression, but it did have mood change, and I feel better after sleeping.

I actually cried more because of my allergies while eating popcorn and throwing it at pooches than when I felt sad. They are staying shitty, and I know why. I'm allergic to dogs, but I'm not allergic to my own, you know? If I get a scratch or a bite from them, it swells up and I need an antihistamine in me as soon as possible, but Dixie can clean my face, Mikey can lick my toe, and Wickett can snorgle in my boobs and I'm fine. A different dog... achoo, achoo, itch itch.

Doesn't stop me from begging for a new one every time...

And don't get me started on cats...

And the biggest spring allergy is to the cotton plant. Almost everyone who is not a native to the area gets 'cottonfever' two times a year - now, and in the fall. It looks like snow on the roads. Mom and Becky are in Texas and mom claims they saw snow in Oklahoma last night. Yeah, right. I didn't, so it doesn't exist.

They're on their way to New Mexico, and it was 80 degrees in "I'll be quirky" and another screen showed thunderstorms.

Meanwhile, in the humid, muggy south it is 40 degrees and won't get above 60.

It was that thunderstorm. Tuesday, I was out in a camisole tank and short shorts (in the backyard, are you crazy?) and was just fine.

Then I made the blunder of putting on pants and a tee to ride my bike... the wind was a bitch, and it was still hot and all those stupid semi-trucks create a wind of their own and don't know it.

But I do, you feel it when you're walking or riding your bike along the highway. Sometimes when walking back, I walk with the natural and traffic-created wind and I'm shoved along, and if a dog is attached to me, he better move his wittle feet 'cuz he ain't getting a ride.

Mikey's wang is still bugging him, and the vet okayed one 25mg benadryl for the twit if it bothers him. How can I tell it bothers him?

Last night, the front door was locked, the curtains were shut, it was dark, no one was out. Mikey hopped off the couch, away from the front door and window and cried.

Oh my god, they went nuts! Dixie lept onto the couch, "Where? What?" while Wickett sounded the alarm - something that can be heard a block away.

Nothing, nothing, nothing was out there!

I opened the front door (locked glass 'screen' door - it has a screen, like we'll ever use it) and let them look. Dixie wagged her tail and talked to the door like it was one of Becky's friends, but there wasn't even a cat!

All because dumdum's wang hurted him.

So they all got some white bread... Dixie and Wickett followed me into the kitchen, gimme gimme gimme or I will take it. Mikey didn't, so I took him a balled up piece with the capsule in it and another one to munch, er inhale.

He didn't wake me up at all during the 5 hours I slept - and white bread got them out the door. Of course, as soon as he moved, *whine*. So he got another benadryl. They gave us like 2 pain tablets that could be cut in half after his snip-snip, only 4 doses, while Wickett had a quarter tab left over, that's how fast he healed.

Mikey likes to play the victim.

After his bout with Parvo (he won, we lost a lot of money), he had to eat special soft food from the vet. that had to be mixed up with a fork, in a human bowl, for him alone.

For a while after that, he expected anything mixed with a fork in a human bowl to be for him. "You want my tuna? I thought you were a dog, not a cat. No, you're not getting any!"

Luckily for him, Mom and Beck are soft touches. Leftover scrambled eggs - Mikey. Rice - Mikey, and he gets it cleaner than our old crappy dishwasher. The rice actually worked for his liquid medicine - as long as it got in them, they didn't care what food it was put on.

Now he, has to have his own bowl of dog food - a people bowl, of course. It's the same food from the dish, but it's in his own bowl. Same with water in the evening. There is a genuine reason - weenie's usual eating routine involves exercise - he runs to the dish, back to the throw rug, eats, then runs back to the dish until he is done. Well, he can't do that if his wang hurts, "bottle-feed him, Kaitlyn."

Back to my original point, words help me. Sometimes it's talking, but it's usually typing - so I can reread it.

Last night, when I felt blue, I sent a long, long e-mail to my friend in the UK (she made the trampoline video) just rambling and telling her I felt bad. At the end, I felt better. Just like this time.

I haven't even heard back, but I still feel better.

How did I meet my British friend? IMDb's soapbox and later a private message board. I still keep up with a few people from the private board (almost all came from IMDb) and yes, they are friends, as good a friend as any teenage twit who walks through the door.

If I communicate best through the typed word, doesn't it make sense I'd make friends with people who do the same? It's just talking and talking, which is most of what I do with my friends anyway. And it was usually silly talking, and the true ones always let me scream into their inboxes about whatever. I also help them, because I'm 18, and they're seeing what they went through 100 years ago or so and they can offer support and I can remind them that no, it wasn't the bestest time of your life. I also amuse everyone with my youthfulness and naiveté - just like at the Crisis Center.

Some people played games with other poster's emotions, because online relationships aren't real to them. I mean friendships, nothing more. But I still say love ya to them, because I do.

What is wrong with that?

I am getting more comfortable around people, but being stuck at home so much, I've always turned to online communities for social interaction. And it works well.

If there's a fight, I can unplug at look at puppy pictures or read or go outside.

And words there can hurt, anyone who denies it, well, I feel sorry for them, because if you're not hurt by words from a friend, how can you be uplifted by encouragement or sympathy from the same? I've deleted myself a couple times over words - generally words like, "Shut up. Appreciate your dad. We don't want to hear your problems. SHUT UP. You are so whiney. And addicted to pain pills and not 18 and a liar and your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"

That sort of thing.

Sometimes I'd come back, but the last time, I still haven't.

I think it stems from something I did, but I can't be sure. As I got sucked into feminist blogs, the board mattered less and less. I made a post one day saying that I was worried about my sister, her emotions always go haywire around her period and it worries me in a lot more words.

But the fact that I said she gets emotional around her period pissed off one guy, so much, he didn't stop bringing it up, and was still doing so when I deleted myself (a lot of my female friends had just done the same). He was posting half-naked pictures of women in his avatar, and said, "She can talk about periods, but this is wrong?"

One of the last posts I did was about boobs - real ones, how they really feel, the bras, all that.

Oh, and since I was accused of smearing Becky's used pads all over the board, I used every opportunity to shout, "PERIODS! WOMEN HAVE PERIODS ABOUT ONCE A MONTH! BLOOD COMES OUT OF THEIR VAGINAS!" I didn't make it my sig, but I should have.

I was also told by one man, a number of times, to shut up about my health, I'm young, I have no right to complain. The irony? Most of his posts were complaints. Not about his health, but about the fact that he lived where he lived when he wanted to live somewhere else, and so on. He also said it when I said anything about my dad, along with other people. One guy said, "I didn't know my dad, you should be happy you knew yours." No, I've spoken with my half-brother. He's doing quite fine without knowing more about his dad than his name.

But I had plenty of defenders - they thought I wrote well, I made them laugh, and I was the daughter they never had, but were quite glad to leave the mothering duties to my mom.

There was a division in the board about me ranting about my health - she needs an outlet, she's not hurting anyone, you don't have to read it. Or, she's only 18, what does she know of pain, she should shut the fuck up, we don't want a whiner.

The second group (very small) got to me more than the first, another example of the power of words.


I've run out of things to say. Now I have to look at the comic Pluggers. And make sure the twits aren't frozen to the ground.

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