Letter to My Representative

I just wrote this:

I am a member of your constituency, and I just want you to know that I do not support the repeal of the health care bill. I'm 22, and I have an ongoing illness. Even if it cleared up before I turn 23 in August when I'll be dropped from my dad's insurance (Tricare), I will have to take medicine for the rest of my life. Being covered by my mom's insurance (Cigna) until I'm 26 will make my life much easier. The Affordable Care Act doesn't go as far as I'd like, but it will make my life easier and much better than it would have been before it was passed. Even though this repeal vote is symbolic, it still frightens me. I need this and I'm not the only one in your district who does.

I'll post the reply, even if it's just a form letter.

My representative is a Republican who is a fiscal conservative and supports limited government. He's also a social conservative, but my main concern is the fiscal part. I didn't check what party he belongs to before I wrote the letter, but now I'm 99% sure I'll get a form letter about how "Obamacare" will bankrupt us, even though it won't, and blah blah blah bullshit bullshit.

If he represents the area I think he does, his "limited government" stance cracks me up, though I'm not completely comfortable revealing why. Let's just say it's very hypocritical and a sign that people don't pay attention to their representative's stance beyond party. Also, he may be a Tea Partier, but I don't think he is, or at least he didn't say or do anything to get us on the national news, so that's a plus.

One last thing about this whole thing - my dad says "No soldier wants their kid insured until 26," which is completely false, Tricare was exempt because of a budget misunderstanding and changing it to cover dependents until they're 26 is tied up with defense stuff, and it looks like it didn't make it. Bleh. Anyway, my dad. Some people would make exemptions for their family, like somebody anti-abortion, except for them! At least my dad is consistent, he doesn't think I should be on Tricare past this August and kept asking me if they'd dropped me because I wasn't in school full time this fall. So loving!

I don't want to go on Cigna, the copays are double for appointments. At least I'll keep my doctors. And I won't need referrals! Those are a pain. I've been seeing one doctor since November 2001, but still need a referral. And since I only see him twice a year or so, I have to get one before each appointment. At least I don't need to see my PCM, I can just call them. But Cigna is better than nothing!

Pajama Jeans and ableism

So I was wasting time, I mean, visiting other websites so I could learn more about the world. Wasting time.

One site I check out daily or so is Odee.com. It's like Cracked, only there's less funny commentary - most of the things presented in the lists are done without comment, or just a basic description. Like today's is a compilation of photobombs, and there is no writing, just the pictures and links to the sources.

Yesterday was "12 Strangest Jeans" and one of them really caught my attention and made me go, I want that!

Number 11 is "The Pajama Jeans" and the write-up isn't very mean or anything -

Hate having to change out of your SpongeBob pajamas when all you want to do is eat at the hotel's breakfast buffet before heading back to your bunk?

Of course, as a college student, I see nothing wrong with wearing said SpongeBob pants out and about. However, I am quite dignified and only wear my pj pants on Saturdays, my laundry day. I figure if they get dirty, no big deal. I thought it was funny last Saturday, as I walked towards and then with a big tour group - "Look, it's a college student in pajamas! Just like on the teevee!"

Right now I rotate weekly between a blue plaid pair with my name on the leg and a just a pair of black loose drawstring pants. My awesome neon green plaid pants (with a pocket!) had some holes in bad places, and I was mature enough to throw them out. (I did wear those to class maybe last spring or the fall before - I'd slept through my first class and it was 15 minutes or so into my French class. I threw my old ratty jacket on over my PJs and went to class. I wear a bra to bed, but it's looser than the ones I wear with clothes.)

Here is the infomercial:



I want these pants. I have 4 pairs of jeans - expensive, good quality, but I haven't worn them in at least a year due to pain. Yes, I'm fat and my weight has gone up, but even if I went out and bought jeans that fit (which is what I did with these 4), they'd still hurt because of the waistband. And if they didn't hurt, I'd be holding on to them because I didn't consult my male cousin on how to dress in jeans that are too big for your body.

I do not understand the hatred for sweatpants or yoga pants. When I think of sweat pants, I think of the sweat suits we wore in Iceland - cuffed at the leg and wrist, and purple (for me, I think) or pink.

I do not think of comfortable cloth pants that have a little flare at the end, like itsy bitsy bell bottoms.

I do not get the hatred for pants like that. If it's not khaki, denim, or part of a suit, it's either "yoga pants," "sweats," or "pajamas" and they are just icky. For the record, none of my pants have "juicy" across the butt.

Those kind of pants are very comfortable for me, due to my abdominal and pelvic pain. I imagine they're comfortable for other people with physical disabilities, any that would make buttoning/zipping a hassle, and people who have enough trouble getting dressed (for whatever reason) and want as few steps as possible.

So I want these pants. I don't have enough comfy pants, and I do miss wearing jeans and look! pockets! It's more variety in my wardrobe!

And not that's it anyone's business, but, despite the name, they would not be pajama pants. They're too fancy! When I don't have school, I try to get dressed. And it's important to have a division between pajamas and "dressed" clothes, especially since most of my pajamas are "dressed" clothes, just in different colors. (Bra*, panties, pants/shorts, t-shirt/tank top) It's an important thing, part of a ritual, and also important when depression has me in its grip. "Look, I got dressed! I did something!"

So I googled pajama pants, because the link was just a site saying "Hey, check these out!" The first link was to the official website, the second to the commercial, and the third, ooh, the title alone pissed me off, I just had to click on it. It said "What do 'pajama jeans' say about Americans?"

I knew the answer - we're fat and lazy - before even clicking. But I had to.

First of all, he says they seem like a "hoax" SNL commercial.

He then quotes another crueler blogger who says that the pants say, "I'm an idiot who can't deal with even the most mundane of day-to-day adult responsibility like a pair of jeans that are secretly pajamas."

And they're lumped in with the snuggie and footie pajamas (not for me, my feet always got too hot) as a sign of how lazy and indulgent we are, because we need even more things for lounging around the house in.

Plus, these are expensive, at $40 US. I say if they last and they're comfy, they're not too expensive.

I can't figure out where this guy is going - we're lazy and we're so lazy we're going to spend $40 on pajamas that look like jeans.

The ableism is there the whole time, and he does call the pants "crazy" (as opposed to expensive velour sweats) because they are pajamas.

But the final sentence pissed me off so much.

Exactly. If you can't get out of your pajamas to go out of the house, and have to buy pajamas that look like jeans, then don't leave the house.

Excuse me, I should not even leave the house? Well, fuck you very much Aaron Crowe.

Oh, no, I just had to keep looking. The comments at another site are disgusting - sizeist (only gross fatties wear sweats), classist (it will free up space in the trailer... WTF?), and just ugh.

The actual post is disgusting on its own, the comments just make it worse. (Though yay for the people saying, nope, I disagree those look comfy.) These pants make the author ANGRY and that you need to GROW UP because you are DOING SOMETHING WRONG if you even think of wanting these. (All caps his.)

The ableism and privilege on display at these two sites are disgusting.

And no one has told me why wearing sweats out and about is so disgusting. They cover everything (including my pale, hairy legs) and they're not going to attack you in your $100 designer jeans and make you look like me. People associate them with sleep (which is gross, I guess?) or exercise (so you sweat) and assume that if you wear them anywhere but bed or the gym, that you're too lazy to change. Because they know everything about you! Assumptions are fun, y'all!

And aren't skinny pants and leggings worse on a "bad pants" scale? Sweats are loose, but leggings can give you "moose knuckle" or "camel toe". Not that I care, no one's forcing me to wear them, and no is forcing you to wear sweats.

I wasn't paid by anybody to write this (one day... nah, never going to happen), but I seriously want a pair of these. XL, in case the pajama jeans people are reading.



*Anyone ever hear you can't wear a bra to bed or your boobs will stop growing? I wish. Something that isn't a myth but drives me up the wall is body hair and shaving. I don't shave my legs - it's too much hassle, hello I can't see! But there are parts on my calves where I did shave a few times, and you can tell the difference because the hair that grew back is indeed a different texture and a bit darker. Considering how pale my legs are, it really stands out. But I don't care. As for pits? I've been shaving them for years, and those hairs definitely come back jet black and hard.

Medication for Bipolar Disorder and TV Shows

Disclaimer - I am not saying people should be forced to take medication. I am talking about my experience with one drug and my objections to how my situation (and part of my life) is portrayed on TV.

I have bipolar disorder.

It's never been formally diagnosed, and I haven't taken an internet test to "prove" it. I just know. It's more than "just" depression.

I started a new medication about a month ago. My doctor said it was anti-seizure, and he wanted to see if it would work on my pain, since my pain is most likely nerve-related, and I'm pretty sure nerves have something to do with seizures. (But I'm not a doctor!)

I asked at FWD if anyone had any experience on it. (I know, I won't look up a new drug, but I'll ask people online. I don't understand it either. I'm weird.) One person said it had been prescribed for their moods, not pain, and it was working. *file info away for later*

It's done zilch for my pain. The last two weeks have been hell, as has the last month and the month before... the pain's getting worse.

BUT.

It has worked on my mood swings. I saw the prescribing doctor today and I was trying to describe the continued effects and one word I used was "stable" as in, I'm stable. He said that was key, that was very important. It makes me happy to see and feel the results of a medication, particularly a daily one. (I can tell when the benadryl workzzzzzzzz.)

I've been on anti-depressants for a few years, and Clonazepem, which is a something or other.

But this is the first time I've noticed a real change. Actually, I didn't notice until Mom pointed out that I had changed, and then I was like huh, so I have.

Before, it was like... possession. Now, when I get angry or sad, it's organic. (Weird way to put it, it's all in my head anyway.) In 2006, I had my first bout of suicidal ideation. The best term for the thoughts was "alien," even though I still don't fully understand what I meant or what those thoughts meant.

But with my mood swings, the "alien" idea made more sense. A better metaphor is a switch. A switch is flicked, I get so pissed off. Switched again, I don't want to do anything. Switched again, back to baseline. No control. Which got a bit annoying, because I'd be mad at somebody. They'd get mad at me for being mad at them for no reason. Then I'd get mad at them for being mad at me when I had no control over the original anger!

Now, the part about TV. People who have bipolar disorder on cop shows never want to take their medication because it puts them in a fog, or they can't feel anything. (Also, people with "TV schizophrenia" do this as well.)

I can't speak for anyone but myself, because nobody is alike, and no brain is either. You may react to this same drug in a horrible way, I don't know.

I just don't like the dominant storyline that medications for bipolar disorder are inherently bad. One blog post won't dispel the myth, but I really wanted to write this.

Another metaphor - I was the rope in a tug of war, being jerked from side to side. Or I was in my sister's car. Zing!

ETA: Another problem with the dominant cultural storyline is that it leads to fear of medication (again, not pushing it for everyone), fear of even trying it, and assumptions made about bipolar people who do choose medication. Perhaps if the narrative was more realistic, people would be less afraid to admit they have bipolar disorder. I mean, I'm taking a big risk by saying it here. Depression is gradually being accepted, I feel, though some people will say one day, "I understand" and the next tell you to just smile. Sigh.

A little pain anecdote

It's only painful for you because my writing is so bad.

So last week, I did a lot of work to make sure I'd be comfortable while watching Chandni Chowk to China. I know, all the work for an Akshay Kumar action movie that was panned? (Well, I enjoyed it.) I had to show gori Bollywood support.

The undoubtedly busy and overworked SAC (student activities council, I think) offered to bring in a different chair when the movie would be screened in a meeting room with uncomfortable looking chairs (it was locked, so all I saw were straight backed misery makers), and to take PICTURES of said chairs and e-mail them to me, to make sure they were okay. The movie was moved to a theater, but they still sent pictures.

The movie was at 7 and Tiger Patrol starts at 6pm. Tiger Patrol is for safety - they run from 6pm until 2am. I wish they were 24/7 or 24/5, but I'm sure it has to do with money. You can walk with someone (safety in numbers, I guess) or ride on a golf cart. The previous times I've used Tiger Patrol, I've always ridden in a cart. So I called them after 6, asking if I could be guaranteed a golf cart, because it hurt too much to walk.

"If it hurts, shouldn't you call an ambulance?"

Sigh.

"It's chronic, blah blah blah."

So I rode in a golf cart.


Also, always timely, I was thinking about those full body scanners at airports as part of security theater. They just see through your clothes, not through your body, and no one's stuffed stuff up orifices. Once the butt plug bomber tries (and fails), they'll add in full-on X-rays. Something embarrassing? It can't see through fat folds, so I could stick a plastic knife in my bra and it would be hidden under my boobs.

On a personal level, I don't care, I will fly naked, just let me read my book and listen to my music. I really love flying - it's so much fun once you're up there. (I want to visit a nudist colony or resort.)

On a more rational holy shit what is wrong with this country, I oppose them and will go through the longer metal detector line.

Why don't I give a damn?

Because when I was 15, I had a hideous skin infection on my butt. MY BUTT. And my dermatologist was an old man. And if I wore clothes below the waist, they were ruined. And there were some doubters (dad and/or his mom) who had to see. "Come see the living infection!" Too bad mom didn't charge them for a peek. I was also on heavy painkillers so I didn't care.

The first time I was on painkillers was post thyroid removal. So this was the first time I was on them for more than a week or so and I wasn't used to them like I am now, which involves changing meds and increasing dosages and worries about addiction until holy shit it hurts I am going to rip the lamp from the wall - I don't know why lately that has been my desire when the pain grabs my by the stomach and won't let go, I wrap my fingers around the edge. I mean, I get holding onto my head or rubbing my eyebrows so much they hurt later, well not really, but sometimes the pain makes me all Hulk-y.

Anyway, I'm pretty blase about people seeing my body. To my sister's chagrin. I have shorts that are just longer than underwear that I never wear anywhere and only wear when I'm hot (oh that narrows it down) but does she want me sitting around in just my panties? And why are panties so much more scandalous than a bathing suit bottom? Eh, I tried swimming in the hotel pool this summer and realized I couldn't because I still use my fingers to plug my nose and there's a piercing in the way. Oh well, less chances to turn into a lobster.

Sunburn! Tore my back up but good in June 04. The first real day of vay-cay, we're at the beach, settled into the condo, I'm playing and having so much fun until little Miss Kill Joy shrieks at me, "Kaitlyn you're so RED!" Suddenly, PAIN!!!! Salt water, sand help help help. So I spent most of the days with no top on and later with no bra on under a big loose shirt.

Just no shame, whatsoever.

Oh, after spring break, I talked to a girl whose hand was burnt, but only on the top and it stopped below her wrist in a sharp line. When I asked how that happened, she said she forgot to put sunscreen on it. Needless to say, I put sunscreen on, but never enough and never often enough so the first day of any swimming/outdoors summer thing ends with me burnt to a crisp. The next day, if it's not too bad, I can swim with a t-shirt on, like I did at camp. Ooh, sunburn while camping - fun. Actually, the sleeping bags made of nylon (smooth, like a windbreaker or something) rather than warm cloth ones actually felt nice. I remember lying with nothing on my back (in the tent of course!) with my back against the sleeping bag. It helped some, but waking up in a ball in the corner never did. (I'd fall asleep on the air mattress but rarely wake up there.)

Pain medication

3 Idiots was an almost perfect painkiller - except for some pain from the pants and upright position about halfway through, I was all wrapped up in the story and because it was at the theatre, unable to pause and move around, causing myself more pain.

(3 Idiots is really good - I laughed, I cried, I wrote a cliche.)

But the worst pain killer is my pain medication.

I requested a liver test this year (just another thing to test when the vampires take my blood) and everything was fine.

But.

I react to medications very quickly - within a week or so, what "should" take a month to work, has already worked and stopped working for me. So I build up a tolerance to pain medication quickly.

And run into so many headaches - why are you out of this a week before your appointment?

Because if I followed your directions, I'd be in the ER!

But that's "angry," don't "yell," or "I'm leaving." (Way to be supportive Mom - yes I over analyzed everything, I've been dealing with horrid pain for a week! Because I followed the directions.)

So the polite thing is to just grit my teeth and explain for what feels like the millionth time that "One pill does not last 6 hours."

And of course it's fucking invisible. When I had visible indicators of pain, no one quibbled.

The worst part is that over the last couple weeks, I have been denied the one "safe" place for the people with chronic pain - the bed. Laying down hurts. Taking a deep breath hurts.

I am so tired, and not just because it is 3 am. (Wasn't I going to watch a Punjabi movie a million years ago?)

School wrap-up and nonsense

Reading accounts at FWD makes me think about how lucky I have been when it comes to the intersection of school and health, especially this semester.

One *dropped* a paper, I didn't have to write a 12 page research paper that I'd been dreading all semester. She also extended the due dates for everything, but I banged out some kind of relevant nonsense a few days before and turned it in early. (And got a B+ which mean it counts as my honors credit for the semester and "junior honors experience" Whew.) She also took an hour out of her day to talk me through my confusion.

The professor with the least leeway just extended my due dates. Yup, the history professor. Hmm. (B+ as well! w00t!)

My art 1030 (intro to art something - no drawing! w00t!) professor was so nice. Even though we're not supposed to (in the syllabus), I was able to make up the quiz I missed and save my grade (an A something). He also said I could make up any future quizzes over the next two weeks and for whatever reason, I could take the final early.

My French professor dropped all quizzes and homework I missed over the last 3 weeks and said just do the final - B something in that quiz. (That's my major.)

My Arabic professor - well, if snow disproves global warming, then his behavior disproves all bad "Muslim" stereotypes /silly sarcasm attempt. I went to class, choked on the heat, and asked him when I could meet with him and said I wouldn't be in class because of the heat. He offered to meet with me *outside*! And it was around 40! I'm still so touched by that. And yes, we went over the chapters I missed, and I eventually just took the test I missed as an exam - or that was the goal before pain attacked and I couldn't. Right now, I've got an A-, but I don't mind if it changes.

And that's just this semester! I have had so many professors and teachers help me and it makes me cry when people are so nice.

I have also run into teachers and administrators who did not help me - high school senior year, I come back after a surgery to get make-up work. I decide to make sure everything's in order with the administrators.

The principal wants to talk to me - if I miss another day or check out early, I won't graduate. Also, "You don't deserve that A, you only deserve that F." The A was in psychology, he let me do work at home. The F was in a joke class, and I was well past the allowed absences so eff me, right? It wasn't all bad - instead of fighting them, we went straight to the doctor and got him to write an order for me to go homebound, and we requested the best homebound teacher ever - and even though she couldn't give me a steady schedule, she still worked with me. And I graduated in the top 20 of my class. So even the bad people can lead you to good ones.

Also, *all* my professors have been nice - I don't get docked for missing classes. (I still suffered because class is important, but at least I didn't have the added stress of being there or being square.)

And I get away with murder and did in high school. No water allowed, pssh. Be in class on time? I'm supposed to go to the nurse's office. Next!

College rules I break? Well, it depends on the syllabus/professor. But there is the desktop fan, which can be noisy in a tiny room when I'm in the front row. There are also cell phones. I have played many games of phone tag with doctors and hate it, so if I'm waiting on them, I keep my phone out and on vibrate. And when it goes off, I bolt out of the room, breaking another rule.

But I don't enjoy it, because it's usually about Dr. Ego or insurance and bleh. It's not like I'm talking to my girlfriends!

Though I have texted my friend Elizabeth twice this year - the second time the text was in French! - asking her where she was, it's class time! So cell phones aren't all bad.

Of course, in high school, we had the 504 and I met with all 6 teachers at the beginning of the year. In college, I have to make an appointment with my case guy in the Disability Office during the first week, get 5 papers for my professors, and give them to my professors, explaining what's going on.

This November? Disability was no help! Because they were swamped as it was time to schedule final accommodations. And when I came back, it was even closer to finals! So I did most of the work myself, working so hard to type those e-mails. (Actually, it was hard at times, and I'd just send the same e-mail to all 5 profs.) But I had the paperwork to cover my butt in case anyone gave me a hard time.

Anyways, this was going to be a reply at FWD, but it got too long. And I realized that some of you out there in internet world (hello!) may care.

If you have snow, don't tell me. We're raking leaves and I took a walk yesterday in a tank top and shorts.

It's so nice when one pic sums up your day

see more dog and puppy pictures

I couldn't walk, sit, or stand without pain today. It led to some... interesting contortions in the waiting room. (They don't like it if you lay on the floor - however, if you lay on the floor *and* barf, you'll get seen sooner, or at least shoved out of the waiting room so you don't scare people.)

Spoon Theory and Me (It's all about me)

I've been reading about the Spoon Theory and kinda going, yeah, that doesn't apply to me. (Basically, we all have a number of spoons that represent what we can do that day. Healthy, temporarily able bodied people (age will get us all!! Run!!) have an unlimited amount. Those not so able-bodied do not.)

Thinking about the Spoon Theory and applying it to my life is scary because dammit, if I write down that it hurts, then it really happened and it just won't go away. If I don't classify it, it's not there. Denial is awesome unless WILL YOU STOP STABBING ME. See?

But I do use it, I realized today.

I had a terrible night, could not fall asleep or stay asleep. Went to my 8 am class (hello Arabic!) in pain, a bit disoriented, just not steady on my feet. It was worse when I got out of class about an hour later.

So I laid down, planning to rest until lunch and then go to my one o'clock class.

Ate lunch around noon, no problems, a bit of pain, whatever.

But as I walked out, I was like, hey, hey, HEY! It's not supposed to hurt to walk. And this class is relatively far away when it's raining or I'm in pain. And then there's the hour and 25 minutes of uncomfortable sitting, followed by a bolt across campus to my next class.

I just sat down and cried. I still am. I hate it.

But I'm in my room, comfortable (though still in pain) on my bed, and I will go to my 2:40 class and hopefully make it through that hour and 25 minutes in one piece. Last Thursday, maybe I should have done that, because I reached a point in the latter class where thought escaped me. (Especially putting thoughts into French words.)

Maybe I'm not thinking of it as little spoons, but I know that if I went to my one o'clock, I couldn't go to my French class. And we're watching a movie in there. And the other class is all online - podcasts of the lectures, powerpoints, everything. Except on Thursday, I have to be there because I'm giving a presentation that I have totally started on.

Totally.

Gotta go.

The health care "debate" is pissing me off.

I like the "birther" movement. They're idiots. The "mother" went on the Colbert Report and said they wouldn't go away until Obama posthumously made his father a US citizen.

Stupid, but harmless.

Unfortunately, they have gone away, they've been shouted away by ASSHOLE IDIOTS IDIOTS IDIOTS IDIOTS.

I can't read any article about the protesters without seeing red, the recent "news" about the dropped public option almost killed me, I can't stand it.

Why aren't people like me on the TV? People who need the public health option? (Though we want France's system or Japan's or Canada's or...)

People with the gall to survive childhood cancer - uninsurable.

People who had to file bankruptcy because of an illness - especially if they were insured and discovered they were underinsured.

And me.

I'll be dropped August 11, 2012 from the health plan I've been on all my life. Throughout that life, I have had at least 3 separate "pre-existing conditions." If I can get a job, if I can get insurance, I will pay through the nose and get shitty coverage. But I'll take it, because I need pills to live. (Junkie, you know.)

I would rather have my taxes pay for my healthcare - and others.

Whatever happened to love thy neighbor? How can people be so cruel?

OBAMA'S NOT GOING TO KILL YOUR GRANDMA.

Your grandfather, now...

I hate loud noises.

Well, I like my loud music. If I know I'm not bothering anybody.

But sometimes my suitemates... (we share a bathroom, so when they yell, we hear it), they don't seem to care.

This Married to the Sea comic seems to sum up their attitude on every day but Friday. (I think they leave campus on Friday.)


marriedtothesea.com

It's not just them, there's just so many people shouting and screaming this week. Yes, spring break is next week, but this week isn't over yet, why won't you shut the fuck up?

It really doesn't help that I've felt rotten all week. Tuesday was my shittiest day in a long, long, long time. I had to leave French class. We were doing review work and the pain got so bad I got up, asked for the other review sheets, and told the professor I felt so bad I couldn't think. I really couldn't. It was scary.

I still have no idea how to use the new camera.

But hey - Becky washed her cell phone!

Seriously - it was in her Sonic apron, and that thing should be washed hourly, however, when it is, most of us are ready for bed, especially the worker bee herself.

She's got a new one, it's all cool and stuff, but it's not, not really.

Mine's so old it's not for sale at any store anymore.

And speaking of cell phones, every company is lying about its coverage. I just spent four days at NaCoMe, in Pleasantville, Tennessee, near Centerville. I've looked at the directions, I stayed awake the whole bus ride home, but I still don't know where we were.

Nobody got cell service. I think once girl got a call through to her mom on Monday while on the seesaw (at the top, of course), but that was it.

Why go to a place when I don't know where it is?


Frosh Camp!

I went to the first session, which was Monday the 23rd to Thursday the 26th. It was so short, but so long, in a good way.

It was awesome - nobody really fought, despite the cabin rivalries (ours was invaded Tuesday evening - our theme was America, "war were declared").

I don't think we've ever felt that comfortable around strangers - any of us.

I know I haven't.

I can't explain it.

But hey - if your school offers anything like this, do it. It is so worth it.

Ours really was - only 40 bucks, and we got transportation from the university to the camp, food three times a day, and a t-shirt on Thursday morning. There was a canteen open Tuesday and Wednesday during free time, operated by people who worked and lived out there, and the prices weren't too insane, according to those who stood in line.

When I went Wednesday, I didn't see anything I needed, and the line was too long.

However, there was no line in front of a cooler... filled with watermelon slices! Free watermelon on a summer day in Tennessee in July.

So cool.

We had counselors who were our parents and aunts and uncles. "Uncle Dad!" was not unusual. So we had a family. We competed for breakfast on Tuesday and Wednesday, and I only got cold cereal, so the wait never bothered me.

We were dead last Monday night in the dinner competition. Each one involved us singing for food, then yelling while the exec board deliberated. There were 12 cabins. The yelling made no difference.

And we didn't win the family Olympics, the boat race, and our flag... was not there at the judging, because somebody told me it was okay to leave it behind! There was thunder and lightning, hello!

Not that it would have mattered, we lost the thing on the top that would hold the damn thing up, so...

However, a lot of fun all around.

Our counselors all did superlatives Wednesday night. I got "most interesting stories" and when I asked when I told a story, Alexis (one of my moms) told me there was nothing specific, just that I always had something interesting to say, every time I talked.

That's awesome.

The weather refused to cooperate with us.

Tuesday afternoon, around 3pm, swimming was scheduled in the lake for those who wanted to swim in an icky lake. (Me, me, me, me!) Tuesday was the 3rd day of my patch, so I ripped it off before the Olympics and put on my swimsuit (another thing - short shorts, tank tops, bathing suits, no worries about how fat I looked or what others thought - that was amazing), because we could swim after the Olympics.

Which was very good. We were up on this clearing that was a plateau of sorts, and the sun beat down. I wasn't doing any of the games, so I ran for the shade. I had on my black Rolling Stone flip-flops (most of the week, I wore my tennies until lunch on Wednesday, but it was too hot by then, and too uncomfortable) and the soles were as hot as asphalt!

So, we're all hot, and let's swim!

Clouds rolled in. And rolled out.

Then more came. With thunder, lightning, and rain.

So no swimming.

Wednesday afternoon, it happened again. During the boat race! (Cardboard and duct tape - we came in first the first time, and never sank)

And when we got into Memphis around 1pm Thursday, it was raining again.

I have a doctor appointment today, and we're going to cut the dose of the patch. I'm not sure by how much, but it's time.

Except for the pain right now, I don't know where it's from.

Dixie and Mikey got their haircuts. They look awesome. Poor Mikers has a bald spot on his shoulder, the vet says from constant scratching, but hair is growing back on the spot.

A couple days ago, 3 of Becky's guy friends showed up while mom was taking her to work, to bother Becky and play basketball. (They left to go bother Robert within 15 minutes.)

I told Dixie to kill, and she didn't. She never does. She walked up to all 3, wagging her tail, ready to be pet. Even the one I didn't recognize.

Last Wednesday, we got DSL. The DSL guy brought more than new gadgets and whatchamacallits, he brought bad news - we had a virus.

We got the computer fixed at a local business place for one hundred bucks. It was supposed to be back by Friday, but wasn't. It was back Thursday, though, and it's so cool.

Videos load like that!

And nothing crashes, except sometimes yahoo won't respond. Whatever.

Not anymore.

We've got security software and high speed internet, and we are cool.

School starts next month!

I'm nervous as hell of course, I don't know my roommate, she doesn't know me, but sometimes that's better, because as long as she's not a sociopath, she's as worried about offending me as I am her, unlike if we knew each other for years. I plan on saying on the first day (Wednesday the 22nd! Honors students and others move in early) that I have hang ups about this, this, and that, rather than biting her head off when I didn't tell her.

That makes sense, right?

And hey, I'll have friends on campus. I don't feel I made any specific friends, just that I was comfortable and friendly with so many people that will be at school with me next month.

I relaxed enough to leave my purse at the cabin more and more, and to get up at all 3 sessions on Wednesday, and really come out of my shell.

The mixers weren't even bad! We had to go, but I slept through Wednesday night's - dinner really disagreed with me - cold school pizza. Stomach was so upset, I was too much pain, I had to lay down. I woke up just a few minutes before the party ended. I told Alexis what was wrong, and she said she'd tell somebody else (whoever was in charge of her) and I fell asleep.

But the first 2 were a lot of fun. There tables, chairs, games, and balls outside the hall, so those of us that didn't want to dance had a cool alternative. (Seriously - no humidity, few bugs once the sun went down.)

I spent more time inside Tuesday night, dancing as best I could to this (you're in Tennessee, you have to!) and just shouting along with familiar favorites.

There was no AC, just a huge fan and every window open. And some people complained about the heat, but nobody danced outside. And you could definitely hear the music outside, so whatever.

We were told to bring shower shoes, I think my flip-flops count as shower shoes, but I never wore them in the shower. I've never worn shower shoes in any shower at camp or the Y or any pool, and I've never had problems because of it. I got athlete's foot one time, and I don't know how, but it was not because of shared showers.

Plus, my feet would probably put a pedicurist's grandkids through college.

That's it.

High-speed internet rules, Memphis is too damn hot, and cable's pretty cool too.

And the dogs rule. Dixie killed a cockroach last night - I saw one crawling on the hall wall across from the laundry room alcove. She didn't see it, so I knocked it down with a fly swatter. It ran under the dryer.

Mom opened the alcove's doors, and Mikey growled at those.

Then Dixie moved the stool in front of the dryer after trying to fit underneath it.

She gave up on that avenue after pawing at the dryer for a bit. Mikey got a trophy, though, an old-fashioned feather duster. So dumb looking, but it was his dammit!

Naturally, he started destroying it, and he still wants it.

Dixie's cockroach came out later by the vent from the dryer, next to the pantry, and part of the wall that makes up the laundry alcove.

After she killed it, Mikey took it.

And refused to give it up.

I threw it out around 9 this morning.

I wanted to go upstairs and sleep, but I couldn't leave dummy and his kill.

He kept pawing at it and jumping away from it, he's too funny.

I hope to make more posts, but I'd have to have something to talk about, wouldn't I?

I can't wait to see SiCKO.

I saw Michael Moore on the Daily Show yesterday, and caught him at 11 on Tavis Smiley, where he had more time to talk, and they showed a different clip.

I also like the latest commercial, casting him as Shaft - "Shut yo mouth!"

However, it naturally terrifies me due to my health problems. Even if nothing goes wrong, I'm still on plenty of medication and will be for the rest of my life (thyroid, calcium, vitamin D, allergy meds - NEVER stop those because your allergies have improved, what an idiot - and god knows what else.)

On PBS, he said he asked people to send him healthcare horror stories, expecting a few hundred, and getting 20 thousand, which does not surprise me.

I agree with what he has said so far (without seeing the film), we do not need the middle man of the insurance company. Human life should not be treated like a business product.

Working at the crisis center scares me, seeing people derailed financially by health problems, even when the care is free. St Jude's patients, for example. Free care for your kid, but you still miss work, and if your kid's in St Jude's, you're going to eat up your paid off days fast. I'm nowhere near as sick as a St Jude's patient, and my mom has no sick days. My dad can't watch us when we're sick because he'll "get fired" if he misses work. He says he has a lot of sick days, but he's saving them in case something terrible happens to himself, my sister, myself, or even my mom. Me staying in the hospital? "Best [I] ever looked!" Himself injured on the job? Nope.

Anyways, something I've been meaning to write about is prescription drug commercials, and I was finally spurred by the movie and his appearances on the Daily Show and Tavis Smiley.

Prescription drug commercials are fucked up.

Let me repeat that, to anybody with any knowledge of prescribing medication, these commercials are bizarre, useless, bullshit.

The only medication that I am on because of commercials is Singulair. I needed to be on an allergy med, and I'd never been on it, but I knew it's name, so we went with it. It's done all right.

I'm on another drug that is featured in commercials on TV - my birth control, Yaz. However, the commercials did not play a part in the decision at all, this was the one my OB-GYN thought best for me right now.

The other allergy medications I've been on since we stopped with the weekly shots have also been in commercials, but I didn't walk in and say, "I'm itchy. This commercial says this medication will make me stop itching. Prescribe it."

Same with the antidepressants. When I was put on Cymbalta, that was a decision my doctor made. After I got home, I started seeing commercials for it and continue to this day.

Everything else is not common enough to warrant commercials, except for the calcium supplement and the Lyrica, but I've only seen print ads, and they're aimed at a different nerve problem. (Or the same - just nerve damage and pain in a different part of the body.)

But commercials never entered my mind, when I get prescribed a new drug, we look it up online and ask the pharmacy about it. Locally owned independent drugstore - one reason I can't leave, they know my history, my medical allergies, everything. They pissed off my dad by not filling something because of insurance or it was too soon or somebody working at the pick-up section pissed him off, but I still depend on them. My insurance gives me uniform copays, unlike my poor mom.

Back to the ads.

Here are 2 things that bug me the most about the ads:

"Talk to your doctor." - Are you a doctor? No, you saw a commercial and knew you had this problem, this brand new problem that your doctor either didn't know about or didn't want to treat. Which is insane, because even if your doc is new, you can have your records faxed from your old one, you fill out info sheets on current meds, past and current health problems, everything. Your doctor knows you have high cholesterol, if you go in for your checkup and say, "Doc, put me on Expensrol, because the commercial said it was better than what you have me on," I don't think it will go well. No body reacts the same way to medication, and your doc generally has you on what he or she feels is best and what has not caused horrible side effects.

"Tell your doctor if you have XYZ, people with XYZ should not take ABC." - Your doctor should already know everything about your health and medical history. If not, get a new one and tell him or her everything! Sheesh.

They just bug me. I understand commercials for OTC drugs - they're not prescribed, and they're used by a lot of people. Your doc may recommend one, but not actually prescribe it.

I do have an OTC drug because of the commercials - Alavert. It really is good.

I think the ads for prescription medication are part of the reason they cost so damn much.

I don't know much about the business side of health care, and I don't want to.

My biggest worry about getting a job is not the pay, it's the health insurance. I can't expect the same thing I have now (unless I join the military, then my copays are zero), but I hope to get affordable copays and the treatment I need, not the treatment that saves the most money.

That's the problem - they can't turn a profit without denying operations, procedures, and medications. That's not right.

Our current president is a Christian, a very public one. Which makes me question his faith, sure he believes in God, but I thought religion was a private matter?

Would Jesus deny you afforable health care because of a pre-existing condition?

The heat is so not cool.

I'm on this pain patch so I can get constant pain relief while keeping my mental facilities.

It's great.

Only...

Yesterday at 9, my mom put on a new one, with a Tegaderm tape patch that is just bigger than the patch itself. The pharmacist gave us the first one free. That's important.

Anyways, the patch means I can do things I couldn't before - like ride my bike to the library when I want to. And the library is open, they've already not checked in a book I turned in, so I now check them in before checking new ones out, so I know it's checked in.

I didn't go yesterday because my lower abdomen/pelvic area was hurting, almost at 10, a number of times, and the bleeding (breakthrough) had increased.

Today, though, little pain, no bleeding since 5 AM... and I got my meningitis and hepatitis shots today - they're recommended by the University, but not required yet. They probably will be soon. I got mine for free, no appointment needed, because we went on base. So cool.

My mom and sister went to the base yesterday to find about getting a day pass (before September 11th, everyone could use the base as a shortcut), and dealt with a lazy, young asshole. And at the clinic, they dealt with another person who went out of his or her way not to help.

Well, we waited about 20-30 minutes for a pass, and the lady got us a pass good for a year! Mom just needs one of us with her (her name is the only one on it, so she and Beck can do some tax free shopping at the NEX). She was so nice.

And then we didn't have to wait at the clinic, just go down to the immunization room. The guy was young and nice and clearly loved his job.

I got the shots through an air gun type thing. Scary looking as hell, but no more pain than a normal shot, less, because it was so quick. He said it used CO2.

It was like a piercing gun!

Afterwards, we came home and lounged, and after Jeopardy (I won all the money), I decided to ride my bike to the library. I'd gotten a call yesterday saying a book I'd ordered had come in. Both were there when I got there, cool.

I've stopped taking my water bottle, because if I drink at the 2 red lights I must cross (they change before I'm halfway across, grr), the light will change and I will hold people up.

Plus I could get my books or purse wet.

And I don't think it's allowed in the library, not that they've said boo.

So I got home at 5, face as red as a tomato painted red.

Tuesday, I went to the library as well, and when I got home, Becky told me I had to take a shower. I was wearing a bright red shirt that was pale in comparison to my face.

So today, I took a cold shower.

And my patch...

It hadn't fallen off, I still had to pull it off, but it was useless - the tegaderm patch and the medical tape did nothing - water got in, bad scene.

By the way, I passed a time and temperature sign before crossing the street into my neighborhood at 5, and it was 100 degrees and so damn humid.

Anyways... my point is... the patch is supposed to let me do things, but not if it can't survive body movements or sweat!

I can't go outside until the doctor appointment Monday afternoon - no bike rides, no yard work. Oh, the sadness... actually, that's a clear conscience, mom's recovering from surgery, I'd lose my patch, I'll keep you hydrated Becky, I promise.

Actually, she mows the yard really fast since Mom says she doesn't have to bag it. An hour for both, at most, and we're mowing our neighbor's front yard as well. (They connect.)


So this patch is working very well on the pain, but I can't do anything or I'll lose it!

That sucks.

And we don't know where to put the damn thing - we started with the stomach - the site of the pain.

It peeled so much, it wouldn't stick to the curve of my abdomen even with a complete covering of tape, which we're worried is a bad idea, it needs to breathe I think.

The back's been the best, because if it's too low or too far from the center, it can peel up.

My mom thinks we should try the arm and wrap it up in something, but I doubt it would stay on the rounded arm.

We'll find out more Monday.

It's been a month since I should have gotten my last Lupron shot - it was a 3 month amount. And it's a 6 month drug, with 3 months off, I think.

So I'm fatigued, nauseous, and my lower abdomen hurts a lot after using the bathroom, at least since the 13th except today.

Not to mention the bright red breakthrough blood. I'm on birth control, I shouldn't be bleeding.

And when I was on the Lupron, when I stopped the birth control, more breakthrough bleeding!

So it has to be both...

I don't know...

I hate summer.

I have a plan for my dorm room - the one I stayed in at orientation had ugly pink carpeting, but it was pretty low plush and not more than three-quarters dog hair and pee.

A book I had on college from 1994 or 1995 (Some schools have an e-mail system! Ooh! More teachers want typed papers! Ooh!) had an idea for your dorm room - apparently, most have cold tile floors, which is bliss in the summer, at least to me. I mean, I've laid down on the kitchen floor because it was so hot - last summer, during the first Lupron treatment, I slept on carpet and a floor vent at my Aunt's house.

Anyways, the book said get a carpet remnant or throw rug to warm up your cold floor.

So I got to wondering...

Can I get an area of tile to cover my carpet?

It's an idea.

Another thing from the book that I loved - be glad you're homesick! It's a compliment, a sign your home is loving.

My sister and I will be homesick.

My mom and her siblings and my dad and his siblings wanted the f!ck out of there as soon as they could. Mom missed the house, not the home.

However, dad doesn't think it's good, when you're 18, you're out on your ass, health problems or no, or in my sister's case, not having finished high school...

Whatever...


I can't wait for Halloween, it gets kind of tolerable around then.


My point? I left Iceland around Christmas '94, when I was six, and I still miss the snow.

Mom was 32, she has clear memories of it, and she's not a fan of the heat here, but she doesn't want to live in Iceland - the whole darkness all winter long made her so depressed, she never got out of the house - dad had work, I had school...

I still miss the snow.

It's so easy to warm yourself up, but so hard to cool down.

And humidity.

I'm so glad I don't care about my hair beyond washing and brushing, nothing to worry about thanks to the moisture, while Becky frizzes out and freaks out.

Gotta love her.



Yeah, I rambled.

Got a problem with that?

I can't wait to own this place.

That's what I thought after orientation was over and I was walking from the bookstore to Richardson Towers.

It's beautiful when it's not too hot. (When it's hot, and you have to walk, nothing is beautiful.)

By 'own it', I meant I wanted to be familiar and comfortable and zip my way around campus on my bike. (But no puppy in the basket!)

Orientation was Thursday and Friday. It was the first orientation session, and the best for us, since parents had to come (or were strongly urged to attend) and Mom's having surgery this week that would make orientation impossible. But it will greatly improve her life, I hope.

Orientation was boring and overwhelming at the same time.

Boring because we heard things that we'd read on the handouts, read on the website, heard from administrators before, and what we'd heard since middle school!

Pain in the ass. I was "required" to go to a financial aid workshop, and it was mostly about loans. And they didn't check roll.

But it was a lot of fun.

Thursday was cloudy and cool, and most of the buildings were freezing, and most of us were in shorts. Friday was hot and mostly sunny, and the buildings were not always freezing. We had to go to a career seminar before we could go on our own to register or tour the library or go to that workshop.

We'd been told Thursday that we should sit up front or at least in the "T". So after that, I sat in the first few rows everywhere, including the career seminar, which was embarrassing, because I got overheated, and I had to get out of there now, and I was in the front row!

But I left. My health matters more than hearing the same thing over and over again.

I went and took the French placement test. It didn't take the projected 20 minutes to half an hour, but I didn't make it into French 2. The minimum for that was 280 and I got 239. I'm glad. The last year I took French was my junior year, which is now 2 years behind me. I was going to take French 3 my senior, but they didn't bother tell me I couldn't until the Friday before school started - after registration! (Not enough people signed up, and this was an Honors course, which required an 'essay' (paragraph of lies) about why you wanted to take this test, and a parent's signature! It still bugs me, though not as much.

There was a party at the rec center Thursday night, and I didn't go. Apparently, everyone went between 6:45 and 7, even though our schedule said 7:30. They provided transportation back to Richardson Towers afterwards, but not before. I'd done a lot of walking that day, and I was exhausted. My mom could have driven me there, but I said no. I read outside, and then went to my room, which I'll get to later.

The food was okay, and I ate every meal alone except lunch on Thursday. Parents and students had separate dinners that night, and breakfast the next morning was only for parents who stayed in the towers, though my mom could have eaten with me. And lunchwas hot dogs and chips in Brister on floor below where we actually registered, and somebody had a doctor's appointment.

I'm not going in chronological order, am I?

My mom learned some things that I wished they'd told us. AP classes, dual enrollment, and home school transcripts don't mean that much at the bottom line - it's your ACT or SAT scores. (ACT, mostly. I don't know why it's the southern test, but I got a 29 the first time and a 30 the next - no studying!)

I knew nobody there, because I graduated a year earlier. They were nice, but I didn't recognize a soul.

We were assigned roommates, but mine decided to sleep in a friend's room. (I'm guessing her friend didn't have one or the roommate was willing to leave.)

However, I needed a roommate. My fentanyl patches, at their current size, do best along my spine, especially up high. They're less likely to get peeled up or moved, the higher and more centered they are. It's next to impossible to place it there yourself. I haven't tried at the risk of wasting a patch. My mom thought it was best on my abdomen, since that's where the pain is, but it's not. It was covered with tape by the second day.

Luckily, she agreed to do it. Though I probably weirded her out, it had to be done.

She did a great job, placing it directly above the last sight, which was a bright red, irritated square. (Sweat is the enemy, plus I rode my bike the day before.)

But it didn't stay. I walked and sweated Friday, I rode my bike and sweated Saturday, and Sunday I woke up and tape fell off. (It had to be taped Saturday.) It was off by 2. I got up, and walked into the kitchen, and it fell off.

However, I didn't have any pain in the next 6-7 hours. That's great, I can probably be weaned off next time I see the doctor! (I saw him Tuesday and said no, let's keep everything where it is.)

Back to orientation. I won free speakers for asking a lot of questions during the morning lectures, including one on the IT department. I asked so many (and sat in the front row) that another person in the department offered me a job there in the fall if I wanted it. That was cool. I felt bold after the whole patch thing.

My mom also asked a lot of questions. She was a bitch, because very few parents questioned anything. When she was told Friday morning (we wee froshies were at the career thing) that we had to pay $200 when we registered, she was pissed. It was not on the schedule or any of the information we'd been given the day before or that came in the mail.

She told the speaker that she would get me and leave if we had to pay $200 to register. Luckily, this other woman talked to her and got my name. I saw her at registration and she told me to tell my mom it was taken care of.

Registration was the last thing we had to do before we could leave, and it was so scary. I'm taking 3 honors courses - English, Acad, and a required Honors course. I'm also taking the first math listed on the math sheet and French 1, or whatever the numbers are.

I think I have only one class on Friday. And I'm done by 2 at the latest, and 8 at the earliest.

It's going to be so cool.

Thursday morning, when somebody was discussing scheduling your time, making sure you have time for your classes and studies, blah blah blah, I started crying. Luckily, this was before I sat up front.

I think I cried because I was scared, I was strongly reminded of the psych ward by a number of things, and hey, I am coming off the Lupron, and that puts you in artificial menopause. Last Tuesday, I also started crying. It was so bad Lois took me home early from the Crisis Center.

Some of the things that reminded me of the psych ward - the isolation, the helicopter pad in front of Richardson, the starkness of our rooms, and the feeling that if something goes wrong, it's your fault.

All completely stupid.

One cool thing later on Thursday, was when we split up to go to our colleges (Arts and Sciences, Business, Nursing, etc.) and then our majors. I was the only foreign language major, so I got one-on-one time with the advisor (he was the Spanish advisor, I'll have a different one when school starts), while most everybody had to make appointments for later in the day.

I am all over the map here.

I bought 2 books with mom's money. One is the required reading for all freshmen. (We all have to take the same Gen Ed courses.) That was Thursday morning, and it's speeches by Martin Luther King, Jr. Friday afternoon I bought a Rolling Stone with Johnny Depp and Keith Richards on the cover at the bookstore - before signing up to preorder my books. That was from my lunch money, but since it was provided at registration, Johnny will have to do.

As for transportation, they only talked about cars with the parents, naturally. Basically, if you plan to live on campus, a car is a liability, not an asset. Which is different from what the students from more rural areas are used to. Or even here, there's nothing to do within walking or biking distance besides the library or nothing. (You seriously want to hang out at Wal-Mart?)

I'm glad, it means I don't have to learn to drive yet. Ha!

Things they should have done:

• Provided more infortmation on the schedules. Like the fact that lunch was provided Friday or the $200 registration fee!
• Offered transportation to the rec center for Thursday's party.
• Told the students and parents the same things, or let us attend more seminars together. Especially the one about the costs, since some students didn't have a parent with them, how will they know everything they need to know as soon as possible?
• For an extra fee, let us stay with current students who are in a double for the summer but have no roommate. That way we can see what a room can look like and we can hear the unvarnished truth.
  
• Hold it in winter!

See you at Frosh Camp!

In answer to Violet's questions -

Yes, I've been in pain, and yes, it has been too nice outside.

First, my doctor decided to increase my Lyrica week by week about 2 and a half weeks ago.

I started on the 15th. I was taking 300mgs a day (100mgs 3 times a day) and he wanted me to add an extra pill each week. I started by adding it to the evening slot. That Tuesday night, I was exhausted, and fell asleep around seven something that night and didn't wake up until Wednesday morning. I was very sick that morning - dizzy, nauseous, and my vision got blurred. The third was the scariest, as you can imagine.

My mom called my dad and made him come over until she decided that he'd check my sister out, because she wanted someone with me.

I got better and better until last Sunday, when it was time to add the next pill. I took it in the morning, and was fine until 5 o'clock that afternoon, when I got incredibly overheated (in shorts and a t-shirt), nauseous, and dizzy. Only this time, I threw up. I was asleep by 6 and did not wake up until 8:30 the next morning, when my mom came up to check on me.

I increased the Lyrica to stop the pain. It did not do that, and Monday, I was told to decrease the Lyrica until I stopped it. I took 2 Tuesday and Wednesday and just one on Thursday. I came off of it okay.

Wednesday, the doctor decided to try to just take care of the pain since I wasn't responding to nerve medication or my usual pain medication.

Wednesday night, I started wearing a fentanyl patch. I ran out of pain pills on Thursday, I was in horrible pain on Friday and it did not go away until yesterday, late in the morning. And even then it still cycled through. Friday, the doctor said I was to wear 2 patches at once.

I'm pain free and not even particularly cloudy right now. It's great.

So I haven't had the mental energy to do this, and Friday I realized I forgot the video.

And the dogs have been really ugly.

And yesterday, mom made me go to yard sales and then we rode bikes around town (don't eat hot shrimp when you're overheated - very sick to my stomach until we got home) and then I fell asleep for an hour watching the Cubs kick some Cardinal feathers.

It's been very nice outside, and we have a swing now to replace the trampoline.

I haven't had the desire to write, and when I have, I haven't had anything to say.

I can't get over the snow.

I'm referring to the tragedy at Virginia Tech today - 33 dead at last count. The worst part? There were two shootings - two hours apart, and the campus police did nothing.

I hate TV news, local and national. But I watched the BBC World News on PBS at 5 for no real reason. (The accents?)

They had the best coverage - there are no background checks in Virginia? Since Columbine, the gun laws have been weakened in this country?

How does that make sense?

I had every channel on mute - they didn't cut into the insipid Inside Edition, but they cut into Jeopardy, and I was totally winning.

I didn't want to hear it, I prefer my news in a written format, when most of the facts are out - as it happens leaves you all messed up and confused.

So I had it on mute and some channels split the screen, so you had the talking head and footage from the school. In one, there were little light snowflakes, innocent and pure.

On top of a massacre.

I can't get over the snow.

Jon Stewart was great - he said he couldn't add anything insightful to the tragedy and he's going to bury the tragedy deep inside and freak out in 30 years over spilled juice, then went on to the e-mail thing.

Colbert hasn't said anything.

Oh, and I feel like shit. I finally got a new pain medication and it hasn't kicked in yet and the heating pad hasn't worked since 9 something this morning. Grr.

Forget Brat Dolls!

What's hurting our country is brat dogs.

Like that one!

It's storming - heavy rain, around 40 degrees, some fantastic lightning, but not much thunder.

I thought it was the thunder that set off ol' crybaby Dixie, but no, it's the whole thing!

She got 2 benadryl in some white bread (and the boys got a couple of pieces too, I'm not a monster) around 6 or 6:30.

As it is now midnight, I figured the time is right to do it again - Wickett was the only boy to get bread. He's special.

If I go upstairs right now and leave her to sleep on the couch, she could pee in the house.

And it would be my hide. Because her pee stinks and it's bigger than one of the boy's bodies, let alone their puddles.

AND! To top it all off, I'm on this knew painkiller. My body's not responding to the Lortab (Hydrocodone and tylenol) anymore. This happened every few weeks the last time I was on Lortab for an extended day-to-day time: November 2003 to January 2004. Short, yes, but painful. "Acid burn" is too gentle for what it was. So the Lortab'd stop working, and we'd switch to another for a week or so, before going back to the Lortab.

And I think this is the one Limbaugh got addicted to. How? It's been an hour and a half, sure, I'm a bit sleepy, but still in pain.

AND! To top that off, our new, state-of-the-fucking-art heating pad refuses to work for me!

It has an LCD display and goes all the way up to 171 degrees Fahrenheit. I always set it there and get a nice red splotch on my belly after using, but GOD, does it work.

However, yesterday, being Friday the 13th, it hated me. HATED. I needed it at 10:30 when I woke up from my nap.

So I plugged it in, turned it on, and set it for an hour at 171 degrees.

And it just said "LO" at me in the temperature spot!



But tonight, when I'm pain and I need it, I plugged it in and took it out and plugged it back in and put it in different sockets and it still said "LO"!!!!!

And there is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the little paper that came with the pad that says "LO" or what to do when it says that. Not even on the Spanish side!

Then, I plugged it in to the socket by the door, and the temperature started to climb!

And I moved it to the computer and it's still working! Yes!

It's at 167. Mmm, nice and warm. You know what sucks? Needing this and having a hot flash. When it's 60 degrees out. And having a hot flash at 18, before your mother.

Back to Brat Dogs (tm), I wanted to try the heating pad upstairs and read in bed.

But if I do that, no one will stay here with the Baby.

And the Brat could get freaked and pee.

On the carpet!!

So, here I am, risking our computer and all that's on it by typing this. I'm all for storms, but I wanted to get on the 'puter.

But at least I've got the heating pad working.

"I'm going to throw this book at your head."

I went to the doctor today for a uterine nerve block.

It's a shot.

It doesn't go through the skin.

So he said he'd do a manual exam and poke the uterus to see if it still hurt like hell (yes, thank you very much) and then one afterwards to see if it worked. (It did.)

He didn't say how he'd give me the shot. The needle was so long, and the drum was huge and just so full of clear liquid! *PANIC PANIC PANIC PANIC*

"Do you want to know what I'm doing, step by step, or would you rather I just tell you when I'm done?"

"The second one. I'm going to read."

Then massive pain at the opening, must be the shot, turn the page, hey I hear the winding, "YOU DIDN'T SAY YOU WERE USING THE DUCK BILL!"

"I thought you were reading."

"I am so going to throw this book at your head."

"Who - me or your mother?"

"You!"

So the shot went in and it worked, no pain!

The problem with my care over the last few months is that he's been operating under the assumption that he gave me a nerve block on my second visit with him. He didn't. I'd remember, and so would my non-drugged mom.

But it didn't last.

I fell asleep on the ride home and woke up at the drugstore. In horrific pain that got worse when I moved.

He warned me it would feel worse when and if the pain returned, because I had a respite.

But such a short one?

That's not fair!

"Life's not fair!"

*prepares cheese grater, salt, and duck bill* If you tell me to live with the pain, I will use these.

The book I was reading? Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut.

It was the perfect choice for a private eulogy - it's about the end of the world and an awesome religion based on lies that says so up front.

RIP, Kurt.

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.

Anyways...

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.

Chapter 20 of Ishmael Beah's great book.

Yes, I made it that far.

It is engrossing, amazing, and if I feel good, I will drop it off at the library as soon as I finish so others can enjoy it - well not enjoy it, but absorb it and its scary realities.

Long ass doctor's wait - my appointment was at 3:30, we got there at 3:03, and did not get taken to an exam room until almost 5. The only book with me? A Long Way Gone.

I decided to stop at chapter 20 for tonight - or at least right now, it'll probably suck me back in, damn him. The transformations he went through, from normal kid to terrified and terrifying teenager to kill on sight soldier (the government's army, not the rebels. The army was told the rebels killed their families, raped their sisters, burned their towns. And the rebels were told the same thing!) to almost-normal human being are amazing.

It was the last one that got me and made me think of something we need to do with the war in Iraq and our soldiers over there - at least a month in a psych ward afterwards, where they gradually rejoin American life - at least for those who showed signs of depression while in Iraq, hopefully for all.

Supporting the troops does not mean cutting their benefits. And they need psych help. I don't care that my uncle and his wife are "fine" there are children my age over there! Taught to kill, taught they don't know who the enemy is, I hope my friend who joined (next time I see her, I am so hitting her with a book) is stationed stateside, doing the boring paperwork that takes up most of the military's numbers. Or a corpsman, like my mom. Laughing her ass off after boot camp because she's snorting laughing gas.

According to Mom, everyone in bootcamp was religious. "I'm Muslim, Jewish, Christian, and Hindu. I have a very diverse family."

Why?

To get out, to get away.

We drove past one of the prisons by Shelby Farms today, and I saw the prison chapel - Christian, cross on top - and I said, "I bet everyone's saying they're Christians. Look at those windows! I'd lie just to get a glimpse."

That also led me to think of dogs as rehab tools for prisoners - Wickett would be perfect. Most prisoners are grown men. He adores grown men, even though they lack the soft boobage he snorgles in. (*slap face* upside down *love me*). I thought that because the Candanian geeese that like to harass him were outside the pond by the prison, not in the field behind our house.

He likes to chase them - it's a trip. Little black dot tearing across the field, he'll catch one one day.

I'm feeling better.

My last appointment was scary - we were walk-ins because I'd spent the previous one at the ER, scared it was a kidney stone. It wasn't.

But today, despite the wait and the vaginal exam - manual, thank god for small favors, it was good. He did not freak at our questions, and he upped my Lyrica to 100mg 3 times a day, instead of 75mg three times a day - hopefully it will work. That knife-lined corset - straight from the pre-Lyrica days. Ugh.

So mentally I feel better, and I've got pain meds and decent weather and a working bike.

Regarding A Long Way Gone, there is much mention of religion before and after he becomes a soldier. It seems Sierra Leone is Muslim, there was an imam at his name-day. However, there are mentions of the old ways - "May the spirits of the ancestors bless..."

And that got me thinking, maybe they have or had it right. Becky was watching Mulan today and I remembered the bit where her ancestors helped her, she prayed to her ancestors.

And then the Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians with their many, many gods, they had a better idea than we do as Christians, Muslims, or Jews.

One god? For all the followers of one religion? That's impossible.

Praying to a group set to watch your family and your family only, or a god for one area makes more sense, if anything in religion ever makes sense.

Just thoughts at 12:15 in the morning.

I figured out how to get Becky's songs on my mp3 player and I can't sleep (an hour and a half nap, what was I thinking?) so... whatever.

Next week, I hope the Daily Show and Colbert Report are new. I can't deal without my nightly television these 4 nights, it's got me all messed up.

Not that it takes much.