Daily Archives: December 28, 2015

Medzzzzzzz…

I had like 3 fucking meltdowns over Christmas weekend which is sorta normal for me but this year was probably worse than previous years ‘n I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, not because I don’t wanna revisit that shit but because I’m sleepy as fuuuuuck…..

My doc and I decided to halve my Welbutrin dose ’cause I think neither of us is 100% sure that I still need it. I tried it a long time ago, pre-bipolar diagnosis as a treatment for depression and that didn’t really work out, obviously (see LBD: antidepressants). Then a couple years ago, while on mood stabilizers, my doc prescribed it again to help me quit smoking because I have like zero willpower and I get upset a lot and it’s super easy for me to rationalize breaking my tobacco fast if I’m really, really, really upset (so, like, often). Welbutrin makes smoking really uncomfortable (I frequently liken it to trying to inhale a large marshmallow I picked out of bag of wet garbage) and also disrupts your brain’s ability to enjoy nicotine so you may as well just be smoking the paper for all the good it’ll do in terms of calming you down.

The other reason we went with Welbutrin is that it’s kind of an upper – not in the same way that speed or even caffeine is, but among its peers, Welbutrin is the most likely to give you a little boost. All my other meds are sedating so the intention was to sort of counteract that problem with more meds (I’ve written about medicating my medication before, but probably not thoroughly enough, remind me to get back to it).

This time around, I don’t think I’ve been prescribed Welbutrin specifically to combat depression, but if it happened to do that, then yay? So last week, my prescription ran out and I was talking to my doctor about it and we thought maybe cutting to dose in half might be fun (ahem: a medically sound choice that is reversible if it happens not to work out). I didn’t start taking the smaller dose until after my Xmas meltdowns because I fucking hate the holidays and I didn’t wanna start experimenting until they were over. Which turned out to be, probably, a really good idea.

This is either day 2 or 3 of the halved dose and I’ve been a fairly drowsy. Which, I mean, is unsurprising considering the drug’s invigorating properties. I suspect I’d feel similarly if I switched from coffee to tea or something – which will never fucking happen, when I die, I wanna be ground up like coffee beans and served, hot or iced, to all my mourners (no I don’t, that’s gross, Laura). 

So, like, I spent the day fucking around with my roommate’s mandolin and working on some poems just for fun, and I think I paid off the balance on my Target card. Like, I got some shit done. I taught myself this song on mando:

Don’t get impressed or anything, it’s not a super complicated song, just a really good song and a fun one to sing and play. But now my fingers hurt ’cause mandolin strings are a little more ouchy than guitar or banjo strings ‘n I’m not really used to them yet. But I did like, at least one or two things today and I didn’t actually have to do anything today, so good for me. Fine.

But it’s me, so I worry a lot about these specters of things that are pretty unlikely, chiefly here: I’ll be sleepy forever. Before my various Christmas freakouts, I had been doing really well. Depakote seems not to have given me the stupids like I worried it would. My moods were pretty even, almost predictable (!!!) and I was feeling good about myself and having all these neat ideas for creative projects which, at this point, I haven’t been neglecting as severely as I usually do when I have good ideas. Good. Cool.

But I wanna take as little medicine as I can get away with and Welbutrin, among my other meds, is the easiest to play around with, so here we are. Slightly less medicated, but markedly more sleepy. This should go away. I mean, if I were taking Welbutrin and nothing else, I’d be about 100% sure the drowsiness would wane after the physical withdrawal was over, but that’s not the case ’cause, like I said, I’m on other meds, 3 others exactly, and they all sometimes make me very tired. More specifically, they shorten my battery life. It’s not that I’m evenly sedated throughout the day, it’s more like I only have energy for one or maybe two activities in a day and I don’t like to stay out late anymore.

So right now it’s a little after 4 p.m. It’s rain-snowing like the goddamned apocalypse outside and I’m legit afraid my power will go out. I’ve run out of shit to do except take a shower which is only necessary because it’s my habit to shower daily, I’m not actually dirty enough right now to warrant bathing. After that, it’s very likely that I’ll get high and watch cartoons or something. Maybe reread my poems a few hundred more times. They are part in Italian and I’m like real stoked on that point. But that’s about it. I don’t have energy for much else. I could:

Clean something, like my desk maybe (nah…)

Investigate the meaning behind the text I just got from my sister which simply reads: “Butt fun?”

Learn more mandolin chords and maybe develop some muscle memory and build tougher calluses

Mulch Arturo more thoroughly (Arturo is my pet blueberry bush. He lives on my patio and should be able to withstand a northern Midwest winter storm but he almost died this summer so I worry about him a lot)

Play some solitaire chess. Gotta stay sharp ‘n whatever.

But I totally won’t do any of these things (except maybe find out what the deal is with “Butt fun?” ’cause there is zero context for that text and it’s fucking funny). I’m probably just gonna return my roommate’s mando to his room, take my evening meds (including the ones I prescribed to myself), move from the office to the couch, watch some Jaclyn Glenn youtube videos, lazily entertain sexual thoughts about this woman who I only know through her Etsy shop but who seems like my kinda people even if I can’t quite see what she looks like or tell how old she is from her tiny picture, and maybe see which of the cats is more amenable to being used as a pillow today ’cause one of them will usually let me do that, but it’s not always the same one. All eminently slothful pursuits.

Anyhowl, getting back to things, I’m gonna give it maybe another 7-10 days of grogginess before I decide if the new Welbutrin dosage is right for me. Like, fingers crossed real hard, I guess, ’cause, like I said, the less medicine I can get by on, the better. In the meantime, jammies ‘n couches ‘n…”Butt fun?”

-LB

Tagged: atheism, bipolar disorder, bisexuality, Butt fun?, Christmas, creativity, energy, Italian, Jaclyn Glenn, laziness, Mandolin, marijuana, meds, music, Neko Case, poetry, sleep, Welbutrin, writing

Medzzzzzzz…

I had like 3 fucking meltdowns over Christmas weekend which is sorta normal for me but this year was probably worse than previous years ‘n I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, not because I don’t wanna revisit that shit but because I’m sleepy as fuuuuuck…..

My doc and I decided to halve my Welbutrin dose ’cause I think neither of us is 100% sure that I still need it. I tried it a long time ago, pre-bipolar diagnosis as a treatment for depression and that didn’t really work out, obviously (see LBD: antidepressants). Then a couple years ago, while on mood stabilizers, my doc prescribed it again to help me quit smoking because I have like zero willpower and I get upset a lot and it’s super easy for me to rationalize breaking my tobacco fast if I’m really, really, really upset (so, like, often). Welbutrin makes smoking really uncomfortable (I frequently liken it to trying to inhale a large marshmallow I picked out of bag of wet garbage) and also disrupts your brain’s ability to enjoy nicotine so you may as well just be smoking the paper for all the good it’ll do in terms of calming you down.

The other reason we went with Welbutrin is that it’s kind of an upper – not in the same way that speed or even caffeine is, but among its peers, Welbutrin is the most likely to give you a little boost. All my other meds are sedating so the intention was to sort of counteract that problem with more meds (I’ve written about medicating my medication before, but probably not thoroughly enough, remind me to get back to it).

This time around, I don’t think I’ve been prescribed Welbutrin specifically to combat depression, but if it happened to do that, then yay? So last week, my prescription ran out and I was talking to my doctor about it and we thought maybe cutting to dose in half might be fun (ahem: a medically sound choice that is reversible if it happens not to work out). I didn’t start taking the smaller dose until after my Xmas meltdowns because I fucking hate the holidays and I didn’t wanna start experimenting until they were over. Which turned out to be, probably, a really good idea.

This is either day 2 or 3 of the halved dose and I’ve been a fairly drowsy. Which, I mean, is unsurprising considering the drug’s invigorating properties. I suspect I’d feel similarly if I switched from coffee to tea or something – which will never fucking happen, when I die, I wanna be ground up like coffee beans and served, hot or iced, to all my mourners (no I don’t, that’s gross, Laura). 

So, like, I spent the day fucking around with my roommate’s mandolin and working on some poems just for fun, and I think I paid off the balance on my Target card. Like, I got some shit done. I taught myself this song on mando:

Don’t get impressed or anything, it’s not a super complicated song, just a really good song and a fun one to sing and play. But now my fingers hurt ’cause mandolin strings are a little more ouchy than guitar or banjo strings ‘n I’m not really used to them yet. But I did like, at least one or two things today and I didn’t actually have to do anything today, so good for me. Fine.

But it’s me, so I worry a lot about these specters of things that are pretty unlikely, chiefly here: I’ll be sleepy forever. Before my various Christmas freakouts, I had been doing really well. Depakote seems not to have given me the stupids like I worried it would. My moods were pretty even, almost predictable (!!!) and I was feeling good about myself and having all these neat ideas for creative projects which, at this point, I haven’t been neglecting as severely as I usually do when I have good ideas. Good. Cool.

But I wanna take as little medicine as I can get away with and Welbutrin, among my other meds, is the easiest to play around with, so here we are. Slightly less medicated, but markedly more sleepy. This should go away. I mean, if I were taking Welbutrin and nothing else, I’d be about 100% sure the drowsiness would wane after the physical withdrawal was over, but that’s not the case ’cause, like I said, I’m on other meds, 3 others exactly, and they all sometimes make me very tired. More specifically, they shorten my battery life. It’s not that I’m evenly sedated throughout the day, it’s more like I only have energy for one or maybe two activities in a day and I don’t like to stay out late anymore.

So right now it’s a little after 4 p.m. It’s rain-snowing like the goddamned apocalypse outside and I’m legit afraid my power will go out. I’ve run out of shit to do except take a shower which is only necessary because it’s my habit to shower daily, I’m not actually dirty enough right now to warrant bathing. After that, it’s very likely that I’ll get high and watch cartoons or something. Maybe reread my poems a few hundred more times. They are part in Italian and I’m like real stoked on that point. But that’s about it. I don’t have energy for much else. I could:

Clean something, like my desk maybe (nah…)

Investigate the meaning behind the text I just got from my sister which simply reads: “Butt fun?”

Learn more mandolin chords and maybe develop some muscle memory and build tougher calluses

Mulch Arturo more thoroughly (Arturo is my pet blueberry bush. He lives on my patio and should be able to withstand a northern Midwest winter storm but he almost died this summer so I worry about him a lot)

Play some solitaire chess. Gotta stay sharp ‘n whatever.

But I totally won’t do any of these things (except maybe find out what the deal is with “Butt fun?” ’cause there is zero context for that text and it’s fucking funny). I’m probably just gonna return my roommate’s mando to his room, take my evening meds (including the ones I prescribed to myself), move from the office to the couch, watch some Jaclyn Glenn youtube videos, lazily entertain sexual thoughts about this woman who I only know through her Etsy shop but who seems like my kinda people even if I can’t quite see what she looks like or tell how old she is from her tiny picture, and maybe see which of the cats is more amenable to being used as a pillow today ’cause one of them will usually let me do that, but it’s not always the same one. All eminently slothful pursuits.

Anyhowl, getting back to things, I’m gonna give it maybe another 7-10 days of grogginess before I decide if the new Welbutrin dosage is right for me. Like, fingers crossed real hard, I guess, ’cause, like I said, the less medicine I can get by on, the better. In the meantime, jammies ‘n couches ‘n…”Butt fun?”

-LB

Tagged: atheism, bipolar disorder, bisexuality, Butt fun?, Christmas, creativity, energy, Italian, Jaclyn Glenn, laziness, Mandolin, marijuana, meds, music, Neko Case, poetry, sleep, Welbutrin, writing

Medzzzzzzz…

I had like 3 fucking meltdowns over Christmas weekend which is sorta normal for me but this year was probably worse than previous years ‘n I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, not because I don’t wanna revisit that shit but because I’m sleepy as fuuuuuck…..

My doc and I decided to halve my Welbutrin dose ’cause I think neither of us is 100% sure that I still need it. I tried it a long time ago, pre-bipolar diagnosis as a treatment for depression and that didn’t really work out, obviously (see LBD: antidepressants). Then a couple years ago, while on mood stabilizers, my doc prescribed it again to help me quit smoking because I have like zero willpower and I get upset a lot and it’s super easy for me to rationalize breaking my tobacco fast if I’m really, really, really upset (so, like, often). Welbutrin makes smoking really uncomfortable (I frequently liken it to trying to inhale a large marshmallow I picked out of bag of wet garbage) and also disrupts your brain’s ability to enjoy nicotine so you may as well just be smoking the paper for all the good it’ll do in terms of calming you down.

The other reason we went with Welbutrin is that it’s kind of an upper – not in the same way that speed or even caffeine is, but among its peers, Welbutrin is the most likely to give you a little boost. All my other meds are sedating so the intention was to sort of counteract that problem with more meds (I’ve written about medicating my medication before, but probably not thoroughly enough, remind me to get back to it).

This time around, I don’t think I’ve been prescribed Welbutrin specifically to combat depression, but if it happened to do that, then yay? So last week, my prescription ran out and I was talking to my doctor about it and we thought maybe cutting to dose in half might be fun (ahem: a medically sound choice that is reversible if it happens not to work out). I didn’t start taking the smaller dose until after my Xmas meltdowns because I fucking hate the holidays and I didn’t wanna start experimenting until they were over. Which turned out to be, probably, a really good idea.

This is either day 2 or 3 of the halved dose and I’ve been a fairly drowsy. Which, I mean, is unsurprising considering the drug’s invigorating properties. I suspect I’d feel similarly if I switched from coffee to tea or something – which will never fucking happen, when I die, I wanna be ground up like coffee beans and served, hot or iced, to all my mourners (no I don’t, that’s gross, Laura). 

So, like, I spent the day fucking around with my roommate’s mandolin and working on some poems just for fun, and I think I paid off the balance on my Target card. Like, I got some shit done. I taught myself this song on mando:

Don’t get impressed or anything, it’s not a super complicated song, just a really good song and a fun one to sing and play. But now my fingers hurt ’cause mandolin strings are a little more ouchy than guitar or banjo strings ‘n I’m not really used to them yet. But I did like, at least one or two things today and I didn’t actually have to do anything today, so good for me. Fine.

But it’s me, so I worry a lot about these specters of things that are pretty unlikely, chiefly here: I’ll be sleepy forever. Before my various Christmas freakouts, I had been doing really well. Depakote seems not to have given me the stupids like I worried it would. My moods were pretty even, almost predictable (!!!) and I was feeling good about myself and having all these neat ideas for creative projects which, at this point, I haven’t been neglecting as severely as I usually do when I have good ideas. Good. Cool.

But I wanna take as little medicine as I can get away with and Welbutrin, among my other meds, is the easiest to play around with, so here we are. Slightly less medicated, but markedly more sleepy. This should go away. I mean, if I were taking Welbutrin and nothing else, I’d be about 100% sure the drowsiness would wane after the physical withdrawal was over, but that’s not the case ’cause, like I said, I’m on other meds, 3 others exactly, and they all sometimes make me very tired. More specifically, they shorten my battery life. It’s not that I’m evenly sedated throughout the day, it’s more like I only have energy for one or maybe two activities in a day and I don’t like to stay out late anymore.

So right now it’s a little after 4 p.m. It’s rain-snowing like the goddamned apocalypse outside and I’m legit afraid my power will go out. I’ve run out of shit to do except take a shower which is only necessary because it’s my habit to shower daily, I’m not actually dirty enough right now to warrant bathing. After that, it’s very likely that I’ll get high and watch cartoons or something. Maybe reread my poems a few hundred more times. They are part in Italian and I’m like real stoked on that point. But that’s about it. I don’t have energy for much else. I could:

Clean something, like my desk maybe (nah…)

Investigate the meaning behind the text I just got from my sister which simply reads: “Butt fun?”

Learn more mandolin chords and maybe develop some muscle memory and build tougher calluses

Mulch Arturo more thoroughly (Arturo is my pet blueberry bush. He lives on my patio and should be able to withstand a northern Midwest winter storm but he almost died this summer so I worry about him a lot)

Play some solitaire chess. Gotta stay sharp ‘n whatever.

But I totally won’t do any of these things (except maybe find out what the deal is with “Butt fun?” ’cause there is zero context for that text and it’s fucking funny). I’m probably just gonna return my roommate’s mando to his room, take my evening meds (including the ones I prescribed to myself), move from the office to the couch, watch some Jaclyn Glenn youtube videos, lazily entertain sexual thoughts about this woman who I only know through her Etsy shop but who seems like my kinda people even if I can’t quite see what she looks like or tell how old she is from her tiny picture, and maybe see which of the cats is more amenable to being used as a pillow today ’cause one of them will usually let me do that, but it’s not always the same one. All eminently slothful pursuits.

Anyhowl, getting back to things, I’m gonna give it maybe another 7-10 days of grogginess before I decide if the new Welbutrin dosage is right for me. Like, fingers crossed real hard, I guess, ’cause, like I said, the less medicine I can get by on, the better. In the meantime, jammies ‘n couches ‘n…”Butt fun?”

-LB

Tagged: atheism, bipolar disorder, bisexuality, Butt fun?, Christmas, creativity, energy, Italian, Jaclyn Glenn, laziness, Mandolin, marijuana, meds, music, Neko Case, poetry, sleep, Welbutrin, writing

Clean-Up

So we’ve started a massive cleanup operation to get the Christmas stuff taken care of and fit Christmas presents into my youngest one’s room. She is bad about not wanting to get rid of things she no longer plays with And my efforts to help result in arguments instead of results.  SO her older sisters have been helping her today and making lots of progress.  I don’t know if we’ll get the whole room done today or not, but they are trying.  Which is more than  I’ve been able to accomplish. WE’re going to try to pack it into my husband’s truck for a trip to a collection point for poor children and families tonight.  So that will get the “donate” stuff out of my living room and out of the house before the young one changes her mind about anything.

I’m sad to report today that my dad’s only brother passed away at midnight Saturday night.  WE’ll be going to the funeral tomorrow. He has been sick for about a year but worsened around October and spent about a month-and-a-half in the hospital trying to stabilize him.  Finally they simply sent him home since his wife had nursing experience so as to allow him to die at home.  I’ll see all my cousins I didn’t get to see at Christmas on my dad’s side of the family. It’s sad but will ultimately be a blessing because he was so sick.   I just feel for my dad.  HE has said that his brother’s really been “gone” for a long time because he was forgetful and couldn’t’ keep track of conversations.  SO he’s been preparing himself for a while.  ANd my dad lost a sister last year the same way, so it’s been difficult.

It’s been hard to handle today. I called my husband around ten and said I was just overwhelmed and couldn’t get anything done.  I had started laundry but that was all.   I finally talked the oldest into helping with the kitchen and did the master suite myself and my laundry.  ANd I’ve been refereeing  between the other two in cleaning the youngest one’s room.  SO I feel better about the house finally.

 


Meaning and Mental Illness

I wrote this post for Lisa Bortolotti’s project Imperfect Cognitions: Blog on delusional beliefs, distorted memories, confabulatory explanations, and implicit biases.

The blog was founded by Lisa Bortolotti in May 2013, after receiving the happy news that she had been awarded an AHRC Fellowship for a project entitled “The Epistemic Innocence of Imperfect Cognitions“. The core idea of the project was to see whether a variety of cognitions (beliefs primarily, but also memories, narratives and explanations) could enhance knowledge even when they were inaccurate or ill-grounded.

Source: Blog History

Meaning and Mental Illness

Monday, 28 December 2015

For our series of first-person accounts, Kitt O’Malley, blogger and mental health advocate, writes about her experience of altered states and what these mean to her.

When I was twenty-one upon returning from my grandfather’s memorial mass at which I gave the eulogy, I first experienced a series of altered mental states which I chose to interpret as God calling me to the ordained ministry. I questioned that sense of call due to my intellectual skepticism, my agnosticism, and the fact that I had a history of mental illness, namely major depression and dysthymia. God did not speak to me in my altered mental states. I heard no voices and saw no visions. The altered states I entered were sometimes ecstatic and sometimes tempting and dark. My interpretation of my experiences was influenced by my familiarity with the works of Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki on Zen Buddhism, C.S. Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters, and Roman Catholic mystic saints.

As I received no definitive instructions, I didn’t know exactly what God called me to do, but I chose to identify with mystic saints and believed that God called me to seminary training. I did not pursue a seminary education at that time. Later when I was thirty, after being prescribed antidepressants, I experienced a week-long psychotic state in which simultaneous thoughts raced through my mind in binary (zeroes and ones), about chaos theory, and about Roman Catholic mystic saints. Even after the psychotic break, my diagnosis remained dysthymic, with the episode believed to be a reaction to antidepressant medication.

Again, I believed God called me to seminary, but I had to address my mental health before I could follow through on my sense of God’s call. At the age of thirty-nine I once again started to experience euphoric sensations and the belief that God was calling me. At that point, I was a mother and wanted to be stable and grounded for my active toddler son more than I wanted to be a mystic. As a mother, the practical trumped the mystical. I sought help for bipolar disorder from a psychiatrist. My diagnosis changed from dysthymia to bipolar type II and my medication changed accordingly with mood stabilizers and sometimes an antipsychotic added to the mix. Finally, after a psychiatric hospitalization at forty-one, I applied to and attended, but did not complete, seminary.

My belief that I am both a mystic and have a mental illness remains. I believe that God has a purpose for me and that I am fulfilling that purpose in blogging about living with bipolar disorder and in my volunteer work as a mental health advocate. At the same time, I am skeptical of my own belief and realize that such a belief can be dangerous and can lead to destructive behavior.

In spite of my skepticism, I decided to embrace my own experiences as meaningful. I straddle both biological and meaning-based understandings of both my mental illness and my experience of divine calling. I believe both perspectives could be true. For me, what is key is that the meaning I glean from my experiences is positive in its effects.


Filed under: About Mental Health, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Hypomania, Mania, Medication, Mental Health Ministry, Mental Illness, Mood Cycling, Mysticism, Psychosis, Psychotic Thought Process, Vocation

Life Is Like Nails On A Chalkboard

My sensitivity to sound issue has skyrocketed into the stratosphere and it’s only noon. 14 hours of pouring down rain on a tin roof, my kid’s incessant yapping, her dvd player that won’t turn down cos she breaks everything she touches so I have to listen to chipmunks and Elsa at max volume even through a closed door…

Nails. On. A. Chalkboard.

When most say, “I cannot stand to hear the sound of your voice once more today…” it is a blanket statement speaking of irritation.

With me, it’s like the sounds are stabbing at my ears, making my skin crawl, my eyes cringe, my entire body spasm with revulsion. The ‘tinfoil in the mouth” sensation I so fondly recall from having had a mouth full of silver fillings. And part of me wonders if this a lovely side effect to my Cymbalta or Focalin or the combo because prior to taking them I was slightly irked by noise but now…OMG, it’s grueling and I want to cover my ears. And the rain still hasn’t stopped so in addition to that pounding on the tin roof for hour sixteen, I have the depressive undertow dragging me down because it’s too fucking cold, wet, muddy, and nasty to even ponder leaving the lot.

At least I will be in nice high strung depressive glory for my shrink’s appointment and I won’t even be turning up the drama a bit. (And btw, docs, we only ever do that because you see us for fifteen minutes every couple of months and unless we are wearing tinfoil and flinging poo, you assume we’re doing great.)

Prior to the brain buzz of Cymbalta and Focalin this morning, I was fairly content with the notion of doing fuck all but laying under a blanket and binge watching another season of  Scrubs. That calm acceptance has been replaced by an irritation and sensitivity to light, sound, and the very existence of life. Yay.

Methinks something’s got to go. I just want to return to the cocktail I know worked at one time, then tweak it from there, but my doc isn’t really big on the old school meds. I sometimes wonder if he gets stipends from pushing the atypical anti psychotics, the so called wonder drugs and yet most of us who have tried their magical Latuda or Abilify or whatever have had horrid experiences…The devil I know is just better, and I know Lithium works. Hell, for all I know, maybe the Lithium/Lamictal combo and a lower dose of Cymbalta might be the magic bullet. But I’ve got to get him on board and that always stresses me out.

Today’s goal is…Um…Fuck, I don’t know. Try not to hide in the closet wearing earmuffs, headphones, and mashing pillows over my ears?

I am so sick of feeling sick. So sick of people not being able to “see” depression and anxiety thus assuming I am perfectly fine. This mental stuff is metastatic, it’s consumed every normal aspect of my life and left me constantly trying to rebuild but then the mood shifts like a 7.0 earthquake and I am back to square one.

2016 HAS to be better than this shitty year. Nothing catastrophic in my life has happened to an extent I should be depressed 13 straight months. I have oodles to raise my anxiety and panic and I will own that. But I have more than some people do, I have a great kid, a home, my cats…Whatever this depressive bit is, it’s not situational.

Too bad the doctors don’t believe that.


Sonovabitch

Went downstairs
Getta glassa cider
There I saw the bedbug
Foolin’ around with the spider
And then
Went down agin
Getta glassa gin
Sonovabitchin bedbug
Doin’ it agin

One of these days I’ll figure out how to put sound files (like, me singing, eek) on these posts.

Sonofabitch.  Two weeks ago, or maybe three, I don’t know, time is all mashed up these days–I had steroid injections in both shoulders.  Hurt like a sonofabitch, but what to do, my xrays look just like those mace things the barbarians used to swing on chains, in order to bash people’s heads in.  I mean, they have these bumps and stickers growing out of the ball part oft the joint, diving into my ligaments and muscles and cartilage and whatever else they could stick into.

My left shoulder felt real good after a couple of days.  Right one, not so much, but better, I’ll take better.

No pain meds, we don’t do pain meds anymore, don’tcha know.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to find that I couldn’t get out of bed the normal way. 

I sure started to, but the pain in my left shoulder gave me those black spots in my eyes and I had to lie back down and contemplate for a while.

After a suitable interval, and largely because my dog was standing by the door with her legs crossed, looking sad, I hove around and slid out of the sack, grabbing onto the towel rack (remember I live in a tiny RV where things are all squashed together) with my right hand YOW! 

Sonofabitch.  The right one too.

As if the cortisone wore off of both of them, synchronized, just like that.

I guess that is what happened.

So now what the fuck am I supposed to do?

This was my second set of injections.  So I did a little reading on the topic, and found that each injection can poke little holes in the shoulder cartilage, until eventually you need a joint replacement.

Uh, no.

But even worse, doing nothing will eventually lead to a joint replacement.

Mmmmm…..no, no likee.

Gotta find me a good acupuncturist.  I know one in Tucson.

Hell, I am a good acupuncturist, just real hard to hit those points on the upper back.

But sonofabitch, I’m stuck in Western North Carolina.

I had big plans to start heading West last week, but being a weather buff, I looked at the maps and said “nope.”

Good thing, because I would have headed right into that bad line of tornados and mayhem.

Driving around doing random errands, I scraped the bottom of my RV on a sharply angled driveway, and next place I camped I noticed nasty stuff pouring out the bottom of the rig.

Shit.

That’s what it was.

Somehow that minor scrape opened up a pipe joint (hey, that sounds good) in the sewage system.  All well and good, since I was parked at an RV repair joint..rollll another one…

But no.  It was a couple days before Christmas, and nobody was working.

I called RV repair joints all the way to Florida and the Midwest.  Same story.

But good news!  I got an appointment for this coming Wednesday!  Only eight days I will have been hanging around here.

But bad news, if they can’t fix it on the spot…it’s my home, you know…And if they take out stuff in the sewer system, that’s real bad, because I use it…a lot…between the fucking lithium that causes me to pee every five minutes to the Crohn’s that goes in cycles, but when it goes, it GOES…

Well, my full-timers rider on my RV insurance will pay for a rental car and a hotel room if my rig is out of service, but sonofabitch, I don’t even have a single one of my vast suitcase collection with me.

Why would I?  I live like a turtle.  All my stuff goes with me, wherever I go. 

Just another small conundrum.  The RV life is never dull.

In the meantime I’m stuck here in beautiful (not) Marion, North Carolina, where there isn’t even a Cracker Barrel.  That’s how small it is.

But it does have a rental car place, which got me all excited till I called them up, and the rental agent told me sadly that they don’t have any cars at the moment.

Oh, and there isn’t any lodging here, either, not even a Motel 6.

Oh well, something will turn up.

My mother, who lives 45 minutes from here in a place that makes Marion look like a booming metropolis, offered to come and get me.

Noooooooooooo!   I’ll sleep in the woods first.  Have done so before.

In the meantime, I’m back in bed, writing this on my phone with one finger and trying to keep from moving, so I don’t hurt my shoulders.

Atina the Malligator has her 70 pound self draped across my legs, warm and heavy, sweetly sleeping, but still scanning the environment with her ears: they are always on duty.

She is a sweet treasure, my Atina.  Living in close quarters, we grow more and more in sync with each other.  She doesn’t like to let me out of her sight, so I just tie her leash around my waist, and she is content to go where I go, do what I do.

I think that’s the way dogs and their people are meant to be.  Together all the time.

If I’m somewhere safe, without cars or people or other dogs, I let her off the leash.  She still sticks close, but the difference is, she carries a toy around with her and bugs the shit out of me to throw it for her.

Which I have no problem with, except my bum shoulders don’t allow for long throws; which means in two seconds she is back with the blasted toy, wanting me to throw it again.

Where is the ten year old kid when I need one?  They could throw the damn ball while I’m busy, then disappear till I need them again.

But I’m happy to see her all waggy and full of doggie joy, so I throw and curse, throw and curse, until I see she’s had enough.

Sonofabitchin bedbug
Doin’ it agin


A Polish Mother’s Stern Warning

Originally posted on knowplacelikehomeonline:
Worthwhile journeys toward finding the true essence of home and place within (and without) us requires grit. For it is not as if you can call ahead to Starbucks or Gino’s Pizza and place a to-go order for Authenticity. (Extra-large, please. And with a side salad and deep-fried cheese sticks of…