Monthly Archives: November 2012

Modulation Vexation

I am guessing that I pushed myself harder than I should have in the month of November. To be fair, I was going to be damned if I did or damned if I didn’t; that just seems to be how things go. All I know is that this week I have been all over the place. I was hella depressed yesterday and mildly euphoric earlier. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I sure as hell don’t.

And apparently, my mind has purged whatever I was going to say. Thanks brain, you’ve been really helpful lately. And both of my arms have started tingling, which I cannot tell if it’s from the cold (it’s sub-freezing outside), or if I’ve annoyed nerves. It’s probably a bit of both; my left index finger was in a bit of agony yesterday, so I put on a wrist bracing bandage thingie. Which means that I, of course, woke up with the corresponding wrist hurting. The other tingling has only been in the past half hour.

Or maybe I should take it as a body hint to feck off from people and the internet, ha ha. It could be trying to warn me that everything is gonna trigger, so to run like hell and hide in my Sims game. Mmm, Sims… yeah. I’m going to do that. Hopefully I’ll have something better next time, and sooner! G+ has been stealing most of my post material lately, hee hee.



Weekly Photo Challenge: Reflections

This is easily the easiest photo challenge theme ever. I have a zillion photos of reflections, especially pretty sunsets reflected …

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All Aboard: A New Medi-go-round ride is beginning

The doctor did not reject my dual mood stabilizer idea out right.

She said we’d try her idea first.

Her idea is Cymbalta.

I took my first 30mg dose last night.

Of course, my kid woke up four times and I was grumpy with her and barely able to amble along and keep my eyes open. EXACTLY what I told the shrink I did not want.


She says this is less for the depression and more for the panic disorder, she is going to yank me off Xanax next. Oh wait, their word is “wean” but when something works and you take it from me, I consider it yanking. I am not digging my heels in, mainly because I have about a six month stash of Xanax compiled. I don’t abuse the stuff. I take what gets me through the day and the rest just stays in the damn bottle. Not that anyone listens to me. And her theory that it oversedates me is crap. The ONLY reason I have rejected Klonopin and Ativan,et al in favor of Xanax, is because they do make me a sleepy zombie and Xanax does not. Individual chemistry and all that.

No matter. I’m only the insignificant being taking this crap, the doctors and their books know everything.

And this doctor…She contradicts herself,or gets confused or something. She does not remember taking me off Melatonin for sleep. I know she told me not to take it with Elavil when we switched to that, otherwise I wouldn’t have given my sister a perfectly good ten dollar bottle of Melatonin if I could use it.

And trying to make her understand the whole Medicare prescription plans is pointless. You HAVE to ask for pre-approval for brand name drugs or they just substitute it with something similar that is generic. That’s how I ended up with Celexa even though she prescribed Lexapro. It has always been this way as far as my script plan goes. And she sat there telling me, no, it doesn’t work that, no other patient she has with Medicare has any problem getting brand names, blah blah blah.

There are times I just want to beat my head against the wall.

BUT if what she said is true about Cymbalta actually helping ease the withdrawal symptoms from Effexor, that would be a good thing. I swear these meds are giving me brain damage, I can’t type properly anymore, I go to speak and get my words garbled…They wonder why we’d rather be sick than take this crap, but honestly. Do we know what this is doing to us long term?

Knowing I don’t have much choice since all other avenues have been exhausted doesn’t make it any better. Talk therapy, light therapy, color therapy, chakra therapy, hypnosis, herbal supplements, diet and exercise…I have tried everything short of electroshock and an exorcism and I still haven’t ruled out the exorcism.

Oh, well. Onward. Hope for the best.









Quickie post before having my head shrunk

isn’t it false advertisement to call them headshrinkers? I’ve been going for 20 years and my head has yet to shrink down one single size.


Stupid med withdrawal.

And another misconception.

Withdrawal means you crave what you are withdrawing from, like booze or drugs. (Illegal drugs.)

I don’t want any more Effexor, ffs. I just want it out of my system.

I see the shrink today, she had a cancellation and they got me in two weeks early. I am spazzing out from coming off Effexor and it is wreaking havoc on my life and functionality. I have done some research and have a thought to run by her. I don’t know if she will be conducive but wish me luck, guys.

Before my brain climbs out of my skull and hits me with a shovel while I am not looking.


Back on the Chain Gang

Ah, the blissful bubble of  NaNoWriMo is over.  Well, officially it’s over at midnight on November 30th, so I’ve got a day and then some to revel in typing my fingers off.  But let’s face it, I’ve got my 50,000 words and my Winner Certificate, so I guess I’m a Lame Duck WriMo.  And now, although I’m still banging away at it, I’ve come to a really difficult spot in my “novel.”  I’m hoping that putting it to bed for the night will help: let it incubate for a while, or perhaps compost, ferment, whatever gets it going again.


I decided to tackle some of the effects of entropy that have turned my living space into even more of a trash heap than it was before.  So I tackled something that just has to be done.  In case you don’t remember, I moved into my dad’s pottery studio.  He’s too sick to use it anymore, and I need a place to live.  It’s been quite an adventure, full of all kinds of challenges and roadblocks.  I’ll have to write a post devoted to the project and where it stands to date, complete with pictures of my electric toilet.  That’s right folks: I have an electric toilet, because this building is perched on the edge of a cliff and there’s no place for a septic tank.


Anyway.  Tonight I spent an hour putting my dad’s pottery tools away: you know, all those wonderful little tools he used to use to make his mind-blowing ceramic art.  A lot of them are found objects: a toothbrush handle, a cheese cutter, a rubber spatula.  I separated them according to function and size, and put them all in plastic bags and then into one of those Rubbermaid boxes I can’t live without.  I cried a lot.  I wanted to scream, but it would scare my little dog.  Times like this, I wish she had a temporary “off” switch so that I could just go ahead and scream without having to worry about somebody else’s feelings.


Tomorrow I have a busy day.  I won’t get to the next thing on my list, which is wiping the mold off of all my books and putting them in the bookcases, after wiping the mold off the bookcases first.  Yes, you read right:  mold.  The bane of the asthmatic: and I am an asthmatic.


You see, it is so humid here, on the cliff above the river, that while I was away for ten weeks resting in the bosom of Jerusalem, the humidity was at work making mold over all of my belongings.  Everything.  Furniture, clothes, even (and I am deeply offended at this) my banjo strap, that I made out of leather in 1974.  Arrrrgh!  One step forward, two steps back.


But on the other hand, I’m sitting here wheezing, listening to Queen on Pandora, my little doggie asleep tucked under my right elbow.  I spent the day with my old dad, who was lucid enough today to have a deep discussion about ceramic glaze chemistry.  We both love chemistry.  It’s just that most of the time, his brain refuses to cooperate, so we can’t discuss much and he goes to sleep.  But today was one of those increasingly rare days when relative clarity allowed us to have a rare and precious conversation about some pretty technical stuff.


I’d better go take a nebulizer treatment and take my handful of pills so I can get up in the morning and drive to Asheville to see the disability lawyer and my psychologist, now that I’m a certified Nutter.

Cleaning Out

I periodically go through massive cleaning-out binges. I suspect it’s a prodromal symptom for a mood swing, but whatever. It …

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For Sale: Used slightly unreliable brain with multiple defects

Cute title,no? Kinda just hit me cos Bex has always said when I die, she wants to put my brain in a jar on her desk. We have warped senses of a humor. But there is a reason I went with that title/theme this morning at the sucky hour of 6 am (thank you alarm clock Spooky.) Let me explain, because while it may seem like long winded prattling, the dots connect in my head. And it’s relevant to my thoughts at this moment, hang in there with me,please.

I am a dinosaur,inasmuch that I do not relish texting or talking on the phone or Facebook.

I still use Windows Live Messenger, even though Bex is the only person I know who still uses it. I refuse to be assimilated to the other forms of communication others are so fond of. I am not Borg. What I have always loved about IM is that it’s the perfect real time talk for people who have severe social anxiety. Like me. I get so tongued when trying to talk sometimes, I come off like a hyperactive bunny on a bad acid trip. IM lets me have time to put my thoughts into words without just opening mouth and inserted both feet,shoes,socks, and all.

Another plus of Windows Live IM (I absolute loathe all things Yahoo, but that’s another story entirely) is the custom emoticons. I am told it is childish, outdated, superfluous, blah blah, to use emoticons these days beyond a simple smiley. Yet emoticons make it sooo simply to depict your meaning, your thoughts, it’s just concise with a sense of whimsy to it. Many times I have thought in actual verbal communication, misunderstandings of my intent could have been avoided if I had simply been able to use the msn emote with the tongue sticking out. Obviously indicating sarcasm or a lack of seriousness. My voice apparently does not do this adequately and my sense of humor leaves much to be desired with the masses.

In terms of my mental state at times…there is this animated emote Bex gave me a looongg time ago that shows a smiley emote sweating and looking distressed and then it’s brain pops out of its head.

THAT is how I feel 98% of the time.

Long story to explain a little thing but that’s me, sorry.

Yesterday I was feeling pretty positive and good before the job interview. I got there early, and read while I waited. I was actually giving myself pats on the back for being in a good mental state and not freaking out.

Then five minutes before time to go face the lady.,..the panic swept in and kicked my ass and I started sweating and hyperventilating and my heart was trying to bounce its way out of my chest cavity.

I had to take a Xanax because my head was swimming and all logic was just flying away with my rapid heartbeat. I could just see that emoticon in my head, depicting exactly how I was feeling. One minute in control, next minute brain popping out of my skull.

But I nutted up and went inside and turned out, she was very laid back, bubbly, friendly, and I liked her. It was not a long interview, but it went pretty well. I tried to address my problems in the past while putting forward all of the progress I have made and the skills I have pertinent to the job duties. It’s my idea job, part time, flexible hours, casual dress code. I want it badly.

Which means I won’t get it, because she is interviewing people all the way til the end of next week. I may have the skills but I have come to find they always go for someone with stability over drive and ability.

Stability is not my forte, thanks to my stupid defective brain never acting the way it should.

It went well, and I want to be hopeful, but I own my past and I know in all likelihood it will continue to haunt me. After a year, I was just glad to get an interview anywhere.

After surviving that, I went the shop where R was not having a good day. And what does my brain decide is appropriate mode to go into?


So I am bouncing off walls, talking like a chatterbox, seemingly happy…and he thinks it is at his expense, like I am taunting him for having a bad day.

Thanks a lot, Brain.


Then I went to yank some capacitors off a board and i got them all…and forgot in what order they went back. Just blanked out. Like some magnet erased my hard drive. I don’t know if it’s the med situation or lack of focus, but wow. That sucked.

I was glad to come home.

I didn’t even bother eating. As soon as Spook was down, I crawled into bed with the movie Brainscan playing and went to sleep.

Today I am dealing the insurance company lady. She’s coming here this morning to look at my car’s damage. She’s going to see the hood I live in, the elderly car I drive, and I’ll be lucky if they offer enough for a Happy Meal.

But my contingency plan is having my dad and his woman here, I bought the car from them, they know exactly how much is tied up in it, what it would go for at auction, et al.

I will not be laying down and keeping the peace on this one. I was sitting at a stop sign for fuck’s sake. I had no blame whatsoever except for leaving the house.

They will either put my car back the way it was, or get me a better car. period.

That has me in a rather anxious agitated mood, dealing with red tape mongers pisses me off.


Long post about fuck all.

It’s mental purging.

I needed to do it.

Anyone who bothered to read, thanks. You have the patience of a saint.



NaNoWriMo Victory!

Gentle readers, I have done my WriMo duty for a second straight year.  I must shamelessly say that I am very proud of myself.  Even better, when I hit the 50.000 word winner mark, I couldn’t stop, but have kept write on (sic) all evening and am now standing at 51,327 delicious words.


It’s a bitter-sweet victory for me to be writing this book.  I’ve been trying to write it for 40 years, but have run into emotional snags like near-psychotic breaks triggered by the flashbacks that I inevitably get when I write the history of the lost and abused little girl I was.  Even now, I have written many words through streaming tears.


But this time is different, for some reason.  The words are flowing (as are my tears) and at the end of every writing session I feel liberated, lightened of the load I have carried these 40 years and more.


So hip-hip-hooray for me, and I am going to drink a toast now, to Dina Leah and her new life, freed from the bonds of the past.  Now it’s time to incorporate the discipline of NaNoWriMo into my every day writing life, and apply seat to chair for at least two hours a day, as I have for the past month.  And soon, soon (maybe tomorrow) I will restart Dina Leah’s blog, where her story will be available in serial form.  See you there!

Get me a shovel, life keeps piling it on

So yesterday day I got a quarter mile from home, stopped at a stop sign…and some crazy bitch plowed into my driver side fender and door.

Spook and I were not hurt.

Christine, my beloved 88 Caprice, however, is fucked up. I was soo mad and well…emotionally traumatized. My poor poor baby. I love that car, even if everyone else thinks it’s a dinosaur. I love those old box style tanks. And had I not been driving a tank, the crazy lady’s car would have been in the car with us and I probably would have had a broken leg from the angle at which we were smashed into. She didn’t slow down, she just slammed into us. Bloody hell,, that was not a good morning.

On the plus side, Dad and his woman came to town and with some prying and pounding got the fender undented enough to make the car driveable.


(I call her Christine in honor of the car from the Stephen King novel, not because she is evil, but because I kinda wish she was.)

Ironically,  the woman who hit me has the fitting last name “Batty.”

You can’t make this shit up.

I am still shaken, and toss in more sheer panic for today…


Instant basketcase on top of yesterday’s fiasco.

I feel like I am careening out of control on some busted roller coaster ride with everything coming at me. Christmas, bills, this interview, now worrying about whether her insurance company will even cough up enough to put Christine back as she was.

Life has a sadist’s sense of humor.

Oh well. Some days you’re the dog, and some days you’re the hydrant.

As of late I have been the hydrant.

I am however proud of myself because as fucked up as yesterday was, as soon as the car could be driven, I was right at the shop. Neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor some crazy lady assaulting my beloved car…


It hurts to look at her.

Everyone is like, “what about your kid, aren’t you even worried about her?”

Of course, my kid was my first concern. But she was in the back in her seat, far from impact zone, and she was fine, did not even cry,

I was up and walking.

So, kid fine, mom fine…

I feel justified in mourning the one true victim there. Christine. She is the one who is all banged up. Old and outdated she may be, but the car runs like a dream and has less than 100,000 actual miles on it. For an 88, that is a big deal.

My baabbyy.

I am prattling because I am really nervous about my interview. There are 7 other people so I probably don’t have a chance. But fingers crossed.

I think all in all…with the med situation, and yesterday, and all…

I am upright and functioning. That counts for something right.

Wish me luck.


In a word, my mood today, is pissy.

The phone rang four times last night, it was R. I didn’t answer it. Didn’t want to. Not in the mood to hear him prattle on about business and his personal issues and how everything is hunky dory because he’s too drunk to care seven nights a week.

It is an absolute kick in the face to work so hard to fix the things everyone tells you are wrong with you, while everyone around just remains the same self absorbed mental trainwreck. It’s like YOU are the only person with a problem, they are fine as is, and if you can’t accept them that way, well, you’re not a good person.


I have a mood disorder I did not ask for, do not have control over, and medicate myself to the gills to correct…And that’s a character flaw. I got to counseling pretty much changing everything about myself others find so distasteful and problematic..but I “owe” this to society?

Yet being a narcissistic alcoholic asshole, by choice, is not a problem.

Being a self absorbed nasty tempered self contradicting witch is not a problem.


I don’t fucking think so.

Now, given I am not in a great place right now and few months down the road I may reread this and think, wow you are a crazy bitch, Niki.

I doubt it. This has been piling up over years and years, sparked into flame by the Donor, who is an even bigger bucket of neuroses, yet he was happy being that way. I was the one with issues that needed to be changed, even though a lot of my issues were sparked by his issues.


Why can’t I just be the moody grumpy up and down bitch that I am? Why am I the only one who has to make changes?

Oh, right, because I want to be a better version of myself.

And why am I the only one who even has the desire to become a better person?

So what is the point of this post?

I have no idea.

It seems to help to vent. I haven’t seen my counselor in two months because she is on surgical leave til Dec 17th, so I have no one to talk to about all this stuff. It’s boiling up and poisoning me.

I am on the fence on what to do today. Do I answer the phone if R calls?

How is that going to benefit me?

Because he will pull the same old shit, ask me what’s wrong, tell me to talk to him, then complain if what I say involves being angry at him.

(I am the phone with my dad and he is prattling on about Obamacare, one of my big hot topic buttons because I think its insane to fine people for being too poor to have health insurance…Have I mentioned how much I hate the world?)

(Oh, another daddy lecture on how people who don’t work and are on disability are worthless. I feel so loved.)

Where was I?

I have no idea.

I am such a trainwreck at the moment.

I’ll post again later when I remember what I wanted to post about other than feeling pissed off. Mind is kind of running off without me.