A Ceramic Fish Joint

Bear recreation. “This is probably what the bear looked like… Except real.” Except real!! BEAR Recreation. I’ve died too much over here to make sense. I’ve watched this at least 20 times and die a little more each time. Obviously, this was created by a Fox News affiliate. It makes perfect sense. Over on MSNBC they had that special on ManBearPig.

Also, bear scat. Except REAL!! And, “We are not bear food.” “I’m good; I’m faster than a bear.”

Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica.

I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’ve felt like crap for over a month now. There have been a couple of not too bad days, but more not too good days. Today is one of the not too good days.

I’ve had a fever for…well, a while. Even while on and after finishing antibiotics, though not quite so high once my UTI cleared up. I’m guessing the fever is now because of my stupid broken tooth. It’s bleeding now and HURTS. When I started to call the dentist today, I was overwhelmed with nausea. (I had cancelled my previous two appointments with him because…I was sick. Dammit.) Of the three things I had for dinner last night (ribs, corn, baked potato) guess which one didn’t digest. The potato. The fuck? That’s the easiest of the three to digest. My stomach is totally broken. Also, it appears my digestion has slowed from around 10 hours to 14. Gastroparesis is totally awesome! I might have to import the expensive lactation-causing medicine from Canada after all. It’s either that or abdominal botox at this point. Of course, I also have to get my blood work done eventually (like, in the next week so it’s processed by the time I see the specialist again) to find out what weird thing is happening to my liver. Fingers crossed for foie gras in the making!

I just wish that I didn’t feel crappy all the time. The dizzy, the hurty, the pukey, the tired, the headaches, the everything. I feel like there’s this huge road block in my life from undiagnosed and untreated problems. Hopefully the former will be, uh, diagnosed when I go back to University of MD for a follow-up. And the latter, well… I just have to find a doctor who will treat my pain again. I go back to my existing pain management doctor in a few days to discuss how he’s totally not treating the pain. And, if he’s unwilling to start treating it, I have a couple more doctors to try. Of course, I’ve been through everyone in the local area – this doctor is 2 hours away in Maryland. One of the other doctors is in the same town as him (and all the other people I’ve been to have been located in Maryland as well) which makes me wonder if pain management in Maryland is the suck. So I have a couple of people in West Virginia that I am going to try as well. It’s ridiculous. In Tampa, I called a pain management clinic and had an appointment the same week. No doctors had to do a full work-up and referral and there wasn’t a three month wait. And when I went? I actually got pain medicine in addition to trying to fix the problem. Because, see, trying to fix the problem in my particular situation only works about half the time. And it’s a long process, during which you still freaking hurt. I’m mostly pissy about this because I went from being functional to unable to do much of anything without excessive pain. Walking hurts, sitting hurts, sleeping hurts – you get the picture. When I have to actually do stuff, it makes me pukey. And weepy. And very sad to have to deal with it. I hate the bullshit I have to go through when I see doctors. All the hoops I have to jump through now. In Tampa, I had a great set of doctors in place doing lots of different things. Now, I have one doctor that I drive 2 hours to see who wants to just fuck with the nerves in my back. Which happens to be something that makes me very squeamish and panicky. And I get to be awake for it all, unlike the same procedure in Tampa. Instead of only being anxious about if they could actually get an IV started so I could be put to sleep, now I get to be anxious if they can get an IV started so I can get some meds that don’t actually work on me fully and just hope that I can lay still for long enough to not be paralyzed while flipping the fuck out on the table. As in, sobbing into the paper cover on the table so that it sticks to my face. I much preferred to be knocked out when people are sticking needles into the nerves surrounding my spine.

Now I have to try to remember which makes me less sick – 7UP or Sprite. I hate gingerale and don’t really like the lemon-lime crap but fizzy sweet helps with nausea. And drinking Pepsi like normal when I’m pukey makes me hate it when I’m not pukey. And that sucks. I already can’t drink a handful of other drinks because of drinking them when sick. And water? Well, usually I start chugging it when I’m sick but then it makes me more pukey. Not always a bad thing at that moment, but it gets old.

Dammit! My dentist is closed on Fridays. Hopefully he can squeeze me in on Monday sometime between the bajillion other appointments we collectively have. Living in this house totally sucks sometimes. Except for how my dad will pick stuff up for me when I’m sick so I don’t have to move. That part is pretty good.

Excuse me now while I nibble on some toast.

Twitter down with nary a Fail Whale! Instead there’s a 503 error….NO SERVER AVAILABLE!!!!

Sweet Server Racks! This is way worse than a Fail Whale! What do I do? What happens when there are no tweets? Or ability to tweet? If I tweet and nobody can hear me, am I actually here?

Halp!

Oh, whew! Twitter is back. No more existential crisis over here.

While going through some things, I found the letter my dad wrote to me on my 21st birthday. When I was living away, which was the majority of the time after graduation, he would often write me a note on my birthday. We don’t really do gifts and such for birthdays, but I treasure the letters and it makes me sad that I’ve lost so many.

Anyway, here is Birthday Letter 3-15-2001 (written 3-14):

Heidi,
Happy Birthday! Just thought I’d write a few lines here at lunch. Had tuna fish sandwich and Pepsi. Both delicious. As you read this you will be celebrating the symbolic day that commemorates your 21st birthday. I remember hwen I turned 21, we were coming home from work, Justin Ratcliff, Dad and myself, and after what is now Dale’s Pit Stop, Justin said in his slow drawl; “Boy, they’ll really fly by now.” I can remember it like it was yesterday! So I guess he was right. I remember it so well, he was about 45-50 then, now here I am 49! With a 21yr old daughter of my own. Of whom I am very pround and with whom I am most pleased. 21 does not seem like such a big deal, you have been acting pretty mature for some time, although that is something that continues to evolve forever it seems. The only thing that ever seems to remain constant is change. Things constantly change. So do we. You are no longer the little girl who used to try to talk me into getting you out of school on the first Friday in December to go stand in line to get Oriole tickets as soon as they went on sale. Know what? You actually had me talked into it and I intended to do it some year but th time never seemed right so I never got around to it. I wish now we would have done it one time. But we didn’t and now times have changed. The moral of this little story: If you have the opportunity to do something you want to do, do it. Because while you are awaiting a more convenient time, things may change and it will be different. Things never stay the same. Time for me to get back to work.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Love,
Dad

That actually made me a little choked up and misty-eyed to read. And I realize that much of the content means nothing to anyone but me, however I like being able to put it somewhere so I’ll remember.

**It should be known that my 21st birthday was not filled with alcohol. It was acid-fest 2001. Wes came up from Tampa and we spent roughly 3 days tripping. I remember it like it was yesterday; except for how some parts are a little hazy cause of the hallucinations and whatnot.

Every time I start to get comfortable with things, I remember this exists. You know. The Flat Earth People. The thing is, they have so logically justified their position (with Science! and Physics!) that it makes me die a little on the inside.

Then again, there are still people who think the moon landing was fake. With the lights and lack of impact crater and everything! I actually slept with a kid who totally believed it. And yes, he did seem like a kid to me – though I think he was 18 or 19 at the time. I was probably 25ish? I still felt a little dirty. Could have been the moon thing, though. It was at that point that I started drinking harder and doing a few more lines of a certain something so we could just get on with it. The sex was okay…but I have this standing policy that the people I fuck have to be halfway intelligent. Because otherwise when you take a break from orgasms there’s a moment when words fall out of mouths and when they are just so very wrong you die on the inside a little more and just have to push their mouth to strategic places so that the tongue can do something better than make my brain hurt.

Now, going on a slight tangent here. For some reason, I’ve realized that my lower end of dateable/fuckable people keeps rising. And the upper end keeps rising, but at a greater rate. That doesn’t make much sense, in two ways. One, in that I feel that way and two in that…what the fuck did I just say? Okay. Like, previously? I’d be cool with anyone legal but the upward limit would be like +7 years. Now, it’s more like -3/+20ish. What the hell is up with that?

On another, final, note – this is the last week of Jesus Camp learning character through hard labor. Part of me giggles inside that these kids…these tweens…are at my house building things. And, apparently, painting. I went upstairs and the kitchen was white. It’s never been white. We’ve never had a room in this house be white. Well, except the Red Room – but it doesn’t count. The kitchen has been pink and then blue. But now. Now it’s white. And there’s all kinds of crap in the living room. And outside under tarps. We have a LOT of crap. Took me an hour to find the damn cat food. Ziggy was unimpressed and felt that he already had plenty of character – missing a day of canned cat food (with gravy!) was in no way necessary. But yeah. The Jesus Camp. There are two “crews” here this week. Which means a lot of kids. Like 20 kids. No lie.

There’s one supervisor of each crew – and then the actual crew changes each day. They go from house to house to do their good work for disabled people. We’re getting a ramp built so that it’s easier for mom to get to the car since we have a very steep hill in the front yard. And apparently this one group comes to a nearby camp each summer – recruiting kids from Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania mostly. Except it’s in West Virginia. Whatever. I mean, I’m all for religion bringing meaning to one’s life. That’s why it exists, after all. Otherwise, everybody everywhere would be all stuck in this huge, cold existential crisis where they’re all alone in the big bad world with no meaning or reason. And also, somebody kicked their puppy.

But these kids! They’re so happy. They’re happy for Jesus! Like in the documentary “Jesus Camp.” And all this character being built! Astounds me. Also, sometimes you hear things like “You can’t be mean when you’re at Jesus Camp!” Or the lengthy discussions of the Jonas Brothers and what they mean to life today. Or Hannah Montana, to a lesser degree. And giggling! Damn. I forgot how much kids giggled when they got together.

Also? Apparently a turquoise streak through your hair is a HUGE hit with Jesus Camp Kids. Whenever I went outside there were squeals and oohs and aaahs. No lie. And then a week and a half ago we were invited to go have dinner with the camp people. Each family was invited; they normally work with 4 or 5 families a week. So I went with dad. And at least 3 young girls approached me about how cool my hair was and how they wanted to dye their hair x color. It was cute, really. And oh so progressive. And also makes me feel a little weird that Jesus Camp Kids want my hair. And nails, too. (My nails matched my hair. Still do, actually.) Uh, yeah.

What was the point? Flat Earth people. They creep me out even more than the moon landing hoax people. Because, seriously? My brain can’t even comprehend how their brain(s) came up with some of this stuff.

No, I’m not talking about the writing on this page. Or the writing on the wall. Or cellar door. No, I’m talking about how yesterday I lost a few marbles and wrote about a pen I was using.

Let’s read that again. I wrote about a pen I was using.

Okay, let’s back up a bit. I think on Twitter–

Wait – there’s this show being previewed that has some Donnie Darko music remixed in it. Couldn’t place the first song quickly enough, but the second was Mad World. Which, of course, was originally by Gary Jules – and remade for Donnie Darko. So I guess I could say that Mad World was remade for this show. But I swear there was another Donnie Darko song in the beginning. Well, if not another song from Donnie Darko, then a song from an equally fucked up (but brilliant) movie. As an aside – did you know that Topher (from Dollhouse – who gets ALL the Xander and Wash quotes in the series…and Wash…er…Alan Tudyk…is even featured in the final two episodes!) Sorry, been watching a lot of Dollhouse as well.

Where was I? Oh, I think in the past week on Twitter I may have mentioned that I’ve been sick. Actually I’ve been sick for about two weeks, with a few days of feeling not-craptacular in between. First there was the just feeling weird and bad. And being tired. Then came the fever. Oh, the fever. So many days of the fever. I would wake up with a slight fever and in two hours I’d be starting to go over 102F. Then Friday was another weird day. I felt alright. And no fever. Was happy because there were plans to have a Dad-Date to the fair for funnel cakes, Ferris Wheel and a new bunny. At the fair, they have 4-H rabbits. In our experience, they are the most socialized rabbits. I guess because some kid is tasked with taking care and raising a cute fluffy little bunny. So it gets held a lot and such. We like our rabbits to be human-friendly.

Okay. So Friday was a not-death day. Then I either couldn’t sleep or just plain forgot. At this point, it makes no difference. I just know that around noon on Saturday I was feeling weird again. No fever, just the sleep deprivation. Jeremy decided he was going to work that evening. Meaning no fair for us since somebody has to stay home with mom at all times. Whatever.

Around 2 or 3 the crazy started to set in. Trying to read stuff and the words kept either moving or melting. Very much like my first experience with LSD. Fucking words not staying in place. Then I was awake again. But, you know, still crazy. And for some reason I got into my little white repurposed box containing various writing instruments (plus a few paper clips) and the word “PENS” written in sharpie on top.

So, I was going through the pens. And found one of my glitter gel pens.

Okay, time for another aside. You may or may not know that I totally love office supplies. Pens, markers, post-it notes. I always made excuses at Previous Job to go to the Locker of Supplies. Before reaching the locker of supplies, you were confronted by Table of Candy. But not *all* candy, as the admin assistant (in control of the candy and supplies) kept her favorites at her desk. Especially Twizzlers. Anyway, I would make excuses that night/weekend shift had stolen all the damn pens again so I could go restock our wee department. In my defense, there was this one guy on weekend nights who DID steal all the pens and we actually needed them for stuff. So, uh, there.

Aside from office supplies, I love lotion and lip goo and make-up. I once (recently) counted nearly 30 tubes of mascara in my collection. And there may or may not be containers of lip goo all over the house. Including at least 7 tubes of Burt’s Bees goo. I dig that stuff in a totally not-hippie way. And finally, I love Target – and their dollar section where I have, in the past, picked up most of these things obsessively. Oh, the dollar section. You gave me my collection of Peanuts coffee mugs. And The Office notebooks, magnets and dry erase boards. And other notebooks. I like notebooks. I like making lists. Lists. They’re very organized. Something I am not. But! I can organize myself in list form on my various notebooks.

Anyway, so I dig into this box of pens and decide to see if the green glitter gel pen worked. But then my mind was all crazy and I started writing about the pen. I’ll share, promise.

But I meant to write it yesterday. Then I got sick again. BAM, super fever out of nowhere. And bonus UTI. Like, all of a sudden my bladder was on fucking FIRE. Now, I get these stupid things all the time. I’ve not had one come on so quickly or violently before. There was the trying to pee for 2 hours straight for a measly 3 drops. Yes, you now know about my menstrual cycle AND my urination. Aren’t you glad you stuck around? Luckily, I got those lovely over the counter pills that make me both able to pee and not cry while doing it. And tomorrow means I can call the doctor for another lovely round of Cipro. Good enough for Anthrax, good enough for my bladder. See, I can’t take the usual UTI meds anymore. Why? Because when I was in college I had so many bladder infections in such a short amount of time (8 in less than a year, I think) that the last dose resulted in a bad, bad allergic reaction. And *poof* now I can’t take sulfonamides.

Hah! That preview is on again. The first song is from Requiem for a dream. Actually it’s parts of two songs from Requiem. Then goes into a remake of Mad World. FlashForward is the show. Doesn’t look good, but keeps catching me at the music.

So yeah. There was the whole burning and crying and sweet science I can’t pee part yesterday afternoon. Then I got another high fever. And still didn’t go to bed until after midnight. Which was a giant two day crazy-fest. Leading me to not post the crazy I wrote. But! I did write crazy, and it started to amuse me even while I was writing it and couldn’t stop. It was written on a mini yellow legal notepad. I like those for writing at home. But like things with covers for on-the-go fun. Anyway, here’s Ode to Green Glitter Pen (oddly enough in cursive; I don’t write in cursive):

Green Glitter Gel Pen works well only some of the time. Otherwise, it hardly works. Despite this, I still <3 you. Target Dollar Section, Office Supplies: Hello Kitty, Peanuts, The Office + [unreadable] (Punkin!) + myriad gooddies forever [unreadable] you.

Green Glitter Gel Pen, you are safe from the trash. I've used less than one inch of your unpredictable beauty. I promise you will not suffer the fate of your package-siblings Blue and Purple. Instead, you will live with Sister Pink in opaque white repossessed box "PENS.” I will find a use for every drop of green glitter gel you give.

Yes, even I can’t always read my crazy notes. But wait, there’s more! Sister Pink made an appearance!

Pink! Less predictable but granted the same fate as Green. Kindness? Or fondness of hue?

Uh, yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared all of that. I’m pretty sure it can be used in the future as evidence for someone to sign commitment papers.

In any case, I’m still sick. This weird, weird, sick. I totally have Avian Bird Swine SARS. Yes, that doesn’t make sense, but makes me giggle. Oh, this particular strain? Is from FRANCE. Blame the French!

Tomorrow I get to go to the dentist. Stupid tooth chipped and needs fixed. Fucker. I cancelled my appointment for tooth cleaning two weeks ago when I was just starting to get sick. So much for that idea. Luckily it’ll be quick. X-rays, possible antibiotics and a plan on when and how to fix. Probably I won’t cry like last time. Well, maybe I won’t cry. No promises.