The Worst Nights I Ever Weathered

Friday night my Hug was squeezing the living turds out of me (cue Princess saying, "You have turds living in you? Mine are all dead."), so I took a Flexeril to help loosen that hug and get some sleep. Great plan -- usually. That night the big dog, Gus, had the runs. I had seen the dogs snarfing the overripe and fermenting pears that had fallen from the trees earlier that day, ignoring our long talk about eating things that could potentially upset one's stomach and the need for caution before unhinging our jaws and swallowing things whole like a snake. But the dogs eat a lot of things that, at best, would give me the trots too, or, at worst, bring about my untimely demise. So I wasn't worried about taking Flexeril that night. As anyone who has tossed that lovely sleep inducing pill down their gullet knows, you sleep like the dead. The big dog usually wakes me up by whining in the night to let me know he needs to go outside NOW! Because I was in such a drug induced haze, he started barking in my room to wake me up. It worked. This wouldn't be so bad but he did this 3 times that night! When I got up that morning, I had the catch phrase from that commercial from years ago, "does constipation slllllooooooow yooooooou doooooown? Does diarrhea speedyouup?" running through my head. I was so dead tired after that night, and pushed myself so hard the next day, that I fell into bed dead tired the next night.

I figured that because I was so dead tired and could barely keep my eyelids up all day, I didn't need any relaxing sleep aids that night. Princess had her cousin spend the night, which usually doesn't keep me up because I sleep so soundly, but that night sleep was no where near me. I fell asleep, book in hand (I lost my page and had to search for it the next day), and should have been out for the night. I slept good for about 2 hours then popped awake and couldn't find my sleep anywhere for the rest of the night. Sure, I dozed off and on, checking the clock to see how long I had been out each time I woke back up, and got about 5 hours of sleep by my calculations and adding as much to the time as I could and still be somewhat accurate. About midnight, Princess and cousin were so noisy that I shut my door. I raised the white flag at 4 and staggered out to get a strong pot of coffee going. When I opened my door, the little dog, Widget or Midget Poo Poo Platter, fell into my room and I fell over him. How I didn't blow away without him to hold me down is a miracle. How my chastity stayed intact without him to guard it all night, I can only attribute to my chastity belt and my foresight to put it on that night. Someone could have come in through my window and threatened my chastity without him there to protect me! I shudder to think of ever having to share my bed with a person instead of a dog. (I also wonder what would happen if I ever did try to share my bed with anyone else... how would he react to that?)

I was tired as all hell yesterday and plodded through the day like a zombie. Luckily I decided to play Russian Roulette with my medicine cabinet and got a Flexeril. It was a close one. I almost got more Baclofen, or Xanax, but last night I got a bullet of Flexeril and slept like a baby with no dogs with the runs or Princesses with cousins spending the night to disturb my slumber. It was pure bliss.

Scars

I've been pondering the different kinds of scars one racks up in a lifetime the last couple of days. There are the obvious scars we get from injury to our skin. Like all the scars I have from the multitude of IVs I've gotten. Or the rock I still have in my knee from a bicycling accident when I missed the pedal and dragged my knee along the pavement for a few feet. That was a bloody mess! By the time I got home, crying and damn near hysterical, I had blood all down my leg, soaking my sock and shoe. My knee looked like I had dragged it over a cheese grater. The rock still embedded there is a thing of envy for my nieces and nephews, who like to run their fingers over it and hope they get so lucky some day.

Then there are the MS scars that can only be seen on an MRI, but show their presence by my gimping walk, lack of balance and inability to really see something unless it is mashed into my face.

But the worst scars, by a landslide, have to be the emotional ones. The scars that can't be seen by the naked eye (what other option is there for the eye? The well dressed eye?). The ones that cut so deep you carry the scars for a lifetime, regardless of whether anyone knows they are there or not. My 2 biggest ones I would like to expand on because they are noteworthy and I feel the effects of them too often in spite of all I do to try and make them go away. Alas, the nature of a scar is it's permanence and ability to change you for life.

The end of my marriage.

Good gods, this one has torn me up (from the floor up). No one gets married thinking about divorce. Or most people don't. I didn't. When I got married, I was so happy and sure I made the right choice. I still don't think I made the wrong choice. We were very happy until MS came to stay. I shut down and pulled away from everyone and he started drinking more. We all know how this story plays out so I won't reiterate it all. He and I talk about where we both went wrong and how we could have been one of those couples that were happy until the end if we had only ________. We had the makings to be a great couple, but we handled things the wrong way.

For all his faults, I love how he still likes me best out of everyone in the world. That he is so generous, even to Princess. The last time I went up to see him, she came with because we both wanted to spend the weekend in the pool with him to grill for us. He took us shopping one morning, while we were waiting for it to be warm enough to get in the pool, and let Princess and I pick out what we "needed" without even caring what the price was when we checked out. He has always been like that. When Princess and I still lived with him, he didn't care what we bought as long as we were happy. He fixed up Princess' bedroom, painting it the color she wanted and even painting her nightstand and bookshelf a matching color. He never waxes poetic on my ass, but he doesn't need to. Actions speak louder than words.

That one relationship that messes you up for a long time.

When I was a young warthog (when she was a young warthoooooog!) I fell in love in a way that one should never fall in love. Where you love so completely, even though you know better than to love like that. I loved him more than I loved myself. I loved the sound of his voice, listening to him talk, his touch, being with him, everything about him. Sadly, there was no happy ending in the cards. I can't speak for him, even though I'm going to and say that he did not feel the same way. Or if he did, he hid it very well. I would have married him and been content to make love to him with great relish the rest of my life. I think he might have married me but things got so messed up by a series of breakups-and-get-back-togethers, that we both were scared of letting the other know the depth of our feelings. Hmmm, again, I really shouldn't speak for him. Maybe the depth of feeling was only on my side, but somehow I don't think so. I think he was too much of a coward to say how he felt for me or try to stop me when I left, when a word would have changed my mind. For years I felt like we were 2 halves of the same whole, and sometimes I think we still are. Not that that stopped us from going on and having lives, but I always think of him saying that we would never escape each other and how prophetic those words were/are. We still keep in touch, sporadically, and the depth of my feelings no longer rage and storm inside me. I loved him enough to let him go and find happiness elsewhere, because he obviously didn't find it with me, and with no bitterness. Isn't real love about wanting the best for someone regardless of whether you are a part of it or not? I think it is.

While turning over in my mind these different kinds of scars, I decided that getting a rock in your knee is the best kind to have. It makes you cool and causes the least amount of pain.

Pied Piper Plus Pesky Peccadilloes

I love alliterations too much, maybe because "hurl the hag headlong into hell" is my personal motto. Or maybe because they are just so much fun. Who knows? Who cares as long as one can get pleasure from them, and pleasure I do get from them.

Pied Piper

Yesterday I was playing Indy 500: Lawnmower Edition and enjoying it. The dogs always follow me around and bark to let everyone know, "She's mowing! I'm a dog and I'm barking! She's mowing! I'm a dog and I'm barking!" God forbid the neighbors not know I'm mowing. I'm sure they appreciate the dogs letting them know when I'm on the lawn mower and trying to tame the wild jungles of my yard. I'm used to the dogs following me, barking, dragging their toys and any big sticks they can find into my path, and pinching stinky loaves into my next swipe of lawn to be mowed. But yesterday their barking alerted a flock of barn swallows that decided they needed to join in on the fun. The swallows flew around me, dive bombing and circling like they were buzzards and I was the carrion. I looked around to see if a baby swallow was near and I was getting too close, but I didn't see any babies. I was mowing the ditches in front of our house with a flock of swallows circling me and the dogs running around barking at me, hoping no one would drive by -- vain hope, several people drove by to my extreme embarrassment. I felt like a messed up version of the pied piper, and if my pied-ing brings those kinds of animals to follow me, I'm going to leave my flute in the house next time I mow.


Pesky Peccadilloes

I saw my neurologist last week and have been stewing over our conversation since. She was unable to answer some of my questions to my satisfaction and wanted me to see the head of the MS clinic on my next visit because she felt that she would be able to answer my questions better. I do not want to see her on my next visit (the head, not my neurologist... although I'm not sure about that. They both irritate me.). I tried to be polite about it at first, "No, it's okay. I'm happy with your answers (blatant lie)." She kept insisting -- maybe she just wanted to avoid the 3rd degree and push me off onto someone else. She forced my hand so I had to say what I was trying not to say. I told her that I DO NOT like that woman because I do not like the way she talks to me, very condescending and patronizing, and I hate how she wears push up bras -- and she is not skinny in the least, so of course she has big boobs -- and low cut shirts. I am offended and find it very inappropriate to wear such things in a professional setting, but maybe I am just old fashioned.

I lost because my neuro failed to see how all that would change how that woman could help me. My neuro said that she has a "good head" for MS, and I said that I couldn't get past her ridiculously pushed-up-and-on-display boobs to find out whether that statement is true or not. She sails into the room, boobs first, and tells you what you are feeling is not what you are feeling and pooh-poohs what you have to say about it. I'm going to prepare for my visit with her by making a series of index cards with statements like, "You're not listening to me" and "That's not what I said" or even "Get thy boobs from out my face and thy pompous attitude out the door!" When I said this at my exercise class, my bestest friend there said that she believed that I would really do it and wanted to be told how it all plays out. I will let her and you know how it turns out because I have no intentions of losing and every intention of investing in a pack of index cards and a Sharpie pen. Boobs is going DOWN!

Status Report

Due to a raging infestation of Facebook on my brain, I have been neglecting my poor blog. (Damn you, Facebook, why do you suck up so much of my time and short attention span?) Millions of people struggle with Facebook addiction, this is one of their stories. Dear Blindbeard, I have seen your addiction to Facebook negatively effect you in the following ways:

You no longer do your chores in a timely manner. Because you cannot step away from the Facebook, the cat boxes are not as fresh as they used to be. You have let yourself slack in a way that the old you would never have done.

You "over share" too much. Because of that diabolical "What's On Your Mind?" you have fallen into the trap of giving status reports that no one cares about, not even yourself. Is it really that important to let everyone know that your nap was total crap, or that you are going to run errands all day? How could you let yourself go like that? Where is your pride, woman?

You have lowered yourself to fighting with Princess over the laptop and over who can get the highest scores on games. Why do you feel that you must try to beat her scores when before this addiction you were content to let her bask in her pseudo-superiority? You would never have done this before Facebook took over your life.

You have encouraged Princess to use Facebook and wreak havoc on her mother's farm, all because this addiction has changed your morals. You would never have endangered a child's psyche before this hideous problem took over.

Please accept this kind offer for help today and find yourself again. Or at least do your chores first before attacking Facebook to see what others' thought of their naps and whether they are going to go with the thong or brief undies.

Love, Blindbeard & Family

Sucks

There are a lot of things that suck. And not just the obvious MS either. Out of all the sucky suck stuff, here are a few that are on my mind:

Getting sick on vacation. Sugarbowl has a sinus infection that she has been suffering with for 2 days now. She is flying home today and I told her to load up on some ibuprofen before the flight. All that pressure + sinus infection that is making your ears hurt = That #%^!@*& HURTS! I hate being sick away from home, especially when you are supposed to be visiting people and are too sick to get out of bed.

Sleeping next to a stuffed up sick person. Princess called me at 5 this morning; sadly, I was lying in bed thinking about what I wanted to do today before everyone gets home tonight. She said that her mom's snoring sounded like bowling pins being knocked over and it was keeping her awake. I yukked it up over the bowling pins part, and she insisted that that was exactly what it sounded like.

Sleeping next to a person who talks in their sleep. Jabber talks in his sleep. And not just mumbling about a bunch of nothings, he says your name throughout the night. Nothing will wake me up faster than a kid saying my name in the middle of the night, which is why he has not been allowed to sleep in my bed since he learned to talk. Princess said that while her mother was knocking over bowling pins, Jabber was saying her name all night, waking her up thinking he was talking to her. Lucky for her she has an aunt that gets up too early and was able to ask inane questions for an hour before the aunt could get off the phone. Very unlucky for the aunt. ("How's Harry (her cat)? Does he miss me (how does one tell?) Is he still being cute (depends on if you think cross eyed cats are cute)? Do you miss me (you, not your mess)? Are you glad we're coming home (not as glad as you are to be leaving that hell hole)?" and so on.)

Camping trips gone awry. My friend (makes it sound like I only have one, which I do) and her family went camping this weekend. Not only does she have my admiration for camping with a 3 year old, but she has my sympathy for having a, in her words "sucky camping trip." It rained like hell this morning, which I'm sure added to the fun fest. (While drinking my coffee and watching the torrential rains, I idly wondered why I never finished that ark I started years ago.) My ex and I went camping up in the sand hills of Nebraska when we were newlyweds. It was supposed to be a fishing bonanza, but turned into a hellish trip that we still tell stories about, because it's funny now. It was an unseasonably cold spring that year and we were staying in a 2 person tent. We were not worried, we had heavy duty sleeping bags and both of us are insulated to -30 degrees. My ex forgot the tent pins to hold the tent down because he was more concerned with getting all his fishing gear and just grabbed the tent and tossed it in without checking to make sure all the parts were there. We had to use all the gear we had -- coolers, our bags, everything but the truck and boat -- to hold the tent down, leaving us with thismuchspace to sleep in. That night a HUGE storm hit and we were rocked and thrown about with all the junk that was in the tent with us, like a bunch of freezing popcorn. After cutting our way out of the mangled tent the next morning, I let my hubby know that I would NEVER for NEVER EVER CAMP IN A TENT WITH HIM AGAIN! I don't care if he does remember the tent pins the next time, I WILL NOT camp in a tent ever again. From then on, whenever we went up there we spent the extra money and got a cabin.

I Hate Being An Adult

Ya know, I had such great plans for my vacation from my vacationing roomies. I was going to loll around on the couch in my undies, watch TV and movies rated higher than PG13, eat the cake mixes and finally go to bed in the buff and sleep in. Too bad my adult self forgot all my glorious plans. I mowed the lawn, prepared the tub for caulking, read a book, ate healthy meals, went to bed in normal pajamas, got up at 4:30am, and made my bed as soon as I got out of it. Oh God, the HORROR!

I dropped them off at the airport yesterday morning at 5:30am, hugging and kissing and reminding them of how much I love them. We got up at 4 that morning, which normally wouldn't be so bad for me, but nobody got to bed at an early hour. My mom couldn't sleep so she played Goldilocks instead. She started out in Princess's bed, couldn't find any sleep there, moved on to Sugarbowl's bed, and nary a drop of sleep was to be found there either. She finally ended up in my bed, which must have been just right, because she stayed there the rest of the night. Obviously the sight of my peaceful sleep was too much for her because she kept trying to talk to me, scratch my back and ask me, "does that relax you?" What really relaxes me is enjoying my sleep, but I wasn't going to complain. One night she kept me awake talking about her sex life with my father! I know that is how I was created, but I would like to pretend otherwise. It was so horrible I had to tell my sisters all about it because I wanted to share the nausea. It worked.

So today, my second day of this vacation, I am going to clean, get things in order, clean the carpets, get laundry done and try to remember to not be an adult once those things are done. I WILL attack those cake mixes before this vacation is over, damn it, just as soon as I finish caulking the tub.

Another Excuse To Use Asteriks

Who doesn't love the humble asterisk? It's like this mini star that is so handy to highlight a point when you don't want or have a whole paragraph to say about something. Even though I usually can write a whole paragraph (and blog post) about a minor thing, sometimes I like to just throw out a bunch of nothings that have been piling up. But isn't life just a bunch of nothings? Mine is, but I can't speak for anyone else, except those in my house. And their lives are a bunch of nothings that they make into THE BIGGEST ISSUE THEY HAVE EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH! Sugarbowl is such a nihilist it drives me crazy. Everything is the end of the world. She can take the smallest thing and convince herself that it is a matter of life or death, which I have little patience for. The other day she came home from work convinced that because Princess and I did not meet up with her, it was now game over. I told her I was going to squirt her with the hose (P. and I were fighting over the hose again) if she didn't knock her crap off. She told me that if I squirted her she would pound my boobs into my back and my arse into the front. I pondered that look and decided it could work for me. She got hosed off and I have been sleeping with one eye open since. But onto my asterisk-worthy important nuggets that don't need a whole paragraph:

*I am quitting smoking. That's right, I am a quitter. I have been smoking one cigarette less a day. It is a nice slow let down that doesn't make me feel deprived. I am down to half of what I used to smoke and am not coughing up things that should be buried in the back yard. Nice change of pace!

*Sugarbowl and Princess are going to Michigan to see our relatives and I am staying home to take care of the pets. How will I live without going to MI and being bored stiff? Not having to visit with people that don't give a sh*t about us one way or the other but pretend otherwise? Staying in that small town with only a McDonald's and a gas station -- not exactly hot times. Staying in my grandmother's house, who controls the temperature by turning the air conditioner off and on depending on how comfortable she is? Sharing a bed in a hot back bedroom with Princess and trying not to melt into one person? Will my year be complete without having experienced all that fun? I think I will live, but it may be hard.

*My ex has an idea for a vacation of my own. He wants me to fly to Denver (Ms. D.R.'s neck of the woods) and he and I will spend some time in the mountains sight seeing, and raft down the Colorado River. To clarify this whole thing, we enjoy each others' company, especially now that we don't live together. I still love him, but am not ready to run back to him, and am not sure if I ever will be. He and I have had long discussions about our relationship and what each of us did wrong (takes two, as we all know). He has learned some hard lessons, and I am starting to come out of my I-have-MS-haze. I appreciate the concern about getting back together with him, but my biggest question is, when do we forgive and move forward? I have forgiven him, but not forgotten, and I have made that VERY clear. He knows one more misstep and it is over, the gloves come off and I will take him down. How did I get to be such a kind person? I'm like a saint or something.

*On the subject of my vacation, Sugarbowl doesn't think a person with MS should raft. I told her that we would do the easy rafting, but she still is against it. What do you MSing peeps think? Should an MSer raft?

*Pilate's again today. It is hard and really sucks, but I am determined to stick with it. I want to work my muscles in both ways: lifting weights to strengthen them, and do all that stretching and body resistance to lengthen them. I don't want to get all bulky and bodybuilder-y. Not that I am in much danger of that, but it is best to be careful.

There you go. There is my asterisk updates. I look forward to needing to use them again.
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So Busy

I decided that I HAVE to clean and organize my computer area. I have been avoiding it for too long and it is past due. My pictures of the old buildings I photograph are on my desk top and I want to be able to get to them, so it has to be accessible, which it most certainly is not. I wanted to post some more of those pictures on here and a lady in my exercise class is a photography buff and wanted to see some of my pictures. I took myself firmly in hand and put that chore at the top of my list. I started out great. I went through a bunch of old papers and crap that I haven't seen in a llllooooonnnnnnggggg time, and filed away a ton of stuff that needed to be kept. It is no small chore due to my long neglect, but I was determined that it must be done before any other not-essential chore came up. Funny how those essential chores just kept popping up.

Taking a bathroom break, I noticed that the dishes really should be done. Granted they were not a full load, but it is better to get to these things before they get to be too big of a problem. After I got the sink emptied, I had to scrub the sinks because if there is a scrap of food left in them it gets gross.

I had to go to the store and get milk so Princess could have a proper breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day after all, and I want her to get the proper nutrition for a growing girl.

How can I possibly worry about my computer area when the lawn needs to be mowed? If I don't get on it, I will be making hay instead of just cutting the grass. I tried a new direction of mowing, I went up and down instead of side to side, because doing things differently opens new pathways in the brain, and I need new pathways desperately.

Coming in all dirty and grass covered, I was scandalized that I hadn't mopped in... too long. That is just gross and I have to at least be somewhat respectable. I felt so much better knowing my floors were clean again.

Heading back to the computer area, I noticed that my peace lily really needs to be repotted. How can I go on knowing my poor baby is root bound? What kind of a plant mommy would I be if I knowingly let my babies suffer? Princess and I dragged it outside and separated the many new plants that had sprung up and repotted them all. (I have a ton of peace lilies now if any one wants some.)

Whew, glad all that is done! Now it is back to my computer area -- just as soon as I power wash all that dirt off the deck. Princess and I got into a fight over the hose and we both ended up power washed. She powered off a chunk of my hair and my left eyeball is a memory now. But I don't need 2 eyes to see how bad my computer area is.

After changing out of my wet clothes and hanging those clothes on the line to dry, I go back to work on my mess of a computer area. While diligently working, all the animals are harassing me and I have to flea comb them to get any stragglers that are left over after all that flea bathing, because we all know that crap DOES NOT last up to 10 days (FALSE ADVERTISING!). I get what I can and get back to work.

Look at the time! I have to make a nutritious dinner for Princess, who has been helping me off and on all day. It just won't do to have her eat some frozen junk out of the freezer, even though that is usually how we do it.

Of course evenings are my down time, so Princess and I settle in for a little TV watching to end a day of hard work.

Can you believe that after a whole day of working on my computer area, it is still not done?! Today I am going to finish it up. I sure hope it doesn't take all day today like it did yesterday. I think I saw some weeds in the garden...

What Are Ya, Stupid?!

Is stupidity contagious? Because it sure seems to be spreading around here. I think we have a good old fashioned epidemic on our hands that rivals this whole hullabaloo about the swine flu. (Ha ha! That rhymed! Move over Shakespeare!)

*I did Pilate's yesterday. Me, with all my vast knowledge about all-things-intelligent-people-know, thought it was just a stretching yoga-type thing. It is, but, like yoga, it is a lot harder than it looks. I felt like a bull in a china shop trying to do elegant poses with a body as stiff and flexible as a 2x4. Today I am sore in places I was sure there was no muscle at. Every movement kicks off pain and the thought, "I have muscles THERE?!" I foresee a lot of ibuprofen today, and maybe a little more baclofen, to get moving -- and keep moving.

*I have to admit that your comments about my lack of sleep made me feel much better. I am glad to know that I am not the only one suffering from sleep deprivation and needing sleep medicines to get a decent night's sleep. After your comments I decided that I am going to talk to my doctor about something to help me sleep. Last night I doubled up on my baclofen, but it makes me so loopy I almost peed my bed from being unable to wake up or comprehend that my bed is not an outhouse. Thanks, my fellow MSers, now I am going to do what I need to do and get something to help me sleep. Even though I still think an MSing fool with hideous fatigue during the day should not need sleeping pills (just talking about myself, because everyone knows you are not a fool).

*And in the final 3 for the title of Biggest Stupid Head Ever Shat Upon The Earth, is my ex hubby. (Sound of applause.) He said that he was so ready for me to move back in that he was thinking about coming down here, packing me up and moving me himself. When I asked him why on earth he would think I was coming back, he said, "I thought once you got your head back on you would come back." (Sound of delirious laughter.) One of the biggest reasons for our splitting up was my inability to find myself. I pulled into myself and shut myself off from everybody for... too long. Now that I am starting to "find myself" again, he is ready for me to come running back into his waiting arms. The only minor requisite to his plan for me to move back post haste is that the big dog cannot come back with me. He says he enjoys being able to walk in the yard barefoot and not have to worry about dog poop. And as big dog = big poops, and MS = me being unable to navigate uneven ground to pick up big poops, he had to do it. (Frankly, I would never pick them up anyway. They will go back into the earth in time. And watch where you walk, for big poops sake!) I am unwilling to put my dog down just so the acorn can return to the oak tree, so we are at an impasse. I'm not saying he and I will never try again, but not if I have to sacrifice my dog's life to do it. My dog has terrible seizures that are aging him horribly, so I do not foresee him living to a ripe old age. But I will NOT put him down before his time. But nice try, ball sweat (is that better than boob sweat? I think it is worse!).

And this concludes our foray into stupidity. Until next time, same Blindbeard time, same Blindbeard station.