Treacherous Roads Part 2: The Arizona Edition

So here we are in sunny Arizona, enjoying the 50-60 degree weather while the old people freeze, thinking it the equivalent to an arctic storm. Yesterday it was raining. Not torrential rains, but you would never know that by the way everyone was driving, with their wipers on the highest setting and racing around, switching lanes without using their turn signals because they all opted out of the newfangled gadget option. Or maybe they just need to refill their signal fluid. It could happen. Yesterday Sugarbowl and I were driving around, listening to the radio, and laughing about how they kept warning people about the roads, just because it was raining, until we saw all the wrecks and people in ditches. Then watching the news, we were even more shocked by all the wrecks and people in ditches that we didn't see. It's amazing to us, who are used to much worse weather than this, that people would have a hard time driving in such un-treacherous weather. My dad told us that they get about 10 inches of rain a year here, so for them it is hazardous driving. Hope we will be able to brave this weather and get out of Phoenix safely. We have more to worry about from the other drivers than rain, who are more hazardous than an arctic storm.

Other than that, our vacation is going good. We have seen the sights, destroyed my dad's house, and lost several valuable possessions. Sugarbowl lost a stuffed cat that she has had for 7 years and sleeps with every night, because she can't sleep without a stuffed animal. She has called the hotel, where we last saw him, several times and has even offered an award if they find him. She is heartbroken and I feel bad for her. My loss is a little less sentimental and much more expensive. My laptop got stuck under the rocking recliner and got mashed, breaking the screen and rendering it useless if you want to see anything, which I generally like to do. Now I'm wondering how nice I'm going to have to be to my ex to get a new one. Much nicer than I care to be, you can bet on that. Maybe I can be half as nice as I want to be and he will go halves with me. . . hmmm, that may be a better option because I don't think he or I would know what to do if I was too nice to him.

I will be glad to be home and sleep on a bed instead of an air mattress -- my back is killing me! I will be thrilled to see my doggies again, because I don't sleep well without a living animal pressing me down into a real mattress. Sure, I have my littlest billy goat gruff with me, but 13 lbs is nothing compared to 40 and 80 lbs. It will also be nice to have my own room and not have to sleep in the kitchen. I always thought sleeping in the kitchen would be nice. I could eat my cereal in bed and go right back to sleep. I was wrong. It sucks. Princess and I are sharing the air mattress and she is blocking the cereal cupboard, so I can't eat my cereal in bed. Another loss on this trip. Hopefully that will be the last loss we have. I'm not sure how much more we can take.

Treacherous Roads

Yesterday, talking to my mom about the snow we are supposed to get, she told me to be careful running errands because the roads are supposed to be treacherous. I asked her where they were going to be that bad, because I hadn't heard, and she said in Iowa. In Iowa! And she was concerned about driving to work and she lives 2.5 hours from Iowa. I live .5 hours from Iowa and I'm not worried about the roads. But that is my mom. The woman drinks a glass of wine and won't drive for a year. If it is snowing in Antarctica she won't drive, unless maybe if she has a 4 wheel drive with chains on she might venture out, but only in case of an emergency. I know she is so worried because we are leaving for Arizona tomorrow to spend some time with my dad. I won't go near Arizona anytime except in the winter and Sugarbowl won't go on any trip unless there is the possibility of bad weather and a difficult time getting there. She is so stubborn and impetuous (and nihilistic), there is no talking her out of doing anything! I wasn't going to go at first because it is going to wipe out my meager funds to kennel my dogs, but I would never be able to live with myself if I let her go on her own because I didn't want to spend the money and something happened to her, and Princess, and Jabber. Money is not worth my family, so my meager funds will be drained.

We are leaving early tomorrow and I am 100% not ready to go. Instead of starting all the things I need to do to go on vacation, I chose to hit the peace pipe, watch Mystery Science Theater 3000, and ingest all the chocolate donuts yesterday. Today I'm going to pack and clean my house, because I absolutely, unequivocally, will not come home to a dirty house. That is unacceptable. And I also absolutely, unequivocally, will not leave the littlest dog behind. He must come or I won't go. It would stress me out to think of him being kenneled. The other dogs are old and tired, but he is young and energetic. Sugarbowl isn't thrilled about him coming with, but she knows that is the only way I will go, so she accepts it. I got him a new sweater for the occasion, and he is packing his dog toys and chewies as I type. He has been wanting to see the country, so he's ready to hit the road. He probably won't be able to get a minute's sleep tonight, along with Sugarbowl. I can sleep because long drives don't exactly thrill me, and I can always sleep, if only for a few hours, but that is a full night's sleep for me. My only worry is the treacherous roads in Iowa, because we are going nowhere near there, so we need to be very careful not driving through Iowa. Thank goodness my mom is watching the road conditions for us. We may not know what the roads will be like where we ARE going, but we will know the road conditions for where we are NOT going. My mommy is the best!

Why Am I So Slumpy?

I just can't shake the slumps right now. Is it holiday non-cheer? I do tend to get that a lot, especially when thinking of all the things to do to make it a good holiday for others. Is it the nagging feeling that I keep churning out rugs and forcing them onto people and then suspect that they may not really want them are are just being nice? That's silly! When have I ever cared what others think? They will take my rugs and keep being nice because I have no intentions of stopping until we can all play the Princess and the Pea on piles of rugs instead of mattresses. Maybe it's MS related slumps. Just when you think you are coming to terms with this disease, it pulls out something nasty to remind you why it is so hard to accept it. And am I the only one who gets worse in the winter? It seems most of my attacks have been in the winter, and my symptoms get worse in the winter months, too. My TN first kicked up in January a few Januarys back, and now I dread January 'cause I don't want my TN to get any worse. My hug first started in March, and now March is a worrisome month for me. I don't want my hug to get any worse -- even though some days that is hard to imagine, but MS has a very creative mind and can be very devious. It is best not to underestimate its diabolical-ness. Maybe it's because I can't get any sleep yet am still dead tired all the time. Oh, MS, why must you be such a devoted minion to Satan? I've been up for longer than I care to admit. I was falling asleep on the couch last night, so I figured I would get a good night's sleep. I had taken a muscle relaxer because my hug wanted to snuggle, so sleep and I should have skipped hand in hand for 8 hours at least. Har dee har HAR! I turned off my light at 9:30 and woke up at 2:30 am. In those few hours, my bed turned into a slab of concrete that made me ponder getting a pile of rugs to sleep on. Even with a pea hidden in them, they would have been more comfortable. I forced myself to lay there until 3:30 -- my new 4 am, which used to be the earliest I would get out of bed -- then bitterly raised the white flag.

The day is yawning open in front of me with the promise of nothing to do to make time move along, little doggies. Sure, there is plenty I could/should do, but who wants to do any of that? Not me, that's for sure. I'm far too slumpy to find any interest in anything. That's not 100% true. I do have a deep interest in Mystery Science Theater 3000 right now. If anything can help the slumps, it is that show. It is the only thing I have found that gives me any relief, and with so few side effects, too. Sore cheeks and chest muscles from laughing are a small price to pay for the slumps to recede for a bit.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Last night Sugarbowl told me that we were supposed to get some snow today, FINALLY! (My finally, not hers. I enjoy snow.) She didn't mention there would be blizzard force winds that swirl around your face and drive the snow into every slight crack in your clothing, so I was unprepared for what awaited me just outside the back door. The dogs and I tumbled out the door and got the stank blowed off us, a phrase my ex always used and I always found funny. What is it about days like this that make me want to get in the car and drive anywhere, because there is absolutely nothing I need and I don't need to go get it, but I must get out of the house NOW! I'm trying to justify my need to leave the house, wracking my brains to think of anything we need around here, coming up with nothing, and fighting the urge to race to my room to bundle up to go try to find something I may have forgotten the last time I went shopping. I'm sure we need more waxed paper, or maybe some freezer bags, because we rarely use them but we may find we need more on hand. Maybe I should get some donuts or more soups, because cold days do make you want to eat warm stuff. I think the dogs may need some more chewies, because I need to step on them and see how long I can hop around on one leg before falling over. We could always use more pit juice around here. That is one thing you will always need, unless you are like my father-in-law who doesn't ever use such newfangled products, enjoying his stank over freshness. He made beer in his bathtub one year. I think that sums up how much he thinks of personal hygiene better than any words I could use. When he and my ex go fishing, my ex is always careful to make sure that he is upwind of his father. And while they are driving to their fishing hole, my ex keeps a window cracked -- or more than cracked until he's used to the stench -- no matter how cold it is outside. One time we went to go get some watermelons from my in laws, and when my father-in-law lifted the watermelons into the car, we all slipped into unconsciousness until the odor started to dissipate. Hmmm, thinking about all this makes me think that we really do need more pit juice. Even though I use my bathtub for things other than making beer, I don't want to knock people out when I lift my arms. Now I must race off to my room to get dressed so I can get more pit juice. It is very important that I go RIGHT NOW! I couldn't possibly wait another day; it is imperative that I stock up today.

Grudges

I don't have too many grudges, not being a person who can hang onto anger for very long. That and I have a thing about excess baggage. Carrying a grudge can get heavy, and I'm too lazy to want to carry anything heavy for very long. But for all my high minded words, I have 2 grudges that I am not quite ready to let go of.

Rebif

That's right, I have a grudge against Rebif because it happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or was it diabolical enough to put itself there? I'll let you be the judge. Right after I was diagnosed, I didn't want to read anything more about MS because everything I had read about it up to that point was not anything I wanted to hear. I wasn't ready to research any deeper than the most basic information, and even that was too much. After a period of avoidance, I decided to try reading a magazine I had gotten in the mail, figuring it wouldn't be too overwhelming. I took the magazine into the bathtub with me and got trapped in the tub with a magazine that turned out to be one long advertisement for Rebif. I wanted to read about MS and the different treatment options out there for me as I was still trying to decide which medicine to go with, but I obviously got a magazine that was funded exclusively by Rebif. I stalked out of the bathroom, and as soon as my foster daughter and husband saw the look on my face, they grabbed some popcorn, propped their feet up, and sat back to watch the show. I threw the magazine against the wall, was unsatisfied with that so I threw it into the fireplace, and ranted and raved and frothed at the mouth about how it told me nothing about MS, only propaganda about Rebif. That started my deep antipathy for Rebif, and I swore then and there that nothing would ever induce me to take it. And I still hold with that position. I don't care if God Himself comes down and tells me to use it, I will have to decline as politely as possible and pack my bags for hell.

The icing on the cake came in the form of a representative for Rebif. I liked her personally, I just hated what she was representing, and representing she did with gusto. One day, at a MS walk, I was talking to someone who was hoping to go on Rebif. I said how much I hated the interferons -- I had been on Avonex and didn't enjoy the experience -- and wasn't hip on doing them again (I didn't tell him about my grudge against Rebif). We were talking about the side effects, and I said how higher doses of interferons means a higher risk of neutralizing antibodies. He, all pompous and holier-that-thou, pooh poohed my statement with a, "Oh, I don't know about that." The rep came over and we asked her, she admitted that it was true, and I was big enough to not yell, "CHECK and MATE!" in his face. He lost all interest in continuing the conversation, and I lost all interest in having any more conversation with his pompous self.

The only Rebif I will touch is my Rebif pen, because I like the way it writes and the general public doesn't know what it is. They would probably think it was some medicine that stops bladder leakage at the cost of the rest of your organs. The day someone knows what it is and comments on it, is the day I throw it away and use a pen that doesn't write as well, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.


That "Brave" Woman

I had met this woman when I first started Tysabri, and she had just started too. I saw her years later, after I had gone off of Tysabri due to the higher risk of getting PML the longer you are on it. She asked me if I was still doing Tysabri, and I told her what I just wrote. She, still doing Tysabri, said, in a voice one would use to talk to a slow child, "I'm not scared of dying," like I was one of the cowering masses who live in fear of death, which I am not, death seems like blessed release to me. She was walking away, head held high like the superior person she is could not possibly be seen talking to a coward like me, when I told her that I am not afraid of dying, I'm afraid of living through PML and what it could do to me. She actually slowed her walking away, and got a frown on her face as she processed that answer. She lost all interest in ever talking to me again and still doesn't have too much to say to me whenever I see her. Maybe because I didn't have the proper awe for her and her blithe disregard for death? Maybe because I had a point and have blithe disregard for death, too? Who knows? And I have no intentions of having further conversations with her, not enjoying being talked down to. It actually gets my hackles up and doesn't cow me the way I feel like they are intending it to.


Even though I don't like holding grudges, these are 2 that I have no intentions of letting go, they having offended me to the marrow of my bones. It is rare for me to be that deeply offended, so I'm going to enjoy these grudges to the end of my days. Some baggage is worth carting around.

I've Got Kennel Cough

That's right. I've been lying with dogs, 3 in my bed each night and the middle sized one holding down my feet, cutting off the circulation as I type. I would rather have fleas right now. I could give myself a flea bath and feel better, instead of pondering calling the vet and having myself euthanized. I feel so rotten that Sugarbowl and Princess are irritated with me because I'm being too nice, not my usual crabby self. You would think they wouldn't look the sick gift horse in the mouth, but they have pried its mouth open and are nit picking every tooth. All I want is a little kindness, someone to listen to me bitch and moan about how awful I feel, but all they can do is bitch and moan about how I'm being too considerate and nice to them, and they don't like it. It isn't me and they think there may have been an alien invasion and want me to see if I have had an anal probe. Beings as I am only feeling rotten from the lungs up, I'm confident in saying I have not had an anal probe and there are no crop circles in the massive clothes pile in my room. I wouldn't care if the aliens did come take me away right now. Nothing they could do would make me feel any worse.

I stepped in dog poop this morning. The littlest dog pooped by the back door. I didn't see it and squashed it flat and dragged it all over the place. Good thing I can't smell anything. I'm sure it reeks, but I can't be positive. I'm just guessing from experience. I've never known poop to smell good, and I'm sure everyone else will be able to smell it when they drag their lazy butts downstairs. Do I care? Not one whit. Let them inhale the sweet sweet aroma of dog feces while I sit back and smell nothing. I can't taste anything either, which really sucks. I'm not one of those lucky people who lose weight when sick. If my stomach is not upset -- and I have a cast iron stomach that rarely gets upset -- I cannot stop eating. You would have to board up the kitchen to keep me out, and even then I would chew my way through the barrier just to get at food I can't even taste. I've been eating the spiciest foods I can find, trying to bust open my sinuses. I like spicy food anyway, but have been adding blackening spice to everything. Even the dogs won't touch my leftovers right now.

Today I'm going to lounge in pajama pants on the couch, boo hoo about how awful I feel, and eat everything I can with as much spice as I can pile on it. No one else will be home, so those scurvy dogs that gave me kennel cough will have to listen to me. I hope this makes some sense. I'm feeling feverish and out of it, and the day is still young. It's going to be a very long day.

Damn This Guilt!

I hate feeling guilty. I think guilt and jealousy are the 2 worst feelings there are. Both will eat you alive and destroy all reason. I'm not feeling any jealousy at the moment, but I am feeling guilty. Intellectually, I know I'm being dumb, but emotionally, I feel guilty. Feeling attack-y, and in a criminal amount of pain, I am not up to my usual sub par level of functioning, and Princess has been picking up the slack. Bless her buttons! She has been doing all the things I usually do without any complaint or grumbling, which she would do if I were feeling fine and made her do those things. She has made dinner the last couple of nights, and brushed off my apologies for being unable to do it with a terse, "I'm not a baby!" I know she's not a baby; she will be 13 in February, but I still hate having her do so much. I know it is the foster parent in me. I want kids to be kids and not have to worry about keeping things together. They shouldn't have to worry about whether the bills will be paid or not, making the meals, doing all the housework, etc etc. I believe in them having chores, but not doing most of the work. It bothers me beyond words to have Princess have to do so much. I don't want her to have to care for her aunt regardless of what a baby she is not. I want to do the basics to keep the house running, not her.

I worry about her being embarrassed to be seen in public with me. She says I'm being stupid. She doesn't care and isn't even slightly embarrassed. I worry about other kids treating her differently because she lives with a diseased person. I know how kids are; I know they don't want germs from someone who has a disease. I remember not wanting to take candy from disabled people on Halloween, thinking it would be tainted somehow. And I was right! Look at me! I worry that she may not want me to come to her basketball games because people will see me and know I'm her aunt. She says she doesn't care what people think -- excuse me while I wipe a tear from my eye -- and wants me there, even if she has to wheel me in on a hospital bed. She told me the other day that since I have been diagnosed, she sees people with disabilities in a different light. She sees them like she sees me: a regular person stuck in a body that doesn't work the way it should. If anything good has come out of my having MS, it is that. The fact that she sees beyond a person's disability and sees the person.

That little girl -- excuse me, young lady -- is the joy of my life. I love her more than I love anything else on this earth. I love her more than you should love something that can be taken away from you. The other day I hugged and kissed on her and told her that I would have no interest in this world if she is not in it. I would have no interest in this life if she is not a part of it, so she needs to make sure nothing happens to her. She said she has no intentions of having anything happen to her and that she feels the same way about me, so nothing can happen to me because she will always need me in her life. That helps lessen my guilt about not being able to do more around here right now. Doesn't wipe it out completely, but does help take some of the sting out of it. I'm glad she would rather have to make frozen pizzas for dinner than not have to and not have me. It makes me think I should believe her words and stop feeling so guilty about what I am.

Announcements

I have a few announcements to make, then it is back to all those fun things you were doing before I interrupted you. I'm such a killjoy.

*I think I'm having an attack. The pieces are coming together, like some rotten puzzle I would rather throw out than put together. Or like unraveling a big cable knit MS sweater that someone keeps on knitting, and knitting, and knitting, and KNITTING! (Sorry, just watched Pee Wee's Big Adventure.) It would explain why I was so slumpy for so long. I get this feeling when I'm getting attack-y. Like a mild bout of depression mixed with an amazing amount of fatigue. I let it simmer on the couch until new or worsening of old symptoms develop. I have been so wiped out, with no corresponding activity to explain it, that I am having a hard time staying awake, and that is not me. I'm falling asleep by 6:30 pm, after taking a 2 hour nap in the afternoon, then going to bed and sleeping until 4 am. I should feel well rested. But I don't. I only feel like I need a nap. My legs feel thick and hard to control, and the worst of all, I'm having itchy spots that feel like I'm wearing wool on a hot summer day. They crawl and tingle and feel really gross. Adding this all up, I decided I was going to have to take one for the team and call my neurologist.

*I should have waited until today to call her, instead of yesterday. It was my lucky day! They had a cancellation and I could haul my happy arse downtown to see her! I had already hauled my happy arse in to see my pain doctor for my hug, and he gave me a muscle relaxer that is not as sedating, and turned out to be manna from heaven, so I had Sugarbowl drive me, being deep in the throes of manna from heaven. I talked to my neurologist's nurse, and here is the problem: I cannot tell any story that involves her without adding the important fact that she has the most thick, luxurious mustache ever seen on a woman. Sugarbowl asked me if she was married, but I have never been able to tear my eyes away from her glorious mustache to look at her hands, so I don't know. But who wouldn't want to marry such a woman?! I guess a man who can't grow a great mustache and would feel inferior to her, that's who. Anyhoo, I told her that I knew my neuro would want me to pee in a cup and give another vial of blood, even though I have never had anything wrong with me whenever I am having MS problems, but I suppose it gives her pleasure to tell me that I still have MS. And I was right, she did want more of my pee and blood.

*Going to give more of my bodily fluids, I walk up to the desk and tell the receptionist that I was there to pee in a cup and have blood taken. She told me that I needed to get back in the elevator, go down this long hall, get into another elevator and take it to the third floor to the lab. Being in pain and cranky, I didn't bother to read the sign on the wall that said "Adult Intensive Care." She thought it was great and said that she doesn't get to see people that are so responsive very often, so it was a nice change of pace. She talked for so long, I about gave my urine sample to her floor. Sugarbowl enjoyed it so much, she was still laughing about it by the time we got to the lab, which was down a long hall and up another elevator.

*Nothing new about my neuro. Same ol' same ol'. She pooh poohed me as always, and even though Sugarbowl said I was bitchy, I thought I was being nicer to her than usual. I let slide the whole, "last MRI didn't show any lesions," without going the rounds about the inaccuracy of spinal MRIs. Sugarbowl says that if I am so unhappy with my neuro, I should find a new one. I agree with that, and some days I swear I am going to do it, but I do enjoy my anger with my current neuro and would hate to give up that pleasure. Besides, I feel like if I don't call her on these things, she may never learn and keep subjecting other unsuspecting saps to her old school ideas about MS. I want to ask her if she has to do continuing education and suggest some reading materials for her if so, and some reading materials if not.

*The last and most important announcement is that in the doctor's office, waiting for the nurse to come back with my MRI appointment -- did I mention that she has the most thick, luxurious mustache ever seen on a woman? -- I announced to Sugarbowl that I was craving KFC because I needed to swim in a bucket of coleslaw. She being the best chauffeur and sister EVER, got KFC on the way home, so I got to swim in my bucket of coleslaw before falling asleep on the couch by 6:30. I'm still picking cabbage out of my hair. I am a happy gimp.

Dear Blindbeard: The "It's All You, Mustanginblue" Edition

Dear Blindbeard,

I tend to have most suicidal thoughts when I think about how moronic the majority of people are. Since I can't take all the morons out of the world, I could instead take myself out and not have to suffer them anymore.

You know, now that you (well your sister to be exact) brought it up, I think I'd like to be embalmed and have my brother and sister have to display me in their homes all their lives. They could trade me off every Christmas! I could be posed on the couch and drunk guys could cop a feel and then later tell my sibling "Man, your sister's hot but kinda stiff."
(Truthfully I,too, want to be cremated and then thrown in a ditch for all I care.)

Mustanginblue


Dear Beautiful Mustanginblue,

This comment made me laugh so loud, and at such an early hour, Sugarbowl yelled down the stairs at me to "shut the hell up because some people have to work." In fact, I love your idea of being embalmed and displayed in various relatives houses so much that I may have to put that in my will. I may even add embalming my dog, too. They could prop me up in the yard in a twisted kind of nativity scene with my dog as the baby Jesus and me as one of the barnyard animals. That's pure genius and you have my undying admiration for coming up with such a fabulous idea!

As to the first part of your comment, I had an epiphany the other day about the "other half" of this world's population -- well, I guess we gimps are in the extreme minority, but that is beside the point, along with hair gel. When shopping recently, and feeling irritated with how people's eyes skitter off when you catch them checking you out, I thought, "Be careful, Honey, it could happen to you." And that is when the epiphany struck. In the blink of an eye, in less than a blink of an eye, something could befall you and you would be in the same rotting boat with me. You could get in an accident, get a stupid disease, heck, even break your leg and never walk the same again, then how would you want people to treat you? While expounding this point, and working myself into a lather, to Sugarbowl, she said that she had been meaning to ask me how I do want people to treat me. I asked her if it was her, how would she want to be treated? She said exactly like everyone else, but she still wasn't sure how to treat them. I asked her how she treats everyone else, and she said she tends to ignore other people, so I told her to ignore them, too. And please, for the sake of all that she holds holy, if you do meet their eye and get caught checking them out, don't try to act like you weren't. At least smile at them, or do something that doesn't make them feel less than human. I think that is what bothers me the most, that they won't meet my eye and that makes me feel like I'm less than human, whether they feel that way or not, that is how it makes me feel.

Love,
Blindbeard


Dear Blindbeard,

What are you reading right now? That is my question.

Mustanginblue


Dear Beautiful Mustanginblue,

What I am reading right now is an eclectic blend of all things really good. Something about the cold weather makes me want to curl up with some good fiction. Summer I tend to read only historical nonfiction, but when it starts cooling down, I need a good story to sink my teeth into. I did not have any fiction around that I have not read umpteen thousand times before, so I asked Princess if she had any good books I could read. She has been reading The Sword of Truth books and suggested I read those. I had this preconceived notion that they would be some romantical fantasy junk that wouldn't hold my interest, probably due to the cover art that looks like some romantical fantasy junk kind of books. I don't mind some fantasy; I enjoy books about worlds where odd things are the norm, so I figured I would give them 100 pages -- what I give every book to see if it grabs my attention or not -- and then try something else, because I'm not into romantical fantasy junk. I can admit when I'm wrong, and I was WRONG WRONG WRONG about those books! I have been sucked in and don't care if I never come back out. Luckily, there are 11 books in the series and I just read that he signed a contract to write 3 more, so I may never leave that world. I'm on the 3rd book and it blows my mind how someone can come up with these ideas, keep introducing new characters and story lines that are just as good as the first ones he had. The author, Terry Goodkind, is originally from Omaha, Nebraska, and that makes me proud. It's nice to have good things come from your state instead of embarrassing things.

Other than that, I'm reading about local history and was pleasantly surprised to find out that I live in a place steeped in interesting history. The town I now live in was a stop on the Mormon trail, and is only a few miles from a sacred Native American site that I have no intentions of burying my dead in for fear they may come back and kill me, like in Pet Semetary -- YIKES! I also found out that the house I live in was once a grange hall outside of town, which they moved in and used as a library for years. They also had a stage on the side I live in -- it's a duplex -- where they would put on plays and other programs for the town. Very cool.

So that is all the stuff I'm reading right now. Hope you aren't too sorry you asked.

Love,
Blindbeard

The Paradoxes Of MS

Right now I can think of 2 major paradoxes of MS. I'm sure there are more, but these are the 2 that are torturing me at the moment.

1. I'm always tired but I can never get any sleep. Sure, I sleep for about 5-6 hours a night, and sometimes I can squeeze in an hour nap, but more often I can't get any decent sleep. I probably wouldn't even get those 5-6 sub par hours of sleep at night if my night meds didn't knock me out. Even in the haze of my night drugs, I still get up 2-3 times to pee each night. I have cut down all liquids after 6 pm, but my bladder still wants me to get up to drain those 3 drops that it has produced in the 2 hours since my last bathroom visit. I wake up throughout the night and check the time to see how much sleep I've gotten since the last time I checked the clock. It's never as much as I had hoped to see. And lately, I have been getting up in the 3's instead of the 4's as I used to in the days of yore. I try and stay in bed until 4, but it is a struggle. One morning I spent 25 minutes messing with the dogs before I had to raise the white flag and get out of bed. In those 25 minutes I got the dogs so wound up by plucking hairs off their fluffy buns and trying to stick them up their noses, that it was get out of bed or risk being covered in stinky dog spit. I chose to get up with only 75% of my body covered in stinky dog spit. I didn't want the dogs to start plucking hairs off my fluffy buns and try to stick them up my nose. I can dish it out but I can't take it.

2. My MS Hug squeezes me so tight that the only way to get any relief is to wear something tighter. Across my back and chest, right where a bra strap goes, is a line of pain and tightness that is only made bearable by squeezing the sh*t out of it. I have been wearing my tightest cast iron sports bra to help ease the pain. It is so supportive that I could use a jackhammer all day and not get the slightest jiggle out of my unmentionables. Even now, I have an Ace bandage wrapped so tightly around my chest that I can't draw a deep breath, but if I don't wear it, I can't draw a deep breath from the pain and tightness from the hug. I have Sugarbowl and Princess beat on my back and rub it as hard as they can. The pure ecstasy from that makes me moan and groan like I'm in the deepest throes of passion -- not exactly something I want to do with my sister and niece. They are good sports about it and take turns so one can rest her arm while the other beats the crap out of me. Sometimes abuse feels sooooo good! Sugarbowl is the best when it comes to any MS related help I need. She has the arm support thing down just right. She understands that I need a strong arm that I grab, not grabbing my arm like my mom does. My mom grabs a hold of my arm and runs off, dragging me behind. Sugarbowl lets me take her arm and lets me set the pace. You would think that a woman who works in a nursing home would know better than to drag a gimp along, but she hasn't figured that out yet. Sugarbowl also has the beating of my back down to a science. She knows to work it across the line of pain with a combination of hard rubs and deep pounding of her fists. I was in so much pain the other day, but she had to go to work, and I wished I could afford to pay her to stay home and work me over like she was tenderizing meat. Alas, I could not afford to have her stay home so I wore a corset of Ace bandages all day, waiting for her to get back home and abuse me some more.

Like I said, these are the only 2 paradoxes that come to mind right now, only because they are the 2 that won't let me forget they exist. If you have others, please let me know. I'm always interested in others' sufferings, even though I feel like I'm running a huge risk by asking. I'm afraid that my body will decide that it needs to add those problems to my already impressive repertoire of pain and agony.

P.S. I am trying to put together another edition of Dear Blindbeard, so please send me any questions or comments you would like to have me respond to. Or any you would not like me to respond to; it's all the same to me.

Memories

Last night my little sister, being an unending font of wisdom, had left her window open all day so she turned up the heat to warm up the upstairs. I was already in bed, sleeping happily in my refreshingly cool bedroom, when she decided to do this. I woke up drenched in sweat with nary a blanket left on my bed after kicking them to the floor, convinced I would have to fight my way through tumbleweeds and cacti to get to the thermostat to restore breathing air that didn't dry up my poor nostrils. After turning the heat back down, I went back to my sweltering bed that reminded me of the hottest days of summer. I spent the next hour thinking about the lakes that we went to all summer, and wondering if I should pack my beach bag and head out to cool off. Ah, the lakes! What a great time that was. We had too much fun there. If we weren't trying to avoid those consummating their love in the water, we were having seaweed wars. Past the buoys, there grows the most fabulous, stinky, thick, luxurious field of seaweed. The trick is to get a massive amount, sneak up behind your prey, and dump the mass onto their head. You had to be on constant high alert or you risked being buried in a heap of that stuff. One weekend the place was swarming with whippersnappers who were way too mature to enjoy the natural games the lake offered. The girls, looking better in their bikinis than I have in a long time, were playing Frisbee while the boys tossed a football nearby, all trying to act like they didn't know the others were there. We were amassing piles of seaweed to destroy each other with and laughing like a rabid pack of hyenas when successful. Or picking seaweed out of our hair when unsuccessful. I'm sure all the whippersnappers were having a good time, but I'm even more sure that we had a better time. Nothing insures a great time more than the air thick with flying seaweed.

What would have been my 9 year wedding anniversary just passed. Depending on who you ask, the date would be either the 3rd or the 4th of November. It is actually the 3rd, but my ex, another font of unending wisdom, when filing for separation, put the date as the 4th. I called him to ask what our wedding anniversary is and he said, "The 4th!" as if he was 100% sure of the answer. I was very kind in my verbal abuse when I told him it is the 3rd. The man kept getting my birthday wrong when we were first dating. His ex's birthday was just a few weeks after mine so he kept switching the 2. One day, while he was sleeping, I took a permanent marker and wrote the month and day on one thigh and the year on the other. He found it very funny and has never forgotten my birthday since. I told him he was lucky I wasn't there to write our wedding anniversary on his legs. I can't think of my marriage as a failure because he and I are still friends, still meet up, and he still thinks I'm the best there is in this world. I swear I only keep that man around for egotistical reasons. He cannot believe that men are not lined up outside my door waiting to date me, and thinks I only wear a swimsuit around him to tease him, not to swim in. Never mind that we are swimming and he is the only one who would think me in a swimsuit is alluring, it is the only reason that makes sense to him. The only reason he filed for separation is because he wanted to buy some land and didn't want the hassle of having me have to sign the papers. He also doesn't want to leave me without insurance, so he isn't filing for divorce for that reason too. He and I understand that when we don't hate each other -- we do get mad at each other -- we still love each other. It also helps that he is always on my side and I can count on him to help me out when needed. Like when my car broke down, he called the repair shop to give them his credit card number to get it fixed for me. When he is not annoying the piss out of me, I kinda love him still. Dagnabbit! I'll never be rid of that man.

My mom manages my finances for me because some days my head is so fuzzy I don't keep track as well as I should. She also wants to make sure my money lasts for as long as possible, so she keeps me on a very short leash. I get a little tired of my short leash, to put it very mildly, so we had to have a talk recently. I let her know, as gently as possible, that it is not her, it's me. I want my freedom to see other mothers and am not sure I'm ready for a relationship of this magnitude yet. The nursing homes are full of mothers who need a good home and I felt that I should try others to see if she is really the mom for me. She found it all so funny that she said she would give me free access to my money and when it ran out, that was it and she wouldn't help me out. I was moved by her pleading so I decided to give her another chance. Now she stole my joke and threatens to breakup with me whenever this subject comes up. She also likes to tell everyone about how I wanted to breakup with her, but she leaves out her begging and pleading and my relenting. Yesterday, while Sugarbowl was talking to her, Sugarbowl told her some things I didn't want her to know and she started talking divorce again. Sugarbowl told her to think of the children! They have no choice in the matter and should not be made to suffer because of our little disagreements. We need to keep it together somehow and maybe couples therapy is something we should look into. Sugarbowl doesn't want us to divorce because my mom pays our utility bills and she pays a lump sum each month that includes all those bills. If my mom and I divorce, she would be paying more to cover all our expenses. I tell ya, if my mom doesn't watch her step, I am going to start frequenting the nursing homes and she will be out on her tight fisted rump with only memories to hold on to.

Maybe I Shouldn't Say This. . .

But the posts that I think maybe I shouldn't post seem to be the ones that I get the most comments from. Sometimes, when getting ready to hit that publish button, I wonder if maybe I should not publish what I've written. But then I do it anyway, because I think that there may be others who can/will relate and maybe they will feel better knowing someone else is in the same ship o' fools (I have a place in the cargo hold on that ship). So here goes.

Why is the thought of suicide an almost constant companion for me? Now, before you all start calling the loony catcher and trying to get me EPC'ed, let me say RIGHT NOW that I have no intentions of acting on these feelings. Mainly because of my family. I don't want to hurt them, or leave that legacy to my nieces and nephews, but mostly because my little sister says she will put my dogs down and have me embalmed and sealed up air tight so my body will be around for decades. YUCK! I don't want my dogs put down because of my stupidity, but more than that, I do not want to be embalmed. The very thought of it makes my flesh crawl and my stomach sick. I want to be cremated. It seems natural and embalming seems the opposite of all things natural and pleasant. That is just me, and I respect every one's right to do as they please with their earthly remains. Being an earthly remain, I want to go back to the earth immediately. Not in four score and 7 years from now, not in a fortnight, not in half a fortnight. NOW! I don't think my carcass needs to be kept around and I know she would do it too. That keeps me far far away from any possible life ending things. I hope we are all clear on that. I don't want a bunch of touchy feely comments because they don't change how I feel about myself, even though they are sweet and give me warm fuzzies. Moving on.

Maybe it is this whole recent court thing. I got my "Unfavorable" decision already, no surprise there. Judge Moldy Twat decided that I could wait tables or go back to working as a sales rep in a department store. She pooh poohed my claims of pain because they are subjective and what do I know about my pain? Not a thing compared to her Most Honorable Rotten Crotch. So the process of appeals starts again. She did do me a favor by not dragging her saggy arse about getting her decision back to me, which probably strained her main butt plugged anus vein doing so, but I have to try and look on the bright side. The very thought of waiting 50 bajillion years for all the appeals to get moving makes me very tired and depressed. I'm going to file for SSI but I'm feeling so down about the whole thing that I would rather grab my little sister's 22 gauge and climb to the top of the court house, set my sights on a dried up old crotch yodeler and do it all for those of us who are taking it up the wazoo thanks to the SSA. My ex has a friend who's dad was dying of cancer and applied for SSDI to help out. When he got turned down, he went to the SSA and told them that he couldn't even wipe his own ass -- he was in a wheelchair -- let alone do the job they had come up with. He died 3 years after he initially applied and never got disability. Things like that fill me with so much hate and anger that it fires me up to beat the SSA and reminds me exactly why I won't bow out of this life and let them win.

I know my thoughts of suicide stem from my hideous depression, which is under control per Judge Old Moldy Crotch. I think my biggest mistake is not telling my shrinks, neurologist, neighborhood beggar, that I feel this way so much of the time. I hate admitting that sometimes I get so tired of having MS, that I would rather not have any life at all. I accept that I have MS. I cannot accept the limitations it imposes on me. I hate not having a say over my body. I hate being the way I am. My dragging leg, this damn fatigue that strictly limits my activities, the stupid hug that takes my breath away when it drags that hot knife down my body. The whole MS experience gets so old that I just want to be done with it some days. Other days, I have the strength to say, "F*ck it." In fact, most days I do have that strength, but I still have that nagging voice that is ready to pipe up at the first sign of weakness and tell me that I'm just a drain on my family and society, and maybe it is time to raise the white flag. As a sign of not having any intentions of doing anything to harm myself, I even keep razor blades in the house (they are great for scraping off hard water build up). I'm not going to cower in fear of what I may do and have nothing sharp in the house. I'm going to have the courage to realize that we all have options and I am opting to not act on any negative feelings I may have. I'm also opting to remember that my family would rather help me out and have me be here than save those few dollars and not have me here.

This is an ugly subject, but everyone has suicidal thoughts from time to time. Whether they are just a fleeting thought, or something that hangs out for awhile, they do surface. I don't like feeling this way. My family knows that I'm down, so I'm not allowed to be alone. I accept that I've made some bad decisions in the past and lost their trust, so I submit meekly to being babysat. If it keeps my dogs alive and me from being embalmed, it is worth it.

I Can't Take Me Anywhere

It's true. I am exactly as I seem on here: a raging, stumbling, moronic fool. I act the way I seem like I would, I talk the way I talk on here, and I only edit stuff that would be embarrassing for others, sometimes myself, but not as often. (Side Note: Eons ago, I worked with a girl who told me she could just sit and listen to me talk all day because it made her laugh so much. I was very flattered, especially as she was a very conservative girl and I'm not so conservative in anything.) My little sister and I were at Goodwill the other day. She is not my favorite person to shop with for anything because she cannot leave a store until she has seen all their wares. I, on the other hand, skip all the wares that bore me. She could not possibly leave Goodwill until she has looked at every mother loving book they have. I get a tad bored, to say the very least. It's not that I don't adore books. I do. But I can scan and move on. When I get bored, I turn into a boneless heap whose legs become unable to support her weight and must drape herself over the cart to keep from dust mopping the floors. I wandered on and came across a Count doll from Sesame Street. It was love at first sight. The rest of the day I had to count out everything Sugarbowl got, even adding the "Ha ha ha!" at the end. She was mortified, especially when an old man behind me, who I had not seen, started laughing. She said he was laughing at me. I said he was laughing with me. The debate rages to this day.

Getting groceries, and, again, kicking myself for getting hornschwaggled into shopping with Sugarbowl, she would send me to get things off her list. I would grab them, find her, and see how far away I could throw them and get them into the cart. Princess enjoyed the game so much, she joined in and she and I had contests to see who could make the basket from the furthest away. Sugarbowl said I was a bad influence and next time she was going to leave me at home. GREAT! That is all I wanted in the first place. I also like to act like I am in the Indy 500 with the cart and pop wheelies and skid around the corners on 2 wheels. An added challenge is to have Princess hanging on to the end of the cart and see how well I can take those curves. I'm pretty darn good at it. We let Sugarbowl get a good distance ahead, then skid up as close to her as possible without touching her. Touching her means instant death, because her good humor dries up damn quick when I go into Indy 500 mode.

Leaving Walmart, Sugarbowl said there was a teenage girl who was checking me out, raking her eyes up and down me trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I'm so used to it, I don't notice it. I don't remember what Sugarbowl said, but it made me grab the bag of Oreos and beat her about the head and shoulders with it. She said the girl was very interested in checking me out until I beat her with the Oreos. I guess the public can't figure out the equation of Gimp + using Oreos as a weapon = X. It is a very perplexing equation, especially because the general public doesn't expect someone like me to have any kind of fun or humor in me. They expect dead wrong. Being a gimp does not make one serious all the time. No matter what condition I may ever be in, I cannot believe that it would dry up my deep need to be an embarrassing arse hole whenever possible.

Sugarbowl likes to tell anyone who happens to witness my mortifying ways that she doesn't know me. I like to contradict her and let them know that we are sisters and she is trying to be the mature one. You can't hide what's inside and I know she can be just as much of an ass as me. She's just better at hiding it. I can't be bothered with hiding it.

Y. Bother

I'm going to change my name to that. After my SSA hearing, I think it is rather fitting. I would have written about it sooner, but the whole thing left me in a deep blue funk that I am still trying to claw my way out of. The next time I EVER have to go to any kind of SSA bowlsheet, I'm going to yell everything I have to say into the toilet and flush it all down, because it will have the same effect (is that the right effect/affect? I'm not sure, but I am sure that I don't really care right now.). After all the crap I had to say, all the questions I answered for her royal highness, all the "experts" throwing it their 2 cents -- regardless of whether it is true or not -- at the end of it all, the judge asked the vocational expert what a person who can stand and walk for 6 hours could do for a job. Why did I bother to talk at all?! I should have just asked them to tell me what my problems are, if any. And could they please tell me what my limitations are, again, if any. Dearest Judge, could you please tell me how it feels to live in this body? Please explain my fatigue to me, my pain, and ignore my gimping walk. I am breathlessly awaiting your answer, because living with it is nothing to what you have to say about it all. I left the courtroom feeling like I was wearing a neck brace and someone knocked a book off a table, and I whipped my head around to check it out, like in a TV show.

Did you know that the day after you get turned down for Disability (SSDI), you can file for SSI? If you no longer have the work credits for Disability, as I do not because this whole farce has taken so long, you can apply for SSI, which is for the poor saps like myself that no longer can apply for their full disability because they haven't worked X amount of years out of the last so many. Nobody told me this! I just found out about it earlier this year, when I reapplied and the whole mess got rolled into one huge mess. So if you get turned down, reapply IMMEDIATELY before the whole appeals process starts, so they don't get mushed together. The trick is to make sure they are separate. I am now impatiently awaiting my unfavorable decision so I can apply for SSI before filing my appeals, because I AM going to file an appeal because I hate them all and am not going to just shrivel up into a little ball of manure and go away. I am looking forward to what they come up with as a job I can still do. Marathon runner? Acrobat? Contortionist? Please make it better than a grocery bagger. A little creativity would be deeply appreciated.

Ugh! Other than all that fun, not much else has been going on. Well, nothing worth writing about anyway. Except maybe how now that it is getting colder and we are keeping the windows closed, the dogs seem to be gassier. Or a great story of how Sugarbowl sharted at work the other day and we have been singing the diarrhea song to her, but she can laugh at herself so she agrees with the whole "pants full of foam" part. Or even how the medium sized dog jumped on me in the yard yesterday and ripped a huge hole in my pants, showing off my unshaven legs to anyone who happened to be looking. Yeah, like I said, nothing interesting. Now I must go and get ready for my job as a marathon runner. Smell ya later.

How Could I Have Forgotten?!

All my blogging nonsense and I forget the most important thing that is going on in my life right now! I hope you are all sitting down or near a soft place to faint on to, because this is quite shocking. My new disability hearing/court date thingy is this Friday. I was surprised that it was so quick and when I called my lawyer, she said she was surprised too, which made me feel a little special and like maybe the government finally got my memo that I'm not going to slink away and let this whole brouhaha blow over. I do enjoy a good brouhaha and the government, or Social Security to be more exact, has gotten my hackles up and made me ready to fight to the death, either mine or the SSA's. Preferably theirs even though I will take one for the team if need be, and hopefully that need won't be. My lawyer said that because it was remanded back, that put me at the front of the line for a hearing. Sorry to all you poor saps behind me, but I've paid my dues and waited in that line for 5.5 years. And that is one sh*tty line. One anger inducing line. A line that only makes you that more determined to win.

My little sister is going with me. 1. To drive. Even though it is only an hour away, I don't do longer-ish car rides well. Especially if I am driving. It makes my legs more stiff and jumpy, which means I will be doing Cricket Legs later that day. (Note To Self, figure out a way to make music when rubbing legs together. I'm sure everyone in this house/neighborhood would enjoy being serenaded by a gimp trying to start a fire by furiously rubbing her legs together.) 2. She is willing to testify if the judge allows it. This is good and bad. She could really help my case by telling what she knows about how I am. Bad because I'm not sure I want to hear it. I hope the judge will let me leave the courtroom if she does testify. I know what I am, but I am not quite dying to hear someone say it out loud. I'm also afraid it will make me feel worse about myself.

I realized that I didn't have any nicer clothes to wear to the hearing -- why would I need dress up clothes to sit around the house? -- so I went to Goodwill and got a pair of khakis for 99 cents. It pisses my little sister off that I can get so many 99 cent clothes because she has to look in the fat girl sizes and says that I get to shop in the skinny scrawny ass hole sizes while all the other fat girls race in before her to get all the good clothes in her size. In fact, it pisses Princess off too. I am only 5 lbs heavier than she is and am 4 inches taller than her. Everyone was hoping that my being laid up with this damn knee would make me gain weight, but something about pain makes one not want to ransack the kitchen. I thought I would gain weight too, but I have actually lost a few pounds. Princess is saving her money to hire a hit man to come break my knee caps and force feed me. The other day, while doing my laundry, I wore a pair of her jeans and when she came home and saw me, she started counting her pennies to see if she had enough to hire that hit man yet. If losing 5 pounds would make my arse as firm and dimple free as hers, I would start fasting now. She doesn't get that what the scale says means nothing. It's all about what you look like, and I do not look like someone who is only 5 pounds heavier than her. Oh to have the flat stomach of a 12 year old! If I had her hips, thighs and butt, I would wear the tightest, most show off-y clothes I could find at Goodwill. Then Sugarbowl and Princess would pool their pennies and I would be laid up with 2 bad knees. I probably still wouldn't get disability though.

A Rant Unrelated To Anything

I just had my most darling little dog fixed yesterday. When I had adopted him from the Humane Society he weighed 3 pounds and they told me that he would be lucky to hit 10 pounds. He weighed in at 12 pounds. As a devoted adopter of only unwanted animals, I find the Humane Society very irritating. I also find all those animal rescue groups annoying for the exact same reason: their assumption that no one knows how to treat animals correctly except themselves. They make you lie to adopt an animal. Too often they charge an outrageous amount for an animal that risks extinction if someone doesn't come along and want it. So many animals are put down -- too many -- that you would think they would make it a little easier to adopt. And those animal rescue groups? Forget about it! They want way way way too much money, often want you to sign a contract outlining the homemade meals you will feed the animal, and want to do home visits. I have successfully raised several pets, one to 16 and am currently providing a loving and safe home for an almost 10 year old dog with horrible seizures and a disposition that is getting more bitchy as the day progresses. I don't make their meals, but they are not exactly starving, especially as I usually share what's on my plate too. I do not work in an animal testing lab, or put my animals through rigorous SATs or the like. I have found that their paws do not have the dexterity to hold a pencil well enough to shade in the correct circles so they invariably fail. And I know they are smarter than that. Well, kinda. My dogs sleep in bed with me and the littlest one is tucked in my robe right now. I don't hit my pets, except a swat on the butt for the biggest dog when he tries to hump my male cat. (That cat has only a stub of a tail due to the cruelty of some kids breaking it and the last thing he needs is a big dog trying to make babies with him.) I'm glad the Humane Society is there and they provide an excellent service to those animals who need it, but do they have to be such pompous ass hats? Do they have to treat me like I have no idea how animals should be treated? Like I only want to grab the dog, race to my car and start abusing it? And those animal rescues that insist on a home visit? Really? Are you going to interview my dogs and cats and make sure I am worthy? I'm not much of a liar in general, but the Humane Society makes me lie. I don't bother with the animal rescue groups because the money they want for their animals could buy me a new car. And a luxury vacation. And even a new set of luggage for that vacation. I also object to a home visit. It's ridiculous and insulting. I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure there is a huge population out there that do treat animals well and they don't all work at the Humane Society or run an animal rescue. I want an animal to love and rule me and my house, but I'm not willing to be finger printed or have a criminal check done on me to adopt your pet. So, yes, I will lie like the cheap rug I am and take this most darling little dog. Now you can go back to being pompous and self righteous, Humane Society.

Where Was I?

Oh yeah! I think I left off with something about root beer, right? No. . . maybe it was all about ingrown toe nails, not that I get them, but those around me suffer from them. Who knows? Not me, that much is certain. I need to bring us all up to date on the saga of my very boring life then hopefully I can continue to plod on in the same old ruts as always. Everybody strap yourself in for the wild ride.

*Trying to let my knee heal, which is taking its sweet ass time, I have been trying to stay off of it as much as possible. Taking it easy is very boring. I needed a hobby BAD! I was looking on line for different ideas when I stumbled across making rag rugs. I get a bunch of old sheets from Goodwill and rip them apart, braid them, and sew them back together. I have never been much of a sewing type gal, but have discovered a deep love for making rag rugs. The area around the couch is a heap of material and rugs in different stages of the process. I'm making rugs for everyone in my family and anyone I happen to meet when I do venture off the couch. I have been toying with different names for my rug company and so far have not hit on just the right name. Knotty Gimp? Not very melodious. Better Than Drugs? Closer, but not quite. Rugs Are Better Than Drugs? Too long. Sigh. I will have to sew and think some more. Oh darn.

*After 6 months of glorious supporting someone I cannot afford to support, Acorn had to move back home. She did not get a job after much lackadaisical trying. I love her and hope she gets the lead out and gets a job, but I cannot afford myself, much less someone else too. I kept hoping she would get the anchors out of her pants and get a job -- after dropping many not-even-slightly-subtle hints -- but it didn't happen. I finally had to tell her she had to have a job by the 1st of October or she would have to move out. She put in an application, it didn't pan out, and she had to move. I tried, but you can't make anyone do anything they don't want to do, and obviously she thought I was able and willing to support her. And obviously her family thought nothing of it either because they never offered a dime to help me or her out. I find it all rather irking.

*Sugarbowl, who's engagement fell apart (did I mention that yet?) was all boo hooing about never going to meet anyone, always going to be alone, unloved, a dried up old lady at 32 because we all know that is so old there is no hope of ever finding a significant other, met a guy. On her birthday she went to the casino. Earlier that day she had attacked a bag of dried apricots and ate too many. She was playing Black Jack and had to keep getting up from the table to go to the bathroom and fart because the apricots had given her such bad gas. She was drinking, so she said it didn't look so odd that she kept running to the bathroom to massage her stomach (to move the gas along) and rip huge farts. She says that they were HUGE farts, some she thought went on for 20-30 seconds. In between all her running back and forth, a guy at the Black Jack table asked her for her phone number. It took her by surprise because her guts were so bloated and painful she was thinking more of getting to the bathroom to fart than about the other people at the table. Funny how things like that work out. Here this guy is digging her and she is peeling the paint off the walls in the women's restroom, regretting having eaten so many apricots. They have gone on a few dates now, but she stays away from fiber-y foods before their dates.

That should bring me up to date and ready to pick up from here. Here's hoping!

On The Road Again

Remember a lllllooooonnnnnggggg while back I talked about how my little sister and I were going to go to De Smet, SD and revel in all things Laura Ingalls Wilder? That time has finally come. We are leaving later today. I have dusted off my official LIW sunbonnet, found my I heart Laura Ingalls pin, and still need to pack, but the morning is young and Sugarbowl sleeps late. Besides, how much does one really need to pack for a 3 day trip that revolves around pioneers? Ma knows that nobody hip and happenin' is going to be there. All I need are my pantaloons and I stifling long sleeved dress. No need to pack deodorant or a razor. I'm not sure how or if they brushed their teeth, so I am going to pack my toothbrush. My only nod to modern times will be my Copaxone and assorted meds to keep the crazies at bay (and the nerve pain, and the spasticity . . .).

First stop is Walnut Grove to see the big pit in the ground that was the dugout. If I didn't want to see that so much myself, I would point out that if Sugarbowl wanted to look at big pits she just needs to look at her arse. Sadly, my own pitted arse does not enjoy being punched, so I have to keep my mouth closed regardless of how tempting it is to say such things. I have learned to say it over the phone, when she is nowhere near the house.

At first we were going to wear makeup so we wouldn't have a plethora (and it will be a plethora!) of pictures of us looking like the bottom of the Ingalls' outhouse, but then we remembered that pioneers didn't have makeup. And how good can 2 grown women in sunbonnets possibly look? People should be glad that I'm not going to wear my mustache, because everyone knows pioneers had mustaches, especially the women, but there is no way I am packing my straight razor, so it will probably grow in during the trip. I just hope I don't grow a full beard before we get back.

I will post pictures of our pleasure trip when I get back, or maybe on the trip, because I'm pretty sure pioneers had laptops. I will miss you. Every moment away from you is torture and only my love for Laura could possibly make me leave you behind. If nothing else makes you jealous of my living in Nebraska, the fact that I am only 4 hours away from the Land of Laura should. Heck, that makes me jealous of myself. Now to get into my full pioneer regalia and get ready to hit the road. Miss me.

The Worst Companion EVER!

To say something is the worst companion ever is saying a lot. Shopping with Princess is never fun. She is only interested in pointing out everything ugly she comes across. I notice the ugly stuff but I am able to move on to things that may be of interest. Not her. She has to constantly show me everything horrible she finds. It's not exactly a good way to find things that are not horrible for me to spend my $2 on. Even more annoying is going to the library with her. She goes, finds the book or two that she wants then comes and finds me to look over my shoulder at my list of books that I want and runs ahead of me to grab them for me. As a hardcore historical nonfiction geek, I usually look at the books in the same general area as the books I have on my list, so I don't appreciate someone grabbing just that one when I want to look at all the ones near it. She just wants to hurry me up; she is not trying to help me, just speed things up. She likes to keep up a constant stream of talk about how the books I read are so boring, why do I look at the ones near the one I have on my list, couldn't I just grab a few and race out of there, how much she wants to beat me over the head with a huge reference book and drag me out by my hair, etc. etc. She's a great companion when it's something she is interested in, which is only a very few things outside of the house, but nothing else.

Having just passed the 3 week mark of unending joy with my knee, I have had plenty of time to ponder how pain is the worst companion EVER! I know it is, but when you haven't had a recent bout of acute pain, you can forget just how unfun it is. Lying in bed, keeping my throbbing knee company because it couldn't sleep anymore, I was thinking about the different kinds of pain that like to keep me company from time to time. (It is so thoughtful, it never wants me to be alone.) While my knee is a deep burning throb, my trigeminal neuralgia is a stabbing screaming pain. My legs burn and ache at night, and the muscle spasms that my MS Hug give me are like a hot knife being drawn down my body. Around my left eye I have a dull ache that I usually try not to take any pain meds for because I take so many for everything else, but sometimes I have to raise the white flag. I get tingling electric shocks up my right side that feel so gross they make my hair stand on end where they go up into my scalp. Luckily I don't get that one as often.

Chronic pain can drain all and any fun out of life. My good humor packed a bag for Reno and left me without even a Dear John letter. I'm trying to be patient with everyone around me, but patience is very hard to find right now. Sometimes I can't think around the pain and just have to hold on until the pain meds catch up -- I try not to play catch up, but sometimes it comes up so fast I get to play that most not fun game. My little world has shrunk even smaller with all this fun, and I don't care because until this pain starts to abate, my bed and couch are where you will find me. Not that anyone wants to find me right now, and I can't blame them. I don't want to find me either.

Happy Anniversary To Me!

You know how in a new relationship you celebrate every milestone no matter how trivial? How you think about them all the time? No matter what is going on, they can pop into your head and drive every other thought out. Ah, the beauty of new relationships! Today is my 2 week anniversary with my hurt knee. Yes, it has been 2 glorious weeks of nonstop togetherness. My knee has been on my mind constantly, to the exclusion of every other thought. I think about it all day and without Lord Lortab I would fantasize about it all night.

I twisted my stupid knee getting into the tub. Nothing major at the time, but as the day went on it kept getting worse. The next morning I could not even put a toe down. I don't know how I made it to the back door to let the dogs out or got my coffee going, but those are 2 huge priorities in the morning so I hopped around and got it done. I figured I just sprained it, so I spent the next couple of days holding down the couch, giving myself freezer burn on that knee, and in a lewd position trying to keep that knee elevated. The only part of the RICE (Rest Ice Compression Elevate) treatment I was unable to do was compression. I can't stand even a blanket on it when it really starts to sing, so that was out. I finally raised the white flag and went to the doctor a week ago this last Friday. My guts were protesting so much OTC pain meds so I was also hoping to get a little higher end med in addition to finding out what in the hot heck hades hell was going on with my knee. My knee was already hurting but when that doctor, who I had no problem with up to this point, started messing with it I about came up off the exam table. Acorn says the only thing that was touching the table were my elbows. From that moment on, I have hated him and never want to look at his ugly (he wasn't really ugly) mug again, and have been pondering starting a smear campaign against him. He, not having to deal with the pain, told me to keep with the OTC meds, even though the recommended dose was not helping and I had been going over it -- he just told me not to do that -- because he is a diabolical servant of Satan. I was living on Sprite and crackers, in a tremendous amount of pain, busy cutting out words from magazines to glue together as a hate letter to send to that doctor, when I lost all my good humor and went to the E.R., after talking to his nurse and finding out he was out for the day, no doubt checking in with his lord and master Satan. They at the E.R. sympathized with me, after seeing my white knuckled grip on the chair, and gave me a prescription for Lortab. They are not on my hate letter mailing list, which is good, my magazines being cut to shreds and not wanting to go to the store to get more. I am seeing an orthopedic surgeon on Weds because the MRI showed fluid in my knee and God only knows what all, I don't speak Evil Bloody Hemorrhoid so I'm not sure what all the doctor spewed out.

Today I am going to spend time thinking of my not beloved, and pondering 2 weeks of togetherness. I really hate new relationships. I'm going to the store to buy more magazines now; my knee just got on my mailing list.

Calories And Strange Trees

*Update: Are those toads or frogs? I thought they were toads, but I could be wrong and they are some pseudo-toad-frog thing. Either way, I will now be accepting orders for seeds from my toad/frog tree.


I sprained my knee the other day. I was getting into the tub and nearly fell. Luckily (?) I caught myself before I could fall, but I twisted my knee in the process, which Acorn should be happy about because she didn't have to come help my naked arse up off the floor. It hurt, but it wasn't too horrible right away. As the day progressed it got worse and worse. By the time I went to bed it was really hurting but I didn't think too much of it. I woke up throughout the night from the throbbing and the next morning I couldn't put an ounce of weight on it. It was an ordeal just to make it to the bathroom and if it hadn't been 4 am I would have woken Acorn up to help me, but I knew she was going to have a long day of doing everything for me, so I let her sleep. While laid up I ate, in order, 4 donuts, 2 burritos, 2 pieces of pizza and a handful of Skittles. Ugh! I think I consumed my calories for the week with just the 4 donuts, never mind the rest of it. Yesterday I tried to eat a little less junk, but I did treat myself to another round of Skittles, polishing off the bag, so I may have to go to the store to get more because I'm worried that I may waste away just sitting on the couch not eating junk all day and not burning a single calorie. I'm bored stiff just sitting here, but when I was walking around, thanks to all the ibuprofen I ingested, my knee started hurting again, so it was back to the couch and moaning about my knee. I have been calling everyone I can think of to have long meaningful conversations and my little sister said that if I don't stop calling her she is going to press charges for harassment. I foresee another boring day today, because my knee is still sore, and more speed dialing everyone and having restraining orders taken out against me.

In my backyard, there is a tree that a bunch of toads are always on. Not just around the bottom, they actually climb up the tree and hang out up there. I don't get it. Why do they climb up that one tree, besides to make me ask questions? I've never seen toads in a tree before and am baffled why they do it. I'm sure one of you brilliant readers know the answer to this and will shed some light on this most perplexing situation for me. Until I know why, I am going to assume that I have a toad tree growing in my backyard and am going to start selling seeds from it, for others who want their own toad tree. Having a toad tree reminds me of the donut tree my neighbors had when I was growing up. The lady worked at a donut shop and brought home donuts and dumped them under the tree in her front yard. I'm not talking just a few donuts, I'm talking a pile that reached almost to my waist, and I'm a tall girl. That donut tree tortured us to no end. My mother is a health freak and we didn't have junk food in the house. Ever. We didn't even have sugar in the house for a long time, we used honey for sweetener, so to have a donut tree across the street was cruel and unusual punishment for us. Our dog would bring home donuts all the time and my little sister, who didn't get the nickname Sugarbowl for nothing, said she wanted to wrestle the donuts away from the dog, they looked so good. One of my friends said that we should hang pot roasts from one of our trees and ask our neighbors if they wanted to trade pot roast tree seeds for some of their donut tree seeds. I would love to have my own donut tree, but the calories! I think a toad tree might be a better tree for me, especially as I'm getting no exercise right now, but to have a donut tree. . . that is the stuff dreams are made of.

Dear Blindbeard

Dear Blindbeard,

Oh, Blindbeard...I hope your head/eye pain is receding. If it turns out to be a bout of optic neuritis, will you do a round of steroids? Be well...

Long time reader, first time comment leaver-

Lori


Dear Beautiful Lori,

I always said that the only way I would do the steroids again was if I lost my vision, so. . . yes? Wait, no. Definitely maybe! The steroids make me so sick and crazy that I'm afeared of doing them again. It is such a miserable experience for me; I worry about going off the deep end again, and I worry about the other hideous side effects. The horrible heartburn, the raging insomnia, the most disgusting taste in my mouth that nothing will get rid of, the insatiable appetite that makes me take jars of peanut butter and jugs of milk -- and I NEVER drink milk -- to bed with me. But then I remember when my hug first started up and how much pain I was in. I was ready to do the steroids then if it would give me any relief. So it's always a possibility. A possibility that I hope I never have to do, but pain and misery can drive a woman to actually listen to her neurologist, so I may give in to her and do them if I am feeling too bad. Ugh! I would rather order all my books in Braille than go through steroids again. It would probably be a heck of a lot cheaper.

Love,
Blindbeard



Dear Blindbeard,

Big Fan! I've read your whole blog. I don't have MS, but I don't NOT have it either. ( I have the lesions and meet all the diagnostic criteria but have another disease that my doctor says "covers" MS as well) Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I like that your blog is not all MS all the time. Its refreshing to hear about all of the aspects of your life. When I first started getting sick and started reading other blogs I was worried sick(er) that my life was going to be miserable. You have helped me to be mostly positive (when I have the energy) and to concentrate on living my life and not just being sick.

Amy


Dear Beautiful Amy,

This is the best comment I have ever gotten! Sometimes I think that maybe nobody wants to hear about how, yesterday morning, the middle sized dog cleaned himself to completion on my pillow! I'm not saying that I never reach completion in my bed, but I don't do in on my pillow, right by a just-waking-up person's head! If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was having a seizure. I can't remember the last time I got out of bed so quickly. Or how Sugarbowl and Princess were fighting the other day, so Sugarbowl locked her computer so Princess couldn't use it and now she can't remember her password so she's locked out too. Or how I've been thinking of taking one of these adorable little toads that are all over the place and keeping him as a pet. I have already picked out the name, Toadly Winks, but am not sure the upkeep is worth having him/her. Or how this heat has made me melt into a pile of warm jello and my pit juice keeps running off like the 2 bit whore it is. One day I told Acorn that my pits felt like they had died and gone to hell. About 5 minutes later, I felt a tickle in my pit and a spider came dragging its way out, thankful to be alive but needing years of therapy to recover from the experience. These are all the little nothings that make up the part of my life that MS has nothing to do with, ie all the fun parts.

Love,
Blindbeard

This Post Is Brought To You By:

The letter Z and the number 1, as in 1 enormous painful Zit. It started this life as an itchy red bump on my chin. I noticed it as we were heading to the lake and thought nothing of it. Heck, how many times have I had an itty bitty red bump of a zit, scratched it and never had any trouble from it again? Too many times to count. Little did I know that the simple act of scratching at it would cause it to bloom into a huge cauliflower-like thing. And how was I to know that nobody around me would bother telling me that I had a huge cauliflower on my chin that needed my attention NOW! Or stopped me from going out to chat with the neighbors with that thing taking over my face and resembling a parasitic twin sprouting from my chin. The poor neighbors! They probably had a hard time finding my eyes with my zit blocking my whole face.

I was hoping it would be a lot smaller this morning, but when I woke up and could hardly lift my head off my pillow because of its massive weight, I knew I was going to have another day of dragging it around with me. Hopefully I will be able to keep mountain climbers off of it, because I have things I want to do today besides chase yodelers off my humongous zit.

Nobody around me has any sympathy for me because I have such dry skin that I almost never get zits. Everyone else has oily skin and are always boo hoo-ing about some zit, so they think the behemoth on my chin is nothing. They won't think it's nothing when I get mistaken for the elephant man and they have to explain that I am not an animal, I am a human being. Or try to tell people that I am not growing a prize cauliflower on my chin, I just have a "little" zit. It's going to be a long day, dragging this growth around. I hope my neck doesn't snap under the weight of it.

Oh, Me Aching Head!

I woke up with such a headache, I wouldn't be surprised if my head split open like a rotten melon and an alien popped out. I had one of the worst nights I ever weathered, so it is little wonder my head feels so throbbingly rotten melon-like. I had those stupid irritating dreams, you know, the kind that are so frustrating they make you mad in your sleep. Where you wake up ready to round up a posse and go hang the bastards that pissed you off, even though they claim they had nothing to do with it. (Like when I would dream that my ex husband was sleeping with someone else I would be mad at him all the next day.) I don't think I ever hit the R.E.M. stage of sleep because my bladder woke me up every 2 hours. I've been having bladder urgency for the last few days. It doesn't matter when I'm swimming at the lake (be careful of warm spots when swimming with me) but it's annoying when out of my giant toilet. And don't act like you've never peed in the swimming hole, or even the pool. I used to get out of the water, but then realized that none of the kids around me ever felt the urge to get out of the pool no matter how long they had been swimming, so they might as well swim in my pee as I swim in theirs.

I used to pee about once a night. My little sister said that she and her fiance would wait until I got up to pee, about an hour after going to bed when that glass of water I drank with my night meds finally hit my bladder, then they would get it on. I am so glad I sleep like the dead because that is something I never want to hear. When we were younger, Sugarbowl had a boyfriend spend the night and even though she had her radio playing in her room, I still heard what sounded like a pig caught in a bear trap. She loves when I tell that story so much that she is now very careful to make sure the house is asleep before bringing out the bear trap.

On top of having to pee every time I am comfortable and want to read, I have been having double vision in my left eye if I look even slightly off from straight ahead. The double vision, while annoying, is accompanied with a lovely deep pain around my left eye. I've been taking so much ibuprofen I can feel my kidneys raising the white flag in defeat.

I suppose I should call my neurologist, but I don't feel like it just yet. She will want me to come in and do a bunch of tests, if not an MRI, and I don't wanna do all that right now. I want to get a few things done around here, in between all my peeing, then I will call her. Funny how when I was newly diagnosed, I would have called right away. Now I'm content to wait a bit and call when it's convenient for me. I think it will be convenient once the alien in my head hatches.

Yodeling

Yodeling is no longer just for climbing tall mountains or for proclaiming your love for Riccola; it has so many practical uses these days. It's a great way to let the other person sleeping in your bed know that you are awake and it also is a good barometer of the depths of your love. Even though I still like to use it in the old fashioned way when climbing the dog manure pile in my back yard to survey the surrounding countryside, I have found similar joy in using it in other areas of my life.

This morning I popped awake and was sure it had to be pushing 6 am I felt so awake. Oh no! It was barely past 3:30 am. I have an ironclad rule that I DO NOT get out of bed before 4 am, so I had to find a way to entertain myself for 30 more minutes. Princess, who can only find sleep in my bed when spending the night at my house, made the mistake of getting up to go to the bathroom. I laid cross ways across the bed, hung my head upside down over the edge -- do not do it if you have vertigo --and yodeled to announce to the whole house that I was now awake. Princess started laughing in the bathroom and I have a policy of trying to keep her laughing as much as possible because she is such a serious little tween. The dogs were so excited by my melodious yodeling that they were hogging the bed and Princess and I were forced to press together to stay on it. I started giving her hot potatoes (where you blow hot air into their shirts, a very gross feeling that I don't mind giving but hate receiving) and imitating the loud way the dogs yawn their rotten morning breath into our faces until it finally was 4 am. By that point Princess was laughing so hard and giving me hot potatoes, that I was glad to get out of bed so early in the morning. I don't think my morning breath smells like a unicorn's fart after feasting on roses, but I am now 100% positive that Princess's morning breath most certainly does not smell like said unicorn fart (more like a fish's arse hole turned inside out after feasting on his rotting brethren).

While swimming at the lake the other day, Sugarbowl was talking about a certain country singer that she has been in love with since she was 16. She summed up the depth of her feelings by saying that if he wanted to part her meat curtains and yodel into her vagina, she would do it without hesitation. I started laughing so hard I nearly drowned because their is no life guard on duty at the lake, and alcohol and open fires are prohibited. It's so ridiculous it's funny. And I can honestly say that I can't think of anyone I love that much that if they asked me to do that I would acquiesce. But I am still young enough to find a love that deep and true. Think of all the yodeling that would be going on in my bed then...

That's Right! I Said it!

I don't mean to be rude, but sometimes when others are being rude, the censor button on my mouth breaks down. I am so notorious for it that when my little sister had a similar situation happen recently, she called me right after it happened to let me know because she said it made her think of me. I hear, "You didn't really say that?!" so often it surprises me, because don't they know me by now? When have I ever not said it?

At my fattest -- 55lbs more than I am now -- my little sister and I went to Taco Bell for lunch. As soon as we park, a whippersnapper pulls in and parks so close to me that I have to squeeze myself out of my car door. I called out to him, "Damn, honey, I ain't as skinny as I used to be!" while trying to exit my car without denting his or my car. My little sister was laughing so hard that he turned red and decided he really didn't want Taco Bell after all and got back into his car and drove off.

When I had my first attack of optic neuritis I couldn't see or read anything unless it was inches from my face. I was shopping at Walmart and noticed the store manager mysteriously turned up everywhere that I was. I get done shopping and head to self checkout because I'm anal and like to organize my stuff by what goes where at my house. I don't even get a chance to scan one thing before a lady comes up and starts grabbing all my stuff to ring it up. I tell her I can do it myself and she says, "Oh, I don't mind!" I asked her if she was doing it because the store manager was following me all over the store and they wanted to make sure I paid for everything. She just claimed to be "one of the nice ones." But she sure made herself scarce after I said that. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a thief, and following me is just giving the thieves more privacy to rip you off.

Another time shopping at Walmart -- maybe I need to start shopping elsewhere -- and a guy starts grabbing up my crap to ring it up for me. I asked him if he was bored. He said no. Then he grabbed a food item before all my non food items were rang up, which is unacceptable, so I stopped him and told him I don't ring up food items before all my non food items are rang up. He acted like I had deeply insulted him (I hope I did!) and sulked off to ring up somebody else.

Renewing my license plates, the lady behind the counter is being a total bitch about everything. It's not like I had a million questions or wanted to quibble over the cost, but she was ruder than hell! I get my new tags and as I'm leaving I tell her, "Thanks for your help and thanks for being such a bitch about it!" I noticed that the people working around her were smiling and she had a shocked, open mouthed stare, like she could not believe somebody would dast say such a thing to her. Sadly for her, I dast.

My little sister had to kill some time before work recently, so she went into an antique store to check out their wares. The lady behind the counter followed her all over the store. At one point my little sister turned around from the shelf she was looking at and bumped into her! So Sugarbowl asked her if she owned the store. The lady said she just worked there. Sugarbowl asked her a few more questions and said, "I just figured we should get to know each other better since we are shopping together." She also told the lady that she had no intentions of stealing anything so she could go back to whatever she was doing before Sugarbowl came into the store. She said another shopper started laughing and the lady huffed off. She was so proud of herself for actually saying something to someone, that she called me as soon as it happened because she "pulled a Blindbeard."

I'm not advocating rudeness, but almost tripping over the worker in the store because they are that close to you? They need to be called on it. I would have said something.

Just Not Feeling It

And what is that "it," you ask? Well, let me shed some light on "it". I am just not feeling a blog post that is one subject of any interest to anyone, even myself. All I have is a bunch of little nothings that have nothing to do with anything, of interest or otherwise. I am going to post those nothings so maybe, just maybe, I can clear up the air and move on to something interesting. (No need to point out that I rarely have anything interesting to say, but thanks anyway, Alfred Vaginastein.)

*At the library yesterday, I was reminded of how many people do not know to BE QUIET there. I have always made the kids that accompany me be quiet, but too many adults didn't get that memo. There was a woman loudly talking about people who have abortions. I'm not going to give my opinion on the whole abortion issue, but I am going to say that no matter what my opinion is, I wouldn't yell it out in the library, a place where most of us are taught to be quiet out of respect for others trying to read. I am also going to say that others' opinions are not likely to be changed by you yelling about it in a place where others would appreciate you shutting your dirty pie hole.

*Why do people feel the need to consummate their love at the lake? Do they not have a bed at home? Or even a back seat in their car? Heck, they can use my back seat if they are that friggin' horny that they cannot wait until they get out of public. It's gross and ridiculous. Maybe it is a rite of passage that I never felt the need to do? I must have missed that memo. I don't feel like I have missed out on anything by not humping someone in a lake while there are people -- and KIDS -- all around me. How romantical can it to be to bump uglies while keeping an eye out for dead fish? I'm so tired of seeing people humping that I no longer give them a wide berth. I will swim near them if they are in an area that I usually like to swim in. I have found that it is a great way to make them move along and ruin the obviously overwhelmingly romantical mood that attacked them against their will.

*This morning, while having my smoke and watching the dogs pinch off some loaves, I was trying to keep the mosquitoes from draining me dry when I had a thought. If smoking while pregnant can cause health problems in the baby, would my blood make the mosquito babies have similar problems? Are there a bunch of mosquitoes out there that were hatched with low birth weight or other developmental problems? And if so, wouldn't that be a boon for the creatures that mosquitoes like to feast on? I'm not sure if this subject has been studied, but it would be interesting to know.

Now you can see why I haven't been blogging too much recently. None of those topics are something I can really expand upon and are not things I think anyone wants me to expand upon. The moral of this story is to shut the mother truckers up when at the library, keep it in your swimsuit bottoms at the lake, and if smoking will negatively affect mosquito babies, then smoking does have some positives to it. I know, I know, I'm a regular Alfred Vaginastein myself.

Shhh! Be Berry Berry Quiet!

I'm not hunting wabbits, but I am hoping to sneak out of here to go to my exercise class before everyone wakes up. Princess and Jabber are spending a few nights with me because Sugarbowl has to work the next few days and didn't want to leave them alone. She knew that they would kill each other if left to their own devices for a whole day. Or even half a day. Maybe even an hour or two. She actually cares when they start fighting about who did what. I don't. I'm an equal opportunity punisher. I don't care who did what to whom first. If I hear fighting, all are guilty and all will be punished. It is a great way to have the kids join forces against me to show me that they can not fight, because one thing they do agree on is not wanting to go to bed early. And I do loves me some early bedtime! I also love giving out chores, especially the ones I don't want to do, like clean the cat boxes, or clean the bathrooms.

I don't mind them coming with me to my exercise class, but I need to hit the grocery store after and I feel like a traveling circus sideshow when I have to drag everyone through the store with me. We all pile out of a tiny clown car and put on a show through every aisle. The kids juggle all the things they want me to buy while I repeat the same phrase, "No, we don't need that. Go put it back." I wouldn't be surprised if I heard applause when we finally left the store. It's amazing that running into the store to grab a few things can be drug out for so long, but the kids are dedicated to their act and would hate to disappoint the audience.

Last night they both wanted to sleep in my bed with me. They were not fighting about it but trying to figure out a way that we could all fit, so I let them do it. Jabber and I slept at the top of the bed and Princess slept at our feet with her feet up by our heads. I'm glad that Princess and not Jabber had her feet by our heads because Jabber is asleep right here, with his feet next to me, and his feet STINK! But it is a smell I am willing to inhale because I don't want to move his feet and risk waking him up. I just want to be able to do my stuff today quickly and quietly. I don't want the spotlight shinning on me as I try to do a quick errand that gets stretched into a long, slow, all day ordeal. As much as I do love being a circus sideshow, I am not feeling up to performing today.