Blindbeard's Multiple Sclerosis Blog

How To Lose 200lbs Of Ugly Fat

2011-10-09T06:45:00.002-05:00

It is called Divorce. You may have heard of it. You may have already used it, successfully. You may even recommend it to friends who are wanting to lose their own mass of ugly fat. It is a painful, yet oddly freeing, diet. I am currently on this particular diet, needing to lose those last stubborn 200lbs because they are annoying, irritating, frustrating, discombobulating, infuriating, and, worst of all, tenacious. The only good thing about this mass of fat is how easily I can irritate it, having known it for 12+ years now, I know what buttons to push to make it just as frustrated as me.

We finally decided that it was time to do this. Actually, he was pushing for it because the woman he was seeing, who turned out to be a real peach but more about that later, kept asking him how his divorce was coming along. Silly man, thinking with his twigs and berries instead of his brain, tried to work out a plan for he and I to get together and see an attorney to hammer out a deal and get this whole thing rolling. He has been so gung ho to get me there and pin me down (sadly, both ways that can be taken are accurate) that it made me suspicious. So this woman went and done got herself her own attorney. Said mound of ugly fat was soooo happy about that, he yelled, hooted, hollered and boo hoo-ed to me about it for a good half hour, telling me how much he hated me and amusing me very much. We hung up, I went back to my book, and 20 minutes later he called me back, considerably calmer, to talk about it. Because neither he nor I give a hoot about the other's way of seeing it, we just stop as soon as we catch ourselves starting to try to explain how we see it. It's pointless. At this point, we cannot sympathize with the other.

I was surprised that he called me back so quickly. I figured he would be digging up his jar of pennies and moving them to a new spot. But he wanted to call me to sing, "I just called to saaaaaaay I haaaaaaaaate youuuuuuu!" at which point we both laughed and started changing love songs into hate songs. Don't get me wrong, we are both brimming with hate for the other, especially as it could have been so different if we had just made some different choices along the way. He is so irate with having to divide up the marital assets/money, that I can't resist messing with him. Case in point, I offered to go halves on a cabin with him once this is over. I think he popped a few blood vessels over that one, but it helps me deal with the stress of this all if we can at least joke about it a little. Like him telling me that if we can work out a deal and not have to fight this out in court, he might be willing to not delete my number and still be my friend. Gee, how can I not be thrilled with that offer.

Lastly, this wonderful woman he was dating turned out to be seeing an ex of hers on the side. She has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving because it seems the whole town, except my ex, knew about it. So not only was she cheating on him, she pushed him into getting a divorce when I would have been content to just stay separated forever. Instead, he decided that he really wants to have to give me some of our marital pennies. The moral of this story, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

What Color Is Swamp Ass?

2011-05-23T07:06:00.002-05:00

It is imperative that I know the answer to that burning question because I am trying to draw the Swamp Ass Swamp and can't seem to find just the right color. At first, I was drawing the swamp as the starting point for a game board to mark progress for my little sister, who has just started a vet tech program that is accelerated and promising to be an intense next 2 years. But then things took a turn that I was not interested in them taking, and now I find myself in that swamp with Sugarbowl, trying to navigate my way to the finish line. Why did I have to make such a long path to the finish? It wasn't so bad when I wasn't on that path with Sugarbowl -- I don't mind others' suffering, only my own -- but now all the obstacles that I have to go through seem very obstacle-y and long.

Before I go into why I am now a player in that game, let me give a rundown of the board itself. I took Cookie Monster and Burt out of my Walk Along Sesame Street game, cut out pictures of my face and Sugarbowl's, and stuck them over their faces. I am Burt and she is Cookie Monster. We start out mired in the Swamp Ass Swamp, ride the Beginner's High roller coaster, which then plunges us into the Homework Ocean. From there we must navigate our way through the I Have To Stick My Finger Where forest. I'm looking forward to that forest strictly to enjoy Sugarbowl having to lift tails and insert her digits, and hearing how she deals with it. And that promises to be a great story, she having the most sensitive gag reflex of anyone I have ever known, and anal glands being the worst thing I have ever had the displeasure of smelling. From there we will mosey into the swirly twirly Slumpy Mountains. They being so swirly and twirly one must go slow through them, hence the hideous slumpy-ness of them. I fear those slumpy mountains because I really hate the slumps. If we make it safely through those, we enter the dark tunnel of Is There A Light At The End. If we can find the light, it is the light of our goals. It's going to be one heck of a journey and I most certainly was not interested in traversing this path, but traverse it I must, because. . .

I found out earlier this month that my ex has started dating someone. The shock of that put me into a pity party in the middle of the Swamp Ass Swamp. It's not that I begrudge him dating, it's that I want to be able to go out and do those kinds of things that can result in meeting someone, instead of turning into a pumpkin at the hour when most people are gearing up to go out. And then my pity party really got rocking and rolling when I started thinking about who could possibly want to be with me. I have no money, no energy, but plenty of MS that promises more fun in the future. When I was saying this to Princess, she came and put her arms around me, told me that she wants me, and that she loves me more than I love her, which is not possible, but very nice to hear anyway. I have to be 100% honest and admit that the hurt of him moving on is at least equal to all the other hurt from not being able to go tear up the town myself. Why does someone getting over you hurt so bad? And why does it mire me so deep in that swamp? At least I have a game board to track my progress to my goal of. . . not sure what my goal is, but I will let you know when I figure it out.

Mountainous Expanse Of White Flesh

2011-04-12T07:18:00.002-05:00

Princess came in, saw the title of this post and said, "You're writing about mom?" Sharp as a tack, that one. We just got through another fabulous blow out fight in our house. The best analogy I have that sums up Sugarbowl's and my relationship is to compare it to a pressure cooker, especially the old ones that exploded so easily. My mom said that growing up they had one and my grandmother forgot to let off the steam one time and green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The pressure builds up and we have to vent at the right time or risk a big explosion. We didn't vent soon enough this time and our relationship green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The reason for the fight is not particularly interesting, in fact I'm not sure what started it all, but once Sugarbowl gets mad/hurt/upset etc. her Borderline Personality Disorder comes out to play. I don't like that playmate. It really sucks, but someone has to stand up to its hideous bullying ways, and that someone is always me because I am the one person who can tell her to shut the hot hell up and knock her crap off and still be friends with her again. This time she disabled all her electronic stuff so no one could use it. She took all the cords to her TV, DVD player, computer, phone, the wii and so on. We all made up yesterday and she started to bring down the cords from her room and slowly put them all back. I didn't want her to know how much I was missing some of those electronic things, so I read my brains out the last 2 days, which is great but sometimes you just want to kick back with a movie. I took back my robe that she stole from me awhile ago and kept meaning to take back, but she is always naked when she wears it and until I can boil it I have no use for it. Last night I woke up to her naked in my room trying to set the computer back up because she wanted the wireless stuff back on. It would not have been so horrible if all the needed cords were in one area, but she had to go around my bed, plug this in, go back around and put this one here, apologizing the whole time for her nudity because she couldn't find the robe. I didn't bother to tell her it was stuffed in my closet. Some things are better left unsaid and I didn't want to extend the conversation any. I just wanted my room back so I could go back to sleep without the risk of waking up to that sight again. Things should be better soon because the neighbors in the other unit are moving out and she will be moving over there. So when we fight we can go back to our own side and beat on the walls to annoy each other instead of having to argue in person. The neighbors are moving out because they can never seem to remember to pay rent and are being evicted, which has made them very pissy. Not sure what they told their friends across the street, but I can feel the daggers being stared into my flesh whenever we see each other. We have given them so many chances and warnings to pay rent on time, even letting them get really far behind because they were having some financial problems, but it was getting ridiculous. Plus they have a very mean pit bull that scares me and they play their music really loud. All these things add up to me not caring how much the neighbors across the street may think we are in the wrong and hate us, and instead accepting it all as a good exchange to be rid of them. I really hate that dog and am hoping that when it does hurt someone, as it is bound to do, it is one of the owners and not an innocent person. I could be out working in my yard without my dogs, and it will try to charge me. You don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting on your porch, and it will try to get at you. I hope something happens to it before it can do anything to any other animal or person. Keeping my fingers crossed here. Other than that, my MS is as much of a hoot as always. Lately my legs have been feeling so weak and shaky, especially as the day goes on, that I feel like a newborn colt trying to get some errands done. It scares me to have these kinds of problems with my legs because I DO NOT want to lose my ability to walk safely. In fact, I am more likely to take injuring myself over needing better support than a shopping cart or an arm can give. That will show you, MS, when I fall and get hurt instead of doing the smart thing! I hope it burns, because I can be a hardheaded ass all day long. I may need to stock up on Ace bandages while running errands today. It's worth it.

Excuses, Excuses!

2011-03-17T06:35:00.003-05:00

Why has my usually overly verbose self been so silent of late? I have a whole plethora of excuses that no one will buy into, yet I offer them for your consumption anyway. Never mind the expired date on them, you won't get food poisoning, or lock jaw (keep your fingers crossed!).

The main reason for my silence is because -- let me check the area to make sure no one is within reading range -- I have become something of a recluse. My family always accuses me of being one, and I always argue that I most certainly am not! Then I beef up the number of times I have left the house to make myself look like a social butterfly. Why have I been so reclusive and hermit-like? I was shopping with Sugarbowl a few weeks ago when I noticed that my right leg was shaking and feeling very weak, like a newborn colt's. My hands were shaking and doing intention tremors, making it very difficult to hold anything, take a drink from my soda, cross off things from our list, etc. etc. I was embarrassed to be out in public shaking like that, which may have fed into what happened next. I started having muscle spasms from about my Hug area up. My upper body would clench then release on a rhythmic cycle. I can't remember the last time I wanted to get home so bad. We were about 30 minutes from home, and I spasmed the whole way there. If you have never had repetitive muscle spasms, let me tell you how painful they are. My body hurt so bad that night and the next day, I lived on NSAIDs. I knew that my face had been spasming, to the point that my mom, who had not seen me for about 6 weeks, asked if I was having facial spasms or a seizure. (We were at Princess's basketball game and she was going to take me to the restroom to seizure in private if it was seizures.) I can feel my face contort, but I didn't know it was so obvious to others. I thought it was just a barely perceivable twitch, but Sugarbowl said I do this thing with my mouth and she can tell how bad of a day I'm having by it (how often it twitches, how deep of a twitch, and so on).

The best medicine for my spasms is not a muscle relaxer, as one would think. Yes, it helps the muscle stop contracting so tightly, but it does not help that creepy crawly feeling I get when the next spasm is building up. It is marijuana. I have been blazing it up so much at the first sign of a spasm, that I thought this hideous sore throat I have right now may have been caused by it. I finally broke down and went to the doctor after suffering with a throat that feels like someone stuck a shotgun down my gullet and pulled the trigger, spraying shot all over my tonsils, for several days. I was afraid that he would look down my throat and tell me that a massive resin buildup was causing my throat to hurt so bad I would rather let my saliva build up to the point of overspill than swallow. I have tonsillitis and Sugarbowl has a great story to tell everyone for the rest of time. I suppose it is only fair because I have the story of her being full of sh*t, and that makes it worth it.

I have done a ton of research into these spasms and was greatly relieved that they are not an attack, and are usually self limiting, so I can become the social butterfly I say I am to my family, yet have never been in real life! YEE HAW! Or maybe just go do stuff without worrying about the spasms starting up. As the day wears on and I start to get tired, they fire up, and I light up (not cigarettes; I am still smoke free). Something great came out of all this. I was getting tired of my usual movies and crap that I watch when in my down time, because keeping my spasms company is very boring, so I wanted to branch out into something new. I decided to try out The Office because I enjoy Steve Carell and had heard so many great things about it. You may now count me as a fan. A twitchy, spastic fan, but a devoted fan nonetheless. We have Netflix through our Wii, so I can watch all the seasons on that until I can buy them, and buy them I will! Along with a Schrute Farms Beets t shirt, because that is just too great to pass up. The only bad thing about it is that Princess likes it too, but she is not as far as I am so I have to keep all this great stuff to myself until she catches up. The strain of keeping my mouth shut hurts almost as bad as my resin coated throat. And that is saying something.

Today Is The 6th Day Of The Rest Of My Life

2011-02-13T06:50:00.002-06:00

My new life as a non smoker. That's right, I did it! I quit smoking 6 long, hard, stressful, frustratingly slow, days ago. Days where I had to just hold on and know that tomorrow would be a little less horrible than today had been. Riding out cravings that had me gripping white knuckled on to anything near me. Trying not to be too bitchy with anyone who had the bad luck to come in my path. Reading to rags 7 Steps to a Smoke-Free Life, which is an excellent book for any of you who may need a little help along your own obstacle course of quitting smoking. In fact, that book helped me not fall off the wagon during a very bad time in my house right now. It recently came to light that Princess has not been handling her stress in a healthy way: She has been cutting herself. Now, in case you missed it, for all my crabbing about her bitchy ways -- and they can be very bitchy -- that little girl is the light of my life. I would die for her without even having to think about it. She is the reason I'm still on this planet, because she is still on it and I know I can't leave her until she no longer needs me. She and her mother have a very rough relationship, to put it mildly. Very mildly. I know that somewhere under all the hurt, misunderstanding, and loads of hate they have for each other at times, there is a drop of love. It may not be much, but at least it is there, and I hope that someday, when Princess is older, they can try to build a relationship of sorts, because this one is not very good. They are such oil and water it stresses me out sometimes trying to keep the peace around here. Sugarbowl's Borderline Personality Disorder makes things so rough, especially when she has not been taking her meds (which she has not taken for a while now) that it can be a lot of work keeping her from going over the edge about a perceived slight. If you have ever dealt with some one with BPD, you know how incredibly difficult it can be. When her BPD is fired up (it seems like she is good for awhile, then it breaks down and she is ultra sensitive and ready to take everything the wrong way and go into a HUGE RAGE over it) I feel like I have try to keep their dealings as minimal as possible. I try very hard to say things with as little negative inflection in my voice as possible, and if she still takes it as an attack, I have to hold back my own temper, and explain that she has misunderstood what I was really saying. And even then there are no guarantees that it will stop a rage. They will cling to what they think you meant, regardless of what you did mean, and fight with you about how they took what you said. It does not matter how many times you explain that that is not what you meant, they have their BPD up and can't be rational until it calms down again.

In all this BPD mess, I have a voice because I can lose my temper and throw down with Sugarbowl if she pushes me too far, which is saying something because I am very slow in getting to that level of anger. Princess can't say a word, or even twitch a facial muscle when her mother gets angry at her, and that repression is coming out in the wrong way. Communications came to a screeching halt for a few days because Sugarbowl was angry at me (and indirectly at Princess too) because I told her that Princess is cutting herself because of her mother. I should have made it more clear than that because Sugarbowl took that to mean that it is her fault, which is not what I meant. I meant that the problems she and her daughter have are not being handled in a healthy way, and I was trying to give her a heads up before Princess goes to counseling (she has an appointment) and she hears all this from someone else. I'm hoping that we can get through all the ugly that is on the horizon for us and come out the other side with some healthier ways of dealing with each other. Sugarbowl is going to look into counseling, but I would rather she take her meds on a regular basis, if I had to choose. All the counseling in the world is not going to change how she acts when in a BPD rage. I accept that she has Borderline and gets angry easily, but I do not think that is a free pass to do and say horrible things to people and not be held accountable for it. She may not be able to control the shortness of her temper, but she can control the words that come out of her mouth and her actions when angry. Princess does not have the luxury of being able to stand up to her mother like I do, so I have to run interference when Sugarbowl is raging. Right now Sugarbowl is upset about being told that Princess is hurting herself because of her mother, and doesn't want to say anything to Princess in case it adds to the problems she is having -- also as a passive-aggressive way of punishing Princess because her feelings have been hurt because she doesn't want to admit that she has hurt her daughter that deeply. I am the go between and the tension in this house is through the roof. I would rather we all not talk to each other than have any raging fights. As stressful as not talking is, the rages are a bajillion times worse. I think I deserve a HUGE pat on the back for not starting smoking again in the midst of all this crap. But I already broke my arm patting myself on the back, so I'm good. Besides, my focus is on Princess, and knowing that she is going to need me for some time to come makes me want to quit because I'm going to need all the time on this earth that I can get. That is helping me resist the sweet siren call of cigarettes. And what a sweet siren call that is! Darn you, cigarettes! Why do you have to be so delicious?! I look forward to the day that I no longer enjoy the smell of cigarettes. Pray for me.

Gonna Pound This Out Even If It Kills Me!

2011-02-06T05:31:00.002-06:00

And it just might. With all the laptops gone to technology hell, we have been reduced to using this old behemoth of a desk top. I'm glad we still have a computer, but, dagnabbit!, does it have to be such a monstrous ancient dinosaur? It takes up my whole room and heats it up by about 50 degrees. Good thing I keep my bedroom so cold, so now it is about 70 in here. And don't even get me started about everyone junking up my room with all their crap! Every day I pull out cups and food wrappers, I try to organize all the papers they leave all over, and resist the urge to practice some redrum on their arses. I've been using a laptop keyboard for so long, this old, stiff keyed keyboard seems harder to use than I remember them being. It makes me think of typing on an old typewriter, where you have to really hit the keys for them to work. I only have this decrepit old computer chair that you have to balance your weight on very carefully, or it will dump you out because the back is no longer interested in supporting anything, especially fat hags who bitch about it. Okay, moving on.

We all were sick for about a week there. The joy of the flu makes me question my decision to not get a flu shot this year. I can always come up with a plethora of reasons to not do it, but when good flu bugs attack, I can't remember any of those reasons, besides me being an idiot. Speaking of good reasons, I have been fighting against doing my shot, because I can think of a veritable plethora of reasons to not do my shot. I'm so tired of needles and shots and itchy injection sites, oh my!, that I am starting to think there is something to be said for going Secondary Progressive. When I mentioned this to my family, it went over like a herd of lead balloons and started a fight that will rage until I no longer have to do any shots. I have not been good about doing my shot every day, and even skipped as many as 4 days a few times. It is getting to be that time that I am scheduled to reorder, and I still have a whole box left. I am pondering whether I should tell them that or just keep it to myself. If I keep up this futile resistance, I'm going to amass a ton of Copaxone that I DO NOT want. Due to the fact that I am not the fighter my mom and sister are, I'm going to have to keep half assing doing my shot, because they are keeping a sharp eye on me to make sure I am as lumpy as I should be if I'm doing my shot everyday. In winter, being lumpy is not as bad, but in the summer, it SUCKS! Has anyone else on Copaxone noticed that the lumps get worse in the sun and heat? I go to the beach and become a mass of distorted injection sites that swell and disfigure my body. I'm not interested in attracting anyone, but I certainly am not interested in repelling everyone. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a few standards, they are just well hidden.

Until the day I can retire all needles, I'm going to be a big pin cushion, like one of those tomato pin cushions, which would be a lot cuter than the lumpy body I am. Ah, dare to dream of no longer having to do any shots. . . The sweet, sweet siren call of Secondary Progressive is hard to resist. (For the record, I know going Secondary Progressive is serious, but so is my desire to not have to do any shots anymore. Although the treatments for SPMS are pretty crappy, too. I've done Novantrone and that is an injection that I REALLY do not want to do again. Good ol' MS! It really knows how to suck the joy out of life.) Now I have to go avoid my shot. Toodles.

New Club

2011-01-19T06:51:00.005-06:00

I am now starting a new club, the I Hate Princess Club. We are not exclusive, we will take any who want to join -- which will probably be anyone who has met her. We will be meeting at 4am in her bed every morning. Bring all the noise makers you can find, and crumby snacks will be provided in abundance. Our motto is going to be the loudest belch you can muster, so fizzy drinks will be provided too. She runs a heater full blast in her room all night, no matter how hot it gets in there, so wear your summer clothes and be prepared to sweat. Hopefully you do not mind washing your hands with cold water, because wherever Princess is using water, there will never be any warm water left. And I hope you don't mind drip drying after going to the bathroom, because there is nary a scrap of toilet paper to be found in any bathroom she uses. Odds are the sink will be backed up from all her hair balls that she leaves in there, so you may want to bring hand sanitizer just to be on the safe side. Do not bring anything you value, because she does not understand personal possessions and assumes everything is there for her use. And she will not warn you when she uses something up, so be prepared to get a nasty surprise when you go to use whatever it is. Bring a flashlight, because her room is a hodgepodge of clothes and other teenager crap that must be spread across the floor, not put away, and I don't want anyone to impale themselves on her stuff. When using the bathroom, be prepared to have the door flung open on you without so much as a knock to warn you, so don't be doing anything you don't want an audience for. If she should wake up during the course of the meeting, be ready for a steady stream of negative, snarky, rude comments meant to show you how hopelessly uncool and uninformed you are, so be sure you have a thick skin before you join. This is not a club for the faint of heart; you must be a secure person, confident in the fact that you are not as uninformed as 7th graders think you are, or you will be eaten alive. We will be discussing, among other things:

1. How does anyone survive their teenager years without an adult killing them?

2. Should raging, unchecked hormones be illegal?

3. Is it impossible to talk to someone in a normal tone of voice?

4. Should I see if the neighbors would like to use my stuff too? Maybe the public in general would like to use my stuff. Maybe I am being selfish by not sharing my pit juice with the world.

5. Will I ever be as cool and smart as a teenager, or is that just a ridiculous pipe dream?

Any topics that you feel need to be addressed will be added. If you are unsure of what would be a good topic, come spend a few minutes with Princess and your ideas will flow from you faster than you can write them down. Now I will close this announcement with our motto:

BELCH!

See you at 4 tomorrow morning.

APB

2011-01-15T05:51:00.003-06:00

We got an APB out on one Blindbeard. That's one Blindbeard. She was last seen traipsing through Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado in an embarrassing pair of spotted pajama pants, looking like the frumpy tourist she is.
We have reason to believe that she changed her clothes in Colorado, where she stopped for the night, and is now wearing something more socially acceptable, but don't count on it. If you see her, contact her family immediately so they can hide from her. She is not considered dangerous, just crazy -- and hopelessly uncool -- so they would rather not be seen with her as she will only ruin what fragile hopes they have of not being uncool by association.

She was traveling in her sister's car, which is a traveling trash heap, so keep your eyes out for a mobile dump. You will hear her bitching about the condition of the car and her sister telling her to shut her dirty pie hole about it. This conversation will be heard for miles around and will give a good idea of the general vicinity of her whereabouts.

She usually wears a stocking cap in winter, but if she does not have a hat on, you will know her by her mane of woolly hair that resembles a camel's butt. She has a distinctive walk, dragging her right leg along, and crabbing about how everyone walks too fast and she can't drag her leg that fast, so slow down, bitches. She tends to need to urinate more than the rest of her party, and was spotted using the men's room 3 times during this trip because women are so damn slow in the bathroom, and she would rather have her family embarrassed when she comes out of the men's room than wet her pants.

There is no reward for finding her, but her family will be eternally grateful to whoever finds her because they wouldn't know what to do with themselves without her to bumble around and embarrass them, making them look better -- if they don't decide to go into hiding. Please keep your eyes peeled and avoid her at all costs, or she may try to adopt you and ruin all your hopes of being cool.

Treacherous Roads Part 2: The Arizona Edition

2010-12-30T07:33:00.005-06:00

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

2010-12-24T05:41:00.002-06:00

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?

2010-12-17T06:49:00.002-06:00

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

2010-12-11T06:32:00.002-06:00

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

2010-12-10T05:16:00.004-06:00

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

2010-12-01T04:48:00.002-06:00

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!

2010-11-19T06:17:00.004-06:00

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

2010-11-17T04:23:00.004-06:00

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

2010-11-11T04:43:00.004-06:00

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

2010-11-10T05:19:00.004-06:00

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

2010-11-06T05:55:00.002-05:00

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. . .

2010-10-29T06:24:00.004-05:00

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

2010-10-21T05:37:00.002-05:00

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

2010-10-20T05:36:00.003-05:00

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?!

2010-10-11T05:25:00.002-05:00

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

2010-10-08T07:17:00.004-05:00

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?

2010-10-05T07:01:00.002-05:00

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

2010-09-20T06:51:00.003-05:00

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!

2010-09-09T06:00:00.002-05:00

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!

2010-08-30T07:00:00.003-05:00

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

2010-08-19T05:58:00.004-05:00

*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

2010-08-11T06:00:00.003-05:00

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:

2010-08-06T07:17:00.005-05:00

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!

2010-08-03T05:53:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-29T05:06:00.003-05:00

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!

2010-07-28T07:35:00.002-05:00

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

2010-07-22T06:48:00.000-05:00

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!

2010-07-15T07:15:00.002-05:00

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.

So Much Negativity

2010-07-13T06:49:00.003-05:00

Ya know, I really wanted to write a blog post about some of the funnier things that have been going on around here. Like when we went to the local lakes here and Sugarbowl found everything disgusting on the beach and in the water. Or maybe I should say it found her. First she put her shoes next to 2 dead rotting fish, then she was attacked by a slimy clump of algae, and finally she stepped on a fish spine that some fish rudely left behind when it died and rotted on the beach. She and Acorn wanted to go to that particular beach because Acorn has big boobs and doesn't like to show them off, and Sugarbowl has a big butt and gut and doesn't want to show it off, so we had to go to a beach that no one else was at. They are ready to have others see their big body parts next time because that beach was obviously empty for a reason. I would have liked to write about that, but there is so much negativity floating around everyone right now that it has my undivided attention, and maybe if I vent it I can move on. Maybe.

Everyone in my family is hurt and angry at everyone else. It is such a mess that we would need a mediator to come in and help us all out because everyone is sure that they are right and everyone else is wrong. Mostly it is centered around my older sister and a situation that nobody can agree on. Sugarbowl has some hurt feelings towards me, but she and I are so used to fighting that we can be mad at each other and still function, mainly because we are BFFs and love each other no matter what happens. But my older sister... I'm no longer sure she loves any of us. Here is the Cliff Notes version of the whole thing.

The house that we were renting -- we finally moved -- was my older sister's house. We moved because they were having financial problems and decided to let the house go into foreclosure. The house payment was $1200 a month and we paid $1000, but they were having a hard time paying that extra $200. My mom helped us with the rent each month, so "my" part of the rent -- my mom paid mine and an extra $250 to help us out -- was $625 and Sugarbowl paid $375. The house payments had fallen behind by $5500 and my older sister had sold a piece of her land and could bring the house current but Sugarbowl and I had decided to go our separate ways by then, so she kept the money instead. When Sugarbowl heard that they decided to keep the money and let the house go, she thought that meant that we would not have to pay rent on a house that my older sister was letting go back to the bank. She thought dead wrong. My older sister still wanted us to pay rent. Sugarbowl was furious and moved out before she had to pay another month's rent to "line their pockets." My older sister said that I could take the appliances when I moved, so I was not as bothered about still paying rent on a house that they were not making any payments on, even though I thought she could have cut me a little slack and not exacted my full $625 each month. She thought she was cutting me slack by only having me pay my part and not the full $1000. Never mind that the money was coming from her disabled sister's account and her 68 year old mother. She needed that rent money. She has a lifestyle to maintain! (Sorry, a little anger seeped out there.) When Acorn moved in with me, she told my mom that the rent should really be $1000 again.

When Sugarbowl moved out, she left all the dirty cat boxes and the cat crap all over the basement floor. I had put my cat down months ago and was tired of cleaning up after her cats. I knew she was moving and she had planned on taking the cat boxes with her, so I didn't clean them. She went downstairs, took one look at the dirty, overflowing cat boxes, and decided that she would just buy new cat boxes. It angered me so much that I left all that mess because all the stuff in the basement was hers and I wanted it to soak up as much of that cat crap smell as possible. My older sister is mad that the basement was that bad and is feeling "used" because "her" house was so dirty and "trashed." They had left a Foosball table behind and they claim that a cat climbed up on the Foosball table, somehow squatted on those moving poles, and peed on it. I can understand how a cat with a UTI would do something like that, but the only cat that had been in that house with a UTI was one of hers that she had to put down after it had peed all over the house. She kept talking about how a cat had peed on and wrecked "a $400 Foosball table" like we should pay to replace it when they had left it down there for a year and a half. If it was so damn important, why did they leave it for so long? And I think the $7000 they made off of us for rent for a house that has been foreclosed on would cover that expense. She doesn't see it that way and is mad at us.

Remember those appliances that she said I could have? Well, apparently I misunderstood her saying that I could have them for meaning that I could have them. I only took the stove because the one here is so old. She decided that they needed that stove so we had to move it back. My mother and 69 year old stepfather moved that stove back so she could sell it and maybe make a little more money. Now here is where it gets really fun! The land that she sold a part of to help pay off some of their mounting debts, my mom bought for her. She didn't intend to buy it for her, but she helped them get the loan to buy it, then they couldn't make the payments so my mom paid the whole $70,000 for them! They made $45,000 off of the piece that they sold and didn't give my mom one dime of it because she looks at the land as "her inheritance." Never mind the fact that my mom may need that money some day if she should ever -- God forbid! -- need to go into a nursing home and it ate up any money she has and nobody would have an "inheritance," she got hers! Never mind the fact that this duplex I moved into is my mom's and a nicer stove would help the value. She could sell that stove and make, what? $100-$150? That and all the other little "loans" my mom has given her over the years would bring her "inheritance" to about $150,000, by my conservative estimate. I was digging around on the internet looking for information about Borderline Personality Disorder, which my little sister has, to see if there was a way she and I could communicate better about the things that are bothering her about me, when I stumbled on Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I finally found what my older sister has. She has ZERO empathy for anyone else. She is exploitative to other people, especially her family, and she is preoccupied with having the "perfect" life. She has to have the best of the best and their lifestyle is going to put them into bankruptcy. She has an arrogant, haughty way of dealing with people and wants to be admired and envied.

I don't want a big fight in the family, so I am going to keep my distance until we all are a little less angry about all this. I am going to try, but whenever I think about this whole situation it makes me so mad I want to go toe to toe with her and have it out. I don't think it would change anything, her being Narcissistic, she would never see anyone's side but her own in all this. But sometimes I really want to say some things that she would never forget!

Hey You Guys!

2010-06-29T06:50:00.003-05:00

I have been dying to use that for a title since I started blogging. Growing up I loved LOVED LOVED The Electric Company, and the Super Friends, The Muppets, Slim Goodbody, and 3 2 1 Contact. But all those will have to wait their turn to be used as a title. Today I need the Electric Company to round everyone up for me. I need your opinion.

Last night we were all playing Scattegories. Me, Princess, Acorn, Sugarbowl and Sugarbowl's fiance Vanilla (we call him Vanilla because he can be so bland -- but that is another blog post). If you haven't played Scattegories before, I'll give you a quick rundown. You have a list of topics, like Song Title, Famous Female, Things Found At The Beach, Pizza Toppings, etc etc and you roll a big dice with letters all over it to see which letter you have to start all your answers with. Well, for World Records starting with the letter A, Princess put Armpit hair. Sugarbowl hotly argued against it and Princess had to cross it off her list, even though I agreed with Princess because everything is a world record these days. We were doing our next round, and for Things That Jump/Bounce starting with the letter B, Sugarbowl put Boogers. And with that answer an argument was started that may never be resolved.

Sugarbowl claims that almost all boogers bounce. Acorn agreed that her boogers bounce, too. Princess and I, who apparently have very sticky boogers, disagreed. Boogers do not bounce, they stick. Vanilla wouldn't take a side in the debate so we were at an impasse. To prove her point that boogers bounce, Sugarbowl picked her nose, got a booger and started rolling it between her fingers. She said she was going to bounce it off of Princess to prove that boogers bounce. I told Princess that she needed to pick her own nose, get a booger and fling it at her mother to prove that boogers do not bounce, they stick. If they are so bouncy, why are there boogers on the wall by kids' beds? If they bounced they wouldn't stick to the wall, you could just vacuum them up. Sugarbowl says they are on the wall because kids wipe them there. And I can't disagree with that, but I still say that a lot of them are there because they were flicked and stuck.

We argued this while I looked up records for armpit hair. There is a record -- 32 inches in case you wanted to know. I tried to look up boogers bouncing, wording it every way anyone could think of, and I got nothing except a blog site called Boogers Don't Bounce (I didn't go to the site so I'm not going to link it here, even though I'm sure it is a great site). We continued to argue it as we went outside to smoke and Sugarbowl continued to pick her nose clean to prove her point. I pointed out several great instances of her boogers most definitely not bouncing. Like the time we were driving and she had a booger stuck to her finger that she couldn't get rid of and I was laughing at her getting a booger stuck to her that morning from a towel. A booger that we didn't know where it came from. Or who it came from. YUCK! (http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/boogers-bitches-and-blindbeards-blues.html) Then there was the time at one of Princess's basketball games that Sugarbowl's nose turned into a magician's handkerchief and she had a big runny booger that just kept on coming out of her nose. We didn't have any Kleenexes so she was wiping it on the bottom of the bleachers. I'm pretty sure those boogers didn't bounce off of the bleachers and are still stuck right where she wiped them.

Anyway, what I'd like to know is if you think boogers bounce. I told her I was going to ask you all -- not that she will ever admit defeat if you do agree with me -- and she was okay with that. You may comment anonymously, I don't care, but please tell me if you too think boogers bounce. The decision of who won the game is in the balance here.

Who'da Thunk It?

2010-06-28T06:59:00.002-05:00

Wow. Talk about being able to be knocked over with a feather. The other day I got a letter from the SSA saying that my disability case was remanded back to them from the district court and I get a new hearing. I had to call my lawyer to make sure that what I was reading was what I was reading, because I couldn't believe it. What I was reading was what I was reading and I think I passed out from the shock for a few minutes there. (Good thing Acorn knew it was just a swoon, because I have a horrible fear of needing someone to call 911 for me while I still live in this town. There is this HUGE, fat, nasty guy on the volunteer fire department here and I DO NOT want him cutting off my clothes and giving me CPR. That is a fate worse than death. And for the record, he is a total jerk besides being HUGE, fat and nasty.)

I had spent a few nights with my sweaty (and hairy) palms clutching my blankets, worrying that I would get a letter telling me that the district court decided that the judge was right and I do need to go start bagging some groceries (http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/ill-bag-their-groceries.html). Then I would have to file another appeal and wait that much longer. Apparently the courts decided that it may not be the best idea in the history of forever for someone with a chronic, progressive neurological disease to be bagging up peoples' groceries. And who has baggers anymore anyway? I can't remember the last time anyone bagged my groceries for me, besides the people shopping with me and they don't count. And I mean the old fashioned kind of bagging where they take your groceries to your car for you and load it up, too. (I wonder if I would have made any tips doing that? Maybe a pity coin here and there...)

Now I'm spending my nights with my sweaty (and hairy) palms clutching my blankets dreaming of being able to afford being alive. Of not having to go bag groceries. Of having more than $4 to spend on myself each month. I may have $5 and won't I feel rich then!

How Do I Love Thee?

2010-06-23T07:00:00.002-05:00

With Princess and Sugarbowl no longer living with me, I feel like my creative juices done dried up. Don't get me wrong, Acorn can crack out some hot ones, but Sugarbowl and I have been playing off each others wit for almost 32 years now, so we have perfected our most hilarious (to us) jokes. Sadly, not everyone -- Princess -- appreciates our witty ways. One time, while we were waiting for Princess to finish basketball practice, which is always fun because she lollagags and takes her sweet time about it, we made a list of things about her that annoyed us. It was born from our extreme irritation with waiting for her to come out after basketball practice when she was in there messing around knowing full well that we were sitting out in the car, in the middle of winter, waiting for her. And I don't mean just practicing longer, I mean truly messing around. Like, "we were turning our jerseys inside out and walking backwards! It was soooo funny! Then we took off one shoe and hopped on one leg! Ha ha ha!" All this for 10-15 minutes while we are waiting in the car. It gets a little annoying, to say the very least. So we made this list of things that annoyed us about her, nothing really mean, just things like "she never put out a solo record" and such. The list we made has been lost, but recently, going through our crap getting ready to move, I found the list she made about the things that she doesn't like about us. I am going to put it on here, with all misspellings intact, because it is too good to be lost. She is growing up to be just like her mom and aunt (wiping a tear from my eye), whether she wants to be like us or not.

Reasons I Hate Mom And [Blindbeard]

1. They are butt heads

2. They never forget anything

3.They change a story and think its twice as hilarious as the first time

4. [Blindbeard] steals my animals

5. They rename my animals gay nicknames

6. They snikker alot

7. Mom is always pooping

8. They make fun of me

9. They repeat quotes that weren't funny the first time and make them even less funny

10. You cannot have 2 seconds peace

(crossed out)11. They're borying

11. They agree with each other and not me

12. They don't listen to me

I have been reading this list to everyone and laughing over it. Princess still agrees with everything on there. Maybe my memory has faded over the last few months, but is her mom always pooping? I don't remember her always being on the toilet, but Princess still stands by that list, so I guess Sugarbowl is always pinching loaves.

Dear Blindbeard: The Agree To Disagree Edition

2010-06-20T08:23:00.002-05:00

Sometimes you just gotta agree to disagree. These are a few of those times. But it doesn't mean I love you any less or that you are any less adorable, because every one knows that you are adorable!

Dear Blindbeard,

Frankly, I disagree with your perspective on the parking lot encounter. I just think that guy was, in his way, looking out for us all. So many people cheat and illegally use those parking placards. [I know, because my brother took mine for awhile before I caught him and took it back.] There aren't many handicapped parking police, so we have to keep an eye out for each other. Can you really say you were so offended by his simple query?

BTW, back in the day when my disability was invisible, someone actually spit on my windshield when I was in the store. Another time I was yelled at from across a parking lot. It's hard to explain under those circumstances, but I just take the bad along with the good, and appreciate having the privilege of close parking.

Webster

Dear Beautiful Webster,

I really can say I was VERY offended by his simple query because it all boils down to one thing for me: IT IS NO ONE'S BUSINESS WHAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE WRONG WITH ME! In fact, if he too "is like me" and has good days and bad days, shouldn't he of all people understand that even though to him I seem "so able" that maybe, just maybe, I have a similar problem to his? We have all seen people park in handicapped and thought that they sure didn't look like they needed it, but since being diagnosed, I now assume that they must have something wrong that is not apparent to me but must affect them in some way. I don't presume to judge their disability level and do not appreciate any one judging mine.

I realize that I sound very angry here, but I am not angry with you, my dear. I get angry every time I think of that man and want to hunt his pompous ass down and stuff my medical records up his wazoo. My sister was so angry with him because she said that he has no idea of what we all have been through since I have been diagnosed, ie my suicide attempt, my extremely low opinion of myself, my propensity to want to harm myself when I get too down, etc etc, and he has no business judging me.

I'm sorry that you have had people react that way to you, and you must be a much better person than I am because I would have yelled some very colorful words back at those people and started a rumble in that parking lot. It is just not any one's business and I do not appreciate people making it their business.

Love,
Blindbeard

Dear Blindbeard,

I am somewhat confused. Really.

Visiting a MS-related website I always expect to find something related.

But this isn't a case. But that's probably OK.

By the way, I, being a MS-er, am concentrating on natural MS cures.

I cured my MS in 1997 and have no exacerbations from since.

All best

Czes Kulvis

Dear Beautiful Czes Kulvis,

I can't be all MS all the time. It depresses me and bores me too much. Besides, I may have MS but that is only one part of my life and of me. If I had to talk all MS all the time I would crochet myself a noose with "Goodbye crewel world!" crocheted into it and hang myself. And as I can't crochet a thing, I choose to not talk MS all the time.

There are so many great MS websites out there that are all MS and I visit them to keep abreast of what's going on in the world of MS, but I have a feeling that is not what you really wanted to comment about. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling you really wanted to talk about your "cure" for MS. While I am deeply interested -- yawn -- in your cure, I am going to stick with my own regime of dealing with my MS until science proves a better way of dealing with it. And if that way does indeed prove to be your way, I will become a most devoted minion to you. Until that time, I hope you remain exacerbation free for another 13 years.

Love,
Blindbeard

If I Said...

2010-06-12T07:40:00.003-05:00

That an ex's wife is unattractive, would that sound like sour grapes? Even though we parted on good terms and I'm not convinced that was the wrong choice, can I still say that she is a little flaky and... silly, without sounding jealous? Because I'm not jealous and I know that those grapes aren't exactly to my taste, but it still sounds bad to me to point out these things about his wife.

I ran into an ex recently and we happened to be in a place where we could talk for awhile without getting in any one's way, sadly. I'm not hip on the long, "Sooooo, how have you been?" conversations because how do you sum up X amount of years and having MS and the havoc it wreaked upon my life without out feeling like the violins should be playing in the background? His wife was friendly enough, but she acted and said a few things that were, well, flaky and silly, and he and I met eyes when she did these things, like we were in agreement that what she had just said/done was a little flaky and silly. Apparently there is something there, because he did marry her, and even though I didn't think she was attractive, he must. That is a very unkind thing for me to say because nobody is nominating me for Miss Universe, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who thought the same thing when I got married. I was a skinny stick with such short hair that people always asked me if I were a lesbian. On second thought, maybe they thought my ex was getting lucky and I would bring a girlfriend into the mix... Who knows?

I also couldn't help wondering how things would have been if he and I had gotten married. How would he have handled my MS? Makes me think of that Sheryl Crow song, "Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man?" And, sadly, I'm not sure he could have dealt with it as well as my ex did. Could he have handled the spotlight being taken off of him and shined on a wife with a disease? Everyone asking how his wife is instead of fawning over him? He always had a way of making me feel like second best. Second best to his ex, that one girl he dated etc. He always gave left handed compliments -- and I'm left handed, so no offense to any lefties out there. "Yeah, I love you, but it makes me think of this one time with this one girl who I really loved... blah blah blah." It always made me feel like I would never measure up. So obviously she did measure up. I wonder if she has to always hear about some ex, if I am ever that ex that she is second best to. Does she get tired of always having everything traced back to some other situation with some other girl that leaves you feeling like you will never be on the same level as she is?

Maybe that is why he chose someone flaky and silly. She will always be willing to give up the spotlight to him and may not mind hearing about all those superior women who came before her. Or maybe I am too busy being flaky and silly and feasting on sour grapes to see the truth here. I don't regret he and I parting ways, but I am surprised at what was better than me.

I'm In Love With Mary Jane

2010-06-08T06:32:00.004-05:00

That's right! I said it! Beings as I'm always the last to figure anything out, I just recently discovered how much marijuana helps my MS. Sure, I had heard about it and my ex was always trying to get me to do it, and he is not a smoker of any kind. He heard about Montel Williams smoking it and decided I needed to do it too. About 4 years ago I tried it because my left eyeball was killing me. It worked, but it made me hungry and tired -- 2 things I didn't need any help with after gaining 55 lbs from the steroids and struggling with a depression that wanted me to sleep all the time. Now after 4 years of getting to really know my MS and having tried all kinds of different meds to help me with pain and spasticity, I found something that works better.

My little sister came over one day when I was in a foul mood due to a killer pain in my legs and face. She had some wacky tobaccy so I asked her to share some with me. I could not believe how good I felt after smoking. The pain in my legs and face went away and suddenly my legs were not so stiff and I felt like I was walking like a normal person. I felt so good, I didn't want to sit. I wanted to walk and walk and walk, because I couldn't get over how great my legs felt. I slept like a baby on a double dose of Nyquil and felt so rested and not so stiff the next morning that I wanted to shout it from the roof tops that I'm in love with Mary Jane.

When I started doing more research about the effects of marijuana on MS, I was even more convinced that I need to smoke it. It may even slow down the disease progression. When my mom read all the stuff I had found, she wanted me to smoke it more than I already was, and my mom is a SQUARE! In fact, she drug me outside and sat on the porch with me to smoke because she said it is a bunch of sh*t that I can't do this legally (in Nebraska) and she would go to court with me to give anyone an earful that is feeling lucky enough to take on my mom. And my mom is one tough old bird.

The only down side to my newest favorite pass time is that I don't get "high" like back in the day when I didn't smoke it for medicinal reasons. Sure, I feel good, but I don't get all giggly and stuff. Maybe because I'm more interested in how great my body feels? I don't know and I don't care. I do know that it takes away my pain and lets me sleep better than I have in years. Ahhh, Mary Jane, lets run away together, like to Colorado, where we can love legally.

Tired Of My Own B.S., Gimme Some Of Yours

2010-06-05T08:28:00.003-05:00

I am so sick of the same worries rolling around in my head. I am thoroughly bored stiff with them. I have had the same thoughts tumbling over each other for too long now: Money... need to get packing... little dog not house trained yet... so poor... this stuff ain't going to pack itself... how did I miss that huge pile in my room?... will I ever have more than $4 to my name?... what if this house doesn't go through?... why does he have to hold it until he gets back inside?... maybe I should look into prostitution, I wonder if they have night classes for that?... ugh! I hate moving and if I don't have a perfectly neat move, my mom will bitch the whole time!... is he afraid the grass will chap his poor delicate behind?

And around and around. So I would now like to switch worries with you. You worry about my crap, and I'll worry about yours. Please do not hesitate to tell me what's worrying you right now. I am ready to worry about your finances, living situation, and even the poop and pee stains on your carpets. I'm so sick of worrying about my crap and I bet yours are more interesting.

Sucked Out Of My Head

2010-05-17T07:22:00.006-05:00

I was going to blog about my new puppy. I was going to talk about how my family got me this new little chihuahua Manchester terrier mix because in my grief I wouldn't sleep in my bed because there was no littlest dog to hold me down all night. They talked me into it because they said that a puppy would give me something to love and help heal my bleeding heart. Not a dog to take my other dog's place, but a bandaid of sorts to slow the bleeding. They were right. I still miss my dog, but I am sleeping in my bed again with my new puppy pressed up against me all night. I always say that I can love a million dogs, and there are so many animals out there that need a home, so why not love one more. And I am loving one more. I love that he is not like my other dog; he is his own little puppy. I liken it to my other dog was a circle and my new dog is a triangle. Or a square. Or even an octagon. How about a trapezoid? You can choose your own favorite shape. He's just different, which is exactly what I wanted. I was not looking for the same dog, knowing that that will never happen and I would never try to make one animal be like another. I want them to be just what they are. And he is.

I was also going to blog about the flea market and how great it was. How I got some really good deals. Like an old school desk, the kind from the old school houses that were nailed in place, for $10! I also got this really cool old collection box for missionary work from the 1850's (the dates are on it) for $5. And an old toy horse for $1, and on and on. And how on the first day, as I was dragging my tired arse back to the car, a man asked me if I saw the handicapped sign in front of my car. He said it so friendly-like and I was so tired that I thought he was pointing out how great our parking was, he being parked in handicapped, too. I told him yes, I had my hang tag hung up and he said, "Oh, you seem so able." I told him I have MS and am not always so great and asked him if he had a hang tag. He said he did because "he is like me" about not always being so great. Getting into my car, my little sister was FURIOUS that he had the nerve to be the handicapped police and judge who was disabled and who was "able." Her window was open about an inch and she loudly said, "That is F*CKING BULLSH*T!" And driving away she put her window down, put out her arm and, with a gesture, showed him how she felt about him. I wish I hadn't been too tired to process the whole exchange fast enough because that man would NEVER say something like that to anyone ever again. My little sister ranted and raved and foamed at the mouth. Driving out of the parking lot, I kept asking her if she wanted to go back and "talk" to that man because I felt he should get an ear full. She didn't want to because she didn't want to punch an old man in the face and because she was unable to say anything without obscenities as every other word and she wanted to be coherent and a little more classy than that. That old bastard got lucky. The next time anyone says anything like that to me, I will be ready. And if that old bastard has the bad luck to ever see me again, he will not enjoy it. We kept our eyes open for him the next day we went because we had some choice words for him. He must have sensed the murderous feelings in the air, or he parked elsewhere when he saw my car, because we did not see him. And everyone knows that the second and last day of the flea market is the best time because everyone is willing to cut a deal so they don't have to haul their crap home.

I was going to blog about all this stuff, but this morning I found a tick in my hair. A TICK! I always joke about buying ticks at the flea market, but I didn't know it was an option. I haven't had a tick on me since I was a kid and I was hoping to keep it that way. That tick sucked all my ideas right out of my head and I can feel the Lyme disease a-brewing in me. I feel so dirty, I think I need another hot shower.

From The Ashes

2010-05-15T06:37:00.002-05:00

Rises a few things Blindbeard didn't know about herself. After my darling little doggie died, I wanted to make him a headstone, so I bought a ton (at least it felt like a ton) of plaster of Paris and have been fashioning headstones for him and for the members of my family who want headstones for their lost pets. I was enjoying the plaster of Paris so much I wanted to branch out into other areas of clay-like stuff that will add to the mess of plaster and paint all over the place. I found out that I enjoy clay as much as plaster and have been going around with clay all over me, my clothes, all over the house, crusted into the dogs' fur, etc etc. I think my new found love of clay is due to the fact that humans have been working with clay since prehistory and I am one generation away from a cave man. I am so adept at hunting and gathering that last night I slayed a box of lemon wafers after gathering a bag of Fritos. The whole village ate good and we even have some left over to get us through until our next expedition into the wild jungles of my kitchen.

The only downside to my clay fixation is that I need a pottery wheel because I'm pretty sure cave men didn't use a kid's pottery wheel. They knew those things are not meant for serious clay workers and invested in a grown up pottery wheel. Too bad I am so poor, but too good that my mom is always willing to fan the flames of any creative spark we may have, so I think a real pottery wheel is in my future. Thank goodness because I don't need any more lopsided ashtrays. I need some lopsided "vases" and "pitchers" and whatever else one makes on a pottery wheel. I'm not sure what but I intend to find out.

I would love to continue my foray into the nonsensical, but the flea market is here and I must get ready to go buy useless crap. If there is anything I don't need more of, it's useless crap, so of course I have been drumming my fingers and checking the time every 38.6 seconds in impatience to go spend my $2. Tootles.

Bigger Than Me

2010-05-03T15:29:00.003-05:00

I don't usually blog this late in the day but my eyeballs feel too dry and sore to close. This morning my littlest dog was hit and killed in the road. I adored that little thing. He adored me. He slept pressed up against me and if I moved he would readjust to be pressed up to me again. I went outside to call him because he wasn't with the big dogs and saw him lying in the road in front of the house. He had been hit so hard his eyeballs were knocked out but there was no blood, it was all internal. From that moment this whole day has felt like a bad dream that I can't wake up from. I have been swallowed up by a grief that is bigger than me right now and it has me thinking about other times my grief has been bigger than me.

There are the other pets that I have lost in my life. Those were like what I am feeling now but so far in the past that I can think back to that pet fondly without wringing more tears from my swollen eyelids. Then the obvious breakups that break the heart and leave me wondering that my sorrow doesn't show on the outside. When I'm hurting this bad, I am shocked that I can look normal to the untrained eye. I feel like my clothes should be as ragged and ripped up as my heart is. That all the ugly, bad feelings in me should be smeared across my face so the whole world knows how I'm feeling inside. So I don't have to try to smile and make small talk when I have to struggle to comprehend the most basic words.

I got the phone call at home when I was diagnosed. I knew that the doctor was going to call me after the MRI results, but was hoping that it would not be what I was dreading. When she told me that there was no other way to interpret the results other than MS, I could barely thank her and hang up the phone before I fell to the floor crying. <----This is where I got cut off last night by a thunderstorm. I have been pondering the times in my life when the pain has been bigger than me. Where you just have to keep breathing in and out and know that someday -- hopefully sooner rather than later -- the pain will come down to manageable size. The pain upon realizing that I have MS was so much bigger than me for so long, I didn't think it would ever subside and let me be something other than a big ball of pain. It did take a long time, but I learned a lot from it. I learned to be with the pain, cry when I feel like it, mourn when I need to, make no apologies for my sadness and know that someday it will be much better than it is right now. Today I have to focus on breathing in and out -- and remembering that someday it will be better.

I Guess I Didn't Need That

2010-04-18T06:33:00.002-05:00

Good thing I have MS to play Big Brother for me and get rid of the stuff that I don't need or want anymore, regardless of how I feel about those things. According to my MS, I have been hoarding things that need to go, like my right leg. And both of my knee caps. Also my MS decided I should never forget about the trigeminal nerve on the right side of my face. It hugs my chest exactly where a bra strap goes so I find wearing anything but a sports bra uncomfortable -- it decided that I need a uni-boob because the whole "lift and separate" thing is overrated. Thank goodness it pointed out that a stagger and limp are so much more attractive than a regular walk. Who wants to blend in when you can stagger and be an object of interest to the public?

But MS is also a giver. It helped me start an interesting cane collection and knew that I needed a medicine cabinet stuffed full of drugs. It helped me fill my refrigerator with shots that I have to worry about being broken because that is a lot of money there. But MS has made sure that I don't have any money to worry about, because it is an expensive disease.

MS worries about me getting enough sleep. It worries so much about that that I never have to worry about it because it is there to make sure I get my rest. It never wants me to overexert myself so it put a limit on how much I can do before I become too fatigued. MS doesn't want me to get a heat stroke so it made me turn into a puddle of warm jelly in the heat; a puddle that runs to a cooler place at the first sign of melting.

MS decided that short term memory is too much baggage and tossed it overboard along with my ability to recall words when tired. Luckily I am still able to gesture and do a sort of charade to show people what word I'm trying to recall.

Now MS has decided to make my right arm numb and tingly, to keep my right leg company, I suppose. It enjoys giving me those "electric shocks" up the right side of my body, up into my hair, making my scalp crawl in the grossest way. Until it decides to give me my right arm back -- if it ever does -- I'm just going to have to trust its judgement, regardless of all its bad choices in the past. But we all make mistakes.

Ain't Gonna Explain Myself To Nobody!

2010-04-10T06:54:00.002-05:00

At my exercise class the other day, we were talking about different things we do so the public won't "get the wrong idea." One lady was saying she had read that you should carry a cane so the neighbors don't think you're drunk, and keep a wheelchair in the garage so you can look at it and let it know that you are NEVER going to use it. I like the wheelchair part, but I don't feel like I should have to explain myself to anybody. I told her that I wanted to get one of those root beer bottles and put it in a paper bag to carry around with me and she laughed so hard and enjoyed it so much that she brought me a root beer bottle the next exercise class. And I have every intention of using it. I'm having daydreams of mowing the lawn with it in my hand... driving down the road with it, waving to police officers... going to the lady's house that gave it to me and slurring out, "you ready to go exercise, baby?"

When I was newly diagnosed, I carried a cane and wore my MS shirts all the time so people would know what was wrong with me. I felt like I had to explain myself to the public so they "wouldn't get the wrong idea." I agreed when people told me that I have MS, it doesn't have me. That things could be worse, which I totally agree with, but am tired of hearing. I bit my tongue when people referred to me as "sick" even though it will bring out the evil in me faster than anything else. I was patient explaining all things MS to anyone who would ask. Somewhere along the line I got over my need to explain and the shame in being what I am, and now there is hell to pay!

I enjoy saying, "MS has me" as an answer to what is wrong with me. I am thinking of getting a T shirt that says that for the upcoming MS walk. I correct anyone who has the nerve to refer to me as "sick." I let them know that I am not sick. I have a disease, but I am not sick in the sense that one thinks of sick. I will not carry a cane for any one's benefit. It makes people feel better about themselves if they get the wrong impression and, if nothing else, I am doing the public a service by making them feel better about themselves. I WILL NOT wear my MS shirts anymore because I don't want to give the answer away to those who are uncouth enough to stare at me and try to figure out what is wrong with me. Let them puzzle over it. It's not my problem whether they ever figure it out. Maybe they should approach me with that old stock question, "Whad ya do to yer leg?" Then I will explain that I have MS and watch as their eyes glaze over when they realize that it is a boring answer to the $64,000 question.

Somewhere along the line, you gotta stop worrying about what others' think of you and just worry about what you think of you. And I think I need to start carrying around my root beer bottle.

Good To Know

2010-04-07T07:00:00.002-05:00

Now that I have Acorn with me, I have been trying to fill her in on all things MS. She hasn't lived with me since my diagnosis and hasn't spent large quantities of time with me since I became such a broken down old gimp. I've been giving her a crash course in all the things she will need to know if she lives with me -- good thing she is such a good listener to my good talker. Among the important tidbits that she needs to know are these gems:

*I'm tired. No, really, I am tired! As the day progresses, I get more tired and need to hold down the couch more and more. By afternoon I will have to balance my activities by rest, get something done, rest, try and do something else, rest, eat as much junk out of the kitchen until I need to rest, rest, I think there is still some peanut butter and cake mixes left... better get on those.

*I can walk short distances without too noticeable of a limp, but anything more than that and I will be dragging my right leg along. And that gets very tiring. I showed her how to do an arm for me the best way. My little sister has it just right; my mom grabs my arm (instead of letting me take hers) and walks so fast I get drug along behind her, great for energy conservation, bad for the knees of my jeans.

*I forget everything. I will forget what I was just talking about. I will forget what you were just talking about. I will ask the same questions over and over again and never remember what the answer was or that I have even asked that question already. I will forget what I was planning for dinner and what is in the pot that is burning on the stove. When I need to remember something, I tell whomever is with me so they won't forget and it will get done. I carry about 5 million little notebooks to write down things so I don't forget and it is VERY important that I carry them all in my purse, which resembles a suitcase more than a purse, and, yes, I must carry everything I own with me at all times. Why do you think I need to drag around my suitcase/purse? I couldn't possibly only take what I need, I must take everything.

*When I push myself too far, which I have gotten very good at listening to my body and slowing down when I feel my strength ebbing but it does still happen sometimes, I need to rest NOW! And it would be nice if you would drop grapes into my mouth while I repose like the goddess I am.

*I am showing her how to do my shots and explaining that even though she has to feel me up to make sure she is not injecting into an area that is still swollen from a previous shot, it does not mean that we have to take our relationship any further. I don't usually allow anyone to feel me up on the first date, but she and I have known each other for a few years, and even though I want to just be friends -- it's not her, it's me -- we can cuddle sometimes. She can do better than me and I only want her to be happy.

Of course I have been running her through all the ins and outs of what MS is and what it does and how it effects one, which is all that boring crap that, if you are like me, you are bored stiff with. She is a good student and interested in what it all is and is not, and she has the arm thing down just right so my jeans may last a little longer.

"Finally An Adult!"

2010-04-03T06:25:00.003-05:00

One of my old foster kids moved in with me. My little acorn is all grown up and ready to come back to the ol' oak tree. And this ol' oak tree was waiting with open branches for her to come back. She is 20 now. I got her at 12. 12! And she will be 21 in October. Ahh, how times flies when you're not having fun. She is my all time favorite foster kid. I always said that she and the oldest boy we had, with the 3 boys we got, should have been mine. These 2 kids and I bonded and I let the oldest boy go because he was only 3 and I didn't want to separate him from his brothers, even though it broke my heart to bits to let him go, I did it out of love.

When she got to go home she was 100% against it. She wouldn't pack anything more than an overnight bag to go home because she was "going to be right back." I packed up a bunch of her stuff, but she still left as much as she could at my house. After the courts said they could go home, I expected the girls -- there were 3 of them -- to ride with their parents, if for nothing else for their parents' feelings. Both the older girls rode home with me, only the youngest, 7 at the time, rode with her parents and I remember my shock at seeing her climb into the front seat with her parents and drive off with no one wearing a seat belt.

Taking my acorn to her parents' house, we held on to each other and cried and cried our goodbyes. I know it didn't make her parents happy to see how much she and I loved each other, but it was just a fact. The girls were with us for 15 months and when they were finally able to go home, their case worker gave us the option to keep them, but it was a package deal. We kept them all or none, and as the 7 year old was convinced that she "was gonna die!" if she didn't get to go home, we let them go. My acorn -- who I will now call Acorn -- went through a hell of a time with her parents. She suffered through serious depression, and dropped out of school. When they were with us, they were all straight A students. The 15 year old had dropped out of school before she came to us, but I don't play that game. She went back to school and had to do summer school before she went back to catch up, but she did catch up and, as I said, they were all straight A students.

The 7 year old, who is now 14 almost 15, says that if she could go back in time, she would tell the courts to not let them go home, because things were better with us. She says that even though she hated when she got in trouble and got grounded, she needs that. I say what I mean and mean what I say. If I told her to do something or she would get grounded, I meant it and I still love the memory of her telling me that someday she was going to come back and ground me and make me go to bed early. I can't wait for that day! Their parents try, but their mom is working full time and trying to keep it all together. They don't have the resources that my ex and I did. They don't have an extra car for the girls to use to get a job, or even get the practice to get their driver's licenses. I respect their mother for trying so hard, especially as it is exactly as my mom had to do to keep it all together for us. I respect their mother even more for telling Acorn that she shouldn't have made her come back to them, she should have let her stay with us. That to me is a true mother. She loves her daughter enough to want the best for her, even if it was letting her go.

Now Acorn is back with me and one of the first things she said was, "Now I am on my own. I finally get to be an adult!" I'm not so sure of how adult I am, but I am glad that she is ready to spread her wings and get to make her own decisions about her life. I always say that kids need a solid platform to jump off of to launch themselves into the world. It makes it so much easier to launch yourself if the platform is solid. Not that you can't launch yourself on an unstable platform, but I think you will be more successful with something solid behind you. I may not be an adult, but I am a solid platform that she can always count on.

This ol' oak tree is THRILLED to have her Acorn back, and looking forward to seeing her get her life going the way she wants it. I know there will be disappointments and things may not turn out the way she is planning, but that is just part of the game. And I am ready to rejoice or mourn with her every step of the way. Ahh, my little Acorn, how do I love thee? I will have to count the ways in a different blog. As usual, I have blathered on for too long.

This Is Gonna Be GREAT!

2010-03-30T06:46:00.002-05:00

Or GR8 if you are a texting kind of person, which I am not. It takes me forever to text the most basic things, like LOL and WTF or even BRB. My little sister's phone is a high tech thing that I can't figure out. One day she and I were getting ready to go pick up Princess from school and do some shopping. The winds had been blowing very hard and the snow had drifted over our driveway. I thought we should dig out a path before we left but Sugarbowl thought I should just gun it and I would go right through the big drift. I gunned it against my better judgement and got high centered in the drift. Sugarbowl got out to dig me out and gave me her phone to text Princess and tell her to walk (she claims she told me to tell her to wait, but that is not what I heard or remember). Her phone was set to that T9 crap and I couldn't get "walk" texted in. I sent Princess 3 texts of "www" before I finally got "walk" figured out. I wanted her to have some websites to check out until we were able to get to her.

Anyhoo, Sugarbowl and Princess got their own apartment due to our recent HUGE fights that annihilated all good feelings between us. Sugarbowl, who is very Borderline Personality, has never been able to keep it all together when on her own. Her part of the rent was $375 here and she never could help with any of the other bills, so I carried it all. Now her rent is $595 and she has to pay all her utilities on her own. Also, moving from a house to an apartment is an almost impossible thing unless you want to use a shoe horn to get everything in. Right now she has not gotten all her crap into her apartment and will not try until I move and she has to take all her crap or lose it. She has such raging hoarding problems that I know she won't be able to part with her crap, so I have made some predictions about how this is all going to play out.

1. She is not going to pay all her utilities. She will make rent because she has to, but everything else will pile up until they are left with no lights or hot water while I enjoy my electricity and hot showers. Maybe I should buy them some candles as a house warming gift... or sit back and enjoy the show.

2. Her apartment is going to be a PIG STY! Right now they are dying to prove me wrong and when I stopped over the other day, they had made their beds! I have never seen her make her bed before and right now they are motivated by their desire to prove me wrong, but I will die of shock if they actually do prove me wrong on this one. I couldn't get her to help out around here and her room was such a disgusting mess it gave me the fidgets to see it. She bought a bunch of cleaning supplies and flipped me off when I asked her if that was the first time she had ever bought such things.

3. I give her 6 months before the whole thing falls apart. She is in a 6 month lease, but I don't think she will be able to foot all the bills much longer than that. What makes me the most mad is that I am still looking to buy a house and -- Dagnabbit! -- I am trying to find one big enough to accommodate us all if/when they need me. It makes me mad that I am doing it, but I know she is going to need a safety net and I will never turn my back on my family, regardless of what 2 bit whores they can be.

Right now my house is clean, quiet and rearranged the way I want it. One of my old foster kids is moving in with me because she wants to go to school here and I want the acorn to come back to the oak tree. I'm play all nice and contrite to Sugarbowl right now to keep the peace, but I am looking forward to being able to do as I want with my life, getting it set up the way I want, and sitting back and watching the bodies hit the floor. If she ever needs me, I will be here with my life the way I want it and will be able to have some control over the situation. I have all these great plans for things if she needs me... but until then, I am going to revel in my clean house. Too bad I can't do cartwheels anymore. I would be doing them all over the house.

All Are Guilty

2010-03-21T06:35:00.002-05:00

I have not been blogging because so much is going on in my house and all of it is ugly. But because, as one person said to me, a blog is a place to be honest and expose your heart and soul, I am going to give an as honest and impartial run down as I can of all the crap that is floating in a big black cloud over my house.

My little sister and I have been having a lot of problems since about right after Christmas. If you have never dealt with someone with Borderline Personality Disorder, you are VERY lucky. It is a constant challenge. You need a thick skin and the capacity to forgive after they go into a rage and say the most horrible and (potentially) damaging things to you. I am slow to anger and quick to forgive, which is probably why she and I have remained friends throughout our lives and why I am not worried about us being friends again someday. No matter what she says to me, I NEVER allow myself to go certain places, even if she does. They will take anything you say, give it a different meaning than what you intended and get mad about it. Even after I say that that was not how I meant that phrase, she will still argue the whole thing based on how she perceived it, not on what I really was saying. I am no Job, so sometimes I do get tired of it and lose my patience with her. People have their limits and she can really push me past mine.

She has not been taking her meds for quite awhile because she has never been good about remembering to take pills and she thinks she has been doing really good without them. I think she needs to take her meds no matter how "good" she thinks she is doing without them. There is no room to breathe around her without them. Everything you say can and will be held against you and given different meanings than what you actually said. Honestly, I have not been taking the high road and have been dealing with her in the same way she deals with us. I remember what my ex husband said after they had their first huge blow out fight, he said that he had been biting his tongue long enough and is tired of it. Those words keep going around and around in my head like a broken record. She will tell you that he is an ass hole and that is why they got into that fight, but the truth is a little different than that. It was shortly after I was diagnosed and she and I were planning a trip to go see my dad in AZ. I started having an attack and was going to have to go do the steroids again. She was upset that my attack was putting off our trip and came over to my house to ask me when I would be better, when we could go on our trip, would I be ready next week? Would I feel better in the very near future? Was I going to be able to watch her kids while she was working? Were we ever going to be able to take that trip? I didn't have any fight in me; I was still reeling from my diagnosis and not exactly thrilled that I was having another attack just a few months after my last one. My ex said that I just sat there and took her anger, which I did. He lost his patience -- he cannot tolerate anyone saying or doing anything negative to me -- and told her to back the f*ck off and leave me alone. The whole thing escalated into a MASSIVE fight and the rest of that story is not pretty and not worth telling.

I tried to keep the peace around here but got tired of it and started giving it back the same way she was giving it to us. It all started over a sandwich. I had made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner. Princess had a friend over and they were all playing games. I was tired of frozen foods and wanted to make something a little healthier for everyone, so I let them play their games and made dinner. Sugarbowl didn't like the bread I used for the sandwiches and kept making fun of the bread, saying how dry the crust was and so on. It irritated me because I was trying to make them something a little better than what I make when I am too tired to make a decent meal. So I took what was left of her sandwich off her plate and threw it to the dogs. She went into orbit and went off into a tirade that was embarrassing to Princess and I because Princess had a friend over. When I took her friend home, I told her that I was sorry that she had to see that, but sadly, that was not as bad as it usually is. Princess said, "that was actually really good for her. She usually is worse." And I couldn't disagree.

I try and protect Princess from her anger as much as I can. When she goes off on her, I try to get her to turn it onto me. Sometimes she fills me with so much hate I start thinking some extremely negative things about her and wish things that I don't really want to come true once my anger cools.

This post has gotten too long, but I needed to set the stage of how she is before I can tell the saga of our latest problems. I will post Part II later. Until next time, thank your lucky stars or whatever you thank, that you do not have to deal with some one who is Borderline.

2 For 1

2010-03-06T06:29:00.004-06:00

I have 2 completely boring things rattling around in my mostly empty head, so I am going to give a 2 for 1 special at bargain basement prices.

I Hate Being Poor

Looking at houses has been a reminder of exactly how incredibly poor we really are. Within our price range is a lovely selection of the most hovely hovels in all of hoveldom. The very first house we looked at was so incredibly horrible that the only good that came from it was the knowledge that it can only get better from there. The realtor that was really trying to get us to buy also owned their own construction business and if we bought that house and had them "flip" it for us, they would give us a great price! Any electrical and plumbing that they did would come with a lifetime guarantee and they would fix any problems in the future for FREE! Damn, baby, where do we sign? Never mind all the holes in the walls, the broken, splintered stairs, the suspicious holes cut out of the carpet when the carpets are so disgustingly dirty it makes you wonder what had been so bad that they needed to cut out just those areas. It wouldn't have surprised me if there had been chalk outlines of bodies and they had just cut along the dotted lines in those carpets, so odd were the shapes of the chunks taken out. When we left Princess said it looked like a mass murderer had lived there. And that sums up that house perfectly.

Another house, which we really liked besides this one little flaw, had floors that were dangerously sloping into what I can only assume was a massive sink hole that is about to swallow that house. As much as we would have loved that house, we aren't quite desperate enough to be sucked into a sink hole, never to be heard from again.

It just goes on and on and on. I can understand being poor, but do you have to be so filthy? After looking at some of these houses I just want to come home and soak in a hot bleach bath. *Sigh* Our search continues and our bleach supply dwindles.

Is That A Hint?

I accept that the dogs like my room so much that they must drag all their toys into my bed, chew up everything under my bed, and regurgitate those things that didn't agree with them all around my bed. But lately they have been dragging a hair brush into my bed. I keep putting it away and it keeps finding its way back into my bed. I know my hair is a wild mop, but if I brush it it becomes all frizzy and even wilder. I explained this to the dogs and they kindly dragged a little gardening rake into my bed last night instead of the hair brush. They finally realized that this steel wool pad on my head needs more than a hair brush and I feel lucky that they didn't drag a bigger rake into my bed. The hair brush will never get to run its bristles through my luxurious locks, but I may start using the gardening rake. I could plant some seeds in the furrows and grow a new chia hairdo. I think the dogs are on to something...

*Author's Note

2010-02-21T06:34:00.004-06:00

*Author's Note: I gotta write this quick before the kids wake up. We have Jabber this weekend and have not had a quiet moment since he climbed into the car. If they spill out of their rooms before I'm done, this will disintegrate into a pile of words with no sense in them. Wish me luck!

*Author's Note II: This may disintegrate into a pile of words with no sense in them without the kids' help. It's not fair to blame them for my lack brain cells, even though it sounds better to say, "They did it to me!" then admit I can't string 2 thoughts together without getting confused.

*Author's Note III: I think I'm already confused.

*Author's Note IV: Was I born confused? I'll have to ask my mom, although she can get lost in the simplest of ideas, so maybe that is where I get it from.

*Author's Note V: Maybe it comes from my father. No, he has been stuck in the same rut of ideas for as long as I've known him, so it must be from my mother.

*Author's Note VI: My mother's family is notorious for being... well, out there, off, crazy, nuttier than a truck load of fruitcakes, etc etc. I got the MS from my father's side and got the crazies from my mother's side.

*Author's Note VII: My maternal relatives are fun to visit. It is a whole vacation of randomness. They will pop out something that has no meaning to anything anyone is saying, ever said, or ever even thought about saying.

Wow! Look at the time! It is almost 7am and I have to get my happy arse into the shower before everyone uses up the hot water. I'm glad I got to write down my ideas before I got off on a tangent and totally confused myself. (Blindbeard, you are a fountain of wisdom and a shining example of staying on track and not running off to chase something shiny! You bring a tear to my eye.) Now, off to the shower before everyone barges in to check out my goodies. Tootles!

*Author's Note VIII: I really don't have anything that should be called "goodies." Since losing all that steroid weight my boobs deflated and ran off without even a "Dear John" note. And my arse became as flat as the Nebraska plains, which no one hesitates to point out to me.

*Mental Note to Self: You need to find a better family.

That Damned Note

2010-02-18T06:22:00.003-06:00

Yesterday we were talking about The Day Blindbeard Went Crazy, ie when I tried to kill myself. We were talking about the note I left, which was the second biggest mistake I made that day. They took the note and everyone wanted to talk about it. The cop who took me to the emergency room, the nurses and doctors in the psych ward, the mental health review board that I had to talk to to get out of the loony bin, I swear they printed it in the paper with my address and phone number for anyone else who wanted to discuss it with me. I left the note for my husband, not the rest of the world, but no one cared about that. Leaving that note pushed my "suicidal gesture" into an intent and that is what damned me to 5 days in the loony bin because it meant that I had every intent of finishing what I had started. I pulled out the note and reread it to Sugarbowl yesterday, and she said that if I never wanted to pull it out and read it to her again, she would be just fine with that, because the note is sad and it brings back the memories of that day. I'm going to share the note with you -- for the few who have not had a chance to discuss it with me -- because even though it has been almost 4 years since that day, I can still relate to a lot of the stuff I wrote in it, and maybe you can too.

I bought you the soups that you like, they are in the cupboard where we keep the soups and stuff. I don't know why you won't let me go, I don't understand what you are holding on to. There is NOTHING here! I am nothing, I have nothing, my future is nothing, my past is nothing, I have nothing to do, no point to still being alive. The only way I know of to make you hate me enough to let me go is to do something stupid so you will hate me. I know you hate what MS has made me. I know you hate that I don't work and do not keep the house perfect. I know you hate that all I can do is spend and run up bills. I know you hate my tiredness, that I go to bed early and that I do nothing but puzzles. I know that your hate is going to grow until we only make each other miserable. I know that you have that seed of hate for me deep in you, ever since I was diagnosed and you saw what the effects of my having a debilitating disease would do to me, that I could no longer be counted on to make a fortune, that I could no longer help out. All I can do is consume, consume food and products that are sold cheap at Walmart. All I can do is buy, spend, make more problems for you. I can't make you understand how much I hate myself for all this. How my nerves are rattled when I think of you coming home to me and seeing your hate for me grow. Seeing your anger when I am tired or when I am not walking perfectly in public, when it is obvious that I have something wrong with me and you have to be seen with me. You don't think I am bad enough for Novantrone, but you don't see how this MS is chipping away at me and slowly destroying me. You say you are willing to go through hell with me, but only if I am presentable to the public, you don't want them to see me as I am, gimping and lagging, not as fast as I used to be. You can't accept that I am not what I was, that I get tired, that I need rests... I know that you are hating me more as the days go by and nothing gets better, I want to be free of your hate. I want to be free from trying to live up to what you want me to be, I want to be free of the pressure of pretending to be what I am not. I don't want to push myself to be "perfect" for you, it wears me out and makes me worse. The stress is not your job and you being gone, the stress is you coming home and my having to be what I am not when you are here. I hate myself and want to free you from all responsibility for me... this is the only way I know how. You are now free from me and having to be chained to something that shames you. Go and find someone who is all the things you want, all the things I can't be. I have nothing to offer you. I have gave my all and am tired of pretending to be what I am not. I am freeing you and me by this....... [Blindbeard]

I Just Don't Have A Thing To Say

2010-02-16T06:04:00.004-06:00

But what's new? So much little crap is going on and none of it is worth a full blog post, so as usual I will just condense it into bite size pieces so no one chokes -- much better than me chewing it up and regurgitating it down your throat for you.

*We are moving again. UGH! Due to circumstances beyond our control -- our landlord having grave financial troubles -- we are being skidded out on our behinds. I am getting pretty good at skidding on my behind. The other day I slipped on the ice and fell, skidding into Walmart on my right butt cheek. No, I wasn't at Walmart, I was going to my car to drive there but the ice thought it would be better for me to slide there on my right butt cheek. I got to my feet and checked to see if anyone saw me biff it, then examined my wounds. In Pride vs My Arse, Pride will win every time.

*Whenever we are talking to anyone about the houses we are looking at, Sugarbowl won't let me talk any more. She says that all my stories make her look like the village idiot and are edited to not reveal what a moron I am. I say that if she doesn't want me to tell any stories she needs to stop being the village idiot, then I won't have a story to tell. Besides, those stories are FUNNY and worth being told.

*Trying to find a house has been a huge struggle so far, Sugarbowl and I differing on what we want. She wants a more expensive house that is bigger and fancier that I think we need. I want a less expensive house that will give us more money to play with once we are in there. She also says that I want to hog the biggest bedroom and give her the tiny ones. In my defense, I keep my room clean and she DOES NOT! One house we looked at had hard wood floors in the bedroom that I thought she should have, because then I could just take a broom and push all her crap back. It also had a long deep closet that she could just keep shoving stuff into. It is a perfect plan! She was less than thrilled with my ideas for her room.

The thought of moving again makes me want to go back to bed for a week with an ice pack on my head. I want to pack up my spotted kerchief, tie it onto a stick from the yard, and leave the rest of our crap behind.

Courage And A Little Hope

2010-02-06T06:37:00.002-06:00

At the MS gym that I am now a proud card carrying member of, which I never saw coming due to my negative preconceived notion about it, they are making a quilt to raffle off as a fund raiser for the gym. They want everyone who is so inclined to to take a square, make a design that represents them and how they feel about MS, how they deal/fight it, and write why they chose that design. I took a big square and a little square, not out of greed but because they want people to make both if that is their wont, and it is my wont. I puzzled over what I would do. I tossed around different ideas, like making a big friendly dog with a blank look, because that is how I feel when I go in there. I go in happy to see everyone and feel like I slobber all over them, which I probably do but they are too nice to tell me so. I finally came up with my idea and am now going to share it with you. No need to thank me; I'm generous like that.

I am going to make on the big square the Chinese sign for courage and on the little square the sign for hope. I have always said that for me having MS is more about courage than hope, and if I ever get another tattoo -- highly unlikely, the 2 I have are more than enough -- I would get the symbol for courage.

Hope is all well and good in a passive kind of way. I do have hope for the future and what may come of studies about MS, but I can't put all my diseased eggs into that basket. I do not foresee a cure for MS in my life time and can only hope for better drugs to help slow it down. I hope for medicines with better efficacy and with less side effects to come down the pipelines soon, but don't want to pin all my hopes on that lest I be disappointed when they do not come down that clogged pipeline.

Courage is active and I like active. For me, hope is sitting back and waiting, whereas courage is facing what is. Do I have the courage to face what this disease has done and most likely will do to me? Some days I do. Other days when I think about what the future may hold for me, I lose my courage and get scared. Then I start wrestling with the "what ifs," which I HATE and try to remember that I need to deal with what is right now and worry about the possible outcomes when they come. I want the courage to look this disease in the face without flinching. I want the courage to deal with what may come and to accept it with grace. The courage to deal with how the public may react to me -- mainly because I struggle with that some days and want the courage to go out even on my worst days instead of hiding at home. This is a scary disease and I think "courage" should replace "hope" as our catch word. It takes a lot of courage to face this disease and I need as much as I can get. I don't want to be the Cowardly Lion anymore.

In My Defense

2010-02-01T06:24:00.003-06:00

I got this comment the other day in reference to my blog post http://http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-hate-puberty.html.

Why do you need to be so critical, how about instead of venting your story off to the rest of the world you remember your own puberty and realize that she just might be embarrassed or scared? How about you try to make her feel better instead of making up a dumb story of how you're going to kill her. Guess what, every other mother has to deal with these issues and you can read that from other parent blogs or watch it on sitcoms. So get over it! Plus, if your daughter wants to play cash cab trivia, maybe you should just go along with it and then stump her. You sound like my mother: critical all the time, doesn't seem to care, and has no sense of humor other than negative sarcasm. I know she really does care, but would you want to be close to someone so cold? And about the bathroom issue, I assume not caring as much develops with age, but for the mean time, wouldn’t you rather they were embarrassed instead of flaunting their goodies to gods know who? Nonetheless, unless you are like the last commenter, trying to vent some steam, to read such negativity from someone who seems to be so negative and trying to prove she is so much better than two children and a bunch of teenagers. I’m sure if your daughter read this when she is older, she would feel bad and be embarrassed for being so ignorant. But you're the mother and if you weren't thinking about how witless youth can be, I'm not sure what you could have been planning for. Aside from that, your writing is quite superb. I don't know what you do for a living, but you can beyond any doubt be some kind of writer.

--Anonymous

I pondered this comment for almost 3.26 minutes last night, reread that post this morning and am now ready to add a little information that might make things more clear. I'm not Princess's mother; I am her aunt. I agree with the whole respecting-her-right-to-guard-her-goodies-like-they-are-precious-metals. In fact, we are very careful about her in the bathroom. We knock and let her know we need to come in so she has plenty of time to wrap herself head to toe in a towel.

It may sound like I am being cold and critical, but I am not. Or I am not trying to be at least. I still kiss on her and hug her throughout the day. I always tell her that I love her, have a good day at school and to not stop being adorable each morning when I drop her off at school. The problem is her teenager attitude. She is snarky, stubborn, quick to point out anything anyone says or does wrong, and 100% committed to her belief that what's mine is hers and what hers is hers, and gods help you if you touch anything of hers. A perfect example: she took my pit juice to school and "forgot" it, yet still popped a vein when she saw me using some of her old pit juice that she doesn't even want. I had to wear a pair of her socks the other day and she bitched and moaned about it until I really did want to chop her into bits and stuff her into the walls. She wears my socks and when she gets home from school, takes off her shoes and walks around in just my socks for the rest of the day, leaving them nasty and forever stained. She needed new brassieres but wanted me to go get a bunch for her to try on at her leisure here and then I return the ones that didn't work and get her more of the ones that did. She was mad that she had to go with me and try them on. She wouldn't talk to me the whole way to the store and when we were done she said, "that wasn't so bad." Last night she told me that she doesn't want anymore vampire shirts -- she is on a huge Twilight kick -- and to get her some werewolf shirts. Aye aye, Captain Craphead, let me get on that for you. She hates having to load the dishwasher so she loads it so nothing gets clean and when I showed her how to load it so things do get clean, she said that if we didn't like the way she does chores we shouldn't have her do them and just do them ourselves, to which we got a good laugh out of and she still has to load the dishwasher. Now she just has to do it again if she deliberately does it wrong.

When she starts up with an attitude that is going to get her into a lot of trouble, I give her a warning and let her try again before I lose my patience. Most days she will take the warning, other days... not so much. I do remember how it is to have your hormones all messed up and try to be patient and understanding about it, but some days she pushes me until I snap, and then, yes, I do think a quiet cell on death row would be nice. Lastly, she reads my blog posts and knows what I write so it is no surprise to her what is on here.

On a positive note about kids, we were playing Apples To Apples the other day and were reading out loud the cards that we had in our hands still when the game was done. Jabber's first card was "Ever glads," which amused us and Princess, in a rare moment of kindness for her brother, told him it was Everglades. His next card was "Canned Indians," which stumped us because we weren't sure what that could possibly mean. It was Canadians, but now we like to say, "Do you have Indians in a can? You do?! Well, you better let the poor guys out!" He also just had a conquer sore in his mouth. I hate those conquer sores; they hurt! Princess used to say that cracktice made perfect and called Jacuzzis, shaboozies. I miss those good ol' days when she was obsessed with Disney princesses and so sweet and funny. Some days I still see a glimpse of that, and I like those days.

Never Gonna Live That Down

2010-01-08T05:40:00.003-06:00

What an eventful last few days we have had. Being snowed in has brought us so much closer and made us remember just how much we love each other. Well, not so much. It's been more like fighting and seeing who is the Queen of the Wii and that only depends on which game we are playing. I'm so out of practice on a ton of those games that Princess has been handing my ass to me more often than I get to hand hers to her. But today promises to be another snow day so I will get to hone my skills and maybe not be last in all the games. Sigh, dare to dream.

The other day Princess wanted to see what her zodiac sign was so she looked it up and announced that she was "Pissy." I about fell off the couch laughing and told her she is a Pisces, although Sugarbowl and I agree that Pissy is more fitting. Now we tease and heckle her to no end about being a Pissy and think we need to start a petition to have it officially changed. She doesn't see the humor in being a Pissy and thinks that her wonderful pre-teen attitude should not be taken into consideration. If anything she thinks we should start a petition to have a non-Catholic be able to be canonized and have her be the patron saint of tortured pre-teens. I think she should stick to being Pissy; she is no saint -- said by another non-saint.

Last week Sugarbowl was having abdominal pains. They kept getting worse and worse until she woke up one morning no longer able to bear the pain so I drove her to the emergency room, it being too early for any doctor's offices to be open. We spent several hours there while they took blood and x rays and finally a CT scan to make sure she wasn't having an appendicitis. And the official diagnosis? Wait for it... wait for it... She was full of sh*t! Literally! (I am writing this really early because if she knew I was telling this story we would have an even worse fighting day than yesterday and my poor butt can't take much more hitting). She had been under a lot of stress and was not emptying her bowels, even though she had been pooping, it was not enough. The CT scan came back with an "enlarged colon" and the nurse said it had to be really bad for them to note that. She is so embarrassed that she went to the emergency room to find out that she is full of sh*t. I'm not! It provided us with the punch line to every joke about her for the rest of her life! It will never get old. She could probably get disability before me with such a great diagnosis. Maybe I should have tried that one... "MS and full of sh*t," it's a sure thing!

Lastly, this has nothing to do with anyone I know, but it is so ridiculous I have to share it. We went to the children's museum a little while ago, before Mother Nature wanted to test our endurance and see how long we could be stuck in a house together before cabin fever sets in (must grab axe and chop up family...). There was a woman there that was wearing a homemade shirt that said, in puffy paint that she had most likely done herself, "single and looking." Why would anyone wear that shirt to a children's museum where most of the men there are with their families and probably not looking? Better yet, why would anyone make that shirt, never mind actually wearing it out and about?! I tried not to stare but I couldn't help it. It's not everyday that you see someone that incredibly dense and displaying such poor judgement. Not counting when I venture out, of course.

Who Needs Martha Stewart When You Have MS?

2010-01-03T06:38:00.003-06:00

*Author's Note: I posted this one before, but after my last post I felt this one would be a good follow up. I know most of you -- if not all -- have read it, but it is still too true. The only difference is that I now have EVEN MORE stuff in my house. And some of the references are outdated, ie it has been a few more years since being diagnosed and my husband is now my ex.

I didn't go to the MS walk this year. I had several very good reasons why I skipped it: 1. Every time I go I get annoyed and/or frustrated by the people who push past rudely to get to the free stuff or don't move an inch when you say, "Excuse me." I'm glad people want to support MS stuff, but if they are there to help a good cause, why are they so rude to those of us suffering from the reason for the walk? I get irritated fighting the crowd and jostling for a chance to go to a booth. B. Last year when I went, I saw 2 ladies that the year before were doing well, but that year one had a trach because she needed the direst oxygen due to a really bad attack, and the other was in a wheelchair and very confused -- unable to follow a basic conversation. This scares me and saddens me very much. Quatro: I do not need anymore MS stuff.

When I was first diagnosed I wore MS shirts all the time so people would know why I was gimping around and burying my face into everything to be able to see it. Now, almost 3.5 years later, I no longer feel the need to tell anyone anything. I am sick to death of all this MS crap I have everywhere. I hate having people come to my house and feel like they entered a quarantined sick person's house. I am trying to put MS second in my life and not let it define me, but it is a stubborn second fiddle that wants to intrude in every facet of my life. I am trying to get away from decorating my house in MS decor, but the free stuff you get from everything makes it hard. I have, in no particular order, a gaggle of MS T-shirts that we now use mainly for sleep shirts. I say "we" because my little sister, Princess and I all wear them and could probably wear them every night for a week and still have clean ones left. I have an MSAA mouse pad that I don't use, I prefer my Spongebob one. I get 2 calendars every year, from NMSS and MSAA and I get very irritable by all the inspiring quotes on them. So much so that they are relegated to areas that I don't have to see them too much. I get the planners every year, the ones where you can track all your symptoms and problems on, which I don't use too often, I prefer a plain notebook. I have a Copaxone and Avonex carry bags that could be handy for travel to stuff books into. I have Copaxone plastic meds containers that I keep colored pencils in. I ditched the 7 day supply one, it was too small to be of use for me. I have about 50 styrofoam coolers that my meds were delivered in that my husband uses for his camping trips and which we give to anyone who needs a cheap cooler that no one cares what happens to. In my freezer are countless gel packs, some even have Copaxone emblazoned on them, which come in handy whenever a kid hurts their mouth. I have Rebif and Copaxone sticky notes that have taken over my life. No matter how many sticky messages I leave, they seem to multiply like cockroaches when no one is looking. I have pens for every DMD and MS society you can think of, some with thick places that you hold on to for shaky hands. I have a Betaseron first aid kit with a handy rope to wear around my neck, which will never happen in this life. I even have a Rebif mini fan with a cord to keep it around my neck and handy at all times. I wouldn't mind using this, but my nieces and nephews love it so much I hardly ever see it. I have plastic cups and mugs that scream about MS and I only use when all else is dirty. I have an Avonex water jug that could hold half the Platte if need be. Somewhere is a Copaxone Walkman with earphones that I have never used. I have an insulated Copaxone water bottle that I use in the back yard when in the pool. I have Rebif sunscreen and Copaxone chapstick. I have magnets, magnets, magnets, with the major DMD companies' numbers on them and ones to the special pharmacy for my special meds because I am special, and I mean that in an I-should-be-wearing-a-helmet kind of way. I would love to be classy and decorate my house in Martha Stewart, but I have a different theme in my house: Multiple Sclerosis. At least they are both MS but one is sold at K-Mart.

This Blog Is Brought To You By:

2010-01-01T06:49:00.003-06:00

Copaxone, "Leave no area uncovered!"

Do you find yourself missing those maddeningly itchy mosquito bites in winter? Do you want to have so many lumps on your body that people think you sprouted more boobs? Are there still some areas on your refrigerator where you can see the fridge? Do you have some space left on your bookshelves? Are you not getting as much mail as you would like? Would you like more people to call you? Then you need Copaxone!

Copaxone can give you all the itchy injection sites you can scratch in a day, and even more for the next day! Why settle for 2 boobs when you can have countless? You will feel like you need mammograms for all 7 injection areas with Copaxone! We guarantee that you will be buried in so many magnets for your fridge that no one will ever doubt that a person with MS lives in your house! Each magnet comes stamped with the company name and phone number in case anyone else would like to call us.

We will help you fill up any empty areas of your bookshelves. The makers of Copaxone know that the 521 books you already have about MS are not nearly enough, so they will send you more, even if you didn't ask for them! We will even send you several copies of the same book so you can share with friends! Act now and we will even send you our daily planner that highlights all your possible injection sites on every page! Whip it out and impress people with how dedicated you are to all things MS!

Your mailbox will overflow with all our correspondence! We will send you more letters repeating the same things than you will ever care to open, let alone read! We don't want you to ever doubt how dedicated we are to you and you making sure to inject yourself every day! Your mail person will want to curse our names for sending so many love letters to you!

Forget a phone that doesn't ring! People will think you are the most popular person around with all the phone calls you will get from the makers of Copaxone! We will check in with you as much as possible to make sure you are having no problems with our product and to see if you received all our free gifts. You will find yourself avoiding the ringing phone instead of being glad some one finally called you!

Get Copaxone today and "leave no area uncovered!"

Cast Of Characters

2009-12-18T06:03:00.004-06:00

A comment I recently got started the crusty wheels in my head a' turning:

"... I feel like I know you and your family (sugar bowl, princess etc.) Sort of like a familiar tv series that you get to know all the players."

That made me think that maybe I should give a more formal rundown of the main cast to this R rated drama that is my life. (Once upon a time I would have called it X rated, but things have really changed for me.) Princess is going to give her input here too, to help balance (?) it out. Youngest to oldest we are:

Jabber

Blindbeard says: He in an 8 year old ADHHHHHHD kid whose tongue is hung in the middle and flaps at both ends. There are only 2 thoughts rattling around in his head: boogers and video games, namely Mario and Luigi. His hair is a red/orange, more orange then red, so we also call him Pumpkin Top, like if he hits his head we tell him to be careful not to spill his pumpkin seeds, or to start using his pumpkin seeds to form a thought that doesn't involve boogers and video games, or, being a boy, his penis. You don't want his hands to touch your face or, God forbid!, get in your mouth because you run a VERY high risk of getting raging Shigella. But he is also a very creative kid who can entertain himself for hours with the simplest of things, like a pair of earmuffs and a bungee cord will keep him occupied for hours. Who knew that bungee cords and earmuffs could have such great conversations? I wouldn't have thought they would have much in common.

Princess says: He is an annoying 8 year old boy who is addicted to video games but only the video games we have here. He has to take his DS every where and loses his games, and sadly, we bought him more for Christmas. Sorry, I was asleep when you asked me and I had a dream you were drawing a cow that looked like a sink.

Princess

Blindbeard says: She is an 11 year old know-it-all who is highly intelligent and can be a good companion but hates shopping to the point that it drives me crazy to take her with me. She is worried someone might see her naked body and goes to great lengths to make sure no one does. She is one stubborn mule and will dig in her heels and not back down no matter what the consequences may be for doing so. She doesn't think her mother and I are funny when we know we are damn funny. She is breathing down my neck right now and is watching every word I type and correcting me about everything.

Princess says: I'm the best person ever! Don't put that! I don't think that! It makes me sound conceited. You know, I am going to go in and delete all this! I hate you.

Sugarbowl

Blindbeard says: That woman and I are either getting along great or at loggerheads about something or everything, depending on the day and whether she took her meds or not. She is very creative and she and I can play off each others wit and amuse ourselves for too long. She talks too loud, due to ear problems as a child, and will blast everyone out of the bleachers at Princess's basketball games, no matter how many times I try to shush her. Her car is a mobile dump that drives me insane to have to ride in it, so we take my car so she doesn't have to hear me bitch about what a disgusting mess her car is. She likes stupid pets and I have to pull out my bossy big sister to keep her from starting a petting zoo in her room. She is allergic to cleaning and one tired lazy slob, but I still loves her.

Princess says: I say nothing about her.

Blindbeard

Blindbeard says: I know I have a lot of faults. I am a clean, organized person by nature and living with slobs can make me very hard to live with at times. I do not share well, what's mine is mine and I will not share with you. I tend to not have a lot of empathy for others, and do not care what anyone thinks about me, only what I think about them. I have certain things that I do not like anyone else to touch, like my favorite pen. One time Sugarbowl took it to work because she couldn't find any other pens. She didn't tell me until she got back home because she knew I would pop a vein in my head if I knew. I now hide that pen better. I change the words to songs all the time, to suit my mood and what is happening around me. I am very literal and will miss a lot of things that are not meant to be taken literally, or it takes me awhile to figure it all out. I read boring books that no one else can understand why I would read, but I am an historical non fiction addict who can only go so long without my fix.

Princess says: You are a great big glob of greasy grimy gopher guts; smell so bad it drives me nuts. You like to go shopping way way way too much. You can be fun and funny when you want to, other times you are an ass hole (she actually said that! And told me I could write that!). You steal my animals, even though I recovered one. The other I will never recover (her dog). You yell at me to get ready even though you have nothing else to do. You talk constantly; you have diarrhea of the mouth (HYPOCRITE!). You think the couch is yours even though you DIDN'T EVEN HELP MOVE IT INTO THE HOUSE! (The couch is mine, for the record.) You read dumb books. You get up at the crack of dawn.

BB: Don't you have anything decent to say about me?
P: I don't think I do. But you can be my best friend at times.

Party In My Pants

2009-12-16T05:39:00.002-06:00

And nobody is coming. There have been so many parties at my house, one would think we are a bunch of wild & crazy gals. Alas, we are not. We can't even pretend to be. But sometimes we like to think we are rockin' the place.

Princess's Party

Princess has been grounded for the last umpteen years for yelling at her mom to "SHUT UP" when her mother told her to turn off the wii and get ready for bed. That went over like the proverbial lead balloon. I was reading in bed and heard it all. I was surprised that Sugarbowl did not react worse than she did. I was afraid things were going to get so ugly I would have to pry my tired arse out of bed, don my striped referee shirt, grab my whistle that I use to get the dogs' attention and whip their butts back into shape. Sugarbowl did not go off on a yelling spree, but grounded her for a long time. The next morning she gave Princess the option to apologize and have her sentence reduced, but Princess is one stubborn mule and wouldn't back down. She told her mother that she could have said more! (Sound of all those lead balloons crashing to earth.) Now Princess is on a party of "I'm sorry now, so let's all be friends and unground me" and nobody is buying it. She's trying to play the martyr and show how innocent and sweet she is but the last 11 years are against her. So until her sentence is over -- Christmas day -- she will be partying by herself.

Sugarbowl's Party

So Sugarbowl boo hoo-ed and got herself a dog. He is a Chihuahua and mini pin mix and one cute little booger. He is also very resistant to house training. We toss his butt outside but he couldn't possibly pinch his stinkies out there. He can hold it until he gets back inside, thanks. The other day Sugarbowl had a date, which is a great story in itself, and came home late. Her room smelled like a fresh pile of poo, but she thought the cat boxes got too close to the furnace and it was pumping all that stinky air into her room, so she just went to sleep. When I had to poke my head into her room the next morning, I noticed the horrible smell, but thought the same thing about the cat boxes and maybe because she closes her door at night the stench was trapped in there. It was trapped all right, because Rupert (her dog) had a diarrhea party in there and squirted crap all over a bunch of her clothes. Sugarbowl says she was the only one who showed up for the party because Rupert sleeps in my bed and he can only come in her room to crap. She wants him to stay with her but she says -- to my great amusement -- that he strains his main butt hole vein to get away from her and get to me and will only use her room for a bathroom. She was so mad about all her clothes that were covered in crap, and her breathing in diarrhea air all night, that she gave me custody of Rupert for the last 2 days. I don't want custody of him. I already have, against my will, 2 dogs and DO NOT want a third dog. I actually only have one official dog, my yellow lab, the corgi is Princess's but for some reason that dog attached himself to me and only has 2 thoughts in his head, "Protect Blindbeard, and DESTROY!" Now Rupert has decided that he likes me best and with him and Widget in my bed, there is little room for me, but we sure do keep warm. Widget gets pretty pissy about Rupert in my bed and I have to break up their fights, which they usually like to have in my face, too often. It's a good thing I like dogs so much or they would all be sleeping on the floor. Damn my soft loving nature!

Lastly, I will leave you with this 12 Days of Christmas that Princess penned about all our pets. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. (I'm going to condense it with comments.)

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
A Pembroke Welsh corgi.
2 golden labs,
3 crapping Chihuahuas
4 sneezing Stubbys (a stray cat that adopted me and has a chronic sinus infection)
5 cross eyed kitties (her Siamese cat that is cross eyed but the best hunter we have)
6 not-so-Angels (a cat that is a pain in the butt)
7 dirty Kiras (Sugarbowl's cat that doesn't "wipe" after using the cat box)
8 little Nellies (an outdoor cat of unknown origins)
9 Butterpads (her gerbil)
10 squeaking Squeakers (her other gerbil)
11 stinky dog farts
12 diarrhea parties.

Dear Blindbeard: The Wha...? Edition

2009-12-15T06:08:00.003-06:00

*Author's Note: I'm a complete moron. I have been diagnosed for almost 5 years not six like I said in the second letter. How time flies when you're not having fun.

Sometimes I get these comments that I can't figure out how they are related to anything I ever said. To these I dedicate this Dear Blindbeard.

Dear Blindbeard,

Coulnt read past day 3. Very sad had to write in first place. Realise MS makes a difference to life and it is not nice but it is worse with anger and eats away. If thought that there is always somebody worse off it does help.

Suejan

Dear Beautiful Suejan,

My dear, you missed the point of my 12 Days of Christmas. It may seem angry, but that was not my intent. It was merely my making fun of myself and the gifts that MS has given me, which it has been very generous with. My therapists have told me that anger can be a good thing because it is motivating and helps you push the boundaries of this disease -- granted you don't want to take it too far, but a little can help.

I can't dwell on the thoughts of how many people are worse off than me for too long. It depresses me and makes me very sad and down. I feel for those people and wish I could help, but I only have my friendship and empathy to give them, and nobody is beating down my door to get either of those things. I was going to school for Human Services and did foster care for several years, so I know how bad off some people are. My spewing about MS does not mean I am not aware of others' sufferings, I am just choosing to make fun of my own, to which I will share this little nugget of wisdom:

The whole thing's daft,
I don't know why.
You have to laugh
Or else you'll cry.

That sums up my outlook on MS and life better than any other adage I can think of.

Love,
Blindbeard

Dear Blindbeard,

Hey there,

So I found you blog when I was looking for MS blogs and other MS related info. and such because I got diagnosed a week and a half ago. I'm 16 with my entire life ahead of me. Weirdly, I love reading your depressing blog. Seeing all that negative only forces me to want to disagree (or something) so I find the positive... the "silver lining" if you will.

So thank you for your dreary blogs. They're helping me to cope with this unfortunate disease.

Cheers and Merry Christmas!

Linnea

Dear Beautiful Linnea,

Hey there,

I was diagnosed almost 6 years ago. I'm 35 with my entire life ahead of me. Weirdly, I am not writing a depressing blog. Seeing this comment makes me wonder if you read a different blog and posted a comment on here. Seeing all that stuff about "depressing" makes me remember how I was when newly diagnosed. I tried to find the "silver lining" if you will, went through all the different stages of grief and ended up finding that I enjoy a good laugh at myself best of all.

So thank you for a comment that missed the point of my entire blog. I only have one blog, but thanks for thinking I could keep up on "blogs" -- this one helps me cope with this unfortunate disease.

Love,
Blindbeard

P.S. This whole comment smacks of insincerity and I almost want to call bull sh*t on the whole thing. If for nothing else, because you are "only 16" I am hoping I am right and this whole thing is crap. Cheers and Merry Christmas!

This Email I Got

2009-12-14T05:39:00.007-06:00

I'm sharing this because it is really interesting and puts a ton of things into perspective. Sometimes I really need to remember how much bigger everything is compared to my problems -- not that I don't know that, I just like to be reminded. I took out the cheesy text because this speaks for itself.

12 Days Of Christmas

2009-12-13T06:11:00.000-06:00

*Author's Note: I'm reposting this for any who might have missed it last year, but I am working on a new one for this year. MS is the gift that just keeps on giving... and giving, and giving, and giving, and giving.

On the first day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

1 life time of misereeeee.

On the second day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereeee.

On the third day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereeee.

On the fourth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the fifth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the sixth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the seventh day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the eighth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the ninth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the tenth day of Christmas my MS gave to me

10 year old I can't keep up with,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my MS gave to me

11 jerks and twitches,

10 year old I can't keep up with,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a lifetime of misereee.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my MS gave to me

12 things I can't remember,

11 jerks and twitches,

10 year old I can't keep up with,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

Pity, Party Of One, Your Table Is Ready

2009-12-05T06:45:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I held a pity party for myself, against my own will. I tried to fight it but it wouldn't go away. Coming off of Tysabri and doing the oral steroids, I was hurting, irritable, edgy and unable to get any sleep. I did the steroids for 3 days and decided that the side effects are not worth it. My mouth tasted like I was sucking on an old penny that had been soaked in Robitussin and no matter how many times I brushed my teeth or ate mints, it wouldn't go away. I called my neurologist and told her this, my history of suicidal inclinations was in my favor, I am not going to finish my 5 days of steroids and the plan of having me do steroids for the next 6 months until Copaxone reaches its therapeutic levels has been scrapped. While trying to find a way to get my body comfortable, I spent too much time on Facebook and read all about every one's hot plans for the weekend, which sent my pity party into full swing.

For games I decided against Monopoly and went for Pin The Self Loathing On The Gimp. I fell into the old Why Can't I Be Normal trap and went round and round with that. I didn't want to admit it, but I was jealous of those who can go and do things, especially at night when I am counting down the minutes until I can go to bed. I want to jog again, walk my dog, read half the night, be able to keep up with Princess, shop all day with Sugarbowl. I want to be normal and feel like a 35 year old woman, not a 95 year old woman. I want to join in all the reindeer games and be able to stay up too late and rock it with a lampshade on my head. I do not want to be ME anymore. I hate the fact that MS has all the say over me and if I try to fight it I only hurt myself worse. If I try to push myself too far, I get too tired and my muscles start shaking, that overwhelming fatigue where if you don't rest you run a HUGE risk of hurting yourself.

Ugh! I have to stop this pity party NOW because I am only irritating myself more. Every once in awhile I have to vent this stuff and be with it so it can pass and I can get back to life. I hate feeling this way and I HATE feeling sorry for myself. It makes me even more of a bitchy jackass then usual, and nobody wants that. Luckily, my roomies were not interested in coming to my party and decided to tease and harass me to keep me from taking myself too seriously, so I do feel a little better and even started to laugh at the way they were walking like me and stumbling over everything while forgetting what they was doing 5 minutes ago. When holding a pity party, it is best to invite those who will not join in on the pity. I still wish I could party all night with a lampshade on my head, but at least I can admit that my dancing would look like the tin man in a rain storm and that image amuses me and makes me feel a little better.

From Bad To Worse

2009-11-25T06:53:00.004-06:00

There comes a time in every one's life when you should just stop talking. No, really, just stop, before you make yourself look any worse. Sadly, some people don't like to stop and then there is nothing left to do but laugh and make fun of them. I am always available to laugh and make fun of anyone socially retarded enough to go too far, hence why I am sharing this story.

Recently a member/friend of the family told me that because I have MS I am not exactly a great catch anymore (not like I ever was). It would be hard for me to find anyone who would be willing to date me because of my MS; it is too hard of a thing for anyone to deal with and not many men would want a woman with my problems. I found it funny because:

A. Anyone who feels that way I would not be interested in because they are obviously idiots.

B. My ex thinks I am a great catch, to the point it makes me a little conceited sometimes. He makes me feel like if boys knew I was single they would be clamoring at my door to have me.

and C. I couldn't believe that anyone would say such a thing to someone with any kind of disease or handicap.

Luckily I am thick skinned enough and value this person's opinion so little that I was not even slightly offended. I told this story to every one who would listen because it is so ridiculous. My mother was not amused. In fact she was PISSED! She ranted and raved and was shocked that this person had made it this far in life without someone offing them. She is glad that it didn't hurt my feelings and that it was said to me instead of someone who would think that the general population truly believes that about a person "with my condition." My mom called this person up and ripped their arse for saying something so potentially hurtful to someone. After that, I got this email from this person:

subject: You are marriageable if you want to be...

I received a phone call from your mother saying I told you no one would have you. I never said that, if I did I was wrong. You are a special case. I am not telling you something you don't already know. If you want to get remarried you need to find someone who understands your condition and is willing to go with it. There is a site on the internet "Dating Disabled. com" There are people on that site with all kinds of conditions. And, there may be other sites that I don't know about. You need to find someone who is a "caregiver." This person may have problems of their own. Or, they could be perfectly healthy with a golden heart. You are marriageable. You just need to find the right person (don't we all?). I love you. I am sorry if I send you the wrong messages at times.

I think that speaks for itself and needs no commentary from me. I look forward to yours.

My Mattress Grave

2009-11-22T07:45:00.003-06:00

Forgive my bout of seriousness here, I have a ton of things buzzing around my brain right now and am not feeling like my usual asinine self. Fear not, she will be back. I am not a serious person by nature, but so many serious things are going on that I am not up to my usual antics.

I had to put my cat, Flea, down. He was 16 and going down hard. I kept putting it off, hoping nature would take its course and let him go gently into that good night, but it was taking too long and I hated watching him fall apart. I got that lovely ball of evilness when I was 19. 19! And even though he was one of Satan's most devoted minions, I still loved him. I was going to bury him in my older sister's Pet Semetary but wanted him closer to me and didn't want to run the risk of him coming back and setting off a chain of murder and mayhem -- he'd done enough of that in this life. I held him as he was put to sleep. I couldn't let him go without me there. It's very quick, if you have never seen it done, and I hope someday someone will be kind enough to do the same for me if things get that bad for me.

I have decided to go off Tysabri and go back on Copaxone. I have been on Tysabri the equivalent of 3.5 years and am not liking the risks of PML for those of us who have been on it that long. It really bothers me that in 3 years the risks go from 1 in 30,000 to 1 in 800 for developing PML. Where would that put me in another year? Too close for me. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of living if I was one of the unlucky ones to suffer major disability. I am having the pre going-off-Tysabri jitters and am trying to get everything done around here knowing that I may not be able to do as much for awhile. Most people who go off Tysabri have major "rebound" attacks and I need my house in order before that can happen. I really needed to do something different with my room, organize all my crap or something, so I pulled apart everything and am working on putting it back together a better way. I like my room to be my own personal haven, not a mess of crap all jumbled together -- my collection of Fisher Price Little People does not belong next to my antique book collection.

Lastly, I will leave you with this quotation from Heinrich Heine, widely believed to be one of the best poets, and case of "probable MS" due only to the fact that there was no definitive testing available in his day (1797-1856). He wrote about his mattress grave from having to spend the majority of his day in bed, something I can relate to, having to spend the majority of my day in repose also.

A Free Mind In A Rotten Body

...a sick man is always counting on better days. My mind is free, and clear, and even cheerful. My heart is sound, almost sound enough to be eager and greedy for life, my body is so paralyzed, so rotten. It is though I were buried alive. I see no one and talk to no one.

April 25, 1848

Fabric Of My Soul

2009-11-08T06:21:00.002-06:00

If you could take apart yourself, strip everything down to just your soul, what would be the very core of who you are? Your biggest passions in life. What makes you you, or makes you tick. The very fabric of my soul is 3 things. Just these 3 things that if I got rid of all the superfluous stuff would be left.

BOOKS!

The printed word is -- pardon the pun -- printed on my soul. I cannot be without a book or I get restless and crabby. I am a huge reader and will read anything if I can't get my hands on something better, even Sugarbowl's teen crap or my older sister's sappy romances. I never read just one book at a time; I'm always reading at least 2, although that feels like almost nothing to me. I like to read 3 or more, or I feel like I'm not getting any reading done. I can't understand people who don't read. It is incomprehensible to me. What do you do if you don't read? How do you go to sleep at night? No matter how tired I am, my eyes must go over printed words for at least a paragraph or it takes me way too long to get to sleep. A world without books would be a very dreary place and not a place I would want to live in.

Old Houses/Antiques

I love old abandoned houses. I love to photograph them and just take my time appreciating every last detail. They make my soul sing. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. I like to go alone and just let the house speak to me without someone else jabbering in my ear, which makes my family nervous, hence why I have a cell phone now. I like the antiques/houses of the common man. I can't relate to the rich and upper classes, being a common woman myself and assuming I would have been in the middle no matter what age I was born in. When I can get away and tear up crappy back roads, I am in heaven.

I love to go antique shopping and could spend all day looking at the old pictures. I have several old albums that I fill with the pictures that spoke to me and that I couldn't leave behind to molder in an antique store when they so obviously needed to come home with me. I have spent a lot of time studying fashions of the past 150 years so I would be able to date the pictures and know what I was looking at. It's amazing the great antiques you can find at a Flea Market or even garage sales and I am always on the look out for anything old -- except old men, sorry, gramps.

Princess

That's right. I love my family like nothing else, but Princess is the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the cream in my coffee. If something happened to that little girl, I don't think I would survive it. I don't want to live in a world without her. That world would cease to have anything for me if she was not a part of it. Yes, she drives me crazy, but I love her like nothing else. She doesn't believe me, but it's true. I would most likely off myself if something happened to her. I don't tell her that, but I do tell her that the world would have nothing to offer me without her an inhabitant on it. She can get me every time. She doesn't know how much she could really get out of me and that is a good thing, because I cannot resist that little girl.

I am very curious about the fabric of your souls, so please do tell. I like to know what makes other people tick, and please forgive me such a serious subject. I don't know what came over me. Probably this great book I'm reading, the old house I drove by yesterday, and Princess's sleeping face in my bed, reminding me of her sweet little face as a baby.

I Have Absolutely Nothing To Say

2009-11-04T05:36:00.002-06:00

And I want to say it to you. I haven't been on here because I have nothing of interest to say about anything. We are all jogging along in our same old ruts that have been worn smooth by now. I have been suffering with the flu the last few days and between moaning, "H1N1, take me away!" and stoking the flames of my addiction to The Price Is Right game, I have not been even slightly busy. I am not even sure that I do have H1N1, but I like to tell Sugarbowl that she gave me the pig flu because she is such a pig. To which she threatens to punch me in the butt for saying because she hates being told the obvious -- has she seen her room?! I don't care to be punched in the butt anymore because, besides the bruises, IT HURTS! So I only tell her what a pig she is on the phone.

I hate being sick. I lay here and think about all the things I want/need to get done. I need to burn the leaves (for heresy and witchcraft), do the laundry, do the dishes, make sure the trash gets taken out, make sure the dogs get let out in time, etc etc. I also hate how being sick kicks up all those annoying MS symptoms that I thought were in the past and I had forgotten about. My MS Hug is girdling me tighter than ever, my itchy spots are itchier than ever, my right leg is even more dead and dragging than ever, my TN is even more painful than ever and not fully quieted by the meds that usually lull it for a few hours. Luckily, being a "sick" person, I have a fully stocked medicine cabinet and dug out my Amantadine and have started taking it and I am impatiently waiting to feel better. Those leaves ain't gonna burn themselves!

So there you have it. Aren't ya glad I (didn't say orange) didn't blog about all this boring crap? I'm even boring myself right now, but I have got in some great reading time, when I can step away from The Price Is Right. I AM going to win that showcase showdown before this flu runs its course!

So Dude-ing Dumb

2009-10-21T10:42:00.003-05:00

Sorry for not getting back here for so long -- I'm sure you all had the hounds out looking for me -- but I have just fought off the last vestiges of a hideous, dark, ugly depression. My older sister is getting ready to have surgery tomorrow and I have been helping her get ready to be laid up for a while. She's having a hysterectomy and has that pre-surgery "must get everything done NOW" going on. My mom is coming down to spend the next 2 weeks with her to help out. I live just down the street and can't wait for my mommy to be here and spend 2 weeks with us. I would end that sentence with about 50 exclamation marks but then I would be writing like Princess, who has now embarked on the most irritating "Dude" stage. She uses Dude for everything and everyone. To the dogs, "Dudes!!!!! You're on my homework!!!!!!!" To me, "Dude, I told you last time I don't eat that and, Dude, you just made it for dinner AGAIN!!!!!!!!!" Talking on the phone, "I know, Dude!!!!! He always does that!!!! Dude, do you think he is just a stupid dude who can't figure anything out, Dude?!!?!?!!!?!??!" It's really wearing on my nerves. I started using Dude like the Smurfs use the word Smurf, as an adjective, verb and noun. "Dude, that is so dude-ly dude-ish! I was just dude-ing this really dude book about something dude-ly close to that dude-est subject!" That didn't phase her, so I had to step it up a notch and have been calling her "Penis Wrinkle" every time she calls me Dude. I suggested that she use that instead of Dude all the time but she didn't think that would be such a good idea at school, plus she thinks Penis Wrinkle is gross. I would rather be called Penis Wrinkle right now than have to hear "DUDE!!!!!!!!" one more time.

Speaking of penis wrinkles and all things male anatomy, I have been pondering why so much stuff centers around the female anatomy, and have started a one woman crusade to change that to all things all male anatomy all the time. If you would like to join in this crusade, I will give you a few statements to help you get started, Penis Wrinkles, and hopefully we can make a dude-ing difference.

"Who used up the last penis-ing roll of toilet paper and didn't replace it?"

"Get your fat prostrate off this couch and get something done today or I may hurt you!"

"Why the testicle didn't I get this bill before it was late?"

I Don't Get It

2009-10-08T06:20:00.003-05:00

I don't get a lot of things. I have come to terms with this. I am used to getting the joke last, not finding the deep hidden meaning to things everyone else saw immediately, and so on. So it should be of no surprise to anyone that when I just did a search about pronunciation to some of the names in the book I am currently enjoying, I stumbled across a deep intellectual discussion about the meaning of every little thing that happens in the book. There was a big argument about the author I am currently reading and an author of the same nationality and who was better. I read through the comments about it all and felt like I had missed the point of the whole book. Which led me to pondering how I could have missed that when the bear shat in the woods it was a symbol for the political situation and how society is being shat on by the current people "in charge" of us all. This naturally led me into wondering whatever happened to just enjoying the story and not looking for meaning in every single word. I get that there is meaning to the books, but does every thing have a hidden meaning that only the learned will comprehend? And where does that leave me?

I read these books for the simple reason that I enjoy a good story and, as I always say to anyone who will listen -- or is within earshot of me -- the classics are classics for a reason. I don't read them to analyze every word and break down the novel until it is no longer enjoyable. I can get most of the meaning in these books, I just enjoy the whole story and can see the value in the story as a whole, not broken down into little bitty pieces that leave the beauty behind. And if I don't tear it down sentence by sentence does that make me stupid or not as "smart" as those who do? I think it is pretentious to do that. That's right! I said it! And I know that I will probably be crucified for saying it, but I stand by that statement. Reading these books and trying to find a deeper meaning than anyone else is pretentious and I am not in a contest to see who has the deepest thoughts or is the smartest. I do not think someone passing a kidney stone is a metaphor for how human relations are akin to a painful and unpleasant situation for those who have to pass that stone/deal with other people.

If you want to find all these deep and hidden meanings, by all means, do so. I want to enjoy my books and love a good story. I get the books, just not in the same way all these intellectuals do. I think it annoys me so much because I don't like the idea of someone reading a book and feeling like they missed the whole point and must not be as smart because they didn't find all the Waldos hidden in it. I'm not looking for Waldo, just a story that grabs me and holds me to the end, which is why I enjoy the classics so much.

2 Really Good Excuses

2009-10-01T06:12:00.002-05:00

I have 2 really good excuses for why I have not been blogging much lately. 2 Exceptional and jealousy-inspiring excuses... maybe I shouldn't share them, I don't want a price put on my head for being such an object of envy. But I am willing to put myself in harm's way to keep up the integrity of honesty in the blog-o-sphere.

I have been is such a slump lately. I can't seem to shake off this apathy and depression that has wrapped itself around me. I'm having a terrible case of the "this-is-my-life?!" going on right now. I just can't care that my laundry is backed up and the house is threatening to smother me in filth. Why bother? Nobody else cares that it's such a mess or is willing to help me in any way unless I have to get bitchy about it and that never ends well. I can't find any pleasure in my usual activities and want to climb in bed and stay there for a week until I feel better. I do the things I have to do then go back to holding down the couch so it doesn't blow away. I know this will pass, but it sure is taking its sweet ass time in moving on.

The second, and just as important reason, is that I slammed my finger in the car door the other day and it HURT! Not sure if I broke anything, but my finger now looks like hamburger it is so shredded and bruised. It is making typing very difficult: I have to use my naughty finger instead of my index finger to type.

Until the swelling goes down and I shake off this depression I will have to be silent on here. And Blindbeard + Silence = a backlog of words that will pile up and drown everyone when the dam breaks. Better prepare those high water pants you have been keeping for a rainy day...

Shallow Thoughts By Blindbeard

2009-09-24T06:27:00.002-05:00

What would I do for a Klondike Bar? Not much. They really aren't my thing. If I'm going to do anything for any sweets, it would be for a Peppermint Pattie so I could ski on my coffee table. Of course, to ski on my coffee table I would have to move my record player and records and I'm not willing to sacrifice them even for the joy of skiing on that humble table.

Denver Refashionista's recent status on Facebook of being who she is with no apologies got me thinking about how, like Popeye, I too "yam what I yam" with no apologies. Well, I will apologize if I trip over you or spray spittle all over your face because I got excited and was talking too fast too close to you, but other than that, I offer no apologies!

How many times can someone ask you the same questions and not remember ever having asked them before? This is a question that has kept me up for a good 10 minutes each night pondering if the lady in my exercise class will ask me again how old I am, if I'm married and do I have any kids. "How many questions can one woman ask before I go psycho and smack her upside the head? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind..."

On the whole who we like best on Sesame Street, I have to cast my vote for Oscar and Bert. Oscar is obvious why I like him and Bert because I too am a pedantic and boring-interests kind of person. My little sister likes Grover best and Princess does not know Sesame Street well enough to pick one, but she adores Animal from the Muppets.

Who started this whole women-must-shave-areas-men-do-not thing? I hate being tied to a razor all the time and am thinking the hippies were on to something. I don't want to burn my bra, but I will gladly join in on a razor burning.

Lethargic Lassitude

2009-09-23T06:23:00.003-05:00

I have not been taking my anti fatigue meds because I'm an ijit and have forgotten how incredibly lethargic I am without them. I, in my infinite wisdom, thought that I would go off them then start them again to get maximum energy levels like when I first started them. I'm going to have to scrap that plan or risk melting into this couch and never being heard from again because my roomies will never think of lifting the cushions and cleaning under them. I'm so ridiculously tired I have been taking long luxurious naps, going to bed early and almost hitting 7 hours of sleep at night. I don't know if I can handle so much rest. My body may go into shock from being so over-rested.

On top of skipping my anti fatigue meds, my coffee maker broke yesterday and all my cussing and giving it Shaken Coffee Maker Syndrome didn't fix it, so it is obviously unfixable. I had to drink instant coffee, which is akin to drinking cat piss after so many years of real coffee. The good news in all this is that my bff at my exercise class had bought a fancy "gently used" coffee maker at a garage sale (they were selling it because the noise bothered their new baby) for me. She was thrilled that my coffee maker died so that she could give me the coffee maker she had bought for me and I would actually need it now. I was thrilled because I had to lug my lethargic arse into my exercise class while thinking negative things about having to spend my money on a new coffee maker when there is so much useless crap I would rather spend my $2 on.

Princess is enjoying my lethargy because she gets the computer more now. She, in all her lovely 11 year old just-been-hit-with-a-huge-greasy-puberty-stick-ness, is on a mission to try and beat all my high scores on Facebook. The other day she was playing some pearl worm game and told me that whenever she plays it she wishes she had a pearl necklace. Luckily I was turned away from her so she didn't see my face when she said it. Someday I will tell her all the things that are wrong with that statement, all the things I'm NOT saying to an 11 year old.

The good news, my fellow MSers, is that I am going back on my anti fatigue meds. This experiment has been a total failure and I am ready to join the land of the living again, so expect more nonsense from me. My house is a mess and the laundry is in a janga tower that is threatening to fall on us and smother everyone in this house. Now I must drag my lazy butt over to my medicine cabinet and get my meds -- this would be so much easier if I wasn't so lethargic.

This post has been brought to you by the letter L and the number 11. "Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away. Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?"

Dear Blindbeard

2009-09-14T06:21:00.004-05:00

(Sorry for my neglect. I have been under the weather, busy having my ass handed to me by my fellow MSers on Facebook (Lexulous), and the Flea Market came to town and I had to carry of their wares.)

Dear Blindbeard,

Thanks, Blindbeard. I needed that. I've spent way too much time over the last two days reading your blog, and inflicting bits of it on my partner and daughter because they were wondering what on earth I was laughing about (they thank you, too. I'm sure they do). In fact, you said things so well I almost didn't start my own blog, because you already put it better than I could. But I started the blog anyway, because I've been a few places you haven't been, and I hope you never go. But I'll keep reading yours. Thanks!

Zoomdoggies

Dear Beautiful Zoomdoggies,

Here's the ugly truth: I don't read others' blogs too often because when I do I feel like I have nothing original, witty, profound, or new to add to the pot o' blogs out there. I do read them when I feel like I need some inspiration and to see others' point of view because it might give me the kick in the ass to say something not said yet (ha ha and HA!). I'm glad you started your own blog anyway. When I started mine I almost didn't start it for the same reasons. I didn't expect anyone to read it, I just wanted my own soapbox to say what I wanted to say, how I wanted to say it, and with no apologies to anyone. I know I'm irreverent, but I can't help myself. Sometimes I want to be more irreverent, but Sugarbowl, who I bounce my ideas off of, is my barometer of what may be going too far. Like when I was bitching about all the feel-good-Jesus crap I get in my inbox or on Facebook. It irritates the CRUD out of me. My beliefs are this: Personal. And I don't appreciate anyone sending me that crap. I won't be shamed into passing on that stuff. It has nothing to do with being "ashamed" of Jesus, it has to do with my beliefs being my beliefs and respecting others' right to their own beliefs. I keep getting this "So-and-so got this message from God today: blah blah blah, words words words." I wanted to start a "Blindbeard got this message from Satan today: Keep up the good work!" But Sugarbowl's eyes almost fell out of her head when I said that, so I didn't do it.

I got off the subject there. I was merely trying to say, "Blog away, and say what you need to say." And maybe, "Rock on with your bad self."

Love,
Blindbeard

Dear Blindbeard,

I've always appreciated that my dad didn't pansy-fy his child-raising expectations just because he had two daughters. We held regular burp tutoring sessions, with a special emphasis on car names. Anybody can get out "fooord," but it takes a seasoned professional to get "oooldsmobile" right.

EJ

Dear Beautiful EJ,

Since receiving this comment, I have been working diligently on burping car names, and you are right, "Oldsmobile" is really tough! Driving around, I try and belch every car name that I come across and my soda consumption has gone up considerably as I improve my belch talk. Thanks for the suggestion, it has inspired me to new heights.

Love,
Blindbeard

And lastly, I have to share this comment because I got a good laugh out of it.

Dear Blindbeard,

It has been brought to the attention of our organization, The Overachieving Unremorseful Cherubic Halophiles (Before you ask we are an offshoot of the Palliated and Ineffectual Narcissists movement), that you have once again been issuing whines, not to be confused with complaints, about us. We at O.U.C.H. feel that in keeping with the ideals set forth by our founders it would be in everyone's best interests if you would please forward any further comments/thoughts you might have on the subject to the appropriate department for review. Once our fine staff have had the appropriate chance to properly review for, and correct, any inaccuracies that may exist we will gladly forward said information back to you for disposition as you see fit. If you choose to ignore this request then we will have no alternative but to pursue the matter through whatever legal means we see fit. This includes, but not limited to, legal action in a court of law of our choosing. As we currently reside in the twisted imagination of one of your readers it is safe to assume that we will be selecting a venue that is most advantageous to us. It should also be noted that should you decide to not take this notification with the seriousness it deserves we will be forced to resort to action under Section 12, Sub-section 22, Part A, Paragraph 19, Order 6C-A12DDB. For your benefit we have included here the entirety of the passage in question:"It is so stated that should the party of the first part (This would be you) fail to see reason and lunacy in most everything this passage covers then the party of the second part (That would be us) has the right to discontinue reading any and all materials associated with any publications made by the party of the first part."It should also be clarified that we are covered under Section 42, Sub-section 2, Part M, Paragraph 2, Order 9L2-HI699A (Which is also included for your benefit."Should the party of the first part (Guess who?) find fault with anything brought forth by the party of the second part (us again) then the party of the second part can not be held liable for any, and not limited to, bad jokes, puns, acronyms, bad judgment, sad kitties, deforestation, missing ozone, and the economy.Should you wish to complain about this then you will need to submit you request via email, 3 times (Once for us to delete outright, one to forward back to you and then one for us to laugh at like a pack of dyslexic hyenas). Please allow 6-8 years for a formal response.

Sincerely,
Gunter A. Cartwheelie

Adventures

2009-09-02T04:21:00.003-05:00

My life is so adventure filled, I don't think I could handle any more excitement! Why am I up so early?? Oh yeah (the Kool Aid man breaking through a wall in my house)! Because those STUPID Sugar Gliders went off at 3:30-ish this morning and it is now... stupid Roman numerals clock! If there is a one before the number you minus that from it... but that is not relevant because it is still in the fours... almost 4:25 am. (Too bad I am not interested in worms because I could beat all the early birds.) While listening to those things, which I cannot say too much about without melting into a gelatinous pile of obscenities, I was thinking of some great adventures I could have with their noises and lamenting the lack of interest in tapes now-a-days. I want to get a high quality tape recorder the next time they do this crap and get a nice long recording of it. Then when Sugarbowl is sleeping happily at 9 am -- her 3:30 am -- I am going to crank it up and let her enjoy the full effect of having to have those things. She stayed at a friend's house last night because they are driving 3 hours one way to get her a dog, because the 2 dogs we have "are not hers" and she wants her own dog. Again, I can't go down this road because I will start spouting naughty words and not be able to stop. So moving on...

Talking to my ex the other day, not sure if that was yesterday or the day before (Kentucky rains keep pouring dooooown, and up aheads another toooooooown...) due to sleep deprivation, I was telling him about my blogging about our lovely camping trip, which we yukked it up about for a few minutes, and he said I should blog about our other adventures. I asked him which ones and he suggested a few, some funny, some provoking, to use a nicer word. Like the time he kidnapped me from the casino when I was on a winning streak, which I attribute to chanting "big bucks no whammies!" the whole time. I ran out of cigarettes and went out to the car to get my other pack of smoky treats. He was doing something in the car, I can't remember what, and claims that he thought my leaving the casino meant I was done. Uh huh. That's why he peeled out of the parking lot so fast he pulled a wheelie all while ignoring my pummeling him and yelling, "I WASN'T DONE! I WAS WINNING! BIG BUCKS NO WHAMMIES!" But he did have a few good suggestions that I may have to write about. But not right now. It is way too early. It is now... stupid Roman numerals clock... if there is a one before the number, you subtract that from the other number... which, again, is not relevant because it is still in the fours... 4:40 am. I hope you are sleeping so sweet that it makes up for my lack of sleep. I'm beginning to think there is a conspiracy against me. "They" know that I will crack eventually with enough sleep deprivation. Too bad I don't have a thing worth knowing rattling around in my empty head.

Sorry, my sleeping beauties, if this makes no sense. I am still working on getting enough coffee into my guts to be functional.

Hello?

2009-09-01T06:22:00.002-05:00

Is this thing on? Testes, 1, 2. Anyone there? Where are my comments, peeps?! I have not had a comment in too long and am going through withdrawals here! I loves me some comments, without them I feel like I am in a veritable ghost town and talking to myself about stuff no one can relate to. I even checked my analytics to see if maybe there was a block on my blog and no one could get to it. I don't think you understand what your comments are to me. They are my manna from heaven. The creamer in my coffee -- and I LOVE my coffee and creamer. When I check my emails to see what comments I raked in and see nothing, well, it ain't right, sir! Maybe you are boycotting me because I have not gotten to your blogs like I should have. And you would be 100% right. I have no good excuse (Facebook) for why I have been so remiss (Facebook). I recently purchased a weed eater and it has been my newest favorite toy that vibrates (better than Facebook right now, but I think Facebook will come up in the ratings real soon). If I promise to put down the Facebook and visit your blogs again, will you leave me some comments? Or do I need to wander the desert for 40 days and 40 nights to find some manna from your heavens? I will even settle for smoke signals just to let me know you are still breathing in and out...

The Worst Nights I Ever Weathered

2009-08-31T07:55:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

Scars

2009-08-29T06:36:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

The end of my marriage.

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

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

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

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

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

Pied Piper Plus Pesky Peccadilloes

2009-08-26T05:56:00.003-05:00

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

Pied Piper

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

Pesky Peccadilloes

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

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

Status Report

2009-08-23T06:44:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love, Blindbeard & Family

Sucks

2009-08-15T09:44:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

I Hate Being An Adult

2009-08-12T06:19:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

Another Excuse To Use Asteriks

2009-08-07T07:14:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Busy

2009-08-05T07:06:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Are Ya, Stupid?!

2009-08-01T07:23:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

Oxymoron

2009-07-31T06:25:00.003-05:00

I just do not get it. I struggle to stay awake during the day, yet can't get any sleep at night unless I drug myself up, which I do do from time to time. Last night I had a hot, squeaky, hard bed that I tossed and turned in with the little dog who was pretending to be a pig, grunting and groaning and rooting for truffles in the covers. I couldn't get the temperature right. Covers on, too hot. Peeled back, too cold. I couldn't find the right combination for comfort. There were no soft spots for me to melt into like I usually do. And the more I tossed and turned the more I thought about how I needed to go get the WD40 and oil my damn squeaky bed. Of course I had to move the bed around and try to make a tune out of the hideous squeaking, which made Sugarbowl poke her head in to see what the little dog and I were doing to make the bed squeak like that. My pillows had turned into hard wedges when I could have sworn they were comfortable soft billowy clouds the night before. I think I finally drifted off between 11 and 12, but I'm not sure. I won't let myself look at the clock after a certain point because I start adding up the possible hours of sleep I would get if I slept until ______. I woke up at 4 this morning. More like my eyes popped open and there was no sleep left in me. How I slept on that hard, hot, squeaky bed with hard cement squares for pillows was a mystery to me, because obviously nothing had changed in the night. The little dog and I fought in the bed until it was game over when he decided he needed to clean his wee wee.

I push myself all day long to wear myself out. Yesterday I was so tired after my exercise class that I really, really wanted to take a nap. I was hoping to get a decent night's sleep so I made myself get up and get moving. I cleaned the house and ran a few errands, all for naught. No matter how dead tired I am, it is impossible for me to get more than 6 hours of sleep. Every once in a great while I can eke out 7, and then I feel like I should get the gold medal in the sleep competition. All the different doctors I see want me to get at least 8 hours of sleep because they say a person with MS NEEDS their sleep. My pain doctor, who I am loving because his suggestions have really helped me, even talked about sleeping meds. I pooh pooh-ed that idea because MSers are known for having the evil beast called "fatigue." I do double up on my baclofen and sometimes take flexeril to help me sleep, but I don't want to get accustomed to those higher doses/extra medicines and have them not work anymore. This morning I have been thinking that maybe he does know what he is talking about, especially as he was so right on about my other problems. I hate to take a sleeping pill but am fantasizing about a full night's sleep...

Yesterday, when I went to get a few things from the store, there was an older gentleman getting the same kind of creamer as me. Said gentleman was wearing pajamas. There was no gray area about it. They were flannel pajamas of the variety that grandma and grandpa wear on cold winter nights. He even had slippers on. We were both grabbing the exact same kind of creamer and I noticed that for all his pajama-and-slippers-wearing-to-the-store ways, he was clean and smelled like after shave. Albeit an old man after shave, but a fresh smell none the less. We both laughed at us going for the same jug of creamer and agreed that it was the best kind. He seemed to be with it, so I figured that he must have the same lack of sleep problem I do and he wears his pajamas out and about to entice sleep to come visit him. If it works, I am going to start wearing my pajamas everywhere. Goodness knows it couldn't hurt.

Before I Forget

2009-07-30T06:33:00.003-05:00

I had a day yesterday; maybe I should say day because it was... something. Before it all gets lost on my slippery memory, I have to share it. No need to thank me, even though I'm sure that was the first thing you wanted to do.

As I was getting ready to head to the shower, my ex called me to see if I wanted to switch cars. I wanted the truck because we needed to haul some stuff that just won't fit in a car, that and I was sooooo ready to have my truck back after driving his old road car with almost 350,000 miles and hardly a scrap of paint left on it. Plus, it is impossible to be sylin' and profilin' -- whatever that means -- in such an un-stylin' and profilin' car. So I skipped my shower, which I rarely do, tossed on some grubby clothes that I reserve for cleaning days, and headed out to meet him halfway, about an hour's drive for each of us. Princess went with me because she wanted to see that ghost town that I had taken pictures of and it is over that way. We switch cars, and I head back for my hour's drive home, taking a detour to the ghost town, and dreaming of the shower I am going to take as soon as I get home. But the gods of boob sweat had other plans for me.

When I get home, Sugarbowl wants to go pick up Princess' new bed. (Sugarbowl's ex took back his bed, the one Princess was using.) I decided that since we have to go that far down, might as well go even further and pick up the scripts for meds at my shrink's office. To say my shrink's office is in the ghetto is an understatement that defies an adequate comparison. I pick up my scripts, and at a stop light a homeless man comes up to my open window and asks for 30 cents. I give him 35 because I couldn't find a nickel and what is 5 cents between friends -- I would be homeless if my family didn't take care of me. (What the heck is 35 cents going to get him?! I would have given him more, over Sugarbowl's protests, but I only had change handy. And he told me he was homeless, I'm not just making assumptions.) So we leave that part of town without having any caps popped in our wigs or having our shizzles nizzled, again, whatever that means, and go to pick up Princess' new bed.

On the way back up, my bff from elementary/high school called to cement our plans to get together this weekend (she's moving and I am going to be the cheerleader to their huffing and puffing -- move it out! Shove it out! Allllll out! -- as I did for our recent moving adventure). While yukking it up with her, Sugarbowl says I took a motorcycle path in my truck at 80 mph, running so many people down I had to use my windshield wipers to get them off my windshield. I most certainly did not (I'm sure I never went over 65)! I found this very hypocritical from the woman who drives like she has a spiked ball up her anus that she cannot remove until she reaches her destination.

We get Princess' bed and head to Wal Mart to get my prescriptions filled and some flea and tick shampoo to add to our arsenal of weapons against the raging flea war we are in. At this point I feel so greasy, grubby, sweaty, dirty and every other -y that denotes that horrible feeling of I-shouldn't-have-skipped-my-shower-this-morning, that I am ready to give myself a flea and tick bath.

We finally get home and have to huff and puff and sweat even more to get Princess' bed up the stairs to her room. Then Sugarbowl and Princess gave all the animals -- no small task for our petting zoo -- a flea and tick bath. I really did not want to hop into the shower after all that crap was scattered all over the tub, so I feel ever grosser today. By the end of the day only the pets were fresh and the rest of us were left feeling dirtier and smelly-er than ever.

Today I only have my exercise class on my agenda. I am going to see what I feel like doing, if anything, after that. Yesterday was such a fun fest, I'm feeling all funned out. And like I may never be fresh again.

Author's Note

2009-07-27T07:44:00.003-05:00

I have to say a few things then it is back to my boring life -- think I am starting to prefer boring because the not boring stuff usually SUCKS!

*When I wrote the blog about personality, I wasn't fishing for compliments, even though they were muy appreciated. It was more an "out-of-the-mouth-of-babes" type thing. I thought it was rather astute coming from an 11 year old to know that personality matters more than looks. That and it is too much fun to tease her -- and laugh at myself at the same time -- about me only having personality to recommend myself. Same thing about my class flocking to me. I wasn't fishing, just showing my surprise that after hiding from people for so long I realized that I don't need to. I just needed to be me and get over myself getting the MS. (You guys gotta quit with the compliments! You're going to make me conceited, and nobody wants a big-headed Blindbeard terrorizing the natives. This morning there was a huge spider wed right outside the front door and I was conceited enough to look for "Some Gimp!" written in it -- proof that I don't need any more compliments.)

*My dear Tara, yes, I do Sudoku. But I only do it when there is no risk of conversation because I go at it with such concentration that I can't have distractions or I forget where I was.

*Again to my dear Tara, I was going to write a post about your blog post, Dr Appointment Didn't go as Well as I Had Hoped For, but found that what I wanted to say was so long and boring it would cure insomnia for my fellow MSers. I can totally relate to what you are saying in that post because I, too, am in the 20% who are in grave danger of being in a wheelchair. When I was diagnosed I had several large lesions in my spine and one MASSIVE one low down in my back that was (and still is) of serious concern to my neurologists. That lesion is a huge threat to my walking abilities and a tiny bit worrisome to me. I have a predominately spinal disease, which we all know has the worst prognosis, and know the horror of knowing that if something doesn't slow down my disease things are going to get ugly in a hurry. But my offer to race wheelchairs is still there.

*Our war against vermin is still raging, I am very sorry to report. Princess found a HUGE cricket in her mom's room and is so freaked out she won't lay on the floor right now. I say, "crickets-schmickets!" I found several fat and thriving meal worms in my room and one good sized tick climbing up the side of my bed! With the way blood sucking pests are attacking my unmentionables, I fear I may need to give myself a flea and tick bath with special attention shown to those private parts.