Memories

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

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

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

If I Said...

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.

"Finally An Adult!"

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.

That Damned Note

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]

Scars

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

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

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

The end of my marriage.

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

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

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

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

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

Sucks

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks For The Memories

*Update: I forgot to add 2 more positive things about my ex, then I have nothing else nice to say about him -- don't want him to know I kind of enjoy his antics. Recently he helped me out of a monetary bind. We had an unfortunate incident where the dogs decided to chew up my big sister's pool. Nobody was interested in helping me pay for it because we could not decide which dog had done it, even though the vast majority voted for the little dog, which is not mine. My little sister got that dog for her daughter so I thought she should help pay for the pool. She said that she would have got rid of him long ago but I wouldn't let her because I do not believe that animals are disposable. The only time I get rid of an animal is when there is something absolutely unacceptable about it, like biting or too much aggression, and even then I try to work out the problem with it. So the whole amount of replacing my big sister's pool fell on me and my ex stepped up and helped me pay for it even though he didn't have to. Lastly, when I gained all that weight from doing the steroids, 55lbs in 10 months to refresh your memory, I was concerned that he would no longer find me attractive so I told him I was going to go on a diet. He told me not to do that to my body because it had been through so much already and to let the weight come off naturally. I was floored that a man would be so kind as to say that to his once-thin-wife, and truly mean it. There, I am done being nice to him. Whew! Glad that is over. Being nice is not my natural state and I am not very comfortable with it.


This morning, getting creamer for my coffee, I was unpleasantly surprised to find a thing of meal worms on top of our strawberries, right next to the sandwich cheese. I have a strong aversion to having anything like that in my fridge where I keep food, but it is a great diet tool. I go to forage in the fridge, see a vat of worms and loose my appetite. It never fails. In the early days of my marriage my husband and I went a few rounds about bait kept in the fridge. He had always kept it in the same fridge he ate out of and I could not tolerate it in the fridge I wanted to find only food in. We got a second fridge in the basement and he put his bait in there because I warned him that I was going to throw it out if it didn't get out of my fridge and he knew I meant it.

Recently my ex father-in-law was diagnosed with prostate cancer. My ex husband called me to ask about a good place to get a haircut, to make sure they were not too expensive and whether they did a good job or not. We yakked for a little bit about nothing of importance, and hung up. He called me back a few minutes later to tell me his dad had prostate cancer. He was so blase about it and I wasn't too upset either. When you spend your life as a drunken ass, you can't expect people to boo hoo about your cancer too much. Now that my ex is no longer at the mercy of his father's drunken rages, they have been able to form a kinship of sorts. They go hunting and fishing together. I asked him (my ex) if he would be too upset if his father died and he just said that he would miss having someone to hunt and fish with.

My ex, for all his asinine ways, has a core as soft as the inside of a milkweed. On our very first date he impressed me by stopping by his house because he had forgotten to feed his wild cats. Any man who would care about a bunch of rag tag cats like that was a-okay in my book. He works for UPRR, rides a Harley, is an obsessed outdoors man and looks like a rough and tumble kind of guy. I call him Pollywog, give him wedgies, pinch his chubby cheekies, give him facials, manicures and pedicures, kiss on him like he is an adorable child and the man loves it (he would probably die of embarrassment if he knew I just wrote all that). Because he looks so rough and tough, too many people in his life have treated him like he is rough and tough not knowing that he is a big softie who folds like origami at the first sign of tears, especially from me. He never puts on any kind of airs, he always is just what he is and I have a deep admiration for that.

He has been fishing a lot lately with his father. His father is not big on personal hygiene. The man used his tub to make his own beer in for a long time, has no teeth, doesn't bother to wear his dentures except on special occasions, and never uses pit juice. To say the man is ripe is a HUGE understatement. My ex called me yesterday to tell me that on the drive to the lake they were going to fish at, he had to keep his windows down the whole time because his dad smelled so bad. Later, in the boat, they got rained on and my ex was glad that his dad finally got a shower and was hoping he would be able to drive home without the windows down. They are fishing again today and my ex hopes they get rained on again, just to make sure. I told him he needed to throw some degreaser on his dad before it started to rain so they could have a pleasant drive back. He wasn't sure he brought any with them but thought that his car cleaning chemicals might do the job.

Ahhh, so many great memories brought back by the sight of meal worms in my fridge on the strawberries I was going to eat later today but now couldn't possibly. Guess that puts me on a diet whether I want to diet or not.

Pictures

Because I talk about it too much, here are some pictures from my recent wanderings. If you are not as much of a history geek as me, I understand and will not be offended if this post puts you to sleep. But for those of you who love to trespass as much as I do, feast your eyes! For the record, I never take anything, especially from a ghost town due to the old wives' tale that it will bring bad luck. And we all know that we MSers do not need any more bad luck. They are an old school house, gas station and an old store. Now I need to shower and get ready to wander some more! Tootles, BB.

Taken For Granted

Of all the things I miss and took for granted, a normal body ranks pretty high on that list, right under a bed to myself without all the animals hogging up my side of the bed when the whole bed is my side of the bed. Deep in the throes of an attack-that-couldn't-possibly-be-an-attack-because-I-am-on-Tysabri, I have been thinking about all those things I took for granted the majority of my life. I miss not having this overwhelming fatigue that steals my ability to go ovaries-to-the-wall all day long, even though I no longer have ovaries and I never had balls, which are way too overrated of things anyway. What's so great about some saggy appendage that only makes you an oversexed being? I suppose never having had them, I do not see the allure of having them dangle off my body and being second only to the appendage up North. My loss I suppose, depending on what sex you are and how dear you hold your saggy body part.

My right hand is going numb right now. I noticed it when I woke up yesterday morning (or middle of the night depending on how late you sleep in). I thought maybe I slept on it wrong and it fell asleep so I kept massaging it and shaking it to wake it up, all to no avail. After an hour I realized all the shaking in the world ain't gonna wake it up and I have to now add it to the symptoms that are kicking up in my non-attack. It feels like someone shot Novacaine in my hand, focusing on my thumb and wrist. Last night someone shot more Novacaine into more of my hand and up into my arm while I was sleeping -- darn them to heck! My numbness comes with a hypersensitivity. When anything touches it it sends these shock waves up my arm and sometimes it likes to send them up into my scalp, making my hair feel like it's standing on end more than usual. I'm left handed so I wear my watch and bracelets on my right arm, which is not possible right now unless I want more shocks going up my arm. Before when I had the attack that took my right side for several months, I had to stop wearing my MS bracelet or any kind of clothing with a rough texture to it unless I wanted to rip off that clothing in public and risk getting an indecent exposure ticket. I never put my MS bracelet back on because I found that I enjoyed playing the guessing game more than just giving away the answer to people who are trying to figure out what is wrong with me (2 words, rhymes with Knuckle Scoliosis). Last night I leaned over the couch to see if the DS game that I am currently addicted to fell behind it, forgetting that my right hand is numb, missed the mark to support myself and fell face first into the hard part of the couch bruising my face around my left eye where I already have pain from my optic neuritis. I writhed and moaned on the floor while everyone else laughed and enjoyed the show. I suppose me being such an obnoxious pain in their asses entitles them to laugh, even though I saw no humor there.

There is a whole list of things I miss, but I don't want to write a novel in the form of a post (Super Twin powers activate! Form of a long-winded Blindbeard!). I could talk about how I miss not having this tight painful girdle squeezing the bajebus out of me, making me think maybe I am just having extreme hunger pains, eating half the contents of the kitchen only to find the damn MS Hug just pulled a fast one on me AGAIN! I keep falling into that trap and imagine myself dangling by one foot from the kitchen ceiling while eating an entire loaf of French bread.

History Repeating Itself

This morning I couldn't wait for my coffee to cool down, or I forgot to check it's temperature, which I usually do but being deep in the throes of Text Twist I got so excited I forgot to make sure it was not still too hot to guzzle down. For whichever reason, I grabbed my mug and took a huge swig which then burnt the bejebus out of my tongue and tonsils -- good thing I don't need them or anything. This reminded me of a story that I don't find too amusing but my family likes me to tell at any family gatherings and all major (and some minor) holidays. So if you can humor me a moment, I'd like to share that story.

Many years ago, when I was a young, gappy toothed, knock-kneed, shag haircut sporting Blindbeard I was actually a Girl Scout. That's right, I was a dedicated cookie selling machine. I pursued the whole getting-those-iron-on-patches with a zest that I don't think I have ever applied to anything since then. Not only did we have meetings each week where they served watered down Kool Aid -- which was invented in Nebraska -- in dixie cups (why only dixie cups is something I have never figured out. Earning those patches and selling cookies works up a thirst that requires more than a dixie cup can hold) and a single cookie as a bounteous snack, but we also had parties from time to time. These parties were held in the basement of the church that we attended every week because my parents are instruments of the devil and would only allow us to miss church if we were coughing up our lungs, vomiting blood, or shating out our entrails. And we never had coloring books or toys with us like one sees today with less tortured children than we were. We had to behave and pretend to listen to the sermon; anything less would get you 20 minutes on the couch at home where you had to sit like you should have while in church -- a hideous fate that we tried to avoid but sometimes forgot and messed around in church when we knew better. Like this one time when my mother had to take my older sister out of church because she was misbehaving and give her a spanking in the bathroom (back when spanking was the norm) and while she was gone I got into her purse, grabbed her lipstick and smeared it all over my lips in huge chunks that ruined her lipstick. My mother came back, took one look at me and took me to the bathroom. So in the basement of the church that was the bane of our existence, we were having our annual Christmas party. They were serving hot cocoa that was the temperature of lava direct from the earth's core and next to the dispensers of this boiling liquid they had straws. Now whether they were actually straws or stirring sticks for coffee, my memory doesn't tell me, they were all the same to me. I took a cup of cocoa and a straw and took a huge suck of this ridiculously hot beverage. It scalded my tongue and tonsils so bad I couldn't feel a thing on my tongue for 3 days. I must not have been the only one to do so because they moved the straws/stirring sticks down the table away from the hot cocoa after several draughts were served. To this day I can't figure out why anybody would serve hot cocoa with a straw. It was an experience that scarred me for life and made me scared of hot drinks for a long time. Even to this day I feel the reverberations of it and am uber careful with any hot beverage. So to be so careless as to guzzle my coffee without checking the temperature of it first was an act of stupidity on my part. Did I learn nothing from that whole experience?! Obviously I needed a reminder of exactly why I don't just hurl hot drinks down my gullet without ascertaining their exact degree first. I just hope it doesn't take 3 days again to regain any sensation in my tongue.