Tecfidera; Notes From The Lobster Pot

Multiple Sclerosis sucks, but these MS disease modifying drugs are the bane of my existence. I started Tecfidera in April after trying and failing the 3 times a week Copaxone. I swear I am more old injection site lumps and dips than woman. It makes those shots such a hoot I wasn't sure how much more fun I could handle in my life and found myself "forgetting", skipping, and finally downright unwilling to do it to myself anymore. (Also I think the 3x a week Copaxone stings more.) As much as I would love to -- metaphorically speaking -- skip off into the sunset DMD free forever, I realize that is not a wise choice, especially after 10 years of being diagnosed, and increasing lesion burden in my spinal cord and in between the two hemispheres of my brain, causing cognitive problems. I had to choose between irreparable brain damage and, ugh, a DMD, there was no third door with a donkey and a cart behind it to choose instead.

As I said above, I started Tecfidera in April. My neurologist went over all the things I needed to know to get me started like, in her words, possible "brutal" nausea, and the flushing side effect. She told me taking it with rice was supposed to really help with nausea, which happens to be one of my favorite foods. My sister made me rice puddings for a few weeks because the fact that there was a kitchen in my house that actually had food in it made me want to throw up and die. I had read online that a big ol' greasy cheeseburger was actually best for the nausea but not ideal for anybody's diet especially as you take the med twice a day. Honestly, it was all just a matter of degrees. I would start feeling human again, think that maybe I could go and nibble on something, and that thought wasn't horrifically revolting, then see the time and it all made sense. I only had a few more hours until I had to take my next poison pill. I would stuff myself to the gills, take my pill, and hunker down, preparing for that nausea to hit, to make my whole body, down to my DNA, want to turn itself inside out to dump out any food that ever touched my insides. I've never been pregnant, but my sister had terrible morning sickness with both her pregnancies, and she and I were discussing nausea and it sounds like they are pretty comparable.

You know what got me through Tecfidera's mind numbingly, at many times completely debilitating nausea? Marijuana. I have done search after search to see how many people have used marijuana to get them through it and I have not found many who have said they did/are. I realize not everyone can do this, and I'm truly sorry for them because you don't have to suffer. You also don't have to pull out the six foot purple bong with Jimi Hendrix on it and start taking huge hits like you're a kid again. All things in moderation. When I start feeling the beginnings of the horror starting, I take a puff, sometimes two off a small pipe. When you take something for medicinal purposes like this, you really don't get "high" like you do if ripping off Jimi's purple haze. I can tell that I smoked, but I can still function. I go outside with my dogs and water my plants, etc. My head may be fuzzy around the edges but it's not in the toilet, and I can live with that. I knew I didn't want to sit around smoking pot forever, this was just temporary. I was keeping my eyes on the prize.

Tecfidera has cleared up my mental fog. I feel like I can think clearly again. There was NO WAY I was going to let the temporary nausea win -- it usually only lasts about six weeks. (Also I am not doing injections again, at least for awhile, a long while.) I don't want this mental clarity to go away. I feel like it would be a Flowers For Algernon situation. This is why I made the choice to smoke marijuana to get me through the nausea, and even smoking, my mind was more clear than it has been in a long time. Of course my neurologist was thrilled when I told her I was smoking to deal with the nausea.

Neuro: How have you been doing with the nausea?
Blindbeard: It's horrible. I started smoking pot because nothing helps.
Neuro almost falls off stool. Blindbeard watches passively, making no move to help. Neuro rights herself and Blindbeard is secretly disappointed she didn't hit the ground. Conversation continues as if these two women like each other.
N: You should really try to stick to the rice. That seems to be doing the trick.
BB: I've tried everything. Nothing works.
N: Well, the rice is what they recommend.
BB: I'm going to stick with my six foot purple bong. You want to take a hit and go get cheeseburgers?

The next major side effect of Tecfidera is the flushing. Oddly, my neurologist was much more interested in driving home the point that the flushing is really uncomfortable but temporary. Maybe some people get scared when their body starts feeling like they have the worst sunburn of their lives spreading its nefarious burning heat over your ears and cheeks, down your chest and back. Those 15-20 minutes sure do seem a lot longer when your arms are on fire and you have all your frozen vegetable tied to your face, ears, chest, and shoulders with those resistance bands you knew you were keeping around for some reason. When that flushing comes on, that's when I start feeling like a lobster in a boiling pot. When I was searching for others' experiences with the flushing, I came across one review where they said Tecfidera improved their hemorrhoids. Mental clarity and improved hemorrhoids, what can't Tecfidera do?!

Things I'm Tired Of

In order

1. Cluster Headaches

These are the worst thing I have ever experienced. Period. Period again. Bar none, NONE. They make MS look like a fun and lighthearted day in the park. I am so tired of being in the grip of them, of being scared of getting one while in public, of being a prisoner to them. I'm taking a new medicine now that has really helped bring down the severity of the attacks. I still get a few breakthroughs that bring me to my knees, but for the most part it is helping. God am I tired of clusters.

2. My Ex

That man is going to be the death of me. And if that is the case, I better be the death of him too. We get along for a little while, then he pisses me off. I stop talking to him. He leaves me alone for as long as he can stand it, then little by little he starts texting me again until I cool off enough to start responding to him. We talk for a little bit until he pisses me off again, and then I ignore him and we wash, rinse and repeat many, many, many times. He pissed me off early in the summer, we were talking by the time I went on vacation in August. I sent him a "glad you're not here!" post card, and I meant every word of it. Sometime in September he pissed me off and I have not responded to any of his texts since. He has tried every tactic to get me to respond and I have come close, but I'm not ready to put up with his smug jackass self that makes me regret ever talking to him in the first place. Yesterday he was desperate because he was "in full hunting mode and I knew what he needed. All seriousness. No B.S. Just give him what he needs and that's all." What he needed was me to text "big bucks no whammies." That's it. That is his superstition about hunting. If I don't say that to him (or text it, whichever the case may be) he won't get a big buck, he will get a whammy. And it has to be me. I used to say it whenever he was going hunting and he said that it brought him luck, now it's my curse. I told him that I am not talking to him again until hunting season next year, I'm not joking. Big bucks no whammies. 

3. Grocery Shopping/Being Mother Hubbard

I truly do not know which is worse because they both suck. I hate grocery shopping. I get so worn out from it and then don't get much else done the rest of the day. I make menus, I make a list, I buy fruits and vegetables, and try to keep a good selection of foods in my house, but many of those things get eaten fast or need to be eaten fast which then makes me Mother Hubbard again. I don't have a lot of junk food around so my cupboards really are bare. I need to throw away some old cereal boxes but, damn!, that will only make it look worse. I know it's good to not have a lot of junk food, but when you are really tired, a little junk food sounds so nice and quick and easy and... nice... mmmmmm....

4. Being Startled By The Sheriff At Your Door Looking For An Old Neighbor When You Look Ridiculous!

I'm working on some different projects around here so I'm wearing old clothes and a bandanna on on my head. I'm typing away when a sheriff knocks on my door officially startling me and horrifying me that I got caught looking like this! As soon as I hit "Publish" on this I'm heading upstairs to take a hot shower and put on pajamas. Instead of getting caught looking like a dumpy old housewife, I could have at least got caught looking like a clean dumpy old housewife. 

You know what I'm not tired of? Right now I'm enjoying a version of Swan Lake from the 60's. The technicolor! The hairstyles! It's like Swan Lake meets Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It's so gaudy and bright and fabulously terrible that I can't tear my eyes away. I just wish I had some food to eat... maybe tomorrow I will go grocery shopping if I can't find anything else to do. 

Critique

As if I didn't suck enough, I now have cluster headaches. I don't know if I wrote about my eyeball pain last year when it started, but I sure didn't hold back around here. I have done all the scans, went through too much none-too-cheap medicines trying to treat a sinus infection that didn't exist, pondered the possibility that 3 times EVERY day at the same time someone took a sledgehammer to the left side of my face/head and for some reason I didn't notice them sneaking up on me, because we all know how much that happens, and finally when all those possibilities were ruled out, cluster headache was the only thing left. I figured it out by myself, because lets face it, the doctors most certainly weren't awake with me in the middle of the night trying to figure out how that person with a sledgehammer got me again. I was looking up how painful gout is and stumbled across a list of the worst pain people can have. Gout is on that list, that list that has as the number one most horrid pain cluster headaches with a description that was exactly what I was going through. Since they hit at the same 3 times every day, I prepare for them as well as one can. I take pain meds at night that make me fuzzy around the edges and make my reading comprehension so low that it is pointless for me to try reading, so I have been watching movies. I am finally getting around to all those movies that I have been meaning to watch for years (and years and years) but just never got around to. I'm trying to stick with classics and any suggestions you may have would be greatly appreciated. Here is my critique of a few.

The Godfather

I have been meaning to watch this movie for years but never wanted to take the time to do it. I don't do good with too long of movies because I get restless unless they are excellent movies. The Godfather, as I'm sure you know, IS excellent. I have watched it so many times, and even now am thinking about getting it from the library again today. My first book is going to be "Things I Would Do Sexually To A Young Al Pacino". And there would be sequels. Many, many sequels. When my eyes first clamped on to him, my pants burst into flames and every time I see young him again my pants burn up. Too bad that I wasn't even born yet when that movie was made. Such a damn good movie and such a damn hot man. That is the definition of win-win right there!

Seven Brides For Seven Brothers

Have you seen this movie? It is so ridiculous yet so much fun and the songs get stuck in my head. Even talking about it I get, "Bless yore beautiful hide, wherever you may beeeee!" playing in my head. I have watched is several times and have enjoyed it each time, damn it! It amuses me that women back when that movie was made sang at such a high pitch. One minute they are talking in a normal voice, then the next they break out in a song in a pitch that can shatter glass.

Some Like It Hot

I LOVE LOVE LOVE this movie! I am going to have to buy it because I have renewed it from the library 3 times and that is the limit. Jack Lemmon as a woman is so friggin' hilarious, and how can you not love Marilyn Monroe in it? She is so cute and I love how she has curves, she's not built like a 12 year old boy like women in movies are now. The pointy boobs are really pointy and you can tell it's a different time by how the men pat the women on the butt and the comments they make that would get them in trouble these days. When Jack Lemmon gets engaged to that man is my favorite part and I have watched it and laughed at it over and over again.

I have more that I will add later, and, like I said above, I am open to any suggestions. There are a few that I really want to mention but I don't want to not give them the full paragraph that they deserve. (If there is anyone who is interested, I can talk more about my cluster headaches, or if you want to tell me about yours, that would be great too. I would love to hear how you deal with it.)

Excuses, Excuses!

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.

I've Got Kennel Cough

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

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

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

Where Was I?

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Blindbeard

Dear Blindbeard,

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

Long time reader, first time comment leaver-

Lori


Dear Beautiful Lori,

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

Love,
Blindbeard



Dear Blindbeard,

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

Amy


Dear Beautiful Amy,

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

Love,
Blindbeard

Sucked Out Of My Head

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.

All Are Guilty

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.

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]

I Just Don't Have A Thing To Say

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.

Never Gonna Live That Down

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.

Pity, Party Of One, Your Table Is Ready

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.

I Have Absolutely Nothing To Say

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!

Nuggets Of Wisdom

While my migraine has not left me yet, it has loosened its vice grip on my head one tiny iota and I am not nearly as fuzzy headed as I was yesterday. I am starting to be able to process basic thoughts again, which feels so much better after yesterday when I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I was supposed to go to my exercise class this morning and went back and forth with myself whether I should go, but decided that rest would probably be best for me, especially as this migraine is kicking up some old MS symptoms. My MS Hug is squeezing the crap out of me and making it feel like hot knives are being drawn down my ribs, and my right side is all tingly and itchy. The comments to my last post inspired me to get on here and respond. You should be proud that you inspired me that way because I usually take a no-comment approach and like to let the comments stand on their own.

"Ahhh, feel better. I knew it was something since you haven't been gaming on FB. Was hoping it was some fun exciting new chapter in your life...*sigh. On 2nd thought maybe FB gave it to you. lol" -- Bubbie

I am pretty strictly a word and puzzle game kind of girl, and as I could not process the most basic thoughts, I could not game as I would have liked to. I could barely manage control over my extremities and knocked over my coffee twice yesterday, annoying the hell out of me because it spilled all over the laptops and even the surge protector. But as soon as I am able I will be back to fry my eyeballs on all those tempting games.

"Feel better. I anxiously await your earth-shattering post." -- Denver Refashionista

Me too, but I fear I have lost it to this lovely migraine and will have to wait for my next epiphany to shatter the world. One game that I have been playing a lot, and that does not require a lot of thought, is Bubble Town. Sugarbowl down loaded it for me, which made me feel very loved even though I do not doubt that she loves me because we tell each other that we love each other all the time. Every time you beat a level and/or die it gives you words of encouragement or congratulations. As I have been dying more than beating, it keeps giving me encouragement. One of the encouragements is, "Do or do not, there is no try." Every time I see that one I think of you, Ms. D.R., it sums up perfectly how I see your attitude about MS. You refuse to be beat by it and will either do or do not, not just try. I may have missed the mark, but you definitely give me that impression, which I say with the highest respect. You have my undying admiration for the attitude you express in your blog. Keep up the great attitude, my fellow MSing blogger.

Now I must go back to lounging on the couch and finishing "Gone With The Wind." Princess and I decided that we needed to watch the whole thing because this is the perfect time. I'm not moving from this spot and she has been wanting to watch the whole movie, so I get to fan the flames of my crush on Rhett. Frankly, my dear, I do give a damn.

Dense

I don't know why it took me so long to piece it all together. I was going to get on here and compose a blog of such truth and beauty it would have made philosophers weep, but it was not to be. I'm sitting here, drinking my coffee, thinking about how bad my head hurt, and fighting the urge to throw up, and I never throw up. Then it hit me: I have a migraine coming to visit. As my migraines usually last about 3 days, I will be back when this little bitch leaves town again. Until then, don't you stop being adorable (I know I have used that line before, but it is just so appropriate).

Love,
BB

Hodge Podge

So many odds and ends and so little to make into a post of one subject. Guess I've never let that stop me from getting on here and spewing a bunch of malarkey before, so why start now? I know, I'm such a wild and crazy woman. And away they go!

*Attack Of The Money Sucking Flea Market is now playing in my neck of the woods. Don't bother to go and see it because you might get a good deal on some useless crap that I want and I can't let that happen. No matter how full my house is, I always need more useless crap in my life. Sugarbowl and I have not gotten any sleep the last 2 days because we can't wait to race down the road to the flea market and shop for ticks (sorry, bad joke, but it was right there, in my face, staring me down). When we got home yesterday we pulled out all our spoils from the day and piled them up in the middle of the living room so we could feast our eyes on them and talk about what a great deal we got on some of the stuff that is worth more than what we paid. Today is the last day which means that the purveyors will be even more willing to wheel and deal, because that beats having to haul it all back, and we will be there to help them lighten the load they have to haul home.

*I'm still not feeling great. After getting over the desire to spew my guts over everyone and everything in this house, I now am combating a sore throat and splitting headache. I'm supposed to do Tysabri tomorrow but think I'm going to call off.

*Sugarbowl, in her unending quest to plague the sh*t out of me, got herself some Sugar Gliders. I was angry at first because we are already an operating petting zoo, but she agreed that there will be no more pets brought into this house or I will start getting rid of some of hers. They were cute at first, but when we found out that the noises they make are LOUD, their cuteness dissipated quickly until they now are nothing more then vermin to me. They do this loud barking thing at night that sounds like a little yippy dog, the kind that makes your eardrums bleed from the sound of their bark. They did that for 22 minutes! BARK... 10 second interval... BARK... 20 seconds... BARK... 5 seconds... BARK... 25 seconds and I start to think it is all over... BARK! This all happened at 3:30 am. I never hurt animals, but after all that I started daydreaming about plastic bags sealed around 2 annoying Sugar Gliders...

A closing song for you. In the tune of Jingle Bells:

Off to the flea market
To shop for useless crap!
How many booths can I get through
Before I need my nap?

Ohhhh, jingle bells,
The flea market sells
Useless crap all day!
Up all night
Dying to wheel and deal
So get your ass out of my way, HEY!

Sickness

I'm feeling decidedly under the weather right now. It is going through the family and I have been unfortunate enough to get it. My guts are so nauseous I have been singing my own song about it:

What ya gonna do with all that junk, all that junk rolling in your guts?
I'm gonna puke it up! Puke up all my rotten guts!

I wish I could write a post about something more pleasant then sickness, but I can't. Yesterday my oldest nephew was sick too and I was over at their house helping my older sister clean her house. He kept up a running dialogue of every thought as it went through his "sick" head, burying me under a mountain of unanswerable questions:

Him: "Why do you smoke?"

BB: "Because I'm stupid."

Him: "Why is it called a joy stick instead of a stick of joy?"

BB: "I think most men would think of something else if it were called a stick of joy."

Him: "What would they think of?"

BB: "Aren't you supposed to be sick?"

Him: "I feel like I might throw up."

BB: "You sure don't act like it."

Him: "Do they give you the black belt when you become a black belt?"

BB: "I have no idea. I'm no where near any kind of belt, black or otherwise."

Him: "Don't you wish you could break boards with your hands?"

BB: "No."

Him: "Do you ever crap your pants when you fart? I did last night."

BB: "I think everyone has done that at some point in their life."

Him: "When did you do it?"

BB: "Aren't you supposed to be sick?"

Here's hoping I feel better soon and that I don't suddenly develop diarrhea of the mouth. I'm not as good at coming up with unanswerable questions as my nephew is.

Feelings

I get certain feelings for different things. When a migraine is brewing, I get this funny feeling in my teeth to warn me. When I wake up and my teeth feel gritty and tingly, I know what is coming, and batten down the hatches, so to speak, in preparation of the impending doom that is looming over me. I make sure there is enough ibuprofen in the house, and check to make sure there are enough "comfort" foods to get me through it -- soups and other things that don't require a lot of heavy chewing. If these things are low, I have to get to the store ASAP to stock up before the migraine descends and hits me over the head like an evil anvil.

Even worse than migraines is the dreaded MS attack. I will gladly take a migraine over an MS attack. At least my migraines only last about 3 days and then all is well again. My attacks drag on and on and on, until I'm sure there is no light at the end of this too long tunnel. Right out of the gate my attacks were long: My first attack lasted about 6 weeks with the steroids. For 6 lllllloooooonnnnnnggggg weeks my vision was messed up to the point I felt trapped in a body without a thing to do, I couldn't read, couldn't watch TV, couldn't get on the computer, just had to sit and wait. It was also my first time with the ataxia and I had a hell of a time walking around anywhere. I stumbled and gimped around trying to do the things I normally do. Luckily I couldn't see anyone looking at me trying to figure out what was wrong with me, something that annoys me -- I prefer people just asking me outright instead of keeping their distance like I'm contagious.

When I'm getting attack-y (or attackie, or if you are really into cutesy things, attacki) I get this certain feeling that tells me, "Blindbeard, this is a real attack and there is not a pseudo thing about it." I'm not sure I can really put words to it, but I am going to try (try to hold your applause). The first thing I notice is that I start feeling this depressed, heavy mood wrapping around me and smothering all happy thoughts -- not that I get too many of those (there, I said it for you.) The negative thoughts about myself and this disease kick into overdrive. I start feeling like I'm less than human and a non-entity, someone who is not as worthy as those around me, even though I don't believe that about anyone else regardless of any disability they may have. I'm sure that is just the depression whispering into my crusty ear, and I'm dumb enough to listen.

Next is the fatigue that wipes me out and makes the couch my best friend, which is already my bestest buddy, but we become even closer and whisper our secrets to each other all day long. I only leave the couch to hunt and forage in the kitchen or grab some books and, my new favorite hobby, my highlighter pens to highlight the books until they resemble coloring books instead of the informative tomes they used to be. I nap for a good portion of the day, go to bed early and still sleep as much as ever. It doesn't matter if I take my anti-fatigue meds or not, I'm still just as tired. Trying to move my heavier-than-usual body is a chore and insures my continuing to mold my ass prints into the couch. We are moving mid-month and I hate that I will be no help at all. Even if I try to help, my family won't let me. All I get to do is it put away the little stuff and watch everyone else huff and puff (and try not to blow the house down) moving my crap. I know they are only banning me from helping out of love and concern for me, but it makes me feel worse about this whole having-MS-thing. It makes me feel like a burden on everyone around me and that is a feeling I hate with every fiber of my rotten being.

I'm feeling tried, depressed and like a huge burden, and all those feelings make me unfit for human consumption, so I must go before I disintegrate into the mushy pile of tired, depressed, burden-like crap that I am. What I really want to know is whether anyone else gets a certain feeling when they are getting attack-y, a feeling that makes you KNOW that this is a real attack coming on regardless of what any neurologist says about it.

Round 2

*Update: We caught Princess' leg in time and after 2 days of high dose IV antibiotics we were declared safe to go home, especially as they know that if anything changes we will race her back in. Her appetite has returned with a vengeance and I told her that they only discharged us because they can't afford to feed her anymore. That and we were getting too noisy -- we were messing around and fighting for space on her bed when I tried to share it with her. I also oiled my hamster's wheel so I actually got almost 7 hours of sleep last night! (I know you were on the edge of your seat wondering if I would ever get around to it, so I wanted to set your mind at ease.)


*Author's Note: I forgot to mention that I will be working on smoking myself retarded again, and I mean that in the PC dictionary term: a total slowing, stunting of my mental processes, not as a derogatory word for anyone. Princess' room is on the 6th floor and they are working on some construction right outside her window with a huge crane, and we love watching them haul their cooler up and down each day. I want to get a case of beer for them to haul up and watch people's reactions to that.


Just as we were celebrating Princess' return to home, her leg started up again yesterday. The cut started weeping again and her leg started to get red and hot. Sugarbowl took her to the E.R. and they admitted her again. This time they are talking about doing exploratory surgery to see if there is a foreign object in her leg that is preventing it from healing. Good thing the lazy arses didn't unpack a darn thing yet, so all Sugarbowl had to do was drag it out of her room and pile it up in the living room, ready to haul it back in and take up residency in their room again (she got the same room). I unpack almost immediately whenever I return home from anywhere that I had to pack to go to. Even if I can only start it before I have to collapse in bed, I hit it first thing in the morning -- after my coffee, of course. Sugarbowl can't afford to lose another week of work because we are too poor, so we will be tag teaming it this time. I will stay with her most of the time and Sugarbowl will come when she can and relieve me when possible. So depending on my boredom levels, which promise to be sky high, I may blog more or less. Sometimes when I get too bored I can't do a thing but think about how bored I am; other times I have to do anything to keep from becoming destructive and destroying everything around me.

I didn't get any sleep last night. I was worried about Princess and had bad dreams all night. I laid in bed for most of the night with my beady, blood-shot eyes wide open, listening to my hamster run on his very squeaky wheel, wondered why I hadn't oiled it yet, and resisting the urge to tell him that his buns and thighs should be perfectly toned by now and he is more than ready for swimsuit season. I tossed and turned and broiled alive. I had to push the little dog off of me before I split my skin like an over-cooked hot dog. I got up to pee about 500 times and mashed pillows over my head to block out the horrible squeaking of his hideous wheel. I had visions of what this house will look like by the time I came back -- making me sweat even more -- and pondered whether I should leave a list of things that need to be done and not left for me to do when I get back. They will never see overflowing trash cans, sinks stacked to the ceiling with dirty dishes, the pets' empty water bowls, mountains of dirty, wet clothes left on the bathroom floor... I shudder to think of it all. They will sit on a pile of garbage, watch TV and never notice all the crap they are sitting on should not be there. Walk over all the clothes on the bathroom floor, forget to put down a towel when they shower, get the whole mess soaking wet and slow down my getting new linoleum down.

I hope Princess gets better soon and that the house doesn't resemble a garbage dump by the time I get back. I don't want to have to explain that we are not taking any more loads of sh*t, so please go to a different dump.