Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I Quit

If there are more errors than coherent thoughts in this post, it is due to lack of sleep. I got 5 hours of sleep last night. 5! That's all. Not 6. Nowhere near 7. And 8 sounds like a slice of heaven I will never taste. The big dog was whining in my room at about 3:30am to be let outside and pinch one off. I get up and let him out thinking he will do his bidness and come right back. Really, how long can it take a dog to defecate? I should have known that men cannot poop fast. He was probably out in the back yard reading the newest copy of Dog Fancy while I waited impatiently to go back to bed. He finally empties his bowels and comes back inside. I head back to bed hoping to get a few more hours of sleep before I attack the day (or am attacked by the day, take your pick). While I was pacing, waiting for the dog to come back, one of the cats had gotten up on my bed and dropped 2 little nuggets of feces as a loving gift for me. I will never complain about getting dead rodents again if that is the alternative gift. I grab some paper towels, pluck that off my blanket -- luckily it was an old ratty blanket that I use to cover the quilt my grandmother made for me -- and rip that blanket off my bed and ball it up, tainted side in, and stuff it in the corner where it cannot pollute anything else. By now it is almost 4am, but being the eternal optimist that I am, I am still hoping for a little more sleep. Ha ha and HA! The cat that dropped those nuggets for me was still under the bed and the little dog and that $%&@ cat started fighting under the bed while I tossed and turned on top of the bed, trying to cover my ears and drown out the sound. A little after 4, I realize that my eyelids are not going to close again anytime soon, so I get out of bed and make me a STRONG pot of coffee.

I have stopped napping during the day and make myself go all day long until I am ready to collapse with fatigue, yet I still can't get any sleep. Some days I am so incredibly tired I start to fall asleep on the couch. Think I still get a decent amount of sleep? Hells NO! I was thinking maybe I need to go do a sleep study to see if something is going on while I am trying to sleep that is keeping me from finding any sleep in my bed. Does anybody else have this problem? And if so, what do/did you do for it? I don't want to take any sleeping pills, but I am starting to think maybe I should. I feel so ragged/haggard/worn out etc. and would love LOVE LOVE to get at least 7 hours of sleep a night. Me and my eternal optimism.

Friday, April 24, 2009


I am a very literal person. I can't help it. This morning, opening a new bottle of mouthwash, it had a "purity seal" and I couldn't help but wonder if that meant it waited until marriage to be officially sealed. If it was not sealed under the sacred vows of marriage, would it have been an "impurity seal?" Does that mean that I should have had a seal on me that let the world know that I was impure at marriage? I'm rather old fashioned about such things and deeply believe in test driving something before I buy. I don't want to get stuck with a lemon and have to file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau about some one's failure to disclose the problems of the product I am purchasing. (Come to think of it, I did get a lemon at marriage so I may be giving the BBB a call later today.)

Princess is reading Where The Red Fern Grows in school right now. Why didn't anyone write a book about where the red fern doesn't grow? Was that not as good of a story? I have read many books about where the red fern doesn't grow, and some were really good.

I stopped buying Tidy Cats brand cat litter because I found it does NOT change the cat box habits of the cats at all. I should have known the brand was an oxymoron because when it comes to cat boxes, cats don't know the first thing about being tidy. If I am going to have to sweep up all the cat litter they toss out when using their cat boxes, I am going to spend my dollars on an appropriately named litter
and not fall into a clever marketing ploy. But nice try, Tidy Cats people.

At the car wash there is a big sign letting everyone know that clean cars are happy cars. How do they know? Did they take a poll? Does that mean my little sister's car is unhappy? Should we be on a suicide watch because that car is so disgustingly messy, inside and out, that there is no way it could be a happy well adjusted car? Can you EPC a suicidal car? These are things I really need to know, because if her car goes off the deep end we are stuck with only my car and I don't share well.

Going to Hobby Lobby the other day, to have the money sucked out of my pockets (literally), and to buy more useless crap because we don't have enough even though we just moved a whole house full of it, they had a sign that said they were now hiring "great people." That counts me out. I had to wonder if the people they have working for them met that criteria because I can't think of any place that has bitchier people working for them. Maybe that is why they are searching for great people, to replace the not-great people they already have. Good idea, Hobby Lobby, I will be there to have my money sucked out of me more often if you have great people working for you.

A sign in McDonald's window announced that they were looking for smiling faces. I want to go in there with a huge frown and ask for an application. See how far that gets me. Although I can't believe I would be greeted by smiling faces if I gimped in there to get an application or even a number 2. But they can dream.

We saw a commercial that advertised a product that lasted up to 21 days. I was looking for the product that lasted 22 days, so my search continues.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

I Gots The MS Blues

I have about a million and one things to do and am hampered by my MS -- very annoying. We are almost done getting all of our CRAP out of the old house and into the new house. We already moved the heavy/big stuff -- maybe I shouldn't say "we" because I just cheered from the sidelines while everyone else moved it ("Move it out! Push it out! All out! GOOOO TEAM!" Ahh, MS, who said there are no benefits to having you... oh, that's right, it was me.) -- so we only have all the little stuff to move. Beings as everyone else has paying jobs to do, as opposed to my non-paying job, I get to move all that piddly little stuff, with Princess' unwilling help, of course. I told her that I would give her some of the money I will get back from our deposit or she could help for free, it is her choice, but one way or another she is going to be helping me this weekend. She chose the money.

I do as much as I can until I start feeling weak and shaky, then I know I need to take a break or risk seriously hurting myself. Not that that stops me and I have the bruises to prove it. Trying to move a full length mirror yesterday, I hit the edge on the ground and it mashed my hand, my good hand that is not numb. I wanted to let loose a volley of naughty words like "boogers," or "guts," or even "mother trucker!" But the neighbor was out in his yard with his young daughter so I just hissed as quietly as possible, which is not very. Putting some books on the shelf, I dropped a board from the third shelf onto my foot, my good foot of course. It has a huge bruise, my foot is swollen up, and I can barely walk on it. But I have no time to be going in for an X-ray to see if I cracked a bone; it is just going to have to wait until Monday, then I will see if I need to haul my arse to the ER.

I'm stressing about getting the old house cleaned up, unpacking the new house, finding my bed in the heap of boxes in my room, and every one's lack of concern about all of this. I called my neurologist to tell her about my numb right thumb and wrist, just so she could chart it, not because I am dying to see her again. Her nurse called me back and said they wanted me to pee in another cup, and give another blood sample to see what is going on. I told her I know what is going on, its called MS! Whew! Glad we figured that out so I can save myself the long wait in the lab when there are better things I could be doing instead of running the labs and saying, "Yep, it's MS" when we all know that. I was supposed to get those labs done either Thursday or Friday, but I decided I don't want to. I am going to see how my foot is on Monday and then will multi-task if need be and get it all done at once. My little sister, when I was telling her what they said, asked me if I really said that (in a very insulting shocked tone). She said that they probably love having me as a patient. I don't care if they love me because I suspect they only love my private insurance. All this lip from the woman who called our ISP to see when our Internet would be up and running in this house, ripping into them and demanding they tell us when we could expect it by because they keep giving us time frames and not doing it. That wouldn't be so bad -- it got results -- but she was doing this in my name because the bill is under my name and she knows the last four of my social security number -- damn her good memory! It was my turn to be mortified and I asked her if in the future she could not be a bitch when posing as me, that is my job and I guard that luxury jealously.

I have a full weekend ahead of me. A weekend jam packed with moving and cleaning with only Princess to help me. Ritalin, you and I are going to be BFFs all weekend long.

Monday, April 13, 2009

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.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Speechless: Moving Edition

*Author's Note: For some reason my stupid blog wants to display the wrong date on this post and I am too tired to mess with it or figure it out. I am not in my own time zone or trying to mess with your head, I just have a blog that won't work with me.

Until I can find anything in this mess of boxes, I won't be able to think straight -- not much change there. So, my pretties, until then I leave you with the following to ponder and hopefully come up with some answers to. (Side Note: I am putting together another "Dear Blindbeard" post and would love some more great letters/comments to use.)

*Which is worse: Moving everything or unpacking it all?

*How much crap does one person need?

*Why must we hoard everything and break out in hives at the thought of throwing anything away?

*How many times can one trip over the same thing and not think that it needs to be moved?

*How many meals in a row can one eat pizza and not gag at the thought of eating pizza again?

*Do kids break the sound barrier when running away from helping move/unpacking and putting away boxes of stuff?

*How long can I keep wearing the same dirty clothes before people start to notice?

*Will I ever find any clean clothes?

*Did anyone think to grab the razors when packing up the bathroom? Or the "adult" toothpaste? Bubble Gum toothpaste doesn't really make me feel like I have fresh breath.

*Is there a bed in my room or should I sleep on top of all these boxes?

Once again, I look forward to your answers.


Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Hey, Guys, Are You Stiff?

Because I am, and I'm not even a man. But why quibble about little details? I am too tired, stiff, sore and bruised (I think I now have bruises on my bruises) to be argumentative. After 2 days of moving and still more moving looming over our heads, we are all dead tired and completely wiped out. I am probably the best off because MS hinders my ability to do as much as everyone else, which makes me feel guilty to be the weakest link. I have been eating ibuprofen and Ritalin like candy just to keep upright and do what I can to help out. I am so ridiculously stiff I have been pondering taking more Baclofen so that I can bend somewhat normally -- for an MSer that is. I can't remember which commenters said that Neurotin makes them loopy (forgive my lack of memory, Father, for I have cognitive problems) but taking even slightly more Baclofen than what I am now accustomed to makes me loopy. I don't know if I can stress the loopy enough, but here goes:

Sugarbowl: Where did the frying pan go?

Blindbeard: Get these garden tools out of the bathroom, they take up too much room.

My Mom: Does the little dog always sleep in bed with you?

Blindbeard: I'll take the New York strip, well done with a baked potato with butter and sour cream, please. No eggs, I don't like eggs.

Princess: Can you move over so I can share the couch with you?

Blindbeard: You'll have to put gas in the tank if you take my car.

Princess: But I can't drive!

Blindbeard: Then make sure you scrub the tub extra good.

Older Sister: Do you mind if I come use your Internet while we are waiting for Internet at our new house?

Blindbeard: Sure, but we don't get all the movie channels.

And so on. In fact, I'm pretty sure those conversations are a direct transcript of what was really said. I could really use the extra Baclofen right now, but I'm not sure I want to descend into Wonderland because I am no Alice.

Monday, April 6, 2009

More Search Terms

They just keep getting better! I have this brief time -- a calm before the storm, so to speak -- before everyone gets up and we start moving. (By the way, I find my "Keywords" by going to my analytics and choosing Traffic Sources then Keywords from there. I highly suggest you do it because it is too much fun for anyone to miss out on.) Ready for Round 2? Well, too bad, because I am!

14 year old girl I just want to be held

No, seriously, that was on there. And just like this searcher, I, too, have a 14 year old girl in me that just wants to be held, but don't we all?

It's hard to breathe with a knife sticking out of your back

Isn't it though? Wait, what kind of knife are we talking about? A literal knife in the back or one thrust there by a 2 faced hag? Or just MS pain? I think I have all of the above.

girdle me tightly

Sorry, I try not to girdle anyone, tightly or not. This one makes me want to sing, "girdling me tightly with his song..."

I'm about ready to collapse at work and didn't get any sleep last night

My only job is being a maid for my roomies, so when I feel like I am on the verge of collapse, I take up residency on the couch. I don't get much sleep at night either; only as much as my pain meds allow me to get -- 6 on a good night. My neurologist, well rested and pompous, told me she wanted me to get at least 7 hours a night and would really like me to get 8. Let me know how that works out for her, because it ain't working out for me.

I wear a sweatshirt to cover my bulge

Even in summer? Not sure you will find anything pertaining to that here, but good luck anyway.

On my cane -- blind

Not sure what you are looking for... assuming you aren't totally blind, because I don't have a Braille option, but I'm looking into it.

butt pain multiple sclerosis

The only butt pain I have right now is from my little sister doing the Rain Dance on my arse while I was laying on the floor trying to ease the pain in my chest by putting pressure on it. I was pinned and couldn't get up to kill her, but I got her back later. My mom has problems with sciatica from time to time, so maybe I could get her to start a blog, but she doesn't have MS, that came from my dad's side.

Multiple sclerosis I feel the need for speed t shirt

What a great idea for a t shirt! See, it's funny because I can't do anything with speed without hurting myself and I don't always think "speed" when I think of MS, quite the opposite actually.

older sister's wedgie pain

That gives me an idea. I'll let you know if I live through that experiment or not...

Sunday, April 5, 2009


Due to too many things going on in the next few days, I foresee me having less time to get on here. We are moving Monday and this house is no where near ready and nobody else seems bothered by that. I have hideous visions of the messy move ahead of us and me pulling out the cattle prod to get their lazy arses motivated. Until I am able to get back to lethargically surfing the Internet, I leave you with these topics to discuss in my absence:

*Why are brussel sprouts so gross?

*Yea! We get a much needed break from Blindbeard and her inane comments! Quick everyone, let's do something fun while she is gone!

*Should I adopt Blindbeard's habit of cutting up the lemons life gives you and squeezing the juice into every one's eyes around me so they can suffer too?

*What is the most ridiculous thing you ever tripped over? And a dust mote is already taken.

*How many times can one hear, "Whaddya do to your leg?" before snapping and beating down the questioner with a cane?

*Why does it take a can of WD 40 and a crowbar to get kids into the tub?

*How many pills can a person take in a day and still remain functional?

*Am I still functional?

I look forward to your answers.


Friday, April 3, 2009


There are a lot of things in this world that are just uncool in any language. I do things that would make even the most remote tribe in Africa say, "that was really uncool." Like yesterday when the UPS man delivered my controlled substance medicine. I answered the door with my hair trying to pull itself off my head and a hamster in my front sweatshirt pocket -- I was really happy to see him. I signed his little electronic device thing with one hand holding my hamster and explaining to him that I had a hamster in my pocket so I only had one working hand. He didn't care. He only wanted to hand me my meds and get away from the crazy lady as fast as possible. He had other deliveries to make to more conventional people, people who don't brush their hamster's luxurious locks with a Barbie comb. (In my defense, my hamster enjoys being combed.)

My little sister and I are planning a trip to South Dakota next month around the time of my birthday, which is the same as Jeffery Dahmer's. Of course I would have the same birthday as someone so obviously uncool as that. We are making a pilgrimage to the Laura Ingalls Wilder sites, both being big fans of her since we first cracked open Little House In The Big Woods -- too long ago to remember when that was exactly. We have been there once before, but went with my whole family in a group that more resembled a traveling circus side show instead of a family trip. In excited preparations for the trip, I dusted off my sun bonnet, which is an official Laura Ingalls Wilder bonnet, and polished my "I Love Laura Ingalls Wilder" pin that will be firmly fastened over my heart for the duration of that whole trip. Sugarbowl told me how uncool both those things are, and said she knew I would be wearing them the whole time of the trip regardless of anything she says. I had to point out -- unnecessarily in my opinion -- several truisms to her:

First, cool people do not hang out at Laura Ingalls Wilder sites. It's not like a bunch of hot boys are waiting there to meet someone. In fact, any boys we do see have probably been dragged there by their wives for their little girls to see the sites, and even then I am willing to wager there won't be many of them either.

Second, it's hard to be cool when you have to lean on your little sister's arm for support. I am still not ready to use a cane, so someone's arm is my only other option -- well, that or a shopping cart, but I don't foresee too many shopping carts there either. And this time I am prepared for anyone stupid/rude/socially inept enough to ask if we are gays, so bring it on!

Third, like I care if it is uncool. That has never stopped me before and it's not going to stop me now.

See conceded that I was right and accepted my right to be uncool, even going so far as to say she might look into a sun bonnet for herself. Check and mate.

Thursday, April 2, 2009


Sadly, I did not find Braincheese's memory (http://brain-cheese.blogspot.com/2009/03/lost-and-found.html). I found something I had forgotten I had: bones. My first year after being diagnosed, I did the steroids 4 times in about 10 months and gained about 55 lbs. 55 lbs! That's even more insane than me! Luckily (??) I was "underweight" to begin with, so the weight gain did not cause any concern amongst the learned, even though I was concerned. I've always been thin; I have a smaller frame so weight does not stack up on me in an attractive way. Being almost 5' 10" barefoot, I can hide some weight better than my shorter comrades, but I can't hide an extra 55 lbs any better than anyone else. My face became a perfect circle and I lost my cheekbones for so long, I forgot what having cheekbones even looked like. I was not used to having such a big hind end, and tried not to look at my butt as much as possible -- it only stressed me out to think that people could walk behind me and see that jiggling around like I was smuggling cottage cheese in my pants. If I am going to smuggle anything in my pants, I would choose something better than cottage cheese, like peanut butter, or Reese's Pieces -- mmmmm! Before I get lost in contemplation of all things peanut-buttery and race into the kitchen to pillage our supply of peanut butter, I better get back to the subject at hand. (Peanut Butter, you and I have a hot date later today.)

I had actually given up on the idea of losing any weight and had accepted myself heavier. After being "too thin" for most of my adult life, I was enjoying having some curves -- not all of them, mind you. But because my butt was behind me (no pun intended), I was able to forget about it and enjoy the rest of having some meat on my bones, especially after I dropped about 15 lbs. I am now about 10 lbs heavier than I was before I did the steroids and, to be totally honest, I liked my body better about 15 lbs ago -- something my mom cannot wrap her head around. I don't want to say she has an eating disorder, but she is really weird about her weight. She grew up in an extremely dysfunctional home and if they gained any weight at all it was an occasion to make fun of them, so she has issues about 3 fat cells grouped up together on any part of her body -- a problem her daughters do not have.

I started dropping the weight after my antidepressants were switched to non-appetite stimulating drugs. Then my anti-fatigue meds jumped in to help suppress my urge to grab the funnel and empty the contents of the kitchen down my throat. Lastly, the MS Hug makes it painful to have too full of a stomach, so I have to nibble throughout the day instead of eating large quantities of anything, so the weight just keeps dropping off. Yeah, it's nice to have my cheekbones back, but there is a definite down side to having bones again. I fell up the stairs the other day and got bruises in places I didn't know could bruise. When I was fatter, my fat cells cushioned my falls and I didn't get as many bruises. Now I am more bruise than woman. It's hard to get comfortable when you have to shift around to find a place that isn't too sore for you to lay on. It's starting to get warmer and I may have to show off my bruised bird legs in shorts because I can't take the heat and shorts keep me cooler. And, to top it all off, none of my clothes fit well anymore and I'm too poor to afford any new ones, so I walk around with saggy bottomed jeans that make me look like I need a diaper change.

I never had much of a sweet tooth and getting back to my old self, thanks to med changes, has killed any desire for sweets, so I can't eat a bunch of candy to make my clothes fit better and get my body back to where I liked it best. And I can't eat more because the diabolical MS Hug won't let me fill up my guts without causing me an illegal amount of pain. Guess I'll just have to get used to saggy butted jeans and stay away from the Depends aisle in stores lest someone think I need help changing myself.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

My STDs Are On The Way!

Nothing makes me happier than getting STDs in the mail. I love to announce to everyone that my supply of STDs will soon be replenished. I wouldn't want them to worry about me running out. I have been stressing about whether I would get them before I did run out, so it sets my mind at ease knowing they are on their way. Come home to the oak tree, my little STD acorns! I was concerned that I wouldn't get my gonorrhea (Ritalin), chlamydia (Neurotin), or syphilis (Baclofen) before I ran out and had visions of pain, fatigue, and stiffness taking over my pathetic life -- even though they are welcome to it. Thank goodness that all my crabs that died off (antidepressants) will soon have new ones to take their place! I love getting a package of STDs and keep a sharp eye out for the mail person so I can thank her profusely. I wouldn't want anyone to doubt my excitement about receiving them and knowing they didn't fall into the wrong hands. All those STDs could get ugly in the hands of someone with less-than-noble intentions.

*Author's Note: My mail order meds come in a package with a huge STD stamped on them. I know that means "Standard" but it's more fun to assume it means something else. Simple minds, simple pleasures. Now, if you can excuse me, I need to wait by the door for my STDs.