Unforgivable

I'm a pretty forgiving person in general. I don't have too many things that are absolute deal breakers, there are a few, but not many, and even then with the right apologies etc. they can usually be worked out. This morning I ran into a total nonnegotiable. At 3 am almost to the minute, I was woken up by my cluster headache. This is the usual time so I just glance at my clock to make sure we are on schedule and to track the starting time so I know when to expect the end time, then play the waiting game. I recently started new meds so the severity of my attacks has really come down, so much so that I can play games as I wait out the 2 to 2.5 hours until the hot sledgehammer is done hitting me on the left side of my face/head. Sometimes, just to shake things up, instead of the hot sledgehammer to the side of my face, the cluster will take a pvc pipe and try to force it into my eye socket with the sledgehammer. It likes sledgehammers because they can really get some force behind them and they cause more widespread pain. But the cluster headache wasn't the problem, nor was the fire that was burning in my legs, thanks to my MS that wanted to remind me that it was still there in case I forgot, because when clusters are in town, I don't notice anything else. A pack of wild rabid possums could be gnawing off my leg and I wouldn't know it if I was having a cluster headache at the same time. But worst of all, stuck in my head was that Popo Zao (or however you spell it) song that Kevin Federline did. What in the name of tarnation was that song doing in my head, actually, just that one line, "let me see that popo zao." When was the last time you even thought of that song, or remembered that he did it? I can't remember the last time I thought about him, or the fact that he wanted to be a rapper and tried by making that one song that I think I listened to maybe twice on gossip sites years ago. I tried to think of every catchy song I could. Every song that when I think of it, it is stuck on repeat in my head for the rest of the day, all to no avail, even now that one line keeps popping up. I'm so ashamed. I'm ashamed that somewhere in a wrinkle of my brain, I stored a line of that song for years and it popped up to keep me company at 3 am along with my burning eye and legs. Why couldn't my MS attack that area of my brain? It's probably too busy destroying all my happy childhood memories to worry about silly things like useless snippets of obscure songs. It's unforgivable. 

I'm bored stiff with MS, literally and figuratively, so I am going to start writing about other subjects that are of interest to me or going on in my little world. I just wanted to give the heads up so no one is surprised if they come to a MS blog and read about how my dog threw up under my bed, ate it, threw up again, and then I threw up. These are things that are so exciting that I could not possibly keep them to myself. Now I got to go get into the shower because if I get into the shower just before Princess's alarm starts going off, she will get out of bed faster than she ever has to come galloping in to make sure I don't use all the hot water, how long am I going to take, why couldn't I wait, etc. etc. and that is just too much fun for me to resist. 

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.)

It Better Be Coming Around The Mountain

I'm so crusty and gross. I am going to be crusty and gross until Lord Lortab kicks in and I can stand upright without a hand on my back, grunting and shuffling along, like my ancient neighbor. Once I can stand, I'm taking the longest, most luxurious shower ever had by man or gimp. I'm going to scrub and condition and pumice like there will be someone else in my bed besides me and the dogs tonight. As it is, I feel my sciatica but not my lortab yet. And I still feel how crusty and gross I am. I have been working on restoring my bathroom floor (it dates from the 1880's) and it requires a lot of scraping and dust and particle flinging. Many nose blowings to see how black my boogers may have become in the 10 minutes since I last blew my nose. Many gouges and cuts on my hands. A blister on my left palm that burst and yet keeps oozing. Countless splinters in my poor arse. Glancing down after that last sentence, I saw my fingernails. Add them to the list of things that are not attractive.

When I realized that my pain had taken over my ability to work, yet my pain meds had not yet given me the ability to lie down on anything I value, (this chair is from Goodwill) I decided to visit my poor ol' neglected blog. I keep telling myself that I need to get back on here, yet I feel like I have nothing to talk about. The only things going on in my life are things that are far too mundane and boring to talk about. Then a slide show of past blog posts plays through my mind and I realize I built my reputation on the mundane, inane, and boring. (I wanted another -ane there, but couldn't think of one that would work. Bane? Candy cane?) I have a few things I've been meaning to write about brewing right now. As I think I'm starting to feel the beginnings of pain management, I'm going to have to go and grab a very comfortable, very ugly, very sleep inviting pair of pants and shirt. I have a hot date with a pumice stone and a heating pad tonight. All this excitement on a Thursday too. Just imagine what my weekends must be like and then you will understand why I'm too busy to blog, I have the softest feet this side of the Platte river.

How To Lose 200lbs Of Ugly Fat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Club

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

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

2. Should raging, unchecked hormones be illegal?

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

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

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


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

BELCH!

See you at 4 tomorrow morning.

Treacherous Roads

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

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

Why Am I So Slumpy?

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

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

Baby, It's Cold Outside

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

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.

The Paradoxes Of MS

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I Shouldn't Say This. . .

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

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

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

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

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

I Can't Take Me Anywhere

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

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

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

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

The Worst Companion EVER!

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

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

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

Happy Anniversary To Me!

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

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

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

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

Yodeling

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

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

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

Shhh! Be Berry Berry Quiet!

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

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

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

So Much Negativity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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