Old Hat

In news that will shock no one, the SSA has denied my request for a review and upheld the judge's decision. *Yawn* It is so unshocking I was expecting it. The only good news is that it can sometimes take up to 2 years to get a denial, so I didn't expect to hear so soon, even though I knew what the answer was. I'm glad they turned me down so quickly so that I can move (on up?) to the next stage: a civil suit. Even though there were material errors the judge made, they still came up with some cockamamie reason why they were going to uphold it. A reason devoid of any logic or reason, but it only adds to my determination to fight it. What else do I have to do besides shake an impotent fist at the SSA and make lewd gestures at them? Not much. All this reminds me of a friend of my ex's whose father had terminal cancer and was trying to get SSI. The man was in a wheelchair, on oxygen, home bound, and had a nurse to care for him full time, yet he fought the SSA for 3 years about whether he was disabled or not. When he got his first denial he wheeled his happy butt down to the SSA and told them that he can't even wipe his own ass, yet he was supposed to be able to do _____?! I can't remember what it was they said he could do. He died before he could win SSI, which I'm sure the SSA breathed a huge sigh of relief that one had died before they had to pull out the dusty, cobweb covered, rarely used "FAVORABLE" rubber stamp. I think they have a posse of trained monkeys to stamp "DENIED" on every application that comes in, monkeys that they buy bananas for with the money they are not giving to the disabled so they can have some semblance of a life -- the disabled, not the monkeys. Maybe I could get a job as a trained monkey. As long as I get a long nap break and can pull out the "FAVORABLE" stamp, I'm game.

If you are thinking you may need SSI any time within the next bazillion years, start saving your pennies now and get on the ball. It is a long drawn out process that has taken me almost 4 years so far and I see no end in the near future. I really want to file a suit against the SSA, against the judge, against the while process. They do not see MS as a disabling disease regardless of the evidence in front of their ugly, brain damaged, stunted reasoning processes, infuriating faces. I hate the whole lot of them, even though I hide it really well. I have a whole army of doctors who have submitted an encyclopedia of evidence to show that I did not find a crackpot doctor who was willing to say whatever it takes to get me disability so I can sit on my butt and do nothing all day. My little sister's ex's sister (still with me? Her ex sister-in-law.) never worked, never wanted to have to work, wanted to sit around and not brush her teeth -- seriously, her teeth are (what are left of them anyway) are rotten butter slabs -- and get paid to do so. She found a doctor in her town willing to say that she had a mental disorder. I don't find terminal laziness to be disabling, but what do I know? First they tried the bi-polar angle but when that didn't pan out and she got denied they changed it to schizophrenia. I've known several schizophrenics in my life and she is not schizophrenic. She finally got disability after 3 years for a diagnosis that changed more than Princess changes her unmentionables. I've had 2 respected neurologists submit their opinions that I can't work, a damning file from a psychiatric hospital, an ugly summary of my mental issues from a psychiatric nurse, the findings of my therapist who has been in the business of shrinking for over 25 years, and even a report from one of the SSA agents themselves, yet none of that meant a thing.

I don't want to start to rail against those who get disability when I may not be able to discern why, because I also know there are people who would think that about me. But I don't give a hoot what others' think. If I thought I could get a job and support myself, I would do it. But I know that I have a legitimate claim and I am not about to drop the case. I have to stop before I disintegrate into negative words and impotent threats that could get me into trouble.

Loose Ends

A few quick things I want to say then I am off to hunt up some cheap crap that I don't need at stores that know I am there to spend my pennies and welcome me with open arms, ie Hobby Lobby. That place sucks the money right out of my pockets, even if I just drive by I swear I lose a few dollars.

*Please comment away. I love all and any comments so don't ever feel the need to not comment because you think you comment too much. Your comments amuse me so much I would really miss hearing anything you have to say. I yukked it up over Diane's comment about only finding lesbians at hardware stores and that I need to look in the frozen food aisle for boyfriends and think when the time is right I may have to invest in some eau du meatloaf to try out her theory. In fact, I enjoy most of the comments so much I share them with my family and lay in bed at night still laughing at some of the things you guys (Midwesterner, we say "guys" for everything) come up with. So please do not hesitate to bury me under comments. One of the highlights of my day is to check my email and see what you have to say. Hmmm, meant that as a compliment but with a life full of low lights not sure how flattering that was, but you get my point.

*I have been meaning to thank you all for the awards that you have bestowed on me. I even have several drafts thanking everyone for the awards and appreciation that you gave me. The best part about it is that I started this website to say my piece (and get out?) and I never dilute myself on here, so it surprises me that people would enjoy that. I am totally myself (for better or for worse) so I am very pleased that people like me ("you like me! you really like me!"). I honestly thought I would get more negativity for my point of view, so to be appreciated and even enjoyed was a very pleasant surprise. I am glad that others, who may not always agree with me, enjoy what I have to say. In a strange way it is like an acceptance of who I am and that has done me a world of good.

*I am in total agony with my stupid TN. I upped my dose of Neurotin, which has been a god-send and I praise the gods of Neurotin throughout the day. When I talked to my neurologist, she said that I could go up to 3 times the dose I was taking. But I am slowly working my way up as I need it. I am loving the sleepy release that it gives me and even wake up at night when it wears off, so I keep a glass of water and some pills on my nightstand. It has made me cross and irritable but I am trying to not punish others because of my pain. Although Princess has taken to calling me "Mr. Krabbs" when I am short-tempered and cross. And because I am often too cross to write, my blogs may slow down a bit until I get this under control. I am having a whole host of problems and if I didn't know better (??) I would think I am having a relapse, which brings me to my next loose end.

*My neurologist said that a break through attack is rare on Tysabri; but if there is a 70% reduction in relapses wouldn't that leave 30% of the attacks? I think I have said that before, but I can't remember if anyone had any answers. It only makes sense to me. 70% is not 100%, so therefore I should expect an attack from time to time, right? It has been over 1.5 years of attack-free bliss, so it only makes sense to me that I should have an attack from time to time. When I called about pain management, the nurse said that my neuro wanted to see me in the clinic. I let loose a hearty, "DAMN!" then apologized. The nurse, nonplussed, said she hears a lot worse and got a good laugh out of my reluctance to see my neuro so soon again. Do the IV steroids help TN? I don't know but I am willing to do them if they will help, and the only way I would ever consent to doing them again is in extreme circumstances. And this is an extreme circumstance. My little sister is against my using steroids again because the last time I went crazy and she is worried about how I will take it now that my life is worse. She said I will have to have someone with me the whole time and even for sometime after, until I am past a certain time period. She says I lost the luxury of being alone if doing steroids and need an around-the-clock babysitter if I do them. She reminded me of the horrors of the loony bin to make me think this through, but I am willing to do anything if it will give me some relief.

I think that about sums it up. I'm riding the Neurotin pain-free high and want to terrorize the natives before it wears off.

If You Want My Body

And you think I'm sexy,

C'mon, Baby, help me outta these pants.

I walk funny. I don't know what other word to use for it. I tend to lean to the left side, the stronger side, and throw out my hips to keep upright. The way I walk has sent me to physical therapy 3 times too many and I've only gone 3 times. But I hated it each time. Well, that's not entirely true. The last time when I went for the bursitis from the way I walk, which messed up my hips, they did this massage thing to my saddlebags that felt good and made me almost forget that they were massaging the worst part of my body. Nothing like having someone hitch up your shorts to expose the fattest part of your body, then proceed to rub and massage it to make one feel that maybe they need to go to the gym. To combat this problem, I have found that if I wear tight pants it keeps my hips in line and makes me walk right. My little sister says I look like the picture above in my pants. Or like a jumbo soft serve ice cream in a kiddie cone. Or a muffin who is about to burst out of it's muffin paper. She can really wax creative when seeing me in my pants. I usually try to wear a long shirt or a sweatshirt to cover my overhang, but the other day when we were bowling on the Wii, my shirt kept coming up and showing off the tightness of my pants and the distress of my soft serve ice cream about to burst out of it's cone. I think they were jealous because I bowled a 182 and they were barely over a 100; they even laughed at the way I did my bowling form and kicked out my leg -- years of bowling league are really paying off for me right now. I have some loose pants that I will wear sometimes, but by the end of the day my hips are killing me and the ghost of physical therapy past haunts my dreams all night, making me return to my too tight pants the next day. I know it looks ridiculous and like someone who won't admit they need a bigger size, but I am okay with all that. The relief from hip pain makes my venturing out in plier pants worth it. Who cares that I need a small army to get back out of them? Not me! For something that isn't a major problem (except to those who have it) bursitis is very painful and a major fun killer. As much as I love to have my saddlebags be the focus of attention, I'd rather keep that bulge to myself. And if I look like a jumbo soft serve in a kiddie cone, I'm comfortable with that. If my muffin papers are straining to hold in my bulk, I don't care. As long as I keep bursitis at bay I will look like Patrick in Spongebob's pants and happily whistle Rod Stewart the whole day. The insults don't bother me, but the pain from my gimpy walk does.

Defining Moments

There are moments in life where it all comes together and you realize this is what I'm here for. Lately, while keeping my TN and couch company, I have been reflecting on some of those fabulous moments and not one to keep anything to myself, I have to share them. These are a few moments where I almost burst with pride and joy that my life has meaning even at times when I can't see it.

The other day at dinner (we always eat at the table as a family even if it is just Princess and I, my being old school like that) Princess was telling a story from school about a girl in her class who is somewhat of a bully. Princess was talking to someone else in her class and this girl told her to stop acting popular because she's not. We all laughed at the story and Princess told her she was just jealous because she's not popular either. Princess went on to say that she doesn't care what anyone thinks and I almost died and went to heaven/hell (not sure where I am heading) right there. Later this same girl pushed her into her locker and Princess pushed her back. At her old school Princess was having some trouble with a boy who was bullying her. I got tired of the teacher never seeing it and her coming home with bruises and marks on her so I told her to fight back. She was worried about getting into trouble but I told her that if I was called into the school because my little girl fought back against a big fat bully boy I would go in with a grin like the Cheshire cat and ask what my little girl did to this much bigger boy and why exactly did they have a problem with it?! Once she started returning his pushes he decided that this little girl has some fire in her and maybe he shouldn't mess with her. What made me push out my chest and walk a little taller was when she took him on for bullying others. He was picking on a boy in her class that always came to school in dirty torn up clothes and smelling bad. I told Princess to be nice to him even though he wasn't always the nicest, or ignore him even, but don't add to his misery because a child that goes to school that way is having some major problems at home. So the bully was picking on him and pushing him around and she got into the fray and pushed the bully back and told him to pick on someone his own size if he could find someone as fat as him. I would be hard pressed to find a moment that has made me more proud than I was of her for that.

My maternal relatives live in Michigan, 20 miles from Jackson in a tiny village packed with nothing to do. It has been a goal of mine for several years to go to Jackson while playing Johnny Cash's Jackson as loudly as possible. Why that was a goal of mine, I can't say. It was just on my list of things to do before I die. I am a HUGE Johnny Cash fan and I have wanted to go to Jackson while singing about going to Jackson for some time. So 2 years ago I had both my sisters and their kids with me when we decided we needed to go to Jackson because the fire has definitely gone out where my grandma lives -- actually I don't think there ever was a fire there, but why split hairs? My older sister has a totally tubular sound system that can be cranked up without distortion so we rolled into Jackson with our windows down and our system up and enjoyed the shocked/disgusted/horrified stares of the locals. Not only did I get to go to Jackson while singing off key about going to Jackson, but I had the people I care about most with me --minus my mom, she was gabbing with her family. It was the icing on the cake to be able to share that moment with them.

My dog is a gay homosexual. There is no way around that. I don't care what his sexual preference is, but I do care when he doesn't stick to his own species. At my old house we had a cat that had been through hell when he adopted me. Some kids had gotten ahold of him, tied a rope around his tail and did things to him that broke his tail and eventually made the greater part of his tail fall off because he was so scared of people I couldn't get the rope off in time to save the rest of his tail. Naturally we named him Stubby. Stubbs was a lover when he knew and trusted you but would hide from people he didn't know. I protected that cat from any harsh words, he being sensitive to loud noises or any kind of angry voice. But I couldn't always protect him from my horny dog. Both of them were fixed so I thought (wrongly) that it wouldn't be an issue. My dog is a yellow lab so he is much bigger than a cat, but he went after that poor cat with a zeal that made me see red -- the only time I ever broke my rule of never hitting my animals. He would be so busy trying to mount and hump Stubbs that I could come up behind him and give him a swift kick in the rear or give his tail a good yank. He knows when I pull his tail that he in in BIG trouble and as much as he hates it, he knows better than to try and bite or fight me about it, as much as he wants to. Stubbs had to be left at my old house, being an outdoor cat who only came in once in awhile I didn't want him to freak out by being moved and have something bad happen to him, plus my ex-husband likes him and wanted to keep him. I thought the sodomy would stop. Me and my rose colored glasses! He decided that Midget would make a good lover and has transferred his lovings to him. Luckily Midget is not one to surrender his virgin behind willingly and fights back. I was thrilled that my dog finally was interested in his own species but it only got better. The other day my older sister's female dog was over playing with our dogs and my dog, for the first time ever, tried to make puppies with a female of his own species! I was so proud! If the nosy neighbors decided to see what the hullabaloo was all about, at least my dog had the decency to do it with the correct animal to continue their species, not 2 males fighting bitterly, one oversexed and the other trying to fight him off like a Catholic school girl. There is no mistaking what he is doing when he pins down Midget and starts pumping away. And there is no mistaking Midget's very obvious displeasure, or my great embarrassment when I see the neighbors looking on in confusion and trying to herd their kids back inside before they figure it our too. I don't care if my dog is gay, I just wish he'd keep it private and not display it for the whole neighborhood. The only bright side is that he is not interested in humans at all, so I don't have to try and stop him from humping people. My older sister has a dog that is a lesbian and is always trying to climb on female visitors so she has to warn females who come over about the dog. I think that is worse than my dogs having a lover's quarrel in the back yard.

Its Hard To Be So Delicious

I wouldn't know, not being delicious in any way. My little sister won't touch hot dogs after I told her what my ex-hubby said about them. He worked in a meat processing plant for 10 years before starting on UPRR and said that if I knew what hot dogs were made of I wouldn't eat them. The joke is on him. I do know what they are made of and I do find them delicious anyway. We had pigs in a blanket the other day and I made the mistake of repeating what my ex said about hot dogs: that they are only anuses and eyelids. My little sister gave the rest of her pigs to the dogs while I enjoyed my eyelids and anuses. Some people are so silly.

Halloween was totally forgettable this year. We have a house full of great candy and my Trigeminal Neuralgia decided that I don't need candy, or food that requires any kind of chewing at all for that matter. I thought my TN was in the past. Sure, I still get jaw pain when I'm tired, usually at night or when I get too run down, but it has come back and I'm wondering why it likes the cooler months to torture me. The right side of my face is killing me and my teeth are singing that old song. The back of the right side of my jaw feels like the day after a dentist visit when you have to get a shot back there and it is really sore the next day. To add to my torture, everyone is enjoying candy and solid food that requires chewing right in front of me -- medieval torture chambers have nothing on my roomies. I can't stand anything touching that side of my face and kept waking up throughout the night whenever I would roll onto my right side, making my left side stiff and my chest feel flattened. (Note to self: contact neuro and see if anything would help the pain; ie better pain meds, shock treatments, frontal lobotomy...)

My little sister has to go to court for the 3 month review to see about child support for Princess. They lowered it 3 months ago (even though he is a veteran and gets over $1000 a month for being a stupid drunk and not working) to $90 while he was in his latest treatment center. Now before you applaud him for going to treatment, let me clear one thing up: he doesn't go to treatment unless something has happened and he is threatened with jail time, like a car accident or another DUI. Then when the danger has passed he goes back to being a drunken !&@*. My father-in-law is the same way, except he would never go to treatment, only stop drinking without a word about why until we heard later that he hit several parked cars and drug one for over a block with several witnesses and in full daylight -- he being a day drunk. A day drunk is the worst. People expect a drunk late at night, not when they are coming home from work or picking up their kids from school, and when I said to my ex that he was going to kill someone someday then how would he feel? My ex said that his father doesn't care and has no remorse for his actions. A fine specimen of humanity at its best. The last time he stopped drinking for over 6 months we found out later that he had hit a truck at a fishing hole while backing up with his fishing boat in tow, lost his license, was dropped by his insurance and looking at possible jail time. Once the danger of jail time didn't materialize he started hitting the bottle again and driving even though he has no license. So when my little sister said she wanted to go shopping for something decent to wear to her court date -- she has to look her best for her ex's to make them sorry (??) -- I was less than thrilled to go along and help her pick out an outfit to wow the drunken pants off her ex and told her I couldn't possibly find any motivation to get off the couch, put down the peanut butter and go with her. I realize you don't want your exes to be glad they aren't with you, but to try and make them regret letting you go when they aren't worth keeping themselves?! That I cannot relate to. My ex is lucky if I throw on a clean sweatshirt and socks without holes in them. I crawl into town to do whatever it is that makes me have to see him with a crappy "laundry day" bra and unflattering clothes. Never any makeup or any semblance of control with my unruly hair. I don't care how he feels about my leaving and if my appearance scares him off, which it hasn't done yet *sigh*, I still can't care.

So what was the point of all this rambling? I don't know. I had to share the picture of Midget Poo Poo Platter exhausted by the weight of his delicious, fluffy buns and I had to share the boring details of my life right now -- I'm nice like that. Hope your Halloween was less forgettable then mine and I am off to do Tysabri today, on what would have been my 7 year wedding anniversary. For the record, I agree with Lisa Emrich's (I think it was Lisa who said it) comment about not needing to worry about boyfriends right now, my divorce being so recent. I only wear makeup when I go oot and aboot with my little sister because she worries about me if I am too antisocial for too long. She thinks I need to get out there again and I think when the time is right it will happen, it doesn't need to be forced. But to appease her I tame my hair and put on my eyes and play the social gimp, so she won't worry about me. The downside to having made a "suicide attempt" is that everyone worries too much when you are down and they want to make you "all better." So to keep them happy and not worried, I pretend to care about the opposite sex when with my little sister, which she will report to the rest of my family about and lessen their worry. Anything I can do to put their minds at ease I will do... except most of the things they want me to do. But I can pretend.

The Only Person In The World With A Disability

My biggest pet peeve is a pretty simple one: rude people. It brings out the worst in me, even though my little sister says I am a bull in a china shop when I hear something I don't want to and then proceed to kill the messenger. Like when I was trying to get the new Eragon and Walmart was sold out. The lady, not realizing that I have been waiting for over a year for that book, brushed off the fact that some moron under-ordered that book and they were sold out by the time I got there, and I get up early so I was not exactly in the store at a late hour. Her blase attitude irritated me so much I wanted to rip off her head and vomit into her spinal column. She was too busy standing around gossiping to see if there were any more in another part of the store. I didn't give her Shaken Moron Syndrome, which she should thank me for, but did stalk out of Walmart telling myself that I will not waste my pennies there ever again. Alas, their cheap prices reel me in in spite of my vow to see Walmart crash and burn. Yesterday I went to Walmart to spend some pennies and look over their cheap prices of things I may not really need (like that has ever stopped me before), when I encountered a woman with a service dog. (Speaking of dogs, one of mine just let loose a stinky so I may not be too coherent for the rest of this post.) I am not one to judge anyone with a disability, being a twisted heap of gimpness myself, but this woman was so rude I had to hold that against her. First, she was blocking an entire aisle with her fat butt and cart. I said "excuse me" and she glanced at me and didn't move one fat cell to let me pass. My little sister said that maybe she was blind and that was why she had a service dog, but I know service dogs are used for more than just the blind and she was not blind, being able to see an employee and rope them in to do her shopping. I ran into her in the beauty aisle getting an employee to get her different pit juices for her to smell and see if they would be good enough for her precious pits. I was looking for pit juice for Princess and knew which one I wanted, but I had to wait for her majesty to move her fat arse to be able to get it. I gave her the stank eye for being so impolite as to not move when some one is obviously trying to get around her. She had the look in her eyes of, "I'm disabled, Peasant!" of which I think we have all seen. I'm disabled too, but I don't use it as a reason to make others my servants. If anything it makes me more determined to do it myself, thank you very little. But not her. After she found the only pit juice that she could possibly lower herself to rub on her body, she moved on to another part of the beauty aisle, near the, *gulp*, douches. I ran away with thoughts of Self-Righteous-Hag scented douches filling her meat curtains hole that effectively killed my appetite. I wanted to avoid running into her again because, believe it or not, I didn't feel I could trust myself not to say something rude and didn't want to ruin my good mood. Its rare for me to exhibit such self control and I wanted to be able to keep ahold of my tongue because it has a habit of spouting out stuff before my brain has a chance to think it through. Going through housewares, I saw her again, this time looking for vacuum bags, ordering the employee to find her the right bags. I heard her rudely say, "Either you have it or you don't!" to the unlucky employee and several tart things came to my mind. I went in the other direction. But that diabolical being seemed to have the same shopping list as me and I ran into her again in the electronics aisle where she was ordering her subjects to find her the exact extension cord she wanted. I was thinking about what I would do with that extension cord and her if we were left alone too long when our eyes met again. I'm a gimp. I think that is pretty well established. There is no mistaking the fact that I have a disability. The way I walk is very obvious that there is something wrong with me. I could discern no such disability in her, but I know that does not mean there is not one. I could get a service dog if I wanted, but I don't want, so I don't have one. My balance is terrible and I can't walk very far without some kind of support, but I try not to be rude to people because of it -- only when I meet rudeness do I respond in kind. So when her haughty eyes met mine and she saw how I was walking, I saw a glimmer of... what's the word I want here? Shame? Recognition of a kindred soul? Whatever it was, her look changed. Instead of gearing up to try and shame me for trying to get around a disabled and entitled person, she decided (wisely) to change tact and move over a millimeter for me to get by. I was ready to let loose this 3rd unlucky meeting and inform her that she was not the only shopper with a disability and maybe she needed a douche for her attitude (it needs flushing out), but she didn't take the challenge offered in my look. I passed her again later and she was being more polite to the person helping her out. I know I am not always the nicest. I know that I do not excuse disabled people the way some of them are used to. And I know that I like it that way. Don't get me wrong, I definitely have my "pity, party of one" days, but I keep to the house and don't torture others because I'm disabled. If anything, I can't stand being treated differently because of my disability and I won't treat others differently because they are disabled too. But if you want someone to make fun of you for making others get you your favorite douche, I'm your woman.

Rut

Ever feel like you just keep jogging along in the same old ruts? I got that right now. I have a hideous case of the ho-hums and they are kicking my butt. My house is about to fall down around us and I'm the only one who has noticed. I had to kick yodelers off the laundry pile to get it downstairs. No matter how many times I tried to tell them that it was not a gnarly ski slope waiting to be conquered, they climbed right back up and started that whole "RIC-OOOOO-la" thing again. Different aspects of my neurologist visit are rattling around my head like a swarm of angry bees, making me reevaluate different things about my life and the things I am/am not doing. I hate introspection and try to avoid it in general. I know that I need to do such-and-such and blah blah blah, but that doesn't mean I want to. The worst part of leaving one's comfort zone is the discomfort, but I'm sure you saw that one coming. So to help purge this stuff from my brain, I am going to get rid of it on here and maybe I can get back to life, or what I call my life. I find writing is a great catharsis for me. I don't like to talk about my problems or what is bothering me to my family too much because it only makes them upset and worry about me, neither of which I am too keen on having to endure. I know they mean well, but I don't want to be coddled and treated like a delicate invalid who needs gentle words and loving support. Sometimes I need to hear the ugly truth no matter how much it angers me. Like my little sister telling me that my bad attitude is my biggest problem and that I am a huge pain in her huge rear end. That is refreshing. So here is what is making me more of a lug than usual:

Undiagnosed Mental Disease?
To be 100% honest, I know I do suffer from something more than just your garden variety depression. I come from a long line of crazy people so it only makes sense that I inherited the crazies too. My father, who I got the MS from (it runs in his family. He has 2 cousins who had it), also has bipolar disorder. Or so he says. I think it is a misdiagnosis and he is really borderline, but what would I know about it? Only that my little sister has borderline personality disorder and there is a strong resemblance between the two. I think (and this is killing me to admit) that I am bipolar. I go through phases where "I am Blindbeard! Hear me roar!" then when that phase is gone I go into the I-am-worthless-and-suck-eggs phase where I don't want to even get out of bed and if I do it is only to mope around the house and avoid all public interaction. When my neurologist was reviewing the medicines I take, which she does often, being shocked (impressed? horrified?) by the amount of antidepressants I take and the problems I still have, she asked who put me on a certain med because it increases appetite. Those dirty words will strike fear into any fat hag who has minimal activity besides pushing buttons on a remote. So I decided that I needed to take matters into my own fat hands and have been weening myself off that med. Sometimes I hate being put on something that I'm not sure I want anyway and I like having some say about what goes down my gullet. Not everyone enjoys that quirk in my personality.

Them: "How is X working for you?"
Me: "I stopped taking it/changed the dose."
Them: "Why?!"
Me: "I don't feel I need that/that much of it."
Them: "I prescribed that for a reason!"
Me: "Are we done yet? I need a nap and want to finish this jar of peanut butter before someone else does."

Psychiatrist
I'm glad I'm finally going to see someone about the psych meds I take. I think they need tweaking. There has to be something out there that will work better for me and make me feel better. And anyone who has been there knows how hard it is to get into see a psychiatrist, so I was pleasantly surprised when the nurse called me the next day to schedule an appointment. While getting all my information (read "billing information" because they are more interested in how they are going to get paid) the nurse asked me why I wanted to see the psychiatrist. Uhh... because I wanted to see what her plans were for this Christmas, why do you think?! I told her the truth: because I'm crazy. She yukked it up and was able to pencil me in. I find it hard to believe that that was a knee slapper; she has to have heard it a million times before, but I appreciate her humoring me.

"You Need To Socialize More"
But what if I don't wanna?! What if I want to build myself a hut out of sticks and twigs and live a hermit's life? I know I need to get over getting MS, but it is so much easier said than done. I have been pondering this whole need-to-get-out-more-and-mingle-with-the-natives thing and I know I need to, but it is hard for me to leave my sticks and twigs hut where I am comfortable tending to my 57 cats. My little sister agrees with this so much I was annoyed by her hearty agreement. She thinks I need to find a boyfriend to help me get out more. She also thinks a "pickle tickle" (her words, not mine) would help my bad attitude. The only pickles I am interested in are the ones in the fridge and I KNOW I do not want them tickling me. So lately I have been accompanying her more when she runs around. I even told her I was willing to shop for boyfriends, but I don't want anything serious. I'm not sure where one can find boyfriends anymore, but I'm on the look out. I thought a home improvement store would have a good selection of boyfriends but I haven't gotten to one yet.

So there it is. The things that keep going around and around my head. Now I am off to try and get something done before the couch starts whispering sweet nothings to me. I can never resist a couch that has sweet nothings to whisper into my ear.