March Is Coming In Like An Idiot

Last night was a bad night.

A very BAD night.

Terrifying dreams involving me being crushed by a skinny dying woman at a beauty salon; chasing criminals towards an open , non-functioning elevator;  and the overwhelming smell of spoiled food.  Three separate dreams. not just one.

New stabbing pains in my right cheek.  Well, new at night anyway.  Blindness approaching I bet.

And seriously escalating leg anguish.  Usually night is a bit of relief because the pressure is literally off.  Not last night.  Sheez!  If I was my neighbor I would have called the cops to find out who was torturing the old crazy lady next door.  I did my best to stifle screams of agony;  but I feel I should post a written apology on my hallway door.

This pain is almost indescribable.  Like contractions of labor they recur over and over.  They make me think of how I've heard crush injuries are experienced.  Twisting razor wire and pummeling cinder blocks and machete-like bone slivers also come to mind.

Sleep is impossible and a comfortable position does not exist.

My kingdom for a chainsaw and the guts to use it.

And snow is expected yet again.  So far this month sucks.

Snow Bound Yet Again

This is what it looked like last week.

Stay tuned.

It will be here again on Wednesday night.

In all likelihood I will have to cancel yet another doctor's appointment.

Might not seem insurmountable; but with one barely functioning leg, one leg almost useless and agonizing, two aluminum canes, no boots, ice covered parking lot, and little physical confidence even this level of snow is able to cripple me.

Just kill me now.

Lost

Even if Kubler- Ross had it right, this knowledge about the grief cycle is not helping me.

Physical and emotional losses have hit me like a ton of bricks in the last several years.  I never denied them. I realized clearly what was going on; no denial was involved.  Intractable pain is not something I could ignore or pretend that it wasn't happening.  Banishment by former dear ones was also made undeniable.   SMASHO!

And maybe that was the problem right from the start.  Maybe if I had pondered the impossibility of these events I would have been better prepared for what came next.  In any case I've been stuck at anger for far too long. Every morning the pain wakes me up, then literally brings me to what is left of my knees during the day, and crushes me into bed at night.  Does this make me furious?  You betcha! The emotional wounds by people I thought I knew better cause  me to fantasize serious science fiction type torture for them all.  Anger is what I've got these days.  But, whoa, if I ever got hold of real weapons on an especially bad day; and there's no telling how much or how many I would annihilate.

Still, perhaps I've been lagging at this stage longer than is helpful.

I don't think bargaining is for me.  No one I know is willing to change much less listen to what I'd need to say.  Not much talking goes on in my sibling circle.  Drama, yes.  Photo opportunities, yes.  Serious conversation, NEVER.  Not with me anyway.  Who knows what they are scared of.  And there is no bargaining regarding medical care.  I am poor, old, and over weight.  Limitations prohibit any optional discussion.  YIKES.  Working around all this stuff is exhausting.

So what's left is acceptance.  And, 'dear holy god and matrimony' I am trying.  But, I am seriously considering the chain saw aisle at the big box.

I Wish I Had An Orange

This time of year and this particular season are incredibly difficult for me.

Learning lessons from the bleak outside changes and shivering through the dropping temperatures are unwelcome experiences.  Skies filled with potential of snow and other frozen problem makers fill me with dread.  And self-pity, of course.  These days I take almost everything personally.

And as my body interior systems continue to fail I desperately have to come up with new strategies to keep myself from jumping off a bridge.  I don't have an orange today.  I wonder if I can trick myself into accepting the canned peaches as a substitute.  This is what I am learning.  On Monday I will go to the grocery and hope that I remember to purchase an orange to be prepared for the next fruit crisis.  Sometime those substitutes just don't work.

Chores are different, too.  For me the ability to stand while doing a sink load of dirty dishes is a major accomplishment.  Who would ever thought I, of all people, would be proud of such a task?  And is it truly considered standing if I am leaning half of me against the counter while scrubbing?  And literally counting the seconds before I collapse in pain before I finish cleaning the silverware?  These are realities for me not whining.

Entertainment is parcelled between bathroom squabbles and repositioning the dead or dying body parts.  I don't know how else to describe it.  I wonder why it is organs that are broken or diseased or not longer functioning properly can be removed; but the leg which causes such agony and hinders so many life qualities cannot be sliced off and tossed in the rubbish heap.  Luckily I do not own a power saw.  This form of imagining is free amusement for the ill.

Anyway, I am getting through the days.  I wish I was more like the saints I read about years ago in catechism class.  They offered their suffering  quietly up to god.  My big secret even back then was that I thought they were all fools.  They endured their individual  excrutiations and didn't even allowed themselves to yell out loud.  Still, I imagine there is a sort of dignity in it.  I ain't got that skill.  And I do so wish I had an orange.

Sad Rolls In

Made literally thirty plus phone calls attempting to complete doctor homework.

 Yes, I'd be happy to see you, sir, in another month if I could ever get through to your office to make another appointment.  That's a joke, right?  The earliest opening is the week before Christmas?

Hello?  Please.  To whom do I speak to request referral to specialists?  No, I don't have the name because the insurance has not located anyone nearer than 100 miles.  Well, she told me to get the referral first?  But, you say I should get the names first?  Tell you what, why don't you just sign the damn thing and send me a bunch of copies?

Morning and how sick am I of medical topics?!  Jillions!  There must be other subjects.  And fighting with the post office does not count.  And realizing all the sexy locations I am never going to be able to see don't count either.  I'd love to discuss the neighbor lady who abscond with one of my best lines to flirt with the UPS guy.  Damn her.  A conversation with someone interested in ephemera (Isn't that the coolest word?) projects and the crazy houseplants would be sweet.  First in line would be also.

And DO not tell me to stop whining and just get going.  This IS me not whining.  You ain't just NEVER seen the whining me.  As far as getting going is concerned?  Bite me.

Can Things Get Any Worse?!

Every day I wake up to pain.  This is old news of course.  And now I've got these ridiculous blood clots surfing my veins and incomprehensible bleeding in what is left of my brain.  Yeah, I've got much to whine about physically speaking.

Ancient Vehicle is approaching deadlines.  Bathroom items are flooding the floor and the ceiling.  Is this even possible?  And Internet Explorer is boycotting some of my favorite blogs with no apparent reason.

Much to cry about and wallow in self pity.  But, yes, it has become worse!

Lead story of the local news is a bacon shortage in our area!

Why, why, why?!  Who is trying to kill me now?  If chocolate goes next...well, there will no be reason to live!

Last Legs

So far September has been a lovely month for weather, however it seems to be taking its toll in many other areas:

• Three ambulances yesterday and last night here at Elder House.
• Personal arthritic limb torturing with new level of agony. I didn't think it was going to get WORSE.
• Mitt the Man is wishing he had been born in Mexico.
• Internet Explorer is now completely unable to display several of my favorite blogs for no apparent reason.
• Rice will kill us all.
• Bullies from the past are raising their heads.
• Ancient Vehicle, which has been treated with two brand new tires, is glistening with dashboard threats.
• Medical Catch 22's.
• PT fear is raising.
• Out of raisin bread.

Someday I owe myself an effort to post a version of "first" leg list.

Vocabulary Illogica

Grouchy old woman here...

Some words are simply not needed.  Personally, I don't see the need for "snail mail."  Email was the new phrase and it quite adequately defined its purpose.  Mail, referring to the postal service means of communication which had been in use for many years, was also a clear definition.  Let us use those two (mail and email) and leave us alone.

However lately a phrase has been tossed specifically in my direction and it has particularly gotten my goat.

"Bury the hatchet."

What the hell does that mean? 

Do I get to smash a sharp implement into something or somebody?  Do I get to use the level of force of my own choosing?  Do I get to select the item or individual?  If so the phrase is becoming interesting.  But my guess none of these is intended by the original speaker.

My guess is that I should let go all the nasty, evil ill truths spent over the years by these individuals.  I should let all these folks off the hook (There's another doozy of a phrase!) so that they can continue their lives with consciousnesses clear and total lack of responsibility.  This assumed burying will  eliminate any culpability or verbal discussion to clarify any centuries old confusions.  No matter what it means, there will be no hatchet burying on my part.

And it does not and should not matter.  As I have said and written before, I do not blame anybody else for my problems.  Despite my repeating this again and again a specific individual has persisted in spreading this illusion.  My life doesn't have that many "problems" in the first place.  And secondly, I think this individual adores being in the central of any family drama.  If she would finally shut up about me she would have to find a new victim and this is probably easier for her.  And since she does not have the guts or the courtesy to speak to me directly these are the only options I have been allowed.  That will probably never happened either.

Anyway, it seems like every time I get this crap off my chest this group brings it up with a new twist to hurt me and make themselves apparently innocent.  They are not.  Neither am I, for that matter.  The difference is that I have a grasp of reality and they do not.  Please, please bury your own damn hatchet.

Good Morning

Dandelion = Rustic Oracle

Now to the laundry...

Spare Me

Small animal photos.

Orders to copy and paste to prove that I am reading your entries.
Posts with misspelled words.
Posts exclusively composed of "text-ese."
Pseudo religious pleas or instructions.

Orders to copy and paste so that I will avoid dire consequences.
Links to horrible music.
Exhortations about dead family members.
Links to gun or gun owner sites.
Images of trite encouragement. Trite images of encouragement.

Sports related links.
Political links.

Thank you.  I promise to do the same.

Kill All The Incompetent

This has been another frustrating week; and so in order to preserve what little is left of my sanity and to save the economy I am putting my foot down once again.

Filling a prescription should not require an act of Congress.  It should also not require a translator or the use of nuclear weapons.  There is no excuse for illegible prescriptions in 2012.  There is no reasonable reason why it should take more than a week to remedy the situation. Medical offices should be quick to admit their error, rectify it, and apologize.  Not returning phone calls does not make for good PR, nor does it aid the ailing and desperate patient.

Delivering a package is another task that should be painless for all involved.  Bringing the item to the receiver as promised and WHEN promised are not complicated tasks. Delivery companies should make their policies clear and when those policies fail the very least they should offer is a live human who can answer questions.  They do not offer that as an option.  "Our menu has changed" is not an excuse for the endless looping and avoidance of responsibility that a call to an 800 number has become.

So...

Office managers.  ESL telephone receptionists.  Doctors with attitude.  Lying delivery people.  Anyone not doing their job to the best of their ability.  All of you lazy, worthless fucks who contribute to making my life the living hell that it has been this week.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Ridiculosity

This week I finally decided to purchase a little red rock.  I had saved up sufficient pennies and located the exact item at the Big Box website.  I even called the store itself to ensure the red rock I had in mind was available.  All good.  Go for launch.

What do you think happened?

In the red rock aisle I found box after box of sparkly rocks and battery operated rocks and rocks with all manner of attachments.  None of which I desired or intended to pay for.  When I finally located a Big Box employee she suggested I try the low tech red rock aisle.  So I did.

What do you think happened?

No red rocks at all.  Stretchy rocks.  Bendy rocks.  Rocks with extra long handles.  But nary a plain red rock.  Ah, well.  I chalked it up on the ever growing list of disappointed shopping experiences and went to the grocery departments.

Waited several days.  Armed with a bit more patience and a view of the actual website listing of the desired red rock I phoned the store again.  Spoke to the red rock department manager.  She said:  "We have it on the shelf.  I am looking at it."  I jokingly requested that she save it for me.  Could she put it at the service desk?  No.  Hide it behind some other rock containers?  No.  Okey Dokey.  I saddled up for another trek.

What do you think happened?

In the red rock aisle.  Same snazzy rocks as before.  Not the rock I was promised.  Shanghaied a Big Box employee (a man this time) told him my tale of woe and he ASSURED  me he would personally place the red rock in my hands.  Back to the same aisle where he proudly lifts one of the battery operated rocks and turns to me,  "There you go!"

After I explained yet again that I did not want THAT rock, after I described the rock I was ASSURED was in stock, and after I restrained myself from ripping out his larynx; I listened in astonishment while he explained that they could not order the rock I hoped for unless they already had the actual rock.

What do you think happened?

I leaped over the scooter basket and pummeled the guy and his sparkly rock into a bloody pulp and left him to die on the floor.  Well, not really.  But I did choose my words VERY carefully.  "You are the Big Box for god's sake!  You are the KINGS of the department store world!  If you can't sell me a simple red rock then you are a bunch of goddam fakes who should be ashamed of yourselves!"  Then I spun around in the electric cart and drove away.

This is my vow:  I WILL find and purchase the red rock in question.  Then I will bash in the head of each Big Box employee in my path who made this transaction so goddam ridiculously complicated.

Drain

Another week of beautiful weather.
Outside.
Where I rarely go.
Pain is such an inhibitor.
Fear also.
The breeze is incredibly enticing and windows are open wide.
I share what I can.
I am grateful.
Yes.
I am grateful.
A week on the blasted cell phone.
Trying to make contact.
Trying to understand.
Trying for answers.
Trying.
Trying is exhausting.
Especially when there is nothing to show for it.
This state of affairs masquerades as laziness or lassitude.
The fight begins before I am out of bed.
That doesn't count.
No space on the score card.
Get over it.
Go on.
Go.

Do The Hokey Pokey

How do you know if a place is haunted?

I go to bed early.  I doze.  I read.  I get up to pee.  I look out the window.  I rearrange blankets.  I plan the next day's meals.  I think about calls I have to make and emails I want to send.  I cry.  I pray. "Lather rinse, repeat" like the old instructions on a shampoo bottle.

And last night I listened to a brand new sound.

From the kitchen I am almost sure.  Dripping?  Crinkling?  Munching?  Oh God!  Please NOT munching!  If there are mice or rats I am going to get medieval in a particularly hideous old lady manner! 

All the trash is double bagged.  The only "food" not contained in fridge or cabinet are some new, red potatoes, two oranges and two kiwis.  Counters are wiped and floors are as crumb free as possible.  Yikes!  Please not critters!  There have been no signs and the noises go on for far too long.  Wouldn't rodents chow down and move along?

It's not anything clinking in a breeze.  The window is only open an inch or two and the night is still.  All is calm.  All is bright.  Even the noisy plastic bags from the Big Box are stowed away.  No other possible sources of a crinkle.

That leaves dripping as the only option I can imagine.  But it's 3:15.  If I limp out there to discover a huge puddle there is nothing I can do about it.  And of course, I'd have to navigate a potential flood without slipping and crashing myself.  How badly do I want the paramedics to see my massive self splayed on the soggy floor?  Nope, nope, nope.  Exploration can wait til daylight.

I listen more.  Eventually I sleep.  Cloudy morning.  Since procrastination is my current favorite sport, I treat myself to another LUSH shower.  Thank you, Eldest Daughter.  I medicate.  I dress.  I  hobble to the kitchen and find:

NOTHING!!!  No puddles.  No debris.  Nothing moved or out of place.  No nibble marks on the counter foodstuff.  Nothing is even damp!

So, do I call maintenance and report a ghostly noisemaker?  Or do I wait til the ceiling crashes in?  Or do I do the Hokey Pokey?

Birds Are Morons

Birds are morons and I want them all to die.  May they all come down with avian flu or swine flu or pony flu or whatever disease is most newsworthy at the moment.  Anything!  Just to shut them the fuck up at four in the morning!

I thought when the Loud Mouth Lady and her Yappy Dog and "possibly criminal" Husband finally left we would have some peace and quiet here at Elder House.  Oh, she of the leather lungs and boomingly inappropriate laugh would hold conferences in the long and very echoey hallway day after day after day.  Had they not left when they did I think I would have looked into having them pecked to death by birds and buried in the back yard.  And now I hear through the curmudgeon grapevine that this couple is notorious for moving in and out of the building as they become discontent with their living arrangements.

Hasn't research shown that what some folks think of delightful bird song is really a feathered call for sex?  "I'm a bird!  I'm a bird!  I'm a bird! Let's do it!  Let's do it!"  Guys!  If it didn't work yesterday it most likely will not capture the lady birds' mojo today either!  Take the show on the road already!  Or at least out of earshot of this building.  Please.

Ambiance

I am not lazy.  I like it clean.  Picking stuff up is hard when I use both hands simply for balance.  Sweeping?  Which leg do I risk?  If I let go the crutchy support, how long do I have before the knee gives way?  So I do the best I can.  I pace myself.  I cry.

Today I did laundry.  Today I folded laundry AND put it all away.  I carried dishes back and forth from the counter to the table and back to the sink.  I watered plants.  I managed to get the empty body wash container into the trash basket with a minimum of hysteria. I figured out how to change out the stained glass.

This might not sound like much.  Not for the normies out there.  It was a lot for me.  I'm not tired.  Not even I get exhausted from such minimal physical exertion.  It's the fear and the frustration and the shame that stress me out.  My time is SO limited and there is always more to get done.  Sundowning and drug interactions hobble me also.

Today I  gave myself a reward.  I burned some incense.  I cobbled together a mini crab salad sandwich.  And I made my first ever smoothie.  Just for me.  Just for being a good girl.

Just For Today

This is probably a result of watching too many doctor shows online.

But why couldn't it be a giant, honkin' tumor?  Rip me open and scoop the damn thing out and chuck it in the trash.  Huh?

Or why can't I just get the damn leg chopped off at the hip?  Let somebody experiment on it.  Bonus weight loss for me,eh?

Maybe the bloodwork will show a new disease that necessitates massive painkillers or injections of some kind.  And then the doctor will get me into a fancy, schmancy clinical study somewhere.  Or an up and coming medical reasearcher will want to glom onto my case to advance knowledge and save people.

But the truth is...

The actuality is that none of those options will occur.

This pain will go on forever and I will keep missing the good parts of life outside these walls.  I used to be afraid of becoming one of those huge, bed bound freaks who can't leave their house because of their weight.  I didn't ever suspect that I'd be locked in by the inability to walk.  Well, I am not quite the hugest of freaks; but I am certainly bound.  This leg.  This pain.  I am a prisoner.

And I doubt I can tolerate it much longer.

National Women's Day

If it weren't for my trusty buddy Google I would not have been aware that today is the day!

One day for Women!  More than half the population on the planet and we get ONE Day!  And, a most emphatic NO!  Mothers' Day doesn't count.  Eliminates too many of us by definition and the Hallmark Smack is too apparent. (A parent...Good one.)  Is it irony that WD comes on the day when a huge solar storm threatens the state of absolutely everything?  Props to the universe!

Zana Bayne, who always attends the best parties, posted this photo of the West gay bash in lovely NY.  I can't say why it seems so appropriate, but it does.  My daughters had an entire collection of those He Man guys.  What happened to them?

Bad night.  Even more pain in new places.  Came as quite an unpleasant shock.  I am sleepier than usual and bitter.  It's supposed to be lovely outside and I'm probably going to miss it.  Late day means late start at meds.  Which means later start to agony semi-control.  And I've got shit to do!  Yeah!  Us gimps got shit to do just like the normies of the world.

One more thing.  Pollution.  There's a word you don't hear very often.  Maybe it's because all the crapulence has ratcheted up so far and so fast that polluted is the assumed starting point.  Too bad if that's true.  Lately the pollution in my life has been of an extremely poisonous and personal nature.  So far it has been confined to the inter webs; but I bet the spread has begun.  Doing what I can to control and contain.  Difficult job.

Minor Irritations

• Blogs that turn out to be entryways to etsy shops and ONLY that.  Blogging is NOT cyber scrap booking!  Writing actual words is paramount, quality photos next, selling your stuff (if that's all the content) comes much farther down the list.  Please don't make me come in there!
• Hallway Loudmouth Lady.  I swear she does it on purpose. Whatever you are doing at four in the mother fucking morning needs to be done inside with your door closed.
• Cloudy days.
• Blogs that are commercials.  Nienie!  No Big Dill!  Advertisements create a slippery slope and take the fun out of it for the readers.  Moneymaking strategies don't have to be THAT obvious and all encompassing.  Do they?
• My own hair in my own mouth
• Sticky keyboard keys.  My laptop is very old; antique I'm sure by cyber standards.  I love it dearly.  But I fear it is on its last legs and this, of course, frightens me.  So as irritations go, the keys issue truly is minor.  For the most part they function.  I am truly sick of having to go back and put spaces in where the space bar didn't work.  And I must always remember to check for absent "M's".
• Static electricity
• Hypercritical bitches who won't leave me alone.  Oh wait!  That's a major irritation.  Some people just need to make other folks miserable I guess.
• Strange children who litter
• SPAM (not Spam)

Is It Sunday?

Yeah, I think it is.

Incredibly Loud Lady didn't begin shrieking in the hall til well past 5:30 this morning.  She brings food to another resident.  Sweet gesture and today's offering HAD to be cheesy eggs and bacon.  My mouth was watering even as I cursed the noise.  It's hard to stay pissed when somebody is doing something SO kind for somebody who really needs it.

It was snowing about an hour ago.  This was movie snow.  Fat drifting flakes.  The talking news heads called it "nuisance snow" because it was predicted to arrive in time to mess up the rush hour. IS there a rush hour on Sunday?  Anyway it's out there now and it does look nice.  Call my son-in-law for plowing.

And I finally figured out how to add tags to these posts.  It's kind of fun.  Now all my loyal readers can click on a tag for a cornucopia of interesting reading.  Excellent procrastination fodder.  Next comes a FAQ page.

Mwahahaha!  (maniacal laughing sound...)