Please here for fibromyalgia fun!:
http://fibromyalgian.blogspot.com/
And here's hoping a ton of people accidentally tack on an "n" when they try to type fibromyalgia."
And hoping, much more than I hoped for the above, that "fibromyalgian" overtakes "fibromyalgic" as the preferred term used to refer to people with fibro.
Toodles from here. Enjoy more pain and giggles at the site at the top!
15 January 2008
13 January 2008
TODAY, EVERYTHING CAN KISS MY ASS!
The marcaine is wearing off. Could I get these goddam injections the rest of my life every two weeks? Every day, so doctors can do my entire back, starting at my C1 vertebra, giving me the max daily dose of the solution then going on down to my coccyx then starting all over again in an endless cycle? What relief will that provide?
Everything. fucking. wears. off.
And why are doctors fine with injecting me with a sea of marcaine, but not prescribing a mountain of painkillers?
Is it simply that we're a motherfucking Puritan nation that sticks to The Old Ways? If it isn't, I'm in too much goddam pain right now to think of a better way to be angry about this!
...Still, as a former Catholic, I'm used to the formula: Anything that makes you feel good is wrong. So marcaine burns in the muscle, but gives me relief for two days. Two Kadian could, presumably, do that (I've never taken it -- my experience is with oxycodone and Kadian is extended-release morphine), but without the burn.
But pills are wrong. Pills can be diverted from their intended users...
...Which makes me think I should pull a raid on Lummox Life Care (a hospice with an Orwellian name like all of them). I would steal from only the already dead, and end up with IV bags I would have to store in the snow in the back yard so they stay fresh and sterile. Then I could have myself on a just-perfect drip and write this pablum forever...
Until summer came and the snow melts. Then it would be time to have a serious talk with the parents.
[PAIN: 9/10
ANXIETY: 9/10 -- but I'm a perfect 10 regarding how anxious I am about having to be anxious about my pain mismanagement... Fuck I hate the heartland.
REMINDER TO CALL DISABILITY LAWYERS TOMORROW: Very important. I have to get the hell out of Lummox and to a city where there is concrete and public transportation and doctors who accepted long ago that fibro is motherfucking real!
(I'm anxious.)]
Everything. fucking. wears. off.
And why are doctors fine with injecting me with a sea of marcaine, but not prescribing a mountain of painkillers?
Is it simply that we're a motherfucking Puritan nation that sticks to The Old Ways? If it isn't, I'm in too much goddam pain right now to think of a better way to be angry about this!
...Still, as a former Catholic, I'm used to the formula: Anything that makes you feel good is wrong. So marcaine burns in the muscle, but gives me relief for two days. Two Kadian could, presumably, do that (I've never taken it -- my experience is with oxycodone and Kadian is extended-release morphine), but without the burn.
But pills are wrong. Pills can be diverted from their intended users...
...Which makes me think I should pull a raid on Lummox Life Care (a hospice with an Orwellian name like all of them). I would steal from only the already dead, and end up with IV bags I would have to store in the snow in the back yard so they stay fresh and sterile. Then I could have myself on a just-perfect drip and write this pablum forever...
Until summer came and the snow melts. Then it would be time to have a serious talk with the parents.
[PAIN: 9/10
ANXIETY: 9/10 -- but I'm a perfect 10 regarding how anxious I am about having to be anxious about my pain mismanagement... Fuck I hate the heartland.
REMINDER TO CALL DISABILITY LAWYERS TOMORROW: Very important. I have to get the hell out of Lummox and to a city where there is concrete and public transportation and doctors who accepted long ago that fibro is motherfucking real!
(I'm anxious.)]
12 January 2008
MARCAINE! MARCAINE! MARCAINE!
No more talk of Percocet: The taste of a new generation is Marcaine injections!
I saw my new GP two days ago (I'll be staying with this guy at least until I start up my usual drug-seeking), and he gave me Marcaine injections into one trigger point per shoulder. I don't know how he found what were, apparently, the exact places he needed to inject, since my shoulders are (were? I think I get to use past tense about this for once) knotted as a forest of oak trees. (Ugh. What a horrible metaphor. Grade-school shit. And I apologize.... I feel decent right now and don't want to write. If I'm not in withdrawal, pissing off doctors and shrinks or being a general douchebag, where's the drama? What's the pull?... Please see past posts while I work this out...)
But he did find these magical places and stabbed me with needles and injected the Marcaine solution. He then held the needle in my muscle until the headache I've had all my life lifted off my skull, from the injection site upward.
I then repeatedly threatened the doctor with various signs of affection, but didn't follow through because the med student who was with the doctor didn't seem like the voyeuristic type. And he didn't give the shots, so he wasn't about to get to join in.
But as I walked out of the clinic, I began to believe I was getting my headache back. However, it was just my inability to process the fact I was pain-free from the shoulders up. I didn't feel achy or in pain, but... it felt like the shadow of a headache... Like it was a physical entity, a fog encompassing my head, trying to get back in -- pushing inward from all sides.
As of this writing the relief has gone down my back... The day after the injections I could feel the rest of my body for the first time, without a headache. And it hurt like fucking hell. I took half a Percocet in the afternoon because I wanted to outrun my back, where most of the agony came from. I've seen dogs chase their tails, and the outcome is never very good or interesting. Today, though, is actually a good day.
Then again, I did take five pills a friend gave me yesterday. This Person described them as "better than Klonopin." I thought if they were a lot better, she was giving me the cup of christ. But This Person seemed to give them up too easily for me to be receiving that artifact in dissolvable pill form...
However, the two I took in the morning knocked me out for a few hours, which is a tall feat for any drug, so I would have to say they might eclipse Klonopin. Naturally, further study is warranted... But, then, I wouldn't want to get hooked on anything I can't get my own Rx for...
Plus I've been smoking... cigarettes... constantly since the shots. Or this 5/10 day [the scale encroaches into the body text!] is brought to us by the increase in Lyrica and Prozac taking hold. It's been about a month since the increase, and if the extra mgs are going to do anything, the starting gun should be going off about now.
Or the majority of what seems to be a miracle of science is not that at all, and is due to me being in a waning period. I'd hate it to be that, but know it must be a big part of me not being in so much pain.
...Mustn't it?
[I'm going to cause massive civil unrest by ending this post here, lamely. It's boring as hell anyway.
Anxiety: 5/10
Willingness to crank out crap: Apparent.]
I saw my new GP two days ago (I'll be staying with this guy at least until I start up my usual drug-seeking), and he gave me Marcaine injections into one trigger point per shoulder. I don't know how he found what were, apparently, the exact places he needed to inject, since my shoulders are (were? I think I get to use past tense about this for once) knotted as a forest of oak trees. (Ugh. What a horrible metaphor. Grade-school shit. And I apologize.... I feel decent right now and don't want to write. If I'm not in withdrawal, pissing off doctors and shrinks or being a general douchebag, where's the drama? What's the pull?... Please see past posts while I work this out...)
But he did find these magical places and stabbed me with needles and injected the Marcaine solution. He then held the needle in my muscle until the headache I've had all my life lifted off my skull, from the injection site upward.
I then repeatedly threatened the doctor with various signs of affection, but didn't follow through because the med student who was with the doctor didn't seem like the voyeuristic type. And he didn't give the shots, so he wasn't about to get to join in.
But as I walked out of the clinic, I began to believe I was getting my headache back. However, it was just my inability to process the fact I was pain-free from the shoulders up. I didn't feel achy or in pain, but... it felt like the shadow of a headache... Like it was a physical entity, a fog encompassing my head, trying to get back in -- pushing inward from all sides.
As of this writing the relief has gone down my back... The day after the injections I could feel the rest of my body for the first time, without a headache. And it hurt like fucking hell. I took half a Percocet in the afternoon because I wanted to outrun my back, where most of the agony came from. I've seen dogs chase their tails, and the outcome is never very good or interesting. Today, though, is actually a good day.
Then again, I did take five pills a friend gave me yesterday. This Person described them as "better than Klonopin." I thought if they were a lot better, she was giving me the cup of christ. But This Person seemed to give them up too easily for me to be receiving that artifact in dissolvable pill form...
However, the two I took in the morning knocked me out for a few hours, which is a tall feat for any drug, so I would have to say they might eclipse Klonopin. Naturally, further study is warranted... But, then, I wouldn't want to get hooked on anything I can't get my own Rx for...
Plus I've been smoking... cigarettes... constantly since the shots. Or this 5/10 day [the scale encroaches into the body text!] is brought to us by the increase in Lyrica and Prozac taking hold. It's been about a month since the increase, and if the extra mgs are going to do anything, the starting gun should be going off about now.
Or the majority of what seems to be a miracle of science is not that at all, and is due to me being in a waning period. I'd hate it to be that, but know it must be a big part of me not being in so much pain.
...Mustn't it?
[I'm going to cause massive civil unrest by ending this post here, lamely. It's boring as hell anyway.
Anxiety: 5/10
Willingness to crank out crap: Apparent.]
08 January 2008
THIS TITLE ISN'T MORRISSEY-RELATED!
...though he and The Smiths are the best thing to listen to when you're down. Nothing else (I like the Cure a lot too, but M gets this one) allows you to wallow deep deep down in your own misery.
Moving on! It seems (with crossed toes) that I may have been granted a reprieve. This happens to fibro patients -- the agony waxes and wanes. I think the more popular term is that we fibromyalgians (I prefer this term to "fibromyalgics." A fibromyalgian sounds like an alien, and to most people and most doctors we're the closest they'll get to seeing one) have flares, and I think this term is wrongly and stupidly applied to us. A flare would be an exacerbation of our what is our normal, baseline pain. And we wish. The truth is that the so-called flare is the norm and the very limited relief of very limited duration --maybe a month out of a year -- is our reality.
The truth, like everything else, fucking hurts.
My reprieve happens to occur just as I'm coming off Percocet -- had my last one yesterday -- and the parents are making hay into gold on that score. Mom especially. I reminded her that it's an amazingly impossible thing for my cessation of taking pain relieving medications (I'm getting off Effexor and Mirapex too) to cause pain relief. And I've also reminded my parents that their pleas to allow me to "let the new meds work" and their reminders that the increase in Prozac and Lyrica, plus the addition of Cymbalta in about two weeks need a couple months to work are likely to have a downside:
In about six months (if I'm still in Lummox, so help me and my too-kind parents -- had to get that plug in because I have one trifle with them maybe once a month. Maybe. ...That, and they're keeping me alive) whatever the Effexor and Mirapex did for me is going to end, and they may have an entirely different animal on their hands. I've gone off my anti-anxiety meds before -- they work, ergo you're not weird, ergo you don't need meds -- and it has always been almost exactly six months before I found myself in an ER, thinking I was having a heart attack, knowing differently, but having a king-hell panic attack and in need of sedation, a referral to a doctor, and relief from the 49 percent of me that believed I really was having a heart attack.
The thing about having panic and generalized anxiety disorders? When I have an actual heart attack, I'll likely be older and more accustomed to the king-hell panic attacks I wake up with every morning. So if I wake up with a real heart attack, that should pretty well do me in.
I hope I'm not the only one who finds that funny.
[Pain (the scales are back!): 7.5/10 -- It's not a big improvement, but it's still an improvement... However temporary.
Anxiety: 8/10 -- Good as gold!
Self-negating title: You read it!]
Moving on! It seems (with crossed toes) that I may have been granted a reprieve. This happens to fibro patients -- the agony waxes and wanes. I think the more popular term is that we fibromyalgians (I prefer this term to "fibromyalgics." A fibromyalgian sounds like an alien, and to most people and most doctors we're the closest they'll get to seeing one) have flares, and I think this term is wrongly and stupidly applied to us. A flare would be an exacerbation of our what is our normal, baseline pain. And we wish. The truth is that the so-called flare is the norm and the very limited relief of very limited duration --maybe a month out of a year -- is our reality.
The truth, like everything else, fucking hurts.
My reprieve happens to occur just as I'm coming off Percocet -- had my last one yesterday -- and the parents are making hay into gold on that score. Mom especially. I reminded her that it's an amazingly impossible thing for my cessation of taking pain relieving medications (I'm getting off Effexor and Mirapex too) to cause pain relief. And I've also reminded my parents that their pleas to allow me to "let the new meds work" and their reminders that the increase in Prozac and Lyrica, plus the addition of Cymbalta in about two weeks need a couple months to work are likely to have a downside:
In about six months (if I'm still in Lummox, so help me and my too-kind parents -- had to get that plug in because I have one trifle with them maybe once a month. Maybe. ...That, and they're keeping me alive) whatever the Effexor and Mirapex did for me is going to end, and they may have an entirely different animal on their hands. I've gone off my anti-anxiety meds before -- they work, ergo you're not weird, ergo you don't need meds -- and it has always been almost exactly six months before I found myself in an ER, thinking I was having a heart attack, knowing differently, but having a king-hell panic attack and in need of sedation, a referral to a doctor, and relief from the 49 percent of me that believed I really was having a heart attack.
The thing about having panic and generalized anxiety disorders? When I have an actual heart attack, I'll likely be older and more accustomed to the king-hell panic attacks I wake up with every morning. So if I wake up with a real heart attack, that should pretty well do me in.
I hope I'm not the only one who finds that funny.
[Pain (the scales are back!): 7.5/10 -- It's not a big improvement, but it's still an improvement... However temporary.
Anxiety: 8/10 -- Good as gold!
Self-negating title: You read it!]
06 January 2008
EVERY DAY IS LIKE SUNDAY!
http://www.morrisseymusic.com/
All ow ow ow ow ow goddam it, ow!s today in every category (including sleaziness, if you've been playing along at home). And all I can, or will, do -- and feel awful for... But hey, it's time for a little Old Testament-style justice! --
I should just start that over... I realize my parethetical and other tangents make it hard to follow along. Joseph Heller was the master of these... I need to read more of his books.
OK, so I am an awful enough person (but hey, the Judeo-Christian god would sanction it, so 75 percent of you pretty much have to believe in its fairness... Fuck, another parenthetical... I'm trying to set up this awful thing I want in a way that makes it impossible for most people to challenge it... Unfortunately, today people substitute church for the Bible... God's an asshole -- look it up. And so am I, made in his image...)...
OK, so I wish my doctor's and shrink's children get fibro that is as bad as mine. I think only then will they understand that sometimes you follow the goddam motherfucking protocol and give someone who doesn't respond to ANY other therapies fucking opioids! My head is going to explode and my body feels like the tin man's.
If only I didn't have a brain...
Last night I dreamed of getting electroshock therapy... My insane asshole doctors would prefer this to putting me on opioids, I'm sure... Give the man anything but the foundation of modern medicine!
Then again, chances are 80 percent, I think (I just don't feel up to looking it up. Seriously. ...But I feel up to typing this... The world is a many-splendored thing), that a person will get cancer. If anyone in my doc or shrink's family (or -- please please!) themselves has to get surgery for it, let them be offered strong drink and maybe ether.
Let's hope no one needs an organ removed!
Shit. The things pain turns you into. I don't wish the above... Except maybe for the first couple hours after I wake up. The images get me out of bed...
And how sick is that?
All ow ow ow ow ow goddam it, ow!s today in every category (including sleaziness, if you've been playing along at home). And all I can, or will, do -- and feel awful for... But hey, it's time for a little Old Testament-style justice! --
I should just start that over... I realize my parethetical and other tangents make it hard to follow along. Joseph Heller was the master of these... I need to read more of his books.
OK, so I am an awful enough person (but hey, the Judeo-Christian god would sanction it, so 75 percent of you pretty much have to believe in its fairness... Fuck, another parenthetical... I'm trying to set up this awful thing I want in a way that makes it impossible for most people to challenge it... Unfortunately, today people substitute church for the Bible... God's an asshole -- look it up. And so am I, made in his image...)...
OK, so I wish my doctor's and shrink's children get fibro that is as bad as mine. I think only then will they understand that sometimes you follow the goddam motherfucking protocol and give someone who doesn't respond to ANY other therapies fucking opioids! My head is going to explode and my body feels like the tin man's.
If only I didn't have a brain...
Last night I dreamed of getting electroshock therapy... My insane asshole doctors would prefer this to putting me on opioids, I'm sure... Give the man anything but the foundation of modern medicine!
Then again, chances are 80 percent, I think (I just don't feel up to looking it up. Seriously. ...But I feel up to typing this... The world is a many-splendored thing), that a person will get cancer. If anyone in my doc or shrink's family (or -- please please!) themselves has to get surgery for it, let them be offered strong drink and maybe ether.
Let's hope no one needs an organ removed!
Shit. The things pain turns you into. I don't wish the above... Except maybe for the first couple hours after I wake up. The images get me out of bed...
And how sick is that?
05 January 2008
VIVA HATE!
Hi all. Today I write you from the second story of my parents' house, as was my original intent. Heretofore I had been sneaking in my posts -- guarding them from everyone's eyes by switching to different Web sites whenever I was interrupted in the office/computer room. Today I'm using AbiWord on my Mac -- the computer downstairs is a PC (yuck!) -- because I can't get NeoOffice to work out. Abi isn't showing my apostrophes, and I would be incredibly worried about this except:
IT'S FINALLY REAL, NASTY, WANNA DRINK A BOTTLE OF GRAIN ALCOHOL TO (maybe possibly) DULL THE PAIN WITHDRAWAL TIME!
I'm out of Percocet. Well, not completely out -- I'm saving some for when I have to or want to be around other people, which I can't do unless I take high doses of strong painkillers... No, the SSRIs SNRIs NSRIs antispasmodics psychotherapy et cetera et cetera et cetera in any combination simply aren't enough for this little black duck. I'm special that way.
Which brings us to why I'm writing upstairs, finally, in what used to be my older brother's bedroom but is now mine for some reason (the change happened when I moved south): It's Time To Talk Shit About the Parents! Plus, I'd rather they think I'm jerking off or... well, pretty much anything but writing. Why? Because I'm writing, but haven't sold anything... So I'm a non-writer who is writing. ...And I don't like the term blogger, but I couldn't say why. Probably because most blogs give opinions or useful information or infotainment or when twins are going to be of legal age, and I'm pretty sure this blog (or whatever it is) does none of those.
Anyway, wanted to write that I am in the full-on hell of full-on withdrawal. It was a lot easier the first two times. I should look up a real blog to figure out why. So it's too bad there is no InterWeb connection in this room.
Oh well... At least people feel like they should knock on a bedroom door. Even if someone is typing like mad, they still may be rubbing one out. Guys can jerk off standing on their heads. We're special that way.
Do women use euphemisms for masterbating, too? Do they have about 100 different ways to describe it? What do you (women) call it? America wants to know...
Now to end transmission... I can't take any more of this because my skin is crawling and I have to keep up with it. Also, I may vomit. Or just dry heave for a while.
Sorry I haven't talked shit about the parents. I'll do a lot of that in the future. In fact, I'll do a lot of talking shit about everyone I know because I'm a jackass who hates everyone. Or maybe I just can't understand them...
Let me end with this warning: If you grew up in a small town, don't leave a city and go back, for whatever reason. Even for your own funeral. My migraines are made worse by the light shimmering off the foot of snow tht covers everything, and my overall person is made worse by the attitudes of my parents and hick-ass doctors. Why didn't they go to U of M (and I write that as an MSU alum) and come out knowing something about fibro? About anything?
And why are my parents treating me worse as I feel worse for your god's sake? I know I'm acting like an asshole... How am I supposed to act when I have to stay in unlighted rooms because of my migraines (read: the basement.)? And how am I supposed to act when I feel like I'm in Arizona for 15 minutes and the Yukon the next? And why why why and how how how...
Goddam it, it took me ten minutes to get up two flights of fucking stairs! Should I be happy-go-lucky about that one?
OK, there's the talking shit part after all. I know, far too little.
Anyway, now to put this in my jump drive and put it where you're reading it.
[PS: If you can find me, and if you can afford it, maybe you can give me... OXYCONTIN! (Bullet holes spell "OxyContin" as the shots ring...)
PPS: Wrote this yesterday, but didn't get to upload it until today. I'm lazy. Or my every living moment is torture due to opiate withdrawal and fibro. If this that doesn't tug at your every heartstring, remember that even the Devil himself deserves some sympathy...]
IT'S FINALLY REAL, NASTY, WANNA DRINK A BOTTLE OF GRAIN ALCOHOL TO (maybe possibly) DULL THE PAIN WITHDRAWAL TIME!
I'm out of Percocet. Well, not completely out -- I'm saving some for when I have to or want to be around other people, which I can't do unless I take high doses of strong painkillers... No, the SSRIs SNRIs NSRIs antispasmodics psychotherapy et cetera et cetera et cetera in any combination simply aren't enough for this little black duck. I'm special that way.
Which brings us to why I'm writing upstairs, finally, in what used to be my older brother's bedroom but is now mine for some reason (the change happened when I moved south): It's Time To Talk Shit About the Parents! Plus, I'd rather they think I'm jerking off or... well, pretty much anything but writing. Why? Because I'm writing, but haven't sold anything... So I'm a non-writer who is writing. ...And I don't like the term blogger, but I couldn't say why. Probably because most blogs give opinions or useful information or infotainment or when twins are going to be of legal age, and I'm pretty sure this blog (or whatever it is) does none of those.
Anyway, wanted to write that I am in the full-on hell of full-on withdrawal. It was a lot easier the first two times. I should look up a real blog to figure out why. So it's too bad there is no InterWeb connection in this room.
Oh well... At least people feel like they should knock on a bedroom door. Even if someone is typing like mad, they still may be rubbing one out. Guys can jerk off standing on their heads. We're special that way.
Do women use euphemisms for masterbating, too? Do they have about 100 different ways to describe it? What do you (women) call it? America wants to know...
Now to end transmission... I can't take any more of this because my skin is crawling and I have to keep up with it. Also, I may vomit. Or just dry heave for a while.
Sorry I haven't talked shit about the parents. I'll do a lot of that in the future. In fact, I'll do a lot of talking shit about everyone I know because I'm a jackass who hates everyone. Or maybe I just can't understand them...
Let me end with this warning: If you grew up in a small town, don't leave a city and go back, for whatever reason. Even for your own funeral. My migraines are made worse by the light shimmering off the foot of snow tht covers everything, and my overall person is made worse by the attitudes of my parents and hick-ass doctors. Why didn't they go to U of M (and I write that as an MSU alum) and come out knowing something about fibro? About anything?
And why are my parents treating me worse as I feel worse for your god's sake? I know I'm acting like an asshole... How am I supposed to act when I have to stay in unlighted rooms because of my migraines (read: the basement.)? And how am I supposed to act when I feel like I'm in Arizona for 15 minutes and the Yukon the next? And why why why and how how how...
Goddam it, it took me ten minutes to get up two flights of fucking stairs! Should I be happy-go-lucky about that one?
OK, there's the talking shit part after all. I know, far too little.
Anyway, now to put this in my jump drive and put it where you're reading it.
[PS: If you can find me, and if you can afford it, maybe you can give me... OXYCONTIN! (Bullet holes spell "OxyContin" as the shots ring...)
PPS: Wrote this yesterday, but didn't get to upload it until today. I'm lazy. Or my every living moment is torture due to opiate withdrawal and fibro. If this that doesn't tug at your every heartstring, remember that even the Devil himself deserves some sympathy...]
01 January 2008
I KNOW IT'S GONNA HAPPEN SOME DAY!
I begin my New Year with a mammoth migraine, which three Percocet 10/325s didn't touch. (The "10/325" refers to the pills consisting of 10mg oxycodone, which is what god eats for breakfast, and 325mg APAP, aka Tylenol, aka just about the best way to ruin your liver.)
But enough of that, for now... There will definitely be more complaining later. At the moment, here are some resolutions (you'll notice all are contingent on Number One...):
1, sorta.: To get on Social Security Disability finally finally finally (my first decision is due before May. ...That is, the first go-round in which People of Authority say whether I'm fucked up enough to qualify for SSD. I think about 1/3 of people are successful here. What I'll call the second pass is an administrative hearing.
You stand in front of a judge, who has seen all the evidence and made up her/his mind (read it in chambers, which is why s/he was an hour late opening the courtroom door and getting things started, even though you saw a person with a face just like her/his drinking deeply from a flask in their car in the parking lot... But it was the public lot, so it couldn't have been her/him... Or could it? People who are drinking at 7:00 usually are keeping things going from the night before, and certainly not rational). I'll be wearing a suit and sporting a cane, grunting with every move and, when I have to stand before her/hizzoner -- if I have the grapes -- I'll tell the maybe-lush that "It's a bad day, and if your honor doesn't mind, I believe I should sit for this."
In other words, I'll be standing. But, to prove I'm not a complete wuss (and if my case even goes to The Hearing...), I'll lean on my cane until it breaks. Or at least bends...
AND SO YOU MUST STAY TUNED BLOGFRIENDS!
OK, finally 2. To pay my parents back for room and board with the back-pay from the above. SSD pays you for some of the time you had to have a suck-ass life waiting for your benefits to come through.
Still, comparatively, mine waiting peroid is likely better than most people's. My parents have a big house, a Wii, and the basement I call home is about 1,000 square feet. Plus I can TiVo Twin Peaks episodes... Though my daily watching of it is making me believe everyone in my town is a killer, and that strange forces exist in our woods...).
3. To move to Portland, Oregon with the rest of the weirdos.
4. To get and grow medicinal marijuana. (Legally, contingent on number five, Michigan cops!) All the Web forums and more and more medical literature is showing that it's one of the best things for pain. I read one where it topped everything but Kadian. And that's extended-release morphine, kids.
5. To buy a scooter! I imagine a great number of people in this country will say or think that doing so is "gay." However, the act of purchasing something cannot have a sexual orientation. And if you think you're insulting something by calling it "gay," don't make it a monetary transaction... Where's the fun in it?
Anyway, I'd like to think that going 60 mph on a seat cushion should earn someone some respect.
...My insecurities aside, if I have a scooter, I'll already be in Portland where, I hear, the scooter scene thives. So riding a scooter won't be "gay," it will be a way to conform to my surroundings.
6. Enjoy my retirement by writing books about writing books and losing weight on the food stamp diet.
7. Buy a big-ass teevee and a Wii! ...Because I'll have a lot of spare money for expensive items on SSD. Why do you think people refer to it as being awarded benefits?
But enough of that, for now... There will definitely be more complaining later. At the moment, here are some resolutions (you'll notice all are contingent on Number One...):
1, sorta.: To get on Social Security Disability finally finally finally (my first decision is due before May. ...That is, the first go-round in which People of Authority say whether I'm fucked up enough to qualify for SSD. I think about 1/3 of people are successful here. What I'll call the second pass is an administrative hearing.
You stand in front of a judge, who has seen all the evidence and made up her/his mind (read it in chambers, which is why s/he was an hour late opening the courtroom door and getting things started, even though you saw a person with a face just like her/his drinking deeply from a flask in their car in the parking lot... But it was the public lot, so it couldn't have been her/him... Or could it? People who are drinking at 7:00 usually are keeping things going from the night before, and certainly not rational). I'll be wearing a suit and sporting a cane, grunting with every move and, when I have to stand before her/hizzoner -- if I have the grapes -- I'll tell the maybe-lush that "It's a bad day, and if your honor doesn't mind, I believe I should sit for this."
In other words, I'll be standing. But, to prove I'm not a complete wuss (and if my case even goes to The Hearing...), I'll lean on my cane until it breaks. Or at least bends...
AND SO YOU MUST STAY TUNED BLOGFRIENDS!
OK, finally 2. To pay my parents back for room and board with the back-pay from the above. SSD pays you for some of the time you had to have a suck-ass life waiting for your benefits to come through.
Still, comparatively, mine waiting peroid is likely better than most people's. My parents have a big house, a Wii, and the basement I call home is about 1,000 square feet. Plus I can TiVo Twin Peaks episodes... Though my daily watching of it is making me believe everyone in my town is a killer, and that strange forces exist in our woods...).
3. To move to Portland, Oregon with the rest of the weirdos.
4. To get and grow medicinal marijuana. (Legally, contingent on number five, Michigan cops!) All the Web forums and more and more medical literature is showing that it's one of the best things for pain. I read one where it topped everything but Kadian. And that's extended-release morphine, kids.
5. To buy a scooter! I imagine a great number of people in this country will say or think that doing so is "gay." However, the act of purchasing something cannot have a sexual orientation. And if you think you're insulting something by calling it "gay," don't make it a monetary transaction... Where's the fun in it?
Anyway, I'd like to think that going 60 mph on a seat cushion should earn someone some respect.
...My insecurities aside, if I have a scooter, I'll already be in Portland where, I hear, the scooter scene thives. So riding a scooter won't be "gay," it will be a way to conform to my surroundings.
6. Enjoy my retirement by writing books about writing books and losing weight on the food stamp diet.
7. Buy a big-ass teevee and a Wii! ...Because I'll have a lot of spare money for expensive items on SSD. Why do you think people refer to it as being awarded benefits?
OK, that's seven, and seven is enough for this morning, as I wait for my Klonopin and Percocet to take affect. But, since I could only take about 1/4 my normal dose of each because I'm being forced off them (see other ranting posts) I'll probably still get 3/4 the pain, migraine, spasms, etc.
Consarn it.
[Overall disposition: bubbly as champagne!]
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