So... hi
Spent the weekend asleep, basically. After a full day on Friday of running around town, my body rebelled and complained at all of the work it had to do and had me completely laid up for the past two days. My right wrist felt like it was going to snap, and that was all rebound from holding the wheel in traffic. That sucks, and is something that's definitely much worse than just fibromyalgia (IMO). I saw Dr. H on Friday and he drew a crazy amount of blood to test me for a bunch of stuff in an attempt to figure out what is wrong. Tests for rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, several other auto-immune tests, lyme disease... we're covering a bunch of bases. Hopefully, we'll get some kind of answer. This is the thing: I don't want to have any of these diseases. But, right now, all I know is that I am living with excruciating pain on a regular basis, and this is not normal and not something I want to deal with forever. If I have some kind of diagnosis, it will allow me and the doctors to come up with a more effective treatment plan than my current "take vicodin and sleep" one. Mom thinks it's totally psychosomatic, which, while a decent idea, isn't something I can hang my hat on. I've convinced myself into a migraine before, and as a kid, I'd think myself into illnesses to get out of stuff, but this pain isn't that. I do not want this. At ANY level. I would be thrilled to be able to go to school, or go to work somewhere. Seriously. But I hurt so much so often that it's almost impossible to do basic stuff like haul my ass up and down the stairs, so leaving the house - much less working - is not in the cards currently.
I figured out a great metaphor for why Mom and I can't seem to get along for extended periods of time: We are from completely different countries and cultures. Mom comes from someplace like Japan, where feelings are repressed and never discussed, there is such a strong work ethic that basically nothing will stop someone from going to work ("It's just a flesh wound!"), and the only time one can really cut loose is when intoxicated and singing karaoke. I come from South America somewhere. I'm incredibly expressive with my thoughts and feelings, I lay it all out there for everyone to see, and have a much more relaxed attitude toward work (strong work ethic, but not one to get seriously uptight about it). Neither of us speaks the other's language. We know enough of the basics to get by... "how are you? what's up?" but not much more. This leads to us yelling at each other when frustrated in an attempt to have the other hear through the foreign language to the point we're making (like any asshole tourist in a different country). We also aren't familiar enough with each other's culture. We end up accidentally offending the other by doing or saying something completely innocuous to us, but incredibly insulting to the other. Sis is the UN interpreter/liaison between our two countries. She alone understands both of our languages and cultures and thus can explain what the other person is saying/thinking. She doesn't like this role, but stays in the job because otherwise our two countries would end up declaring war. (I'm currently trying to learn Mom's language and culture with Monica's help, and therefore start to try to discuss things directly with Mom instead of using Sis as the interpreter. However, a lot of the time, Mom won't meet me at the negotiating table, or I'll slip and use the wrong syntax and thus insult her or set her off and cause negotiations to break down. *sigh*)
Okay... enough with the depressing stuff.
"I'm Comic Sans, Asshole." A great piece found on gofugyourself.com.
I'm somehow getting into soccer. I still don't understand the game past the basics of the fact that there are two teams, the object is to get the ball into the other team's goal, no one but the goal keeper can touch the ball with their hands, there is celebratory shirt ripping, and it always sounds like a giant hive of bees there thanks to the vuvuzelas. Oh, and Beckham is always out with an ankle injury. Last year and every year previous, I have NEVER cared about the US soccer team. In fact, I have remarked on many occasion about Houston's soccer team "The Houston Dynamo," (yes, it's ridiculously singular) and the pointlessness of such a team in TEXAS where there is AMERICAN FOOTBALL. However, this year, I have been swept up in the FIFA madness. You might have read my tweet post where I basically live-tweeted my confusion about the USA v England match. I actually checked the score of the US match on Friday and was happy that there had been another draw (right? It's called a draw when it's a tie?). If I start watching golf and/or tennis on TV, call the psych ward, because I need to be hospitalized. (Not that if you do so you're mental, it's just a sign for me.)
It's getting damn hot here in Houston. Ick. There's a new cartoon on TBS, called Neighbors from Hell. It's about a family of demons that are sent to the surface in Houston, to stop a drill that could reach the Earth's core. What I loved: even THEY think Houston's too hot. So awesome.
Finally: Happy Solstice!
I figured out a great metaphor for why Mom and I can't seem to get along for extended periods of time: We are from completely different countries and cultures. Mom comes from someplace like Japan, where feelings are repressed and never discussed, there is such a strong work ethic that basically nothing will stop someone from going to work ("It's just a flesh wound!"), and the only time one can really cut loose is when intoxicated and singing karaoke. I come from South America somewhere. I'm incredibly expressive with my thoughts and feelings, I lay it all out there for everyone to see, and have a much more relaxed attitude toward work (strong work ethic, but not one to get seriously uptight about it). Neither of us speaks the other's language. We know enough of the basics to get by... "how are you? what's up?" but not much more. This leads to us yelling at each other when frustrated in an attempt to have the other hear through the foreign language to the point we're making (like any asshole tourist in a different country). We also aren't familiar enough with each other's culture. We end up accidentally offending the other by doing or saying something completely innocuous to us, but incredibly insulting to the other. Sis is the UN interpreter/liaison between our two countries. She alone understands both of our languages and cultures and thus can explain what the other person is saying/thinking. She doesn't like this role, but stays in the job because otherwise our two countries would end up declaring war. (I'm currently trying to learn Mom's language and culture with Monica's help, and therefore start to try to discuss things directly with Mom instead of using Sis as the interpreter. However, a lot of the time, Mom won't meet me at the negotiating table, or I'll slip and use the wrong syntax and thus insult her or set her off and cause negotiations to break down. *sigh*)
Okay... enough with the depressing stuff.
"I'm Comic Sans, Asshole." A great piece found on gofugyourself.com.
I'm somehow getting into soccer. I still don't understand the game past the basics of the fact that there are two teams, the object is to get the ball into the other team's goal, no one but the goal keeper can touch the ball with their hands, there is celebratory shirt ripping, and it always sounds like a giant hive of bees there thanks to the vuvuzelas. Oh, and Beckham is always out with an ankle injury. Last year and every year previous, I have NEVER cared about the US soccer team. In fact, I have remarked on many occasion about Houston's soccer team "The Houston Dynamo," (yes, it's ridiculously singular) and the pointlessness of such a team in TEXAS where there is AMERICAN FOOTBALL. However, this year, I have been swept up in the FIFA madness. You might have read my tweet post where I basically live-tweeted my confusion about the USA v England match. I actually checked the score of the US match on Friday and was happy that there had been another draw (right? It's called a draw when it's a tie?). If I start watching golf and/or tennis on TV, call the psych ward, because I need to be hospitalized. (Not that if you do so you're mental, it's just a sign for me.)
It's getting damn hot here in Houston. Ick. There's a new cartoon on TBS, called Neighbors from Hell. It's about a family of demons that are sent to the surface in Houston, to stop a drill that could reach the Earth's core. What I loved: even THEY think Houston's too hot. So awesome.
Finally: Happy Solstice!