Balance
Had a day full of Suck yesterday and the day before.
One of the baby birds didn't make it to the vet's. I feel bad, like I did something to kill him, but I don't know what I could have done differently and anything I did would have been out of ignorance, not malice. It's still depressing, though, and very sad. Nature's way, but it sucks, and while a part of me recognizes that despite good intentions, we can't always change how things turn out, the rest of me is in no mood for Meaningful Life Lessons, and just wants some freakin' affirmation, already. If I get any more desperate for affirmation, walking through the Hallmark aisle at the grocery is going to give me a shameful sort of secondhand high.
The other sparrow is fine, though, and is now rehabbing with the nice people at the Forest Trails vet clinic. He even has company - another baby sparrow more his size. By the time I dropped him off, he was much stronger, CHORPing insistently, trying to climb out of the cage, and able to perch on his widdle spindly laigs anytime I put my finger into the cage. He is just starting to try to fly. Once his tailfeathers get a little longer he'll be good to go, and none the worse for wear.
I wish him all the best.
Yesterday started with a trip to the nurse practitioner for me for various low-grade girly problems I won't discuss in-depth. Nothing of ill portent, just some minor stuff I needed checked out. I'm just a little paranoid after the surgery and, you know, not getting the post-op because the doctor was a complete cunt.
Normally, she-vet visits only puts me in a foul mood, but yesterday was very, very difficult since my last experience was so aggravating; and since I'm still so angry about it, there's a lot of violence lurking just beneath the surface. That means I have to either explain to people that they have to be extra-extra-careful with me, which is annoying to have to do and half the time does not work, or it means I have to be incredibly, painstakingly nice and patient and hope that nobody near me has a sudden attack of assholia, dipshititis, or dumbfuckery.
At some point during the long wait it became apparent to me that my reactions to this sort of thing are not normal. Understandable, maybe, but not normal. It is not normal to sit in the waiting room scanning the other patients with a gimlet eye, waiting for one of them to make a false move. It is not normal to go into full-on fight-or-flight when your name is called. It is not normal to go into the exam room and start physically shivering (I think that was more from adrenaline than from fear, but with me it's very, very hard to tell). It is not normal to peer around said exam room, noting with dismay that there are no windows, no air ducts, and only one exit through which to escape. It is not normal to realize that the cubby underneath the desk beside the door is exactly the right size to hide me, and that stopping the sink up and letting it overflow would create a perfect distraction, allowing me to roll out behind anyone who came in to turn it off, and either slit their throats or simply flee into the hallway (note: I often think like this as a result of playing too much Tenchu, but this happened without my meaning it to, and without the usual accompanying ironic mental narrative). It is not normal for me to remove my footgear, not because my shoes will get in the way during the exam, but because they are slick-soled, and would provide poor traction on the tile. It is also not normal to take comfort in the fact that I haven't trimmed my nails in a few weeks, so they're nice and long for self-defense. It is not normal to have your husband with you not because you fear what they might do to you, but because you fear what you might do to them, and he is the only person who can catch your leash in time to stop it. And, last of all, it's not normal to feel relief on seeing that the doctor in question is old enough to be past her prime, easy to knock down and escape from if it comes to that.
In short, I'm really, really jumpy right now, to the point that if I explained it to a doctor in those words, they would probably not want to see me because it's apparently all the rage to treat people who've had previous bad experiences like they are mental defectives and/or deserving victims of whatever happened to them.
And before you ask, no, I never used to be this touchy. I used to be a star patient - very tractable and easy to deal with. For fuck's sake, it's not pain I'm afraid of - I had a metal skewer shoved through part of my naughty bits for fun, and would do so again. When it comes to things like bloodwork, having my ears, nose, and throat poked at, or being treated for various non-internal things, I am still a very good patient. I take care of myself well, follow instructions damn near perfectly, and hardly ever forget to take any pills.
I rather suspect my newfound mistrust of gynecologists in particular has something to do with being fucked over three times by crazy bitches who have such shitty bedside manner they should not be allowed to drop a fry basket at McDonald's because even that requires more humanity than they possess. If I had my way, Dr. Canyoncunt would be a "buttonholer" at a chicken processing plant. Yes. That's right. The person who cuts the assholes out of chicken carcasses. All day.
One likes to think that people end up with the jobs they deserve, but sadly, this is all too often not the case.
Also, yesterday Mom heard back about her CAT scan. The findings can be summed up as follows:
1) Fluid buildup in abdomen. Cause unknown.
2) The tumors on her pancreas are still too big. It is scary when something that is one inch by one and a half inches is "too big."
3) New mass near kidney. Nobody knows what the hell that is.
4) Enlarged lymph node? Possibly a tumor?
5) Big cyst on ovary is still there.
So the news is not good, but it's not horrible, either. She starts another round of chemotherapy next week. It seems to be helping, or at least staving off the inevitable, so I think she's doing the right thing. It's what she wants. It's just hard watching her suffer through the treatment.
Also, my last scorpion died. Her appetite had been crap the past few weeks - she only ate one cricket out of the last dozen. To be sure, she was about four years old, which must be over eighty in bug-years. So she gets buried next to her sister in the rose bushes later today. Jasmine and Poppy, Jazz and Pop. Poor bugs.
We have also lost four snakes in the past six months (dead, not just lost), two of them unexpectedly, and one just this past week, and we've lost a fifth in the sense of genuinely not knowing where she is, since she escaped from her cage (only the second time this has ever happened to us in seven years). I'm getting kind of sick of this shitty pet karma. It can quit anytime.
Given all that I totally spaced what freaking day it was yesterday, and missed an appointment later that evening because I was busy trying to tell which end was up and forgot what day the get-together in question was supposed to be on. So now I have guilt.
I've slept really poorly the past two nights (night before last because I was nervous about going to the doctor, and last night because . . . well, no reason, really), which is not helping my mood. I believe I'm going to stay in tonight and hide until I feel a little more civil. I do okay as long as I acknowledge that, no, I really do need to give myself time away from other people if I am to stay sane. When I'm stressed, I withdraw.
All that said, I present to you the good news. Ahem.
SARGON HAS A JOB.
He starts Monday. It's a pretty good deal; pays well, with good bonuses and benefits, in a call center that he says is less ghetto than the one he quit a couple weeks ago.
Also, in hugetastic thank-yous: Shawna! The Little Endless Storybook is just gorgeous. And cuuute. And hardcover.
I love it! It's been by my computer so I can look at it whenever I want. The puppy is so adorable, and Little Morpheus makes me laugh every time. Shiny!
Also, Greyson: HOLY CRAP WHERE DID YOU FIND HIM?
She sent me this griffin plush toy, and he's the cutest damn thing. I am totally in love, because, hey, griffin, and hey, stuffed animal! I have to name him something cool. I can't decide yet, and will have to think on it.
There will be pictures, because he is just too cool not to share. (I know I've been promising lots of pictures - I swear I'll get to it.)
Ran into 6strings and hennafan at Panera, and did nice chat-type stuff, which was most enjoyable. Nothing beats running into friends unexpectedly when you could really use the pickup.
So all this has been enough to lift my mood considerably, and I'm determined not to let anything bug me, for today at least.
Right now, I'm feeling snoozy, so it's time for a nap if I know what's good for me, and then back to the porn mines and box painting later on tonight. The latter is not as lewd as it sounds. Really.
I swear I will post something with actual content Real Soon Now. At the moment, it's all I can do to keep up with real life. I have new icons, by the way. I'm not even finished uploading all the ones I want to use yet. This icon is pretty much how I feel at the moment. I may be safe, but I sure as hell don't know it because I feel tiny and out-of-place and scared.
But at least I don't have to eat dog food and bugs.
One of the baby birds didn't make it to the vet's. I feel bad, like I did something to kill him, but I don't know what I could have done differently and anything I did would have been out of ignorance, not malice. It's still depressing, though, and very sad. Nature's way, but it sucks, and while a part of me recognizes that despite good intentions, we can't always change how things turn out, the rest of me is in no mood for Meaningful Life Lessons, and just wants some freakin' affirmation, already. If I get any more desperate for affirmation, walking through the Hallmark aisle at the grocery is going to give me a shameful sort of secondhand high.
The other sparrow is fine, though, and is now rehabbing with the nice people at the Forest Trails vet clinic. He even has company - another baby sparrow more his size. By the time I dropped him off, he was much stronger, CHORPing insistently, trying to climb out of the cage, and able to perch on his widdle spindly laigs anytime I put my finger into the cage. He is just starting to try to fly. Once his tailfeathers get a little longer he'll be good to go, and none the worse for wear.
I wish him all the best.
Yesterday started with a trip to the nurse practitioner for me for various low-grade girly problems I won't discuss in-depth. Nothing of ill portent, just some minor stuff I needed checked out. I'm just a little paranoid after the surgery and, you know, not getting the post-op because the doctor was a complete cunt.
Normally, she-vet visits only puts me in a foul mood, but yesterday was very, very difficult since my last experience was so aggravating; and since I'm still so angry about it, there's a lot of violence lurking just beneath the surface. That means I have to either explain to people that they have to be extra-extra-careful with me, which is annoying to have to do and half the time does not work, or it means I have to be incredibly, painstakingly nice and patient and hope that nobody near me has a sudden attack of assholia, dipshititis, or dumbfuckery.
At some point during the long wait it became apparent to me that my reactions to this sort of thing are not normal. Understandable, maybe, but not normal. It is not normal to sit in the waiting room scanning the other patients with a gimlet eye, waiting for one of them to make a false move. It is not normal to go into full-on fight-or-flight when your name is called. It is not normal to go into the exam room and start physically shivering (I think that was more from adrenaline than from fear, but with me it's very, very hard to tell). It is not normal to peer around said exam room, noting with dismay that there are no windows, no air ducts, and only one exit through which to escape. It is not normal to realize that the cubby underneath the desk beside the door is exactly the right size to hide me, and that stopping the sink up and letting it overflow would create a perfect distraction, allowing me to roll out behind anyone who came in to turn it off, and either slit their throats or simply flee into the hallway (note: I often think like this as a result of playing too much Tenchu, but this happened without my meaning it to, and without the usual accompanying ironic mental narrative). It is not normal for me to remove my footgear, not because my shoes will get in the way during the exam, but because they are slick-soled, and would provide poor traction on the tile. It is also not normal to take comfort in the fact that I haven't trimmed my nails in a few weeks, so they're nice and long for self-defense. It is not normal to have your husband with you not because you fear what they might do to you, but because you fear what you might do to them, and he is the only person who can catch your leash in time to stop it. And, last of all, it's not normal to feel relief on seeing that the doctor in question is old enough to be past her prime, easy to knock down and escape from if it comes to that.
In short, I'm really, really jumpy right now, to the point that if I explained it to a doctor in those words, they would probably not want to see me because it's apparently all the rage to treat people who've had previous bad experiences like they are mental defectives and/or deserving victims of whatever happened to them.
And before you ask, no, I never used to be this touchy. I used to be a star patient - very tractable and easy to deal with. For fuck's sake, it's not pain I'm afraid of - I had a metal skewer shoved through part of my naughty bits for fun, and would do so again. When it comes to things like bloodwork, having my ears, nose, and throat poked at, or being treated for various non-internal things, I am still a very good patient. I take care of myself well, follow instructions damn near perfectly, and hardly ever forget to take any pills.
I rather suspect my newfound mistrust of gynecologists in particular has something to do with being fucked over three times by crazy bitches who have such shitty bedside manner they should not be allowed to drop a fry basket at McDonald's because even that requires more humanity than they possess. If I had my way, Dr. Canyoncunt would be a "buttonholer" at a chicken processing plant. Yes. That's right. The person who cuts the assholes out of chicken carcasses. All day.
One likes to think that people end up with the jobs they deserve, but sadly, this is all too often not the case.
Also, yesterday Mom heard back about her CAT scan. The findings can be summed up as follows:
1) Fluid buildup in abdomen. Cause unknown.
2) The tumors on her pancreas are still too big. It is scary when something that is one inch by one and a half inches is "too big."
3) New mass near kidney. Nobody knows what the hell that is.
4) Enlarged lymph node? Possibly a tumor?
5) Big cyst on ovary is still there.
So the news is not good, but it's not horrible, either. She starts another round of chemotherapy next week. It seems to be helping, or at least staving off the inevitable, so I think she's doing the right thing. It's what she wants. It's just hard watching her suffer through the treatment.
Also, my last scorpion died. Her appetite had been crap the past few weeks - she only ate one cricket out of the last dozen. To be sure, she was about four years old, which must be over eighty in bug-years. So she gets buried next to her sister in the rose bushes later today. Jasmine and Poppy, Jazz and Pop. Poor bugs.
We have also lost four snakes in the past six months (dead, not just lost), two of them unexpectedly, and one just this past week, and we've lost a fifth in the sense of genuinely not knowing where she is, since she escaped from her cage (only the second time this has ever happened to us in seven years). I'm getting kind of sick of this shitty pet karma. It can quit anytime.
Given all that I totally spaced what freaking day it was yesterday, and missed an appointment later that evening because I was busy trying to tell which end was up and forgot what day the get-together in question was supposed to be on. So now I have guilt.
I've slept really poorly the past two nights (night before last because I was nervous about going to the doctor, and last night because . . . well, no reason, really), which is not helping my mood. I believe I'm going to stay in tonight and hide until I feel a little more civil. I do okay as long as I acknowledge that, no, I really do need to give myself time away from other people if I am to stay sane. When I'm stressed, I withdraw.
All that said, I present to you the good news. Ahem.
SARGON HAS A JOB.
He starts Monday. It's a pretty good deal; pays well, with good bonuses and benefits, in a call center that he says is less ghetto than the one he quit a couple weeks ago.
Also, in hugetastic thank-yous: Shawna! The Little Endless Storybook is just gorgeous. And cuuute. And hardcover.
I love it! It's been by my computer so I can look at it whenever I want. The puppy is so adorable, and Little Morpheus makes me laugh every time. Shiny!
Also, Greyson: HOLY CRAP WHERE DID YOU FIND HIM?
She sent me this griffin plush toy, and he's the cutest damn thing. I am totally in love, because, hey, griffin, and hey, stuffed animal! I have to name him something cool. I can't decide yet, and will have to think on it.
There will be pictures, because he is just too cool not to share. (I know I've been promising lots of pictures - I swear I'll get to it.)
Ran into 6strings and hennafan at Panera, and did nice chat-type stuff, which was most enjoyable. Nothing beats running into friends unexpectedly when you could really use the pickup.
So all this has been enough to lift my mood considerably, and I'm determined not to let anything bug me, for today at least.
Right now, I'm feeling snoozy, so it's time for a nap if I know what's good for me, and then back to the porn mines and box painting later on tonight. The latter is not as lewd as it sounds. Really.
I swear I will post something with actual content Real Soon Now. At the moment, it's all I can do to keep up with real life. I have new icons, by the way. I'm not even finished uploading all the ones I want to use yet. This icon is pretty much how I feel at the moment. I may be safe, but I sure as hell don't know it because I feel tiny and out-of-place and scared.
But at least I don't have to eat dog food and bugs.