There. Life-type update.
We signed up for COBRA coverage. Thrilling, I know. It is not costing as much as we had feared, but it is all in one lump, back-due to the date of termination, so that's not real fun.
I have a doctor's appointment for the 16th at 3:00. Don't you all let me forget.
I don't really expect he will know what to do as -- despite having ten children -- ladybits are not his area of expertise, but it's amazing the amount of comfort that comes with knowing I will be able to dump this into someone else's lap for even ten minutes and say "fix this."*
It would feel better if I knew that he wasn't double-booked on top of double-booked. I have a lingering fear I will get bumped. Yes, it has happened. It's a mess, y'all.
This is not to give the impression that I am okay with what is going on. I am not okay at all. I am really worried - not even about bleeding to death from my snizz. I mean, I'm used to that. It's old meme, uterus. Old meme. I'm worried about Medicine, worried that nobody will agree to help me, or that they will take too long and I will become sicker and/or will go crazy, that they will try to help but it will not work or will make things worse. I'm afraid, in short, of suffering a lot more.
It's really sad when there's unauthorized exsanguination going on in your pants and your main worry is that the people who are supposed to help you fix that little problem are, in fact, the bad guys. I've been fucked over before, so I'm not laboring under the happy illusion that these are helpful or well-meaning people I will be dealing with. Even the best doctor I've ever had is inaccessible nine tenths of the time, and even the best doctor in the world can have staff members who are incompetent. I put up with it because finding someone who will listen to me is rare. Dr. C could be wholly unqualified and I would probably still go to him because he treats me like a human being.
But that is as much as I am going to say about it because people I know are going through far worse, and complaining thus is simply unseemly. I just wanted to say, I'm getting help, but I'm still plenty freaked out.
Went to the old house today to throw shit out. I don't know how long I lasted. Not long. I had to bail, which I feel bad about. The downstairs room has been marinating in rainwater, of course, so the smell was awful, and I kept finding vermin, which kept freaking me out. I don't mean furry vermin, either. Whatever my flaws, I don't fear mice. I mean beetles and slugs and suchlike. (Shut up. It's not fear, it's full-body revulsion.) Then I got a faceful of hair and dust and sort of freaked out because my hands were already so filthy there was no way to get it off get it off get it off. The old place has no running water, and there were no paper towels or anything. Ugh.
I have to go back tomorrow (with water and washcloths for my face) and go through a bunch of stuff to see what I want to keep and what I want to pitch. Not fun. I don't do nostalgia. Finding birthday cards my mom gave me, letters from people I really miss and can't find, my grandmother's jewelry, childhood photos, pictures of me when I was all skinny and belly-dancery, that kind of shit. That's brutal, man. I would throw it all away because it hurts to look at it, but that would be so dumb, because in ten years I'll be glad I have it. So it goes back into a box and gets hidden away. A much better solution.
Just so things are not epic in their suck, I will say that I wrapped up two gaming characters this week. Okay, that's not actually happy. But the gaming was fun: vampire Don Juans and teenage pseudo-supervillainesses. What is happy is moving on to the next character. If a "paladin" in RPG parlance is a badass fighter who derives special powers from divine favor, what would it be like if you had a blood-drinking lioness for a patron goddess?
I think it would be like that fight between Hector and Achilles in Troy, only at the end Achilles would turn into a butched-up Smilodon, tear his way into the city, and make the streets run red with blood. And they would be bad guys, of course. Not Trojans, who didn't really do anything but have gates that opened the wrong fucking way. But you get the idea. Epic carnage and bloodshed, and prehistoric mammals!
I will miss Sam and Meg, though. Fun characters. I always say "Yeah, we'll get back to them," but this doesn't usually happen. (That is not a criticism, just an observation.)
There. That's a completely boring and mundane me-type update. I am going to go fool around with stuff in my studio and hope that inspiration strikes me on the two commissions I have been stuck on for over a year. Yeah. It's that bad. If this continues much longer, I'm going to have to give the money back and then some and declare myself closed for the forseeable future, because this shit is unacceptable, and if I can't be reliable I need to find something else to do.
* That's what doctors are for. Belay the medical advice unless I ask for it, like I did here. Thank you all for helping with that.
I have a doctor's appointment for the 16th at 3:00. Don't you all let me forget.
I don't really expect he will know what to do as -- despite having ten children -- ladybits are not his area of expertise, but it's amazing the amount of comfort that comes with knowing I will be able to dump this into someone else's lap for even ten minutes and say "fix this."*
It would feel better if I knew that he wasn't double-booked on top of double-booked. I have a lingering fear I will get bumped. Yes, it has happened. It's a mess, y'all.
This is not to give the impression that I am okay with what is going on. I am not okay at all. I am really worried - not even about bleeding to death from my snizz. I mean, I'm used to that. It's old meme, uterus. Old meme. I'm worried about Medicine, worried that nobody will agree to help me, or that they will take too long and I will become sicker and/or will go crazy, that they will try to help but it will not work or will make things worse. I'm afraid, in short, of suffering a lot more.
It's really sad when there's unauthorized exsanguination going on in your pants and your main worry is that the people who are supposed to help you fix that little problem are, in fact, the bad guys. I've been fucked over before, so I'm not laboring under the happy illusion that these are helpful or well-meaning people I will be dealing with. Even the best doctor I've ever had is inaccessible nine tenths of the time, and even the best doctor in the world can have staff members who are incompetent. I put up with it because finding someone who will listen to me is rare. Dr. C could be wholly unqualified and I would probably still go to him because he treats me like a human being.
But that is as much as I am going to say about it because people I know are going through far worse, and complaining thus is simply unseemly. I just wanted to say, I'm getting help, but I'm still plenty freaked out.
Went to the old house today to throw shit out. I don't know how long I lasted. Not long. I had to bail, which I feel bad about. The downstairs room has been marinating in rainwater, of course, so the smell was awful, and I kept finding vermin, which kept freaking me out. I don't mean furry vermin, either. Whatever my flaws, I don't fear mice. I mean beetles and slugs and suchlike. (Shut up. It's not fear, it's full-body revulsion.) Then I got a faceful of hair and dust and sort of freaked out because my hands were already so filthy there was no way to get it off get it off get it off. The old place has no running water, and there were no paper towels or anything. Ugh.
I have to go back tomorrow (with water and washcloths for my face) and go through a bunch of stuff to see what I want to keep and what I want to pitch. Not fun. I don't do nostalgia. Finding birthday cards my mom gave me, letters from people I really miss and can't find, my grandmother's jewelry, childhood photos, pictures of me when I was all skinny and belly-dancery, that kind of shit. That's brutal, man. I would throw it all away because it hurts to look at it, but that would be so dumb, because in ten years I'll be glad I have it. So it goes back into a box and gets hidden away. A much better solution.
Just so things are not epic in their suck, I will say that I wrapped up two gaming characters this week. Okay, that's not actually happy. But the gaming was fun: vampire Don Juans and teenage pseudo-supervillainesses. What is happy is moving on to the next character. If a "paladin" in RPG parlance is a badass fighter who derives special powers from divine favor, what would it be like if you had a blood-drinking lioness for a patron goddess?
I think it would be like that fight between Hector and Achilles in Troy, only at the end Achilles would turn into a butched-up Smilodon, tear his way into the city, and make the streets run red with blood. And they would be bad guys, of course. Not Trojans, who didn't really do anything but have gates that opened the wrong fucking way. But you get the idea. Epic carnage and bloodshed, and prehistoric mammals!
I will miss Sam and Meg, though. Fun characters. I always say "Yeah, we'll get back to them," but this doesn't usually happen. (That is not a criticism, just an observation.)
There. That's a completely boring and mundane me-type update. I am going to go fool around with stuff in my studio and hope that inspiration strikes me on the two commissions I have been stuck on for over a year. Yeah. It's that bad. If this continues much longer, I'm going to have to give the money back and then some and declare myself closed for the forseeable future, because this shit is unacceptable, and if I can't be reliable I need to find something else to do.
* That's what doctors are for. Belay the medical advice unless I ask for it, like I did here. Thank you all for helping with that.