News.
I keep thinking "Oh, I'll be back online soon, doing what I always do. I just have to get through this next week, and then everything will settle down and I can go back to writing about inconsequential crap like video games and porn and my cats."
Ahaha. No.
If I were stupid, this is where I'd deliver some dumbass setup line like "At least things can't get worse." I'm not stupid, at least not entirely.
So, Sargon's mom has lung cancer and doesn't have long to live. I don't have much to say about that except that it is terrifying, inexplicable, unfair, and it really, really sucks. I'm not close with my in-laws, but they are very nice people who do not at all deserve this level of suckitude, and this is just wretched news. This is something that will affect him more than me, and there is very little I can do for him or for them. I am relegated to a support role, and I'll do my best at that, as pitiful as my best is likely to be. Anyone's help is pitiful in the face of something so heinously pitiless.
Aside from being horrible on its own, this brings up a bunch of unpleasant shit for Sargon and I, so dealing with that is going to be fun like a kick to the head. We are both doing our best not to think about it too much all at once, not out of denial, but out of well-honed survival instinct. This is sometimes how you have to Deal With Shit. A little at a time, on your own terms, in your own time.
So, if I don't talk about this a whole hell of a lot, it's because of that. I feel bad pushing it away and keeping it at arm's length. It is, as Sargon said, a Thing. A very big thing. And I feel like I should, you know, Deal With That Shit In Public so I don't look like A Bad Person. I just . . . I am still figuring out how to react to it and where it fits, and all of that, so . . . I have nothing much to say about it right now.
I am trying desperately to keep hold of the good, hopeful stuff, and let the bad stuff do what it needs to do, and no more. It's not easy, so pardon me if I am occasionally a fountain of random irrelevancies that seem unwarrantedly cheerful or flippant. It doesn't mean I don't care, that bad shit isn't going down, that I am functional and happy, or even okay, but it does mean that I am trying to spread some cheer and some love when and where I can, because right now, that's about all that is making me happy on a regular basis (besides all y'all being awesome and supportive and just generally wonderful and generous and pardon me while I cry).
In other less-depressing news:
I had a misadventure with medicine the other day, and while it briefly scared the crap out of Sargon, I mostly just think it was funny. The Wellbutrin I take and the Seroquel I take are both generics, and the pills are both white, and so close to identical in size and shape that you need to be closer than two feet to tell them apart, if you have good vision. The last refills of both came in very similar stumpy white bottles.
You see where I am going with this.
So I took two whole Seroquel, which I normally take chopped into one-eighths, giving me sixteen times my regular dose. Doses that big are used to stabilize psychotic people. Rarely, and only after working them up to it slowly over a long period of time. Because it can very, very easily kill you.
It took me a while to realize what I'd done. I got up from a nap and could barely walk or speak, so I staggered in and told Sargon to call the clinic. About the time the pharmacist told him I should maybe try to throw it up right now, I came in and told him I'd thrown it up. Least dramatic barfing ever. I was, like, so totally happy to barf. And that is coming from a borderline emetophobe. Might have had something to do with being so fucking stoned I could not have freaked out about a rabid velociraptor wielding a lightsaber in the living room. Then I fell asleep for five hours without realizing it, and woke up feeling slightly less fucked up. Honestly I don't remember much of the rest of the day, but I was fine the next day and was fine today, and it appears to have done no lasting damage.
The pills are now in markedly different containers, and when I have the chance I'll be wrapping the Seroquel one in hot pink duct tape or something. Because as amusing as I found the whole thing, I am not keen to experience it again. That was a stupid mistake, and if I hadn't quite sensibly horked, I might have had to go to the hospital.
Y'all may not think this close call is funny. I have a fucked-up sense of humor, so yeah, I really do.
I am glad to be here, though. I really am. So take that for what it is: an admission that I intend to stick around and bother y'all with cat pictures and ponies and descriptions of the fucked-up dreams I've been having. (Assassin's Creed: The Motion Picture, starring Robert Downey Jr. as Ezio. Yeah. That was . . . interesting.) I can't say I like it here, this world is stupid in every way it is possible to be stupid, and it seems bent on depressing me until I stop being, you know, me, but the alternative doesn't have any potential for improvement. This at least has some.
Also:
The pirate pony is finished. She looks INCREDIBLE, yo! SO MANY ACCESSORIES! SO MUCH BLING! GLITTER! Yay! Now all I need are some teeny-tiny coins for the treasure chest. I am having a hard time finding anything that isn't too expensive or too American, or thinking of a way to do it myself that doesn't involve a huge pain in the butt and equipment I haven't got.
I also finished ANOTHER pony. Her name is Amor Volat and she looks, in the words of Sargon, kind of like a hot biker mama. Which is not as I planned it, but hey, she's still awesome, so yay! Although I will point out that I've been working on these two since before Christmas, so it's not what I'd call STAGGERING PRODUCTIVITY. It's more like "finally finished these projects that have been needling me in the ass for six months" productivity.
I have worked some on Vengeance and Valor. Do not think I have forgotten! I have not forgotten! I love that story, and every day I cannot write, I am sorry I cannot write. I love the characters, and I promise I will tell you their stories. Spoiler: there is a lot of perverted fuckin' fucking, and I hope y'all can cope with everyone basically screwing everyone else.
Finally, a picture of Briar Rose in her new home:
That's the flag of the Contrada della Pantera, one of the contrade (wards) that races in the Palio di Siena.
My baby made it to the races. *wipes tear*
No, really, that picture made me so happy I got all sniffly. I can't even explain it. But now I share it with you. Because that is also what makes me happy.
All the other ugly and awful shit will just have to wait. It will still be there tomorrow. Right now, I have to go to sleep. Where I will hopefully have interesting dreams.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count:
Ahaha. No.
If I were stupid, this is where I'd deliver some dumbass setup line like "At least things can't get worse." I'm not stupid, at least not entirely.
So, Sargon's mom has lung cancer and doesn't have long to live. I don't have much to say about that except that it is terrifying, inexplicable, unfair, and it really, really sucks. I'm not close with my in-laws, but they are very nice people who do not at all deserve this level of suckitude, and this is just wretched news. This is something that will affect him more than me, and there is very little I can do for him or for them. I am relegated to a support role, and I'll do my best at that, as pitiful as my best is likely to be. Anyone's help is pitiful in the face of something so heinously pitiless.
Aside from being horrible on its own, this brings up a bunch of unpleasant shit for Sargon and I, so dealing with that is going to be fun like a kick to the head. We are both doing our best not to think about it too much all at once, not out of denial, but out of well-honed survival instinct. This is sometimes how you have to Deal With Shit. A little at a time, on your own terms, in your own time.
So, if I don't talk about this a whole hell of a lot, it's because of that. I feel bad pushing it away and keeping it at arm's length. It is, as Sargon said, a Thing. A very big thing. And I feel like I should, you know, Deal With That Shit In Public so I don't look like A Bad Person. I just . . . I am still figuring out how to react to it and where it fits, and all of that, so . . . I have nothing much to say about it right now.
I am trying desperately to keep hold of the good, hopeful stuff, and let the bad stuff do what it needs to do, and no more. It's not easy, so pardon me if I am occasionally a fountain of random irrelevancies that seem unwarrantedly cheerful or flippant. It doesn't mean I don't care, that bad shit isn't going down, that I am functional and happy, or even okay, but it does mean that I am trying to spread some cheer and some love when and where I can, because right now, that's about all that is making me happy on a regular basis (besides all y'all being awesome and supportive and just generally wonderful and generous and pardon me while I cry).
In other less-depressing news:
I had a misadventure with medicine the other day, and while it briefly scared the crap out of Sargon, I mostly just think it was funny. The Wellbutrin I take and the Seroquel I take are both generics, and the pills are both white, and so close to identical in size and shape that you need to be closer than two feet to tell them apart, if you have good vision. The last refills of both came in very similar stumpy white bottles.
You see where I am going with this.
So I took two whole Seroquel, which I normally take chopped into one-eighths, giving me sixteen times my regular dose. Doses that big are used to stabilize psychotic people. Rarely, and only after working them up to it slowly over a long period of time. Because it can very, very easily kill you.
It took me a while to realize what I'd done. I got up from a nap and could barely walk or speak, so I staggered in and told Sargon to call the clinic. About the time the pharmacist told him I should maybe try to throw it up right now, I came in and told him I'd thrown it up. Least dramatic barfing ever. I was, like, so totally happy to barf. And that is coming from a borderline emetophobe. Might have had something to do with being so fucking stoned I could not have freaked out about a rabid velociraptor wielding a lightsaber in the living room. Then I fell asleep for five hours without realizing it, and woke up feeling slightly less fucked up. Honestly I don't remember much of the rest of the day, but I was fine the next day and was fine today, and it appears to have done no lasting damage.
The pills are now in markedly different containers, and when I have the chance I'll be wrapping the Seroquel one in hot pink duct tape or something. Because as amusing as I found the whole thing, I am not keen to experience it again. That was a stupid mistake, and if I hadn't quite sensibly horked, I might have had to go to the hospital.
Y'all may not think this close call is funny. I have a fucked-up sense of humor, so yeah, I really do.
I am glad to be here, though. I really am. So take that for what it is: an admission that I intend to stick around and bother y'all with cat pictures and ponies and descriptions of the fucked-up dreams I've been having. (Assassin's Creed: The Motion Picture, starring Robert Downey Jr. as Ezio. Yeah. That was . . . interesting.) I can't say I like it here, this world is stupid in every way it is possible to be stupid, and it seems bent on depressing me until I stop being, you know, me, but the alternative doesn't have any potential for improvement. This at least has some.
Also:
That's the flag of the Contrada della Pantera, one of the contrade (wards) that races in the Palio di Siena.
My baby made it to the races. *wipes tear*
No, really, that picture made me so happy I got all sniffly. I can't even explain it. But now I share it with you. Because that is also what makes me happy.
All the other ugly and awful shit will just have to wait. It will still be there tomorrow. Right now, I have to go to sleep. Where I will hopefully have interesting dreams.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count: