when it acid rains, it pours
Why yes, as it happens, I am supposed to be wheeling Cat around today through the VA hospital.
Why am I not?
Funny story...aheh...ah...No, not really.
Woke up this morning, after having another lovely breakdown last night. And for the record, for anyone who doesn't know? I hate crying. Hate it. I'd go to an abortion clinic and tell dead baby jokes--loudly--if it was a choice between that and crying like I have this week.
Haaaate crying.
But I slowly patched m'self back together, got on with my night, took the advice of many people and limped off to bed. Watched an absolutely gripping Law & Order that today, I remember maybe 15% of. Sloooowly warmed up.
Then it was discovered the carcass of the turkey--I'd made turkey yesterday--was still on the counter. Why am I even surprised?
So I hauled my ass out of bed, found--with Oldest Child's help--the big crockpot, started laying out frozen bits to put in along with turkey carcass, only to discover said carcass? Would not fit in crockpot.
So I had to disassemble.
Had I mentioned before this my wrists have really flared up? My wrists have really flared up.
So I'm taking apart this bird with my bare hands and a knife, and it's mildly therapeutic, because I'm so angry at this point, but I'm also losing all sensation below the wrists.
Get everything packed in, and had help filling the crockpot with water, then set it on low to heat overnight, so I could turn it up this morning before we left and start the process really cooking.
Alarm goes off. I get up. Not feeling ideal. I hobble to the bathroom, there's a coldroom chill in the air, I limp along, hand on the counter...
...and my leg cramps up. Yeah, that leg. The one with the big wrapping muscle. I freak out, sit down, start massaging...
...and the hand goes numb. I cannot rub out this cramp. Oh, crap, now what??
Takes me a bit, but I get standing, wincing, my leg's not holding my weight, so I'm more flinging myself at various surfaces to hold me up down the hall.
"We have problems," I say to Cat. Blearily she sits up in bed.
"What's up?"
"Leg cramp."
"Oh shit."
"Yeah."
She thinks for a moment. "Well, go over and shut the door--"
I stare at her.
"...oh."
Between us, we get me on the bed and the door closed, and if you think there's not humor in the girl in the chair helping the girl who can't walk around the room...well, at least, eventually, it's going to be funny...
...anyway, she got me on the bed and got out the Ben Gay and did her best to loosen the cramp while I'm shrieking into the pillows.
Note of interest: normally, Ben Gay and other 'deep heating' rubs start hot, fade to cold. Some of them go cold, then hot. I'm sure this is one or the other, but I am unable to sense any temperature variation.
Fun.
She asks if it can take weight. It can't. But it has to, I have to go with her, I have to help--
She looks at me.
"There's no way."
"We don't have a choice."
"No, but you can't go. You have to rest."
I watch her get ready, trying to struggle off the bed. Stupid leg won't help.
"YOU," she says. "REST."
I grumble under my breath. But I watch her go. Worried like crazy for her.
Okay, so why am I at the computer? Well, because, silly. My pills were over here. The niacin I may just grab and bring back to bed, and I upped the dose on the magnesium by one pill, and took a bit more painkiller. I'm waiting until the painkiller kicks in, actually, before I go back to bed.
Gods, it's cold.
This? This...sucks. So much.
Anyway, the rest of that menswear show. I'd like to formally apologize, but really. I'm blaming Galliano for this.
Chainmail (sorta), coif, dazed expression, studs everywhere...and he really needs a bath. And maybe to lay down for two weeks, he looks really tired.
What in the hell??
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Pissed off, studs everywhere, bleeding, and his head looks less bulky than his neck...and needs a bath.
*blinkblinks*
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Studs everywhere, cuff marks, dead eyes, needs medical attention and a bath...or should we give up and check for autopsy marks now?
Okay, so some dark cabal of fashionable undertakers has decided Galliano is one of their own?!?
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
And then we got to the Guantanamo-influenced set. The only one I could bear to post...
Studs everywhere. Bleeding chest. Executioners' hood. NOOSE.
And that one slice across the thigh looks disturbingly real.
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Baby bag, check. Tied-up pants with really floppy bows. The bondage jester hat.
Okay, I like the sweater, but the rest of it--hells, Mr. Dark's circus from Something Wicked This Way Comes would turn this guy away for being too creepy!
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Dead...studded...and pissed off...court jester-thing.
*whimpers*
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
And then there was a long pause while I went through, oh, about twenty outfits, thinking...I can't possibly post that...
....until this one.
*blinks*
*blinks some more*
*scrubs a lot at her eyes*
I...uh...I can't....
Wait, I can. REHAB, MOFO. RIGHT THE HELL NOW!!!
*coughs*
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
The evil pixie.
Please tell me there was outcry against this show. I hear there was polite clapping, I'm going to be pissed. At least severely disenchanted.
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Why am I not?
Funny story...aheh...ah...No, not really.
Woke up this morning, after having another lovely breakdown last night. And for the record, for anyone who doesn't know? I hate crying. Hate it. I'd go to an abortion clinic and tell dead baby jokes--loudly--if it was a choice between that and crying like I have this week.
Haaaate crying.
But I slowly patched m'self back together, got on with my night, took the advice of many people and limped off to bed. Watched an absolutely gripping Law & Order that today, I remember maybe 15% of. Sloooowly warmed up.
Then it was discovered the carcass of the turkey--I'd made turkey yesterday--was still on the counter. Why am I even surprised?
So I hauled my ass out of bed, found--with Oldest Child's help--the big crockpot, started laying out frozen bits to put in along with turkey carcass, only to discover said carcass? Would not fit in crockpot.
So I had to disassemble.
Had I mentioned before this my wrists have really flared up? My wrists have really flared up.
So I'm taking apart this bird with my bare hands and a knife, and it's mildly therapeutic, because I'm so angry at this point, but I'm also losing all sensation below the wrists.
Get everything packed in, and had help filling the crockpot with water, then set it on low to heat overnight, so I could turn it up this morning before we left and start the process really cooking.
Alarm goes off. I get up. Not feeling ideal. I hobble to the bathroom, there's a coldroom chill in the air, I limp along, hand on the counter...
...and my leg cramps up. Yeah, that leg. The one with the big wrapping muscle. I freak out, sit down, start massaging...
...and the hand goes numb. I cannot rub out this cramp. Oh, crap, now what??
Takes me a bit, but I get standing, wincing, my leg's not holding my weight, so I'm more flinging myself at various surfaces to hold me up down the hall.
"We have problems," I say to Cat. Blearily she sits up in bed.
"What's up?"
"Leg cramp."
"Oh shit."
"Yeah."
She thinks for a moment. "Well, go over and shut the door--"
I stare at her.
"...oh."
Between us, we get me on the bed and the door closed, and if you think there's not humor in the girl in the chair helping the girl who can't walk around the room...well, at least, eventually, it's going to be funny...
...anyway, she got me on the bed and got out the Ben Gay and did her best to loosen the cramp while I'm shrieking into the pillows.
Note of interest: normally, Ben Gay and other 'deep heating' rubs start hot, fade to cold. Some of them go cold, then hot. I'm sure this is one or the other, but I am unable to sense any temperature variation.
Fun.
She asks if it can take weight. It can't. But it has to, I have to go with her, I have to help--
She looks at me.
"There's no way."
"We don't have a choice."
"No, but you can't go. You have to rest."
I watch her get ready, trying to struggle off the bed. Stupid leg won't help.
"YOU," she says. "REST."
I grumble under my breath. But I watch her go. Worried like crazy for her.
Okay, so why am I at the computer? Well, because, silly. My pills were over here. The niacin I may just grab and bring back to bed, and I upped the dose on the magnesium by one pill, and took a bit more painkiller. I'm waiting until the painkiller kicks in, actually, before I go back to bed.
Gods, it's cold.
This? This...sucks. So much.
Anyway, the rest of that menswear show. I'd like to formally apologize, but really. I'm blaming Galliano for this.
Chainmail (sorta), coif, dazed expression, studs everywhere...and he really needs a bath. And maybe to lay down for two weeks, he looks really tired.
What in the hell??
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Pissed off, studs everywhere, bleeding, and his head looks less bulky than his neck...and needs a bath.
*blinkblinks*
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Studs everywhere, cuff marks, dead eyes, needs medical attention and a bath...or should we give up and check for autopsy marks now?
Okay, so some dark cabal of fashionable undertakers has decided Galliano is one of their own?!?
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
And then we got to the Guantanamo-influenced set. The only one I could bear to post...
Studs everywhere. Bleeding chest. Executioners' hood. NOOSE.
And that one slice across the thigh looks disturbingly real.
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Baby bag, check. Tied-up pants with really floppy bows. The bondage jester hat.
Okay, I like the sweater, but the rest of it--hells, Mr. Dark's circus from Something Wicked This Way Comes would turn this guy away for being too creepy!
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
Dead...studded...and pissed off...court jester-thing.
*whimpers*
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
And then there was a long pause while I went through, oh, about twenty outfits, thinking...I can't possibly post that...
....until this one.
*blinks*
*blinks some more*
*scrubs a lot at her eyes*
I...uh...I can't....
Wait, I can. REHAB, MOFO. RIGHT THE HELL NOW!!!
*coughs*
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.
The evil pixie.
Please tell me there was outcry against this show. I hear there was polite clapping, I'm going to be pissed. At least severely disenchanted.
Fall 2008 mens' fashion show, John Galliano; photo: Marcio Madeira.