...

       The problem with my back is persisting. I've tried different positions, different places. Lately I just crash on the couch; if I don't sleep at night, I take a really long nap there. Sort of puts a damper on the living room, but I really need rest, and that's the only way to get it. So...now, it's been suggested that I get rid of my bed and put a couch in my bedroom.

      I loathe sleeping on couches. I want the ability to sprawl out and turn over once in awhile. I want to be comfortable. Though I can still fall asleep in my bed, I wake up in so much pain, I can barely breathe. The slightest spasm hurts like hell. I just want to cry and scream. So I'm considering it, definitely. I went to the hospital again and waited for eight hours and 45 minutes, all so a doctor could prescribe me with muscle relaxers and send me home without a single goddamn test. Spoiler alert; I knew the muscle relaxers wouldn't work. I said it before the prescription even got filled and I was right. Of course I was right about my body.

      I'm taking the meds anyway. Of course. I just want to feel normal again; I just want my life to go back to its usual level of shittiness.

      Speaking of shittiness, while I was at the hospital, there was a patient there who had―what else?―kidney stones. So what did the doctors do? They started singing to him about kidney stones. Then they laughed and said he had quality entertainment. So, yeah, you think you're sad about people not respecting your desire to change genders, imagine reaching a million on the pain scale and having your caretakers laugh and sing about it. Gosh, you really don't know anything. That poor patient sounded just like me. He wanted to die, too. I really wanted to go over there and actually say something comforting. But by now I'm sure he's fine. I hope so, even if his doctors didn't give a damn.

      I am trying so hard to forget about my whole "journey," but it's hard! Every time I haven't thought about it in awhile, someone at the next table in a restaurant starts yammering about kidney stones. Today at Tim's (Horton's again, not Bradford's like I wish), three ambulances came out of nowhere. Could have been an OD, could have been something to do with the heart, but all I could think about was myself.

      I have been over the hump for six months already, and I still want to die. My life right now is literally a combination of The Toilet Won't Flush, I've Had A Headache For Four Weeks, My Back Fucking Hurts, What Color Is My Tongue?, and What Color Is My Urine? coupled with My Period's Here and I'm 32 And Don't Know What Friendship Is.

      This is pointless. Worse than pointless, it's a fucking joke.
      I wonder if my family would stop celebrating Christmas if I were to die, say, right after. That's an interesting thought.

Change: Everything SUCKS!!!

       Turns out my new bed doesn't help at all. Or maybe, since I wake up feeling broken on the loveseat, my back is the problem. Either way I'm literally not a happy camper. When I slept on the big couch with a pillow under my back, I woke up feeling alright.
      I'm just going to take Tylenol and not move for awhile; now that helps. I just hope if I have to go to the chiropractor that I come out taller. Worked on my brother, I kid you not. Well, I want that, and for him to not mention the insecurity I have about my back. I wonder if it's custom to take off your shirt? Probably not. Hopefully not. But since the world thinks I'm stupid, he might ask it of me, and at that point I'll just find another chiropractor. I'm done being kind to people who treat me like a moron...which basically will make me very rude. Reap what you sow, right?

      I guess until I know the chiropractor has helped me or not, I'm just going to not sleep on my bed anymore. It's really not worth the agony. It feels maybe 45% of my July hell, and that's too high for me!

      Doesn't mean I want someone looking at my back. What I need is to grow another pair of legs out of my stomach and sleep standing up!

Change: It's Not All Good

       So my new bed is shorter than my old one, which was shorter than I preferred. My feet just hang right off. It's also very wide. And, unfortunately, not very soft――also not really a bed bed. It's just a mattress, and my computer desk drawers have more depth. I'm told it will slowly inflate over the course over the course of three days.

      Let's see. I got $20 and a hug from my mother's boyfriend, and a high-tech camera from my mother that she bought from her boy-friend, two free pizzas, an amazing Shake 'N Bake chicken dinner, a cheesecake, and from a past neighbor, I got a chocolate bar, guitar picks, and a guitar song book.
      I'd have liked to have a handyman look at the toilet, but maybe for Christmas. Even though I am still the only one having problems. When I last mentioned it, my mother said she "didn't see the point of calling until she noticed an issue," so I told her that I was kind of mentioning the issue. "Nope, nope, nope, until your brother or I have problems, we won't get a handyman." Well, we're not exactly wealthy, so I've just been living with it. And, yes, adding that none of my problems matter and nobody hears me, and she said they do matter and they do hear me. But still won't consider the problem I keep having.

      My brother said, "Maybe it's because you use too much toilet paper?"

      Helloooo?! That would never affect the toilet handle. Weirdo. But of course I can't "give him lip," because I'm "just a female." Gosh, maybe my sister had the right idea when she took off. You know he thinks doing dishes is women's work? That we should stick to quilting and childbearing? I mean, he may have said those things in jest, but he does condescend to me a lot, especially.

      Too much toilet paper. Now that's fucked up. Of course they asked me if I know how to flush, as if I've been having this problem my entire life. No... Just recently. But maybe I'm too stupid to tell.

      You know, they keep saying I need to stop being hard on myself, and then they go and treat me like I'm a complete retard. And how dare I get angry, stand up for myself, and "sass" them? What is this, the '40s? Why am I treated so differently? Is it my face, my shoulders, my voice, my height that makes everybody dislike me?

      Maybe I'm average, and everybody just sucks. I bet my life that if either one of them was having the issue with the toilet handle, they would have called the handyman right away. It's like when I sleep, they make all the noise they want, but when they sleep, the entire world had just better shut up. And my brother can do whatever he wants when he wants. Go for a walk in the dark, take a taxi twice in a day, but god forbid I even think of it.

      I'm just less. And after 32 years of knowing it, you'd think I could just shrug it off, but no. It fucking hurts. And yes, I still live with my family; if one of us moves out, the other two can't afford rent, becomes homeless, gets eaten by a bear or maybe the wolf that's hanging around now, so I just...stay. No matter how much I want to just disappear.

      Ugh, fuck. Damn Christmas parade. If they really want to give, how about they don't come down our street and give the First Responders a clear path?

     They just want to feel good about themselves, that's all Christmas is. And birthdays, too. Just a handyman would have been wonderful, a handyman, like I've been saying, and saying, and saying. I mean, a guitar song book when I don't even know the chords, a bunch of sugar now that I've finally gotten my skin under control... I know they think I appreciate it, but am I really supposed to? After all this time of being ignored and condescended, am I really supposed to appreciate all this extra stuff? Or is it about them? Give the birthday girl some presents, follow the tradition and fulfill your duty. Pat yourself on the back maybe. Just congratulate me on being closer to dying, thank you.

     Birthdays are always the worst. I always wake up with a head-ache, have a seizure, haven't slept. I could probably never look at a calendar again in my life, completely lose track of what day it is, and I could tell by how bad my day is going, on a chilly day, that it's December 6th.

      Oh, whatever. I'll eat the pizza and still be hungry, I'll eat the snacks and get zits. Then I'll eat something else, and something else, and never be full while I try desperately for at least a month to get my skin back under control because, oh no, I had a chocolate bar the month before.

      Why are they so hard to get rid of?

     But the good news is, I may have started something in my petite inner circle. Whenever my mother tells me "Happy birthday," I say "Happy Mother's Day." Because it should only, always, fall on your kid's birthday. It should be personal. Putting it on "the second Sunday" in May is so random. And why should somebody say Happy Mother's Day to me, if I've never had a kid? Abolish the second Sunday nonsense, say it falls on whatever your kid's birthday is, if you have multiple children, you get multiple Mother's Days. It's sweeter. It's kinder. It's about both of you.

      I should make a poll, see what the world thinks. Rather the two, three people who bother talking to me, but maybe they'll share it and get more responses. Worth it.

Change

       After a minimum of 20 years with the same damn bed, rotating and rotating like a damn rotisserie chicken, I'm finally getting a new bed. A birthday bed. And I am super thrilled that my nearly knee-length hair is now chest-length. It's actually a little shorter than I wanted, but I don't even care. I'm not sitting on it, I don't have to sweep it all over my shoulder to go to the bathroom, and my body can breathe again! Looks a hell of a lot nicer, too. It's got bounce.

      I'm not telling the locals we know. I want to see their faces.

Life

       So...my mother got hospitalized for a small heart attack today. Right now, actually. She was still wasted when she stumbled out of here, apparently, going to a music store; she called us, the person she went with called us, and we didn't hear a damn thing. Stupid phones. Anyway, my brother dumped all her booze and said, "I'm done."
      Okay. Don't know what to do with that. The person she went with called to offer us a ride to the hospital, and my brother said no. As usual, nobody called me, nobody asked me. I exist, right? I mean, no, I don't feel like going, but that's what family does. And she went with me when I had to go to the same out-of-town hospital, so I feel guilty. I feel guilty that my brother said I wasn't going.

      So I just expect her to be all bitchy when she comes home, maybe even bitch herself into another attack... Of course her other daughter will either never know, or just not care when she finds out. Because she is being bitchy too, cutting everyone out of her life, cutting someone out of her life if they mention her family. Her family who helped her, invited her, gave her presents on a normal-ass day... When I found out my 3-piece chocolate bar had a fourth piece, I gave her two!

      She's just being rude. Now, my brother just said he's thinking of kicking her out, he's calling her retarded. Okay, I share the frustration. Can we just stop adding to the rudeness and think for a moment? No, of course not, because I'm a ghost and don't matter at all. It's why nobody's calling me now, it's why nobody called me when I had to go in. People will talk about me, but it's like they avoid talking to me. Maybe, just once, I want to do what families do! Or I guess we're not family.

MSSNG MSSNGR

       You know what I miss...maybe more than talking to people I care about? Being able to slam my laptop shut on people I don't! Knowing with complete certainty that my MSN contact sees, without any delay, that I am offline. That my MSN contact sees that I remain offline until I deliberately sign back in. Having statuses that tell people I'm online, but busy, or away, or whatever the hell the other ones were.

...Really?

       So it's after midnight. My family's hooting and hollering over their Yahtzee game, which by the way is the most boring game I ever tried. I'm sitting at my computer, being quiet, I have my headphones on and I'm literally just listening to the birds in my game...
      So I walk into the kitchen to remind them what time it is, and my mother tells me to be quiet. Seriously?!

FML...

       Ugh. This past week has been yucky...and I tried to be upbeat after the whole kidney thing. I was on cloud nine, actually, for a week. A whole week of joy.
      What can I say? Depression's a bitch. It hit hard again in early August, and I think I'm probably worse off now than before the stones. I cannot get it out of my head, you guys. The intense pain, the vomiting. Being too sore to puke without crying. That was the worst time of my life, and I probably have some nerve to complain now. But...yuck, I can't help it.

      Oh, ick. I've never been able to use "Down in the dumps" literally before. But in the past week or so, the toilet sometimes will refuse to flush. Gross. And I don't know what's worse, that, or what appears to be a spider infestation on our hands. Of course I'm the only one who sees the spiders and has any toilet trouble whatsoever. No, really... I keep asking and asking, and no. Everything's fucking perfect for everybody else. So now I want to shell out for a handyman only I think we need, I haven't slept in my room yet because I tried killing a spider and missed―oh, yeah, my aim lately is horrible and I've been having this whole big thing with my balance where every time I stand by the bathtub, I nearly fall into it. Goddamn, it's happened like five times this month! I mean, I missed the damn thing by a hair, he fell between the wall and my pillow, ew. And now I'm boycotting my bedroom because I don't want him crawling into my nose! I'm also freaking out every time I feel a hair on my skin. I was able to sit through two episodes of Lucifer on my bed, but only because there are spiders everywhere, it seems, so it doesn't really matter where I go, it seems!

      I'm used to being the only one who can see, and I swear, hear, the spiders. But god, normally there aren't this many. Two here, two there, one over there. Gah. Of all the phobias in the world, you know? I could have been afraid of sharp edges, or the moon, apparently. But no. Something I can't just baby-proof, something that can never leave the sky, something that has legs, maybe venom, something that's all over the planet, all the time, everywhere, never sleeping.

      I mean, obviously, I prefer this hell over the hell that was July. But why must I endure any hell? I ain't dead yet...and no, that doesn't mean I lost my mind and found gawd. Or, as my atheist group likes to wonder, Jod. Soft G.

      I'm just losing my mind over here. Both of my phobias right now are out of control. This toilet thing would be so much easier if everybody was affected. At least then we'd fucking discuss fucking getting a fucking handyman!!! I don't want to eat something disagreeable and then break the toilet. Oh, I'm squeamish just thinking about it. And in the words of a cartoon character I wish I could forget, "How can I not think about it when I'm thinking about not thinking about it?!"

      I think I'm just going to start my Sims 3 again, but even that's messed up. My brother tried doing a nice thing, hooking up a large monitor a friend gave us, but it was too big for me. I'm a hobbyist writer, not a good one, but when I started typing, the size 11 font was so big, I could see the reds, yellows, and blues in the text that normally just looks black. Gaming was awesome, but I enjoyed it just fine before the transfer and writing became an instant no-go. So we transferred back, but my game settings are now all screwed up, even with all the correct options. So, we tried instead to hook it up as a TV in my room. Didn't like the tinny audio, transferred back, and now my old DVD player makes noises it didn't make before.

      I mean, everything sucks. Hell, even my brother freaked out when he sat on the couch and a spider jumped into his lap, and he loves spiders. Keeps them as pets, but apparently this one was too big. Me, I freak out at a spider the size of a pinpoint, okay? I'd seriously rather die than see a spider big enough to freak him out.

      But I am in the process of writing more crappy books that no one gives a shit about and created more music that I can't finish, so, silver linings. Honestly, I am just clinging to videos of people reacting to Floor Jansen and buying treats, which is probably what gave me the stones in the first place. Live in the moment, right? Live each day like you'll die tomorrow? If I had my way, I'd be lying on a beach, listening to the waves and stargazing. That has been my happy place for many years. I've been to the pool a couple times in my childhood, but I didn't learn how to swim, so I'd just stay in the shallow end and hang onto the edge while I kicked my feet. Pseudo-swimming, I guess! And I've been to White Rock once, or at least, almost once. I was four years old, maybe two feet tall, trying to get past rocks taller than me. The beach seems a mile away and I'm holding onto the slimy hand of my nose-picking stepfather who never, ever, ever, ever, ever used soap! I could feel every yucky thing he ever touched all his life. That sound like a vacation to you?

      No...myself...it doesn't. But I guess there is kindness out there. Three times now, in almost nine years, a girl child has been polite to me! The first one held the door open for me and actually said "You're welcome" when I thanked her. The second one apologized to me in the sweetest voice for being forced to stand close to me on the bus because none of the many, many adults she was riding with didn't offer to put her in their lap where she'd be safe, so damn rude, that was in early August when I got my last stent out. And the most recent time was yesterday evening, when a little girl said hello to me as I passed by her family on the sidewalk.

      Throw in the boy who waved at me because he thought I was his friend, presumably a boy, thank you very much, and that has been my social life since...well, almost all my life, unless I count taxi and bus drivers. I probably will, just to make the list seem longer. Lately I have been walking a mile, rain or shine, bad boots or bad shoes, to sit on a bench and just people-watch. That's actually where the boy waved at me. And no, I'm not having romantic thoughts; he was a kid. What can I say? I'm short, and was hidden under my hood. Maybe I was sitting where they said they'd meet... I don't know.

      But yeah. I think I'm going to go to the pet store sometime. I haven't held a cat since 2009. She got run over, so no silver lining there. But animals are therapeutic, they say, and I'm so miserable I could...really stand to hold something I'm allergic to.

      I guess the best news of late is that I finally updated my creepy collection. I'm up to ten, I think, skulls and now a snake cup! Not for use, just for decoration. And I finally got stylish hair clips. I can't properly fix them myself, but at least I...own them? Score?

      But yeah, I guess the best thing I ever saw is still that boy who disappeared into a sunflower from the shoulders up. He did not want to come out! So sweet. Long as he's not allergic; if I tried that it'd kill me. Huh, deathflowers. Oh, yeah...The Sims 3. Really don't feel like it; I want to just go to sleep. I've gotten maybe three hours of sleep this week. Nightmare, every time―well, almost. Amenadiel intro-ducing himself as Lucifer before I became a hunky warrior and then a beautiful woman was decidedly not a nightmare. I love dreams where I'm beautiful...until I wake up again.

      Maybe I'll just listen to music. Here. Because my headphones are dead. For like the millionth time in a year. Is everything crap? Really?

      Nah, maybe I'll play after all. Or, fuck, I don't know. Just want to go to a beach one more time before I'm dead forever, one time that lasts more than two hours, one time where it's night, and I can see one of my favorite things; the night sky. And hear waves that aren't coming from my crappy MP3. Maybe I'll just download videos of the night sky, slap it over the ocean sounds I already downloaded, and just pretend. I don't get to do a lot of that as a grownup.

      I hate being a grownup. I'm as tall as I'll ever be, I know very well my full potential, nobody comes over for play dates anymore, there's no dessert if I eat all my supper, I have to wear bras, and I'm expected to do all these things I want to run screaming from, like kill spiders. Please, can't I be a little girl again? Or at least tall and thin, surprise me. Fat and rich? Old and wise? Anything.

      Oh, here's a bright side! My brother just noticed the bathroom sink isn't draining. Everything's falling apart, but at least it's finally affecting others. Goodie. See, I'm not completely insane! I may be getting there, but I haven't run out of road yet.

      My stepfather tried setting me up on a play date once. He walked up to some kids and invited them into our house. Hello? You can't do that, you creep! Of course they ran screaming from him. They knew about stranger danger. Hell yeah, they knew. Can't imagine it would be less creepy if I tried it myself. Well, I know what I'm doing on Halloween; turning off my light and standing at the window, watching all the trick-or-treaters like every other year. I don't expect anyone will knock. Why? Because people are still, and will forever be, cautious around our house, thanks to that idiot tenant. I mean, hey, more candy for me, but I can just see it. I finally meet a nice local person, we bond, we like each other, they find out where I live, boom. It's done. Ghosted, again. I should dress up as a ghost. I should always dress up as a ghost, embrace what I am. I literally talk and no one hears me, in fact it just happened again!

      Ugh. I wish I could say I'm cranky because I'm sleep-deprived, but no amount of sleep is going to help me. I always wake up tired! Even if I nearly OD on sleep meds and have the best night of my life, I'm friggin exhausted. Eyes burning, mind playing tricks. I miss the days when I had no idea what a hallucination was like. Now I spend my life in a goddamn stupor and I don't drink or do drugs, not even medicinal drugs. Tylenol, sure, Benadryl. Nothing more. And, just, so hazy, all the time. It takes an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to put on my bra, or hold scissors. Then I get mad because it should be so easy. Then people tell me to relax, and I get more pissed because I suddenly can't hold scissors and they're calm? Yeah, let's see how calm you are when you cannot figure out how to cut hair, okay?

      Ugh. FML. I have to go do something. I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to go do it. YouTube typically sucks me in real deep and then I move onto Facebook and then gaming, so it'll probably be that, but this is getting too long. Nobody's listening anyway. Listening, reading, whatever. Potato, potahto. An entire universe, an empty room. What's the difference?

I Hate Titles

       And...surgery number three is over. Actually I had it on the 31st, and to be completely honest with my completely nonexistent readers, I thought I'd die. My family (or at least the ones who give or pretend to give a shit) feared I might, too. I probably waited longer than most people, because I've seen people with kidney stones and they didn't have the white and slimy mouth. They weren't vomiting, their eyes weren't dark. If I'd gone in sooner, I probably wouldn't have needed so many surgeries.

      That's not pleasant; I'm just going to breeze past it. Shit, what did I used to talk about? I know, garbage, right? Dreams this, spiders that. But we do have a growing bear problem that's pretty bad. Apparently I missed a bear fight not too far from home. I'm told we have three different types of bear in just this town; the lesser-seen brown bear, of a temperament I wasn't taught, the super-aggressive "brown-nosed bear," whatever my rednecked source meant by that, and the more docile black bear, which can apparently be scared away by kittens.

      The hell's a brown-nosed bear, anyway? Do they socialize the same way dogs do?

      The past two times I've gone to the hospital―which, yes, have been the only times I've been out since the 17th―I heard the bears in the ditch that's right beside the bus stop. Time before last, my brother woke up early enough to escort me there, and he saw it. I was close to the ditch with my back to it, had no idea the bear was there, and he warned me to go closer to the road.

      So that's three times now I could have been bear food. Time before last was when my mother had to go to the hospital, and when I got back home it was dark; I did not see the bear just feet away from me. Luckily he had already eaten. Well, lucky for me, not so lucky for his meal. And the time before that, my family and I were walking around Rolley Lake, and a bear was definitely interested in us. He was creeping up on us, and we just kept walking. I don't even know why he didn't attack.

      My tongue still looks white, but at least the slime, nausea, pain and discomfort are gone. My lips aren't gross, and now that the stent is out (for which I was not anesthetized, or even numbed up) I can pee and just be done with it, I'm not questioning if I have to go while washing my hands. Nor am I tempted to live on the toilet. It's good! I didn't realize that feeling several hundred years old is so much more refreshing than feeling like a mummy. I even had tape on my belly because the last stent had a string; he just grabbed it and yanked. Oof, that was awkward. But I'm glad he didn't go slowly, because that would have been torture. I said the worst part was the anxiety, but it's not. The worst part is knowing it can happen again. And again.

      I was also tempted to tell my family every time they visited me at the hospital to just leave me there. I was so sure I wouldn't get home. And I was kind of okay with that. I went to the hospital in my own town to get the stent removed, and I couldn't do it because they wouldn't put me under. I didn't realize my surgeon in the next town would also refuse, because I was put under every other time. But apparently, sedating me opens them up to investigation. I guess putting it in is so much worse than taking it out, so whatever. Yay drugs.

      But I now want to live in the next town, because their hospital is so much better than the one here. The doctors and nurses are kinder, and better equipped. The hospital here doesn't have complete roofing, and it's got a lot of areas that are just plastic―the walls and the ceiling, too. It's ugly. This hospital seriously needs money.

      Not to mention getting to the hospital one town over is a bitch. Three, four buses. 7 AM going there, 3 PM coming home, and that's for day surgery. Taking that thing out was a procedure that took five seconds. Five minutes talking me off the ledge, one minute to lay down, five minutes to pee and get dressed, and the rest was all travel. I mean, I did have to wait around a little, but that's fine, that's nothing. I'm pissed about having to stand so close to the bears waiting for a bus that will take an hour and a half to get me there. Don't ask me how the entire day gets gobbled up; it just does.

      Oh, man. I really thought that whole thing would kill me. I wasn't strong enough to do anything, I couldn't get comfortable at all, I didn't even have an indoor voice. All I could do was whisper. I was this pathetic, shriveled creature that couldn't stop vomiting long enough to take her pills. You know the worst choice to give someone? "Should I give you the medicine for your pain, or the medicine for your nausea?"

      Because that's when you know―you don't so much mind the puke. That was the most intense pain ever. I was going to die. I was going to make absolutely sure of it. If that happens again...

      Well, whatever. Happy thoughts, right? Suppose my book is going okay; kind of rocky at times, I know. But I have an excuse; it's just me. I don't have any help. What's the excuse for all the horrible movies and TV shows out there? Shrek The Third, what the hell was that? Anyway, in my current story, which took a backseat for a story that took me a year, I am writing the 58th chapter. Since that chapter is incomplete, I count it when I say that all I need is seven more chapters for it to be the longest book I ever published.

      And in my original story, I'm working on the 33rd chapter and estimate over 1,000 pages. How come I don't know for sure? Wordpad. Where do I get my estimate? Microsoft. I'd have kept my story there, but it's so big that it crashes the app. So proud! Of my terrible story. That no one will read.

      I guess I am prouder of my fan fiction. It doesn't get a lot of attention. When it does, it's either negative or the person has only come to say, "Interesting." I hate that. My last comment was, "I'm not complaining..."

      Wow. That was over a year ago, July 18th. It may be glaringly obvious that I am a struggling author, but at least I post original pieces of crap. I've come across the transcript of the movie on that site, and it's got hundreds of reviews giving it praise. I mean, if you don't watch the show, don't read about it. It's insulting to the people who wrote the original transcript.

      And yes, I publish AI pictures. Stop bitching. I'm not selling it. I'm not saying, "This is me!" so just piss off. I am happy with the result, I enjoy looking at it, and I'll lose it if I don't save it somewhere. You don't have a problem with AI; you have a problem with people calling it art. If your problem was with AI, you wouldn't own technology. You wouldn't play games with AI characters and you wouldn't watch movies with AI characters. You'd ban it all, not just the websites.

      The people who sell their AI image piss me off, too. They don't deserve a profit. The people claiming to be the person in an AI-generated photo, or the parent of the child in an AI-generated photo, are just creepy. Be mad at them. That makes sense.

      Well, I think I've said all I need to. I may not be able to escape―ugh―people, but I can definitely say it's bedtime. You know, when I had my first stent put in and I woke up feeling healthy, I was elated. I experienced happiness for an entire week. Then the depression hit me again. Now I have to dwell on how bad it was if I want to feel good again.

      Being depressed is making me depressed.

Best Dream Of My LIFE!!

       I just got up from a nap...during which I dreamt that I was a singer, performing one of my favorite songs by my all-time favorite singer, with her! And crushed it!

      Who knew I could have such an amazing sleep, when I feel so un-amazing? The surgery went well, except for the uncontrollable shakes I had despite actually being happy to be getting it. I was hungry and cold, so that might be it. They removed my stent. But then, they put in another; and this one has to come out in two days, not two weeks. Seems almost pointless... And they said I could pull it out myself, and oh by the way it's about the length of my arm.

      I said hell no, I'm letting the pros do it. They said "Call the office today and book your appointment," but uh-oh, they aren't open 'til Monday. Again. Don't they know their hours?

      But this new stent, man. Fuck. I guess I'd gotten used to the first one, and the replacement is going to be hell all over again. Here I am, peeing every two minutes again. I literally came this close to having an accident, twice! And, ugh, I was advised to drink a tall glass of water every hour. Can I just not? I feel like a lake! Damn!

Dreams....And Seams

       My surgery was finally scheduled for tomorrow. Pretty last-minute, but, kept getting a machine. Anyway, I'm just glad to be making progress. Hopefully they can ablate the rest of the stone, and I should really ask about my blood type while I'm there. Maybe a diabetes test, because I am always tired. It could be the depression, but it could be something else, too.

      So I have until midnight to eat what I want, and until 7 AM to drink even water. Ohmigosh, I'm so excited! Hopefully they can patch me up good as new, wouldn't that be great?

      In other news, I have been having very strange dreams, and I guess it started with the one where I was a prisoner. In a hospital-like setting, I guess because that was the most exciting thing to have happened to me all year. Small, curtained spaces. Toilets in every one, but there were fences in every hallway. The floor was dirt, with holes where the prisoners were brought through. So I'm trying to climb out...actually, in retrospect I think I was wearing the same outfit I wore in the hospital, greasy ponytail and all. But I get to the outside, and I walk for a very long time, finally get to where the "owners" work, and I see this spinning light. It's green, but then it turns red and an electronic voice blares out that I've been located in the building. Then these guards ambush me―and I wake up.

      Then I dreamt I lived in this incredible castle. Gorgeous. Except for all the toilets in open spaces; I think I can blame the stent. But I really need to go, and every toilet I try, people walk into the room. Apparently my castle is open to tourists, or maybe it's part-hospital. So I go into my bedroom, which has a huge window on the inside, like at patient admitting. Except I'm home, in my bedroom, and I need privacy. So I close the window even though there are people trying to talk to me about, well, fashion and other unimportant stuff. I close the window and before I can even get to the toilet, my sister barges in. Apparently with all that space, all those bedrooms, we still share a room. Yeah, no offense, but that wouldn't happen; if it's my castle, we're all getting our own floor, okey-dokes?

      So finally I decide to go up to the top floor, thinking I won't be barged in on (is that correct?). There are so, so, so, so, so many staircases and they are all so, so, so, so, so long. Naturally I wake up before I can get there.

      Then there's a dream about a kitchen fire, but then.... There's an old man. Climbing fences. Inside hallways. And an alarm goes off, blaring out that he's been located in the building.

      What? I mean, what? Seriously! 😂

      I love my brain, but I don't understand it. It's not the first time a dream has repeated itself and I'm sure it won't be the last. But I'd love to understand it. Or kill it. Just that teeny, tiny portion of the brain that dreams. Well, okay, that's a big portion of the brain, damn near all of it, but okay, I can consent to being sedated every night. No problem here.

      I have to get moving. Five hours to eat and counting.

Between Surgeries

       So I have to go in for another surgery, which I was supposed to book days ago, but I haven't been able to get in touch with them. My mother tried and got a "Maybe we can do it on the 26th, we'll call you back," and that was the last we heard. That was this morning.

      Hopefully I can get the stent out before it's "too late." I've never wondered before if these things can poison you. I did learn that some patients receive a stent with a string, and whatever you do, you're supposed to not pull it. At all, otherwise it could cause internal damage, pain, etc. But my brother made this joke about wind-up toys... He's weird like that.

      I'm also a couple days behind on my meds, one of which I actually can take. Well, three of which, if we count the Gravol and the Restoralax. I'm no longer nauseous or plugged, but I'm definitely going to be saving them until they expire. Just in case.

      And I have a new appreciation for, well, pretty much everything. Hospitals, a laxative given as a gift, even that calorie-measurement thing my sister-in-law does, which I thought was "over the top." I wasn't rude about it before, just confused and clueless, as is my default. I think I should contact her and ask her to help me do that.

      There are so many things I didn't want to be. So many things I thought I never would. I've never been wrong on so many counts before.

      Today was a good day, though. I didn't think it would be, because I was much too sore to get any sleep. Turned out I just needed a BM. I took Tylenol at noon and haven't taken any since! And I got to the bank. I passed up a much-desired lunch offer at Tim Horton's, but I know I need to take it easy. And maybe not just until my next surgery, but probably forever. Sadly I'm not getting any younger. I just wish I'd gone to the hospital when I first felt something was wrong. Future note; dark and infrequent urination coupled with crippling pain, no bueno.

      I'm afraid I might be in actual kidney failure.

      I don't even drink.

SURGERY

       So...I had a CT scan booked for today. So effing glad they didn't make me wait! I was in the most pain and discomfort I have ever been in, more than I thought was possible. Puking and sweating and shaking so hard. I'm sure I made a lot of people feel uncomfortable, especially when I did that screaming thing when I was retching. Ew. But yeah, I don't know if I was screaming because of the effort, because of the pain, or because that's just how people puke. I don't do it a lot.

      But on Friday, I think, I was hospitalized a third time. Ugh. This time the doctors actually conversed about my X-rays and started wondering if it was a kidney stone. No hesitation, they get on the phone and arrange for me to have my CT scan that same day; next thing I know...well, I'm still in the same uncomfortable chair puking and trying not to cry, but after that I'm flying down hallway after hallway in a wheelchair by the most amazing hospital transfer guy. I'm wearing a nightie, and I'm afraid it'll fly up, that's how fast he was going. That or he just had really long legs...everybody's tall to me.

      A couple more hours of pure torture later, I'm in the CT with a needle in my hand (which was in there for 2 days straight, thank you very much!) feeling this dye, this incredibly warm dye, spreading through my entire body. I was transferred by wheelchair and I'm still sitting in the wheelchair in the waiting room, trying not to watch this overly-affectionate couple; I mean, she was all over him, kissing him all the bloody time. You're in a loving relationship, great! Time and place, people.

      Then I get wheeled off to a waiting room, where I get to my feet because unfortunately, Transfer Guy has to leave. He was awesome; very skillful in maneuvering me, and he played good music. So there I sit, in a haze of unbelievable pain and nausea, trying to converse with a receptionist who clearly thinks I'm stupid, because she was scoffing and rolling her eyes at me when I couldn't recite my mother's new phone number without looking. Anyway, the bitch takes me to another waiting room, though not before holding up traffic so she can gab to someone. Dumps me in a narrow curtained space with about six chairs in it and fucks off.

      At least twelve hours go by. Twelve hours of puking, shaking, sweating, and listening to this poor guy with fluid in his lungs; I hope he got in by now. Jeez. A nurse comes along, finally. Fiddles with my IV, fucks off. More time goes by. More nurses come and go, but they're not mine. Finally a nurse comes back to me and I ask her to check my IV, to make sure it's in correctly because it looks like it's coming out. Doesn't even turn her head, just says, "It's in correctly," like every-body there is infallible (luckily the bitch was right, but I was in such a bad mood that when she left, I mimicked her words and muttered, "Fucking turn your head." I was so miserable I didn't care, but I think I made the guy beside me laugh. Small wins, right?)

      Guy beside me eventually goes in for kidney stone surgery. I don't see him again. Boom, doctor comes up to me, I have to go in for kidney stone surgery. What was it, the kidney stone waiting room? I don't care, I'm just so happy to finally be going somewhere; I wanted surgery days ago. I think I was a highly cooperative patient. I put up with three enemas that did nothing, used the commode a bunch of times because at least they are not embarrassed, and didn't hesitate at all to have a medical device go up past my urethra. But when I woke up...oh my god. No more pain! I could think. I could breathe! I almost cried again.

      But they inserted something that does stretch you out a little down there, so things can pass, including stones. It makes me want to pee, like, all the time. I'm looking forward to getting it out in two weeks, but I also want it to stay in. Apparently I'm too narrow. I don't want this to happen again. I wouldn't wish this on my enemy.

      But yeah, my doctors and nurses... Man, if I was religious, I'd have called them all angels. And you know what? Tylenol keeps the pain away. Oh, right, the stent they put in me can cause pain, which is the same pain I had before my surgery. So that sucks, but at least there's Tylenol. And I am now on four different prescription meds... Well, we'll see. Two of them are these gigantic pills that I'm not sure I can do, because they don't want me crushing them or breaking them. Something I have always done, because I choke easy. I'm trying them out soon, unfortunately, and if I can't, well, then I just won't. In two more weeks I'll have another surgery to get everything nice and wide down there, and hopefully the stone will be no more.

      I just wish I could remember that nurse's laugh. I know it was beautiful. I remember one of them saying I had "stellar" blood pressure, which is shocking, because I've been under the impression it was high. You know, after someone told me it was. And today, my mother's friend said I "looked good"...which is also shocking.

      Anyway, this has all been slowly escalating over the course of a month, probably brought on by that whole big thing with my neighbor. And I haven't slept very much this whole time, so I think I'm going to try to choke down my meds and lie down. Not like there's a bloody point. Even feeling this good, I'm still uncomfortable. I think I can feel that thing in me. Fun fact; people sometimes remove it at home!

      No thanks. I'm gonna let the pros do this. You know, I have had some horrifying, traumatizing stuff happen to me in hospitals; but over the course of the past four days (or whatever), I'm just not afraid anymore. The doctors and the nurses treated me so well, I actually dreaded coming home. I mean, I can't get the help I need here! What if the stone shifts? What if I'm allergic to these pills?

      Now I hate it here. I feel so unsafe now. I know stress might be a factor in kidney stones and I'm trying to be calm, but... I never have been. People think I am, because I don't express it, but I am always so anxious. Hello, I used to be a shut-in who called her mother if she heard sirens. I don't think my family remembers that. I tried taking my life when I was a child; don't think they remember that!

      A doctor told me there are so many factors to stones that they don't even know the leading one. They don't even know, and I'm supposed to be calm. Knowing I can feel like this again. Seven years from now, a month from now, tomorrow!

      I just want them to make me like a foot wide down there. Okey-dokes? Pretty please? It's not like I'm ever going to be using my womb, so let's just swap it out! Use it for experiments or something. Try to impregnate an animal, or see if a shoe fits in there. Use it as a planter, I don't care, but make me wide.

      I can't even sleep now without dreaming of hospitals and doctors. Which is fine, until I wake up and realize how helpless and alone and without a clue I am.

Hospitalized Again

       And this time, stuff was coming up. I also stayed for 12 hours this time. I also heard people calling for a Sharon and an Allison, so....small wins.
      My god, I'm tired. I did nothing but puke. Here's hoping the same medicine that made me vomit so hard at the hospital doesn't effect me now!

Hospitalized After Loud Retching (I Really Hate THIS Title!)

       Okay, well, worst night of my life since that horrific pain in my foot, which was similar to that unbelievable pain in my back. One minute I'm trying to go to the washroom, thinking it's another boring night, and the next I'm bent over the bathtub retching so loud, I'm practically screaming down the drain. Luckily no one heard me.... 😒
      But I came out and did something brave; said I had to go to the hospital. Bam, forty-five minutes later the ambulance arrives. Six more hours later I'm back, with a diagnosis that I won't publicize, just in case somebody in the whole wide world is reading this.

      Really not the night out I wanted, I'll tell you that much. Coolest part in all that was how many names I heard who were also characters in various medical dramas; Will, James, even an Archer, and you don't expect to hear that.

      Anyway, got my diagnosis, got my prescription, and now I just...wait for morning to get it filled. But tonight, I am absolutely refusing to sleep. It gets so bloody hot in my room and I'm not going there. I am not puking myself awake. Again.

      When I was a kid, I puked all the time. Thought I'd gotten used to it. Oh, I had a couple bites of popcorn? Blagh! I was just playing with my friends? Blagh! I was...sleeping... Blaaaaaghhh!

      I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life. Now I'm just sitting here, severely uncomfortable and very afraid of retching again. Every burp I feel coming is nightmare fuel.

      I've felt nasty for about a month, but tonight it just got so bad, so fast. I'd rather die than feel like this anymore.

I Hate Titles

      So in the aftermath of everything, my family wants the man responsible to pay us for the hotel room. I'm not even sure where I stand on that. Yes, it is his fault we had to go to the hotel, but our choices were a hotel, the street, and a jail cell because we refused to leave willingly. It is not his fault we chose the hotel.

      I don't know. I don't even understand myself half the time. Well, more than half.

      Anyway, I doubt we'll see that money. On another topic, I had the weirdest dream. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was trying to escape a tornado! There were scenes of us driving really fast, taking cover, and just trying to outrun it, but we got to this building and lay low and waited it out. But then it returned, or maybe it was a different tornado, I don't know.

     Anyway, then I woke up, went back to sleep and dreamt that I was on this sidewalk, facing away from the road; and there was a large gap between me and another road. There was a woman with a bow, who kept trying to kill me, and my cousin, who I never dreamt about before, got in the way. Took an arrow right to the forehead. It didn't kill him and people were trying to pull it out...

     Oh wow, he's Denise. And I guess the woman was Daryl. Well, not really, because there were no zombies or "cowboy gangs." Although I suppose she was something of a "highway-madam."

I Hate Titles

      I live in a four-plex, and yesterday one of the older tenants took a tumble and couldn't get back up. He was down five hours. Paramedics arrived, quietly helped him out and took him to the hospital...then called the police on him, because they saw an arsenal I didn't know he had! Missiles and grenades, wouldn't put guns past him, either. So the cops called the military, military called the Black Ops, they swarmed our house looking for active bombs, my family's friends all saw it... But let me start at the beginning.

      Three or four cop cars came to our house around 9:30 PM. I assumed they had seen a convict and it was utterly unrelated to this property. Nope, they barged in, then they repeatedly knocked on everyone else's doors prompting us to leave. We were given about half an hour to fuck off. My mother, of course, planted her ass on the sofa, crossed her arms, and said "I'm not going anywhere!"

      My brother wanted to present a united front. "If she goes to jail, we all go to jail."

      Yeah, nope. No way in hell. I grab my bag, go downstairs, walk up to a cop and tell him, "You might have to drag her out." He tells me she could be arrested and I go, "Fine, then arrest her."

      I also apologized abundantly and he was all smiles, very polite to me, understanding; apparently his mom is the exact same way. So anyway, now my mother's hauling ass. We call a cab, pay $50 to go to the next town, and due to a misunderstanding on the phone, we try checking into two different hotels and end up walking around an unfamiliar town in the dark! My mother, who's rather conceited, even lowered herself as much as to speak to a crackhead. Then we paid another $50 to come back into town and we waited in the lobby of a hotel we couldn't afford, wondering WTF we were supposed to do. Then the guy I insisted my mother call, called her; he had seen it on the way back to his place, taking our street just because there was construction on his regular route. He footed the deposit bill, we went to our room and ended up playing cards...for about ten minutes; my brother, who was "too angry to sleep" ended up falling asleep several times, snoring so loud I couldn't really hear my MP3 and the room smelled like nasal passages. My mother and I didn't sleep at all.

      Okay, morningtime. We renewed the room for another night because we could not contact anybody despite them saying they would be in touch, I tried and failed to get some rest, we were completely broke, I'd run all out of feminine pads, and the vending machines have all been converted to Interac only, no coins allowed. So anyway, my cousin called, asking if we were hungry; then my mother's friend called asking if we were hungry. I ended up having a milkshake, two pops, and a chicken burger with fries. While we were eating, we received a call saying it was safe to come home. So we packed our shit, trundled on down to the lobby, checked out, and got another call saying it was not quite ready. BUT my mother decided she'd had enough, and we came home no matter what was waiting for us. Turns out, all good. But the cops and the military are just not on speaking terms, apparently. Meanwhile we learn that the cops found at least sixteen grenades, at least one of which was active the whole time he was living here. And one bomb reportedly had a girth of ten feet. We're about $575 poorer, we owe two people and a hotel money, and I'm at least 26 hours of sleep-deprived.

      So anyway, this has all been a crazy shitshow, and now I'm left with cold fries, the indecision of sleeping or unpacking, and this nagging curiosity about my neighbor. I mean, will he be evicted? Will he come back? Was his nasty little arsenal completely cleared? Is he even safe to be around?!

      Not bloody likely.

      Edit (20th at 5 PM)―The hotel's been paid off, so all we have to do now is pay back the guy who bought our room. I offered to reimburse the woman for the food and she denied...and paying the guy won't be on my shoulders. Reimbursing the hotel came out of my bank account so I am in the clear. Even I might be reimbursed.

      Edit (21st at 8:48 AM―Yep. Guns, too.

I Hate Titles

       I went to bed around 7:30 after two more consecutive nights of barely or not sleeping. I fell asleep so fast and even had a pleasant dream...

      And woke up to the most fucking pain I ever fucking felt! Holy shit, I almost tore my blanket, I almost screamed and cried, my entire body was lifted off the bed. Then the pain began to recede and then it came back for round two. That was a little over an hour ago now and I can still feel it if I move my leg wrong.

      Which I'm doing intentionally because it hurts. What?! You're not there. 😏

     But since I think sleep is off the table, I was hoping to play Sims 3―but of course I have to restart my computer first because it's not opening! That app is ridiculous. And I cannot win.

I Hate Titles

       I tried coffee tonight. Really not my cup of tea, so to speak. I found it to be the most vile thing I've ever tasted, and I cannot believe my family drinks that swill about every half hour, each day. Willingly! Gag. Hopefully I don't taste that forever.

      I added more sugar than beans, too. And milk. My brother really talked it up, comparing it to hot chocolate. Um, NO. Well, unless the flavor is Your Foot, Skunk Butt, Melted Crayons or something.

      So I had an Oreo to try and replace the taste and now I'm going to drown myself in any other fluid. I also started up Sims 3 (yes, at this ungodly hour) and am going to indulge. I just really need something, anything, to make a dent in my depression. Being alone with my girls usually helps. My characters, not my boobs. They're okay, but they're not exactly uplifting. Or uplifted, because time's a bitch. YES, my wolfie just found another pink diamond! Go girl!

      That's what I want to do. Transform into a terrifying beast, prowl the night, shove some rocks into my mailbox and make millions. But gee...how do I start?

I Hate Titles

       More good stuff turned to shit since my last post. Well, no, that's wrong. It's probably been some time now that I couldn't log in to Avakin Life―again―I just didn't bother checking until yesterday. Hell, maybe it works perfectly and I just screwed it up trying to get Friendbase back. It's a boring, 2D game where you collect gems to buy stuff, and it took me years to buy everything a female avatar could have. Obviously I wanted my shit back, but no go. I even tried an emulator, but despite advertising Friendbase, they didn't have it.

     I can let all that go not a problem. What I hate more than (almost) anything is that while I tried getting it back, my nice black Google homepage became a stark, annoying white Yahoo! page. And, because my computer still recognizes Google as my homepage, and still recognizes the Complete Black theme to be selected, I think it's stuck like that.

      Not knowing what you can do―such a bigger pain in the ass than knowing and not doing it.

I Hate Titles

       I just "skunked" my family at the board game Sorry. Meaning, I won five games and they didn't win any. I love when that happens; it's even better that I don't play often. I just sat down and made them cry like a boss. Hah!
      And I got to dream about Need For Speed World, which is all I have left of it, I guess. Usually in my dreams, everything is normal; it's moving at the right pace, I can hear everything. Well, I mean, the time there were dinosaurs roaming the map and I could get out of my vehicle wasn't normal. But this time was different in an uncool way, even though I did get to hear the sirens on my cop car; it started out where I was trying to download the game, and unlike reality, it worked. But the game was super laggy, and I only dreamt about it long enough to crash into maybe four vehicles in one area. So, yeah, lame.

      Sucks that the game was closed down. And only after five years; meanwhile they're still making more. You know what makes less money than a game that "doesn't live up to standards"? A game that doesn't make shit. Closing down your best game, makes about as much sense as people who want to earn more money going on strike. It's not even about the money; it's about feeling appreciated. The corporate world sucks like everything else. Chin up, mouth shut, and you'll get your money. Go on strike, and all you'll have is your sign. They have jobs, and unfortunately, bosses don't care if you feel appreciated. They only care if their boss does. Anybody working for somebody is dispensable.

      Seriously, if you want money, listen to the audience, FFS. Or hope your boss does. Honestly, I am so tired of good things turning into something shitty. deviantART changed into Eclipse, The Sims 3 became The Sims 4, World went offline, and Outlook...well, it's still called Outlook, but it sucks balls now. How do I even log out? Just like gURL.com, which used to be cool. I couldn't log out of that either; I had to completely clear all my history.

      Maybe that'll work. Maybe. I've learned not to have high hopes for anything or anybody. No surprises that way.

I Hate Titles

       I got some clothing today. I'm wearing what is possibly my new favorite; a white dress with an intricate floral pattern. It's very cheerful, once you get past the hospital gown look. Makes me look and feel different, but in a good way. Actually, a very good way. Almost everything I own, black. I'm seriously sitting here in this cute, cheerful dress with my black nails and my ring with a big black jewel. It's like my wardrobe is confused...

      But I feel good. More exposed in the leg area than I'd like, but it's breathable. I'm not used to breathable, either. I'm used to thick, black, stuffy clothing. Comfort zone, I guess; maybe I've heard "Black is slimming" too many times, I don't know. I feel like...Linda Martin, on a beach day. It's probably not supposed to be this big a relief to wear light, but it's making me think I need to reassess what I have. I will always love black; it's elegant, it's classy, it goes with every color, and it is outer space―one of my top two locations. The other, of course, being the ocean. I don't care which one. Point being, maybe I need to get more light, breezy things that make me feel this...good. Maybe I should even stop being too self-conscious to wear things without sleeves.

      Wow, that is a very scary idea.

I Hate Titles

       I was picking up my room and got lost in some history; report cards! Ugh. One part of history I don't care for. I never knew it until now (unless I forgot), but one of them called me a he. So...thanks for that. They made more spelling mistakes than I did, while being very hard on me, a kindergartner (which Google says is the correct spelling, and which my mother said I never attended). Best of all, the fucking highlight of it all, I had carelessly decided 5+1=5, and my teacher decided, "Yep, that's correct. This kid is going places!"

      I wonder if they ever double-checked and saw their mistakes. The good news is, I think my straight F report card was disposed of. Yay!

      The weird part? All that goes back to 2003; I thought it was the '90s. In 2003 I lived in my current city, which I have nicknamed Junkietown. But my address on it says I lived in Vanderhoof, which is a small and very old-fashioned town 10 hours away from here; it actually has a resident limit, no buses, no taxis. I mean, people probably ride their horses all over. I see that here once every few years, but nothing like what I imagine for the Hoof. I'd love the old-fashioned part, but I don't really care for the "Privacy hasn't been invented" part. I just hope they're up-to-date on toilets, but the way germs spread around up there, they might not be.

      But, anywho, I considered going out today, and you know what I saw? It was either one bear twice, or two bears once. I didn't know they could run that fast, shit. I saw one once on a road trip, but it was just standing around. And it was just a blur. Anyways, I think I'm pretty much a shut-in again; not even fizzy sweetness is worth getting mauled. Long as I keep that in mind...well, golly, I may be able to lose a whole pound!

      And I have gotten some decent sleep lately. I saw that one episode of Chicago Med I needed to be all caught up again, while binging Lucifer, and lucky me, I dreamt about both! Mazikeen was still looking guilty after breaking out of her prison cell to snoop through what's-his-name's file, and Daniel freaking Charles had decided to act as her defense attorney! In retrospect, convincing a roomful of people to try and think like a demon, probably not a good idea.

      But he looked and sounded just like he does on the show. It was perfect; finally, a reason to love my mind. I got to hear him say "Mazikeen." I loved it!

      I also dreamt of zombies, and Rick from TWD was my leader. Ugh. What I want now is for Maze to be my leader in a zombie apocalypse. Or I'm a zombie and she puts me down! That'd be cool! Lately I've been dreaming that I'm, for instance, a beetle, and two spiders are trying to eat me. Or I'm a bird, getting attacked by another bird.

      And maybe, just maybe, I'm on the Internet too much. I'll tell you one thing; I don't mind taking another very long break from games, but I will watch Lucifer and Chicago Med at the same time for the rest of my life if it gets the characters in the same room, talking to each other... I wonder how the kind, patient, quiet old therapist would do if Lucifer showed him his face. What Linda would say if she met Robin. Oh, fuck, Maze would terrify Robin...sensible! Hah!

      While I'm thinking about it, I finished my Lucifer story. And I finally―finally!―found my knife. I think my shirt is gone for good, probably left it at the other house, which is...heartbreaking. I'd give away everything I own to have that shirt back. It actually looked good on me. Nothing looks good on me! Maybe it's this stupid face, or this stupid body, but nothing goes. That shirt was the best piece of laundry I ever had. I honestly, truly think I would rather wear it today, than live tomorrow. I've tried creating it with AI, to no avail. I've tried Googling it, nope. I think it was rare! Or my descriptive skills haven't improved much since, you know, kindergarten.

      Agh, I don't know. You know what? I think I'm too happy to let my shirt, and how friggin exhausted I am, ruin my mood. I've got my knife and I had a wicked cool dream... I probably won't sleep for another week, but I can float on that for awhile. And I learned something. Drink enough juice, I don't feel as tired.

      Which may be stupid. Temporary, at best. Be that as it may, I have to go make ice.

...

       Today was good, despite the heatwave―which is mild compared to what's coming, unfortunately. We knew it was going to get hot, so last night we made a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and cherries, which alone is a treat. Then today we ordered pizza, too. And pop. So my sweet tooth is very happy. I plan on having a good night eating my devil's food cake and ironically, watching Lucifer.

      I also got a good gaming session in today. Made a pretty cool luxury mansion in The Sims 3. A pool on the rooftop, six Marguaret Vaguesters, which is the most expensive car (at least, without certain expansion packs that I have installed, but disabled―I really want to play them, but my game crashes every time I try or even have the audacity to change the settings). This house actually costs over one million, which makes it the most expensive house I ever made. There's a fountain in the front yard that all by itself is fifty thousand.

      Obviously my Sims are too broke now, but I plan on moving them in eventually. I could just use cheats, but I'm not sure who will live there yet, since I have seven characters and the mansion has one bed. I should have thought that through. Granted, their current house has three beds and a crib, but it also has a garden...and, what with it being The Sims 3, I'm not sure the horses will be able to eat the plants once I move them out. It sucks for that; I can't even lock the doors on their other properties. So yeah, I made a mistake...in private. At least I didn't sell it to millions while making them pay out the ass.

      Devil's food cake with Lucifer, fish strips with Finding Nemo. That's kind of gold. Anyway, on to this pathetic little party. I had to battle a headache yesterday right in the middle of Chicago Med, and my memory's kind of fuzzy on what happened. I know Asher stuck her nose where it didn't belong, again. She acts like the whole hospital is her gossipy, cliquey high school heaven. What's next, a poster of a boy band on her locker door?

     But Dan was sweet, even smiled for once. I do remember that. I remember him saying "Can you get me when Dad arrives?" He was referring to a patient's dad, but he sounded decades younger. I remember wanting to rewind... I don't think I did.

    But yeah, Asher... She really gets on my nerves. She was introduced as a junkie who OD'd. Okay, yeah, she overcame it, became a brilliant doctor, but she still acts like a teenage girl. Giggling over crushes and wanting to know who's going out with who. I mean, treat your patient, sign papers, take a shower, shut your trap. She makes me miss Stevie. Hell, she's enough to make me miss Rhodes! Ugh, Rhodes.

      I've stuck with this show because it's about medicine. I love Maggie for the most part (she's kind of giggly and gossipy, too, but not as bad as Asher and I cannot get over how she stood up to Choi), Dan completely and totally, I liked Will, Sarah, Vanessa, Goodwin, Dr. Latham, Dr. Scott, Trini, Doris, Abrams. Other characters are good enough; Peter, Archer, even Pam Blake. But I cannot stand giggly, gossipy, mentally-twelve Hannah Asher. I did not even realize how much I didn't like her.

      It's okay though. I like Chloe Decker, but I do not like Leslie Shay. At least not yet. And Chicago Med, I think, would not be tolerable without Dan, Maggie, Will, Sarah, et cetera. Chicago Fire and PD have a few of them, but in very few episodes. I'm not sure I can watch it all the way through... Even if it does have Severide, Voight, Halstead, Casey. And I only, only list Spencer's character because he was in House. My favorite doctor show by far. Med is very good, but it would be so much better if I could just take all my favorites from that, and plop them into the House universe.

    It's apparently about 14 hours on the road between their locations, and the entire gang going to the other location's hospital is a little unrealistic. And this is coming from someone who writes books about Lucifer. The only thing that makes sense is if Rhodes, or Vanessa, or Will, goes to their own hospital from their own past. I do hope it happens eventually. But I still want to know what TF happened to Sam.

      And maybe my memory is shot from yesterday's headache, since I could barely look at the screen, but I cannot recall if Crockett was in the episode. I remember seeing his name, but not his face.

      Anywho. I'm going to stop talking to myself now. It seems like it's all I ever do. Even deviantART, once bustling with my friends' sub-missions, is now completely quiet. Like I'm not being alerted anymore when they publish something.

      Oh, whatever. I'll just go be alone, as usual. I wish I could say I was good company.

...

       "I'm feeling...happy...which is a big deal, for me."

      Seriously, I am and it is. I've been sleeping great lately, and I'm pretty tempted to go back to bed and see if I can get some more good sleep. But I don't really want to waste what is actually a pretty good mood. I've been taking more Benadryl than the recommended dose, and I'm finally not staying awake all bloody night, every bloody night. I'm actually sleeping like a regular person now; eight hours at a time. My last snooze only lasted about two hours, but it was still...amazing. For me anyway; I dreamt my brother's bike got stolen.

      And in my eight-hour sleep, I dreamt that I was at a hotel, my family was walking down the hall, and I was running after them. I wasn't far behind, but I just could not catch up. I should be able to, even if most of my focus was on the shadow of my hair as I ran; it looked really silly. It's knee-length, but it was bobbing around like Chloe Decker's ponytail (when she walks, which I hate). They got outside, and before I could leave, the doors locked for the night and I couldn't open them. At first, my family didn't notice that I'd been locked in, so they kept walking, going home. I turned, went back to our room, didn't have our card key but what the hell, it's a dream. So I stayed up there until my family came back for me. My stepfather, who was always saying goofy things, said, "Is there a woman up there? A graceful woman?"

      And I, being accurately pissed, went back inside and slammed the door. My dream-self contemplates staying there the whole night or maybe longer, saying I was quarantined, but eventually I go to the door, see all these keys hanging right there beside it, and I try them all (yeah, from the inside). The doors open up and before I can decide whether I'm staying or going, I wake up.

      So strange. But I woke up feeling so good. Tired, but good. I usually feel good in bed; once I stand, I realize how sore I am. I can feel my good mood slipping away; pretty soon I'll be back to my pissed self. (Whoa, don't read that wrong.)

      I hope not. I'm never happy. As I lay there, it cheered me thinking of deleting my chat history with that guy I called my bestie. He doesn't even want to chat, so why should I hang onto a corpse of what was? Of course now I'm rethinking it.

      But, ooh, speaking of corpses! Last night, I was playing Scrabble with my mother. I played glocks, aimed, deaths, then I got a Bingo, coffins. Then she played guns, pig, and coral. All of these are in theme with the Walking Dead. I was just sitting there laughing my ass off. Even took a picture. I asked her to send it to me, she said "Okay!" and hasn't.

      Now the AC is on. I'm freezing solid. Like those walkers in the episode The Storm.

Weird, Cool

      I wanted to know who played Chloe's father on Lucifer, so I Googled it―obviously―and found the name Russell Simpson. But, oops, he died in 1959! How could Google even make that mistake, thinking it was Russell and knowing it was Chris Gilbert? That makes no sense!

      And Chloe's dad is married to Maze, so that's kind of cool. In huge news, my mother finally agreed to watch one episode. She didn't appear to like it, but she also said she would watch more. I know if I asked her why, she would blame it on being a Libra, always being balanced. Riiight. Whatever. I'm just impressed she took a chance. Or a leap, as the case may be.

...

       I burned my hand tonight. Ouch. I think if I hadn't set it down as quickly as I did, I might have lost skin. Eeeww.

Should Have Seen That Coming

       I don't know why we didn't remember that every time somebody comes here from PG, they bring a bug. Now my family's sick, and seeing as how I live with them...
      I swear I can feel myself deteriorating. However I am very excited, because I am all caught up on Chicago Med. I reached my goal! Now I'm waiting for the next episode to air. I didn't think I'd be able to do it. Yay me! And it seems I've immortalized my book in time, because my computer's dying. Apparently it was close to catching fire just like the last one. My brother took it apart to air-dust the inside and said there were spider webs. Gross...

      My perfect life? Lots of pizza and chicken, a lot of cats, preferably on a tropical blue island, and no spiders. I fail to see how they're "a link in the structure of life" or however they say it. Okay, so no silk, if we count silkworms. And I do, believe me. If it can drop down on a sticky thread that just won't let go, I want it gone. No silk clothing, big deal. Life ain't breaking down. There's cotton, fiber, nylon, polyester, you can use a material besides silk to make satin, which is close enough. But oh no! No disgusting, eight-legged night-mares? How will I live?

      Very well, believe me. I'd much rather die than encounter one more big-ass wolfie. My worst nightmare is several of those, shooting around the room at lightning speed. I'd probably die of fright, and good luck finding that on the autopsy.

      But they updated my game, which now includes tornadoes, volcanoes and wildfires, so that's cool... It would be really cool if there was like a mortality risk. "Oh no! You failed as a parent! Respawn."

...

       My day didn't start out well; running on no sleep, I had to go downtown. Typical. I never sleep on payday. Then it just got worse! I got a headache, and general soreness all over. Went to my bank, withdrew, went to the store (apparently one guy was really checking out my hair, which is very close to my knees now). Tried to pass off as a human being, right? So I'm loading up the cab with groceries, and my hair decides to just spill all over the place. It got caught on everything and I yanked it so many times. Then I almost dropped the orange juice, which likely would have exploded and destroyed the driver's car. And then I bashed my head. Finally got home and realized my bra was only half-on, and the strap was hanging out of my sleeve.

      Shit. Worst day I've had in...ever? Anyway, I was so miserably exhausted that everything sounded weird, so I guzzled my energy drink and downed five sugar cookies. Hell, I've never felt attractive to begin with. I just want the energy to make it to my bed.

      The good news is, my brother got a spare keyboard, which he hooked up to my computer. I'm typing, and finally, the people who call from Egypt won't be able to comment on how quickly I type. But I was staying within my limits and reading the box. The product is actually terribly described; listen to this. "Pull back the spring design,rebound ligh delicate and comfortable touch Effective control of the space bar rebound. Durable UV character, durable UV character,wear-resisting."

      Don't capitalize whole words in the middle of your paragraphs, remember to hit the space bar, the word light ends in a T, and I don't know why you keep saying rebound. I wasn't in a relationship with my old keyboard.

      These people really need me. Anyway the new mouse is extremely mobile, so I put it on the wiping cloth for my glasses because I haven't had a pad in ages. I should get a pad. Oooh, I wonder if I can get one with a skull on it! Probably, yeah. I also picked up two new shirts which I have yet to try on. I can barely raise my left arm, it hurts so bad; but I'm actually looking forward to seeing if they fit. I hope so. The store didn't have any changing rooms, and I don't have the courage to just start taking my clothes off in front of everyone... But I was given a 30-day allowance to return the items.

      I hate shopping, but I grabbed them in five minutes. I was actually hoping to replace an old shirt, but I swear it was one of a kind. Google has been useless. I haven't seen that shirt in forever and I'm pissed; it was my favorite one. Seems like somebody just stole it from me and used it to mop up a puddle or something.

      And I seem to be getting over my issues! Yay me. The whole getting ghosted by someone who said he never would, the comment about being slapped. I think I'm moving on. God, I hope so. I didn't want to live with myself. And I know I did nothing wrong. Liked him, loved him, supported him, gave him space. Got carsick, like a demon. I'm not really mad anymore, but it still boggles my mind. Hitting someone because they don't travel well has the same logic as hating someone for not having your skin tone. Just saying.

      Oh, I love this keyboard. I can type and think at the same time. In other news, my mother's boyfriend gave me 16 books that just don't appeal. It's about spaceships, and queens, and whatever a tree cat is. Lot of fights in space in these books. I said they read back as Star Wars for the Amish, then I happened to see that the name of one of the ships was in fact Vulcan. Weird, right?

      I also extended the offer to read a stranger's book because he was down on having no audience. He doesn't know me, the connection again is through my mother's boyfriend. My mother described it as Harry Potter style, and given the books they thought I liked, I've been dreading this whole thing... But, if I help him, then maybe he'll help me. That's sort of a cool prospect. I have one friend on my Facebook who is a published author who's even traceable on the internet, but even she is always grasping for reviews and ratings.

      I have another Facebook friend who is a musician in a band. I suppose that's as close to the limelight as I'll ever get. I like my privacy, but not so much the loneliness. Every time I go to Wal-Mart, I'm reluctant to leave. I hate shopping, but there's people there. I always thank my drivers and cashiers and tell them to have a good day, but today I said my first hello to a pedestrian. Just because she was smiling.

      Everybody's so angry lately. Racist, and homophobic, overly supportive of the transgender stuff. Or they just have some superiority complex, hating everybody equally. I got used to hearing about white people getting pushed, or run over, so now it surprises me to see one white person attacking another. I wish nobody would care about the outside. I wish they would all shut up. I don't care if they are supportive―or opposed. There are so many more things to live for, and these days everybody just wants to hurt everybody else.

      I'm trying so hard to be nice. I don't know if it's worth it. I watch TV and see a cast of all colors, smiling and talking and supporting. I see it on live news. I know it's out there. But why can't it be local? Why can't it be current, instead of just...old videos that were once live? It's like something broke in everybody's minds all at once.

      I guess the best news of all is, I can go to bed anytime I want. Don't have to go out tomorrow. I will either not sleep or have a nightmare that will make me want to not sleep ever again, but it hardly matters. I know as soon as I lay down, like magic, I'll be wide awake.

      Maybe I'll give Benadryl another chance. The way I feel right now, something's gotta give. My wrist seems to have healed; it recently hurt so, so, so, so bad. I actually had to pick it up with my other hand when I was trying to stand up, because I couldn't just take it off the desk. I still have a bruise that goes halfway up my arm, but it feels great. It's so good to lock the bathroom door without having to bend my body instead of turning my hand. That pain didn't last long, not like this stinging sensation behind my ear. That's been going on for months; even ice hurts. I think about the hospital sometimes, but I'm so phobic about my past. And Covid.

      It's not that terrible. I'll soldier through. To feeling better, to my death. I honestly don't care. Really, all my energy goes into keeping my head up.

...

       I have the opportunity to go to Prince George this week to see family. Tempting, but I've decided to stay. I don't do well on a 10-minute car ride and PG's 10 hours away. My cousin volunteered to drive my mother and me, and my mother wanted my answer today. When I explained why, she said, and I quote, "I wish you could get over it. I'd slap it out of you."

      Seriously? She doesn't want to slap my brother for getting carsick. And I bet my ass, she wouldn't want to get slapped for being in pain.

      Fuck. My. Life. Cannot wait for her to go to PG.

Medspeak

       I'm really enjoying Chicago Med. I'm on season 6 of 9...so far. They are still making it, and I hope one day I'll be all caught up, waiting for the next. If they finish before that happens, that's okay, too. It's not my goal, but it's okay. I'm binging as much as I can. And finally learning military time because of it.

      Daniel's still my favorite. He is so funny. In season 5 episode 7, they get a patient who believes he is a vampire. Dan plays along and says, "You must be getting hungry...want me to call the blood bank?"

      Later on in the same episode, Halstead says, "Since hepatitis is transmitted through bodily fluids, probably got it from having sex with his girlfriend," and Dan quips, "Or sucking her blood. Yikes."

      Fucking love that guy. YES!! I just read he's in Chicago Fire. I've watched clips of that, too, which is how I initially got invested in Med. I wasn't sure about Fire, but if he's in it, I'll definitely be checking it out.

      Meanwhile, I had another couple of bizarre dreams. I dreamt that I was pretty, and people were actually looking at me. I dreamt that my mother wanted me to drive an ambulance and respond to this woman's 911 call, but I was just me, not a paramedic. And I dreamt that I had a closet where my TV is, and it had a hole in it, so I could look out into the living room and watch TV from my closet.

      So weird. I've been using Benadryl to help me fall asleep like I did when I was a kid. Google says it will lower the quality of my sleep. But I think the quality of my sleep is so low that the Benadryl actually raises it up to the level of bad. And I sleep better.

      Which reminds me, I was going to do that when I got home. I wasn't downtown for long, picked up my taxes, went to the 24-store to grab a Pepsi, but oh man, that turned out to be hard! In my advanced age, I don't do so well on hills, and I finally get to the top, limp all the way over to the bus stop about 100 feet away (I'm terrible with estimates, measurements, and math in general) and wait for about 15 minutes; then this (really handsome) older gentleman stops his construction work, crosses the road to inform me that I have to go back down the hill, cross the road, and walk even further than 100 feet (or whatever) to get to where the buses have been re-routed.

      Uggh. At least the scenery was nice... He even had blue eyes. I tried looking up Oliver Platt's eye color; did not go well. Apparently they're brown, green, gray, blue, hazel, and black. Umm...yeah, I'm not sure about that?

      My favorite character in Lucifer is Daniel, too. Last guy who wanted to date me? Daniel. Of course he ghosted me too, so whatever. It's okay, only Dan I need treats vampires. I laughed so hard when he said that, and just when I thought I couldn't love his character more, he goes and gets a Hawaiian pizza, my favorite! And he knows it's from my country. Awesome.

      I've also been on more of a Nightwish kick than usual, looking up Floor's live performances, and damn! Her version of Sleeping Sun is gorgeous. And Ghost Love Score, which I've probably heard 30 times this week. Oohhh, a Chicago Med Nightwish video.

      I think I'll queue up the next episode and grab my pop. Dan has a stalker, apparently. It's not me, I love him in a safe way. I mean, an intense way, but safe. I know it's a show and I just want to keep her away from him. 😂 But he makes it to the end, I know it. I had to know it; without him the show would be, meh, okay. Who would deliver the blood bank line without him?

      And he's so composed. The only time he smiles is when he's looking a psychopath in the eyes. Probably trying to communicate, I don't know. I'm not a shrink. I actually hate shrinks, but I've made an exception. I'd love it if he did me. Evaluated me.

      I like Maggie next best, then Halstead, then Natalie―although she annoys the hell out of me. Not because she's annoying, but because she is too nice. I guess her worst quality is that she wonders if she's rude, an "ice queen." She can't get any sweeter, and she's shopping for honey. She reminds me that I'm not too nice anymore.

      But Maggie...wow. Choi is a hardass. He's a military man, his punch knocked a man across the room, he's actually pretty scary. He kept telling Maggie to "clear" and she kept hanging onto the patient's arm, looking him right in the eyes, not flinching, to honor the patient's wishes. I liked her almost immediately, but now she's awesome.

      Oh, yeah! Right. Next episode. Okay. NOW.

      Edit (2:45): Halstead's a Checkers player! These are my people!!

...

       I just got caught up on The Ones Who Live. Rick and Michonne walk by a spinning display shelf and for just one second, I could see his name. Seriously? I took a break from Chicago Med to get away from it. It's one of two reasons, actually; I wanted to see Judith and Rick reunite. Turns out, no big deal. Could have been, if it was done better. That RJ kid sounded like a zombie. "I just believed." Yaaawwn.
      Thinking of deleting my chat with the guy. I thought we had some good times, but apparently it was all in my head. Might go OTR in the end after all. I stuck around for him and my female friend, both of whom just...let me down.

    I don't know why I bother. Guess I'll just live for music. And dreams. I actually had a really cool one; I met this German guy―I never actually learned the language, but it sounded pretty damn good in my head. He spoke English but he still had this awesome accent... Go, brain.

People SUCK!

       What the actual hell is happening? People trying to poop in our driveway, or lighting intentional fires. That's bad enough. But turns out I can't rely on anyone, not even for a simple favor on Facebook. All I wanted from her was to compare our experiences in the same group and she didn't even have to click on anything, just think for a moment: Am I able make a post? Or do we both have to answer their questions every time before my comments are approved, which they never were?

      Seriously, I've answered their questions 20 times and nothing I've said has been published. What is everybody else doing right? Why is nobody on the entire planet acknowledging me, except the one guy I don't want acknowledging me since he commented on my boobs?

      Let's see. I won't mention names here, but I count...give me a moment...five important people who ghosted me after letting me think we were friends, my dad who walked out on us shortly after I was born, and a bevy of people who I just hung around because, well, we were kids and it was easier back then. Even losing them hurt. I had some good memories with those kids; learning how to play Tarzan, playing with the stray cats, playing Marco Polo in a pitch-black bedroom because I couldn't swim.

      It's always been me picking up the phone. Never them. They say they'll meet me downtown, stand me up. Say they'll come to my birthday party, stand me up. Tell me they'll never stand me up and fucking stand me up. I'm a nice person, so why do they keep doing this? Is it my face? The slump of my shoulders? My height perhaps! Or is it them―all of them―everyone else―every time? Never me, not me at all? Do all people suck, or am I just encountering all the sucky ones?

      It may be glaringly obvious that I'm single again. For about a year now, and I still feel like I've lost a limb. I didn't do anything wrong, I know that. My actions were just fine. He didn't want to say good-night, I sat in a rock-hard chair on my hemorrhoids for 24 hours straight talking to him. He said he wanted a month of space and I gave him ten. Ten! At which point I got dumped for missing him and wanting to talk more. Whatever. Ass. I got so tired of my family calling me a pushover.

      I gave him space when he wanted it. Gave him friendship when he needed it. Loved him. Still do, because I'm an idiot! I feel shattered. Burned. I actually blocked him. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn't want to keep looking at his name. Seeing it every day broke me all over again. The stupid part is, getting rid of his name didn't make me feel any better. Of course, maybe that's because of how many people there are with the same name in Chicago Med! Like they know, and want me to suffer for watching it.

     A lot of people have hit on me online over the years. For 29 years, I mastered pushing them away and feeling no grief. Then for this guy I let my guard down. Bam! Ended up feeling what I swore I never would. What am I supposed to do now―start all over again? I have the sneaky suspicion pushing people away will be harder now.

      I was such an idiot. Should have pushed him away, too.

    Here I am fretting over the wallet I lost because of the pictures inside. And why? It's just a picture of my dad, who didn't want me, and a childhood friend, who doesn't want me. Said we would talk "later that day." Here we are...eight years later. She moved, didn't tell me. Wouldn't even look at me when I attended the birthday party of the sister I didn't know she had. I ended up ducking out without saying goodbye. To think I got all dressed up. Those pictures should mean as little to me as I meant to them. I should rip them up and throw out the pieces. But no. Stupidly I want to turn my room upside-down and find the little bit of those people I'm left with.

      All I can do is sit here and be jealous of their ability to escape whatever's wrong with me. And applaud their refined taste.