Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Minister of Relief? No longer.
It seems like an eon ago I had a conversation with my mother (now gone, she's passed from her own self destructive behavior of smoking), we were having one of the few open talks about what ails me.
Not often did she unlock the gate of secrecy and distrust between us but I think the pain in my eyes and the obvious suffering I was going through finally made contact with her. Maybe she felt connection with her own torment, she wrapped herself in suffering for as many years as I was able to recognize it.
The chat was about the pain I was having, I asked her, "Mom, did I always hurt?" there were so many years that I've literally blocked out of my life due to circumstances that would probably traumatize others to the point of ruining their chances of having normal social relationships and a public life.
Poor choices made by me started young including flirtations with young men, hell I was a good looking girl and stacked! How could a burgeoning youth, his hormones racing and his acquisitions beginning..resist?
My desperate need for affection was taking the wrong direction because I was ignored by my family and sought solace in my playmates.
During it all, not only were my affections emotional but physical. I craved the pampering and touch that takes away the hurt one feels. Consider if you've fallen and scraped a knee, didn't Mommy kiss it and make it all better? For me, I would have these unexplained aches and my inability to explain why left me reaching out for comfort. I couldn't explain anything more than 'it hurts' which went unheeded by family but fulfilled by boyfriends.
When it was listened to, it was dismissed as being 'in my head' or that I was seeking attention.
In my toddler years I'd experienced an illness that hospitalized me for an extended period of time; later in my life this was barely explained to me. I've since done some reading and feel it possibly contributes to the problems I suffer today.
The abuse I was subjected to from a mentally ill family has more than likely been internalized and now has manifested itself and contributes to these pains.
It's definitive that my pain is obvious to anyone that truly wants to see inside of me.
This cripples me, it doubles me over, but I try to swallow it for the most part because I do not want to see pity on my friends faces. I do not want dependence on medications that will have my mind lost in a fog but recently over the counter pain killers are just are not satisfying the hurt any longer.
My GI is extremely sensitive (go back and read blog from last week); I literally must have a bite to eat in order to take most medications and absolutely must if it's a narcotic or muscle relaxer or you can be certain it will be back up and out in rapid fire succession.
During the winter of 2008 after being ill with respiratory infections from late October until January 2009/February 2009 and using 5 different antibiotics we figured out that I was allergic to Doxycycline - every single time it went in it was back out!
oh my, it was as if someone had taken both hands and grabbed my stomach, started twisting it into a knot like would a wet dish rag. Twirling it in your hands and ready to snap it at someone perhaps more like a wet bath towel in the gym locker and 'SNAP' slap someones bottom.
The twisting, clenching + the snap are the combination of discomforts I am experiencing when I take the Doxy, all the while my face starts to flush and sweat, my throat starts to fill up - I'm choking on my own vomit and sweating profusely.
guess what? yesterday I dug up an old bottle of some pain killer and took it and this is how it left me feeling no sooner than 10 minutes from swallowing it. I was swooning with nausea.
This leaves me with a dilemma because my stash of pills (that help) is dwindling and my week has been so bad.
Every day I take 4, sometimes 5 Tylenol 20 minutes before I eat my meals because my mouth hurts when I eat (read last weeks blog), 2-3x daily I take an 800mg Ibuprofen to help with the swelling in my hands and feet. This week I've resorted to adding more to this concoction, which can't possibly be good since I already have poor liver function values each time I have blood work done at the doctor's office.
So yesterday, in the afternoon, dreading having dinner and another handful of pills I telephoned the doctor's office because I needed refills on other medications including my anticonvulsant) and asked to refill the pain med.
Not only was my anticonvulsant mis-labeled at the wrong dose, they told me that it must be MY mistake! then I was told that the doctor would no longer be prescribing me pain meds and that I could find a new pain management doctor to help me.
thank you, you insensitive and condescending fuckhead.
my mother's response, "your first words were, 'ouchie mommy' and you didn't do anything to hurt yourself that I'd witnessed"
Not often did she unlock the gate of secrecy and distrust between us but I think the pain in my eyes and the obvious suffering I was going through finally made contact with her. Maybe she felt connection with her own torment, she wrapped herself in suffering for as many years as I was able to recognize it.
The chat was about the pain I was having, I asked her, "Mom, did I always hurt?" there were so many years that I've literally blocked out of my life due to circumstances that would probably traumatize others to the point of ruining their chances of having normal social relationships and a public life.
Poor choices made by me started young including flirtations with young men, hell I was a good looking girl and stacked! How could a burgeoning youth, his hormones racing and his acquisitions beginning..resist?
My desperate need for affection was taking the wrong direction because I was ignored by my family and sought solace in my playmates.
During it all, not only were my affections emotional but physical. I craved the pampering and touch that takes away the hurt one feels. Consider if you've fallen and scraped a knee, didn't Mommy kiss it and make it all better? For me, I would have these unexplained aches and my inability to explain why left me reaching out for comfort. I couldn't explain anything more than 'it hurts' which went unheeded by family but fulfilled by boyfriends.
When it was listened to, it was dismissed as being 'in my head' or that I was seeking attention.
In my toddler years I'd experienced an illness that hospitalized me for an extended period of time; later in my life this was barely explained to me. I've since done some reading and feel it possibly contributes to the problems I suffer today.
The abuse I was subjected to from a mentally ill family has more than likely been internalized and now has manifested itself and contributes to these pains.
It's definitive that my pain is obvious to anyone that truly wants to see inside of me.
This cripples me, it doubles me over, but I try to swallow it for the most part because I do not want to see pity on my friends faces. I do not want dependence on medications that will have my mind lost in a fog but recently over the counter pain killers are just are not satisfying the hurt any longer.
My GI is extremely sensitive (go back and read blog from last week); I literally must have a bite to eat in order to take most medications and absolutely must if it's a narcotic or muscle relaxer or you can be certain it will be back up and out in rapid fire succession.
During the winter of 2008 after being ill with respiratory infections from late October until January 2009/February 2009 and using 5 different antibiotics we figured out that I was allergic to Doxycycline - every single time it went in it was back out!
oh my, it was as if someone had taken both hands and grabbed my stomach, started twisting it into a knot like would a wet dish rag. Twirling it in your hands and ready to snap it at someone perhaps more like a wet bath towel in the gym locker and 'SNAP' slap someones bottom.
The twisting, clenching + the snap are the combination of discomforts I am experiencing when I take the Doxy, all the while my face starts to flush and sweat, my throat starts to fill up - I'm choking on my own vomit and sweating profusely.
guess what? yesterday I dug up an old bottle of some pain killer and took it and this is how it left me feeling no sooner than 10 minutes from swallowing it. I was swooning with nausea.
This leaves me with a dilemma because my stash of pills (that help) is dwindling and my week has been so bad.
Every day I take 4, sometimes 5 Tylenol 20 minutes before I eat my meals because my mouth hurts when I eat (read last weeks blog), 2-3x daily I take an 800mg Ibuprofen to help with the swelling in my hands and feet. This week I've resorted to adding more to this concoction, which can't possibly be good since I already have poor liver function values each time I have blood work done at the doctor's office.
So yesterday, in the afternoon, dreading having dinner and another handful of pills I telephoned the doctor's office because I needed refills on other medications including my anticonvulsant) and asked to refill the pain med.
Not only was my anticonvulsant mis-labeled at the wrong dose, they told me that it must be MY mistake! then I was told that the doctor would no longer be prescribing me pain meds and that I could find a new pain management doctor to help me.
thank you, you insensitive and condescending fuckhead.
my mother's response, "your first words were, 'ouchie mommy' and you didn't do anything to hurt yourself that I'd witnessed"
Monday, June 29, 2009
will the blood ever wash out?
Who does this?
Hacks up chickens from 5 a.m until 8 a.m. while watching "Angel"? Murdering and killing demons with aplumb!
My mosh of hungry 4 legged monsters swirling around my ankles, their brightly colored stalwart physique's bumping and crashing into me as they bicker over tidbits that fall into their waiting maws.
I'm armed with Santoku, boning knife, kitchen shear and a cleaver ...How I love my cleaver! The husband was saying the other night over dinner with his boss, "it's amazing how Rebekah has such precision with that cleaver, her hands have awful tremors and even her head shakes but when that cleaver is in her hands she can whack a chicken in the same spot repeatedly and never miss by a fraction!".
The counter is sanitized, the cutting boards are washed as well, the stainless bowls are lined up and waiting patiently for their meaty deposits.
From the family room I can hear David Boreanaz say they must defeat the "Beast" in his muttering voice, still trying to get his acting wings. (what is it about this show that gets my fat ass out of bed every morning - it cant be the acting!? it must be my incredulous belief in Vampires even if they are yuppie horseshit poorly portrayed highly fashionable and too pretty Vamps)
Out of the refrigerator I procure a stack of chicken thighs so tall that one would expect that I were about to feed an army or begin the Independence Day hash slinging! Expertly I balance these like a trained Jenga pro, and then return to the ice-box and bring out the rest of the gushy treats (i.e. kidneys, gizzards, liver and be still...my not still beating heart).
Methodically I slice, the blade makes a 'snick snick' as the steel waltzes through the flesh. I don't use precision, instead I mangle and mutilate the poultry into tantalizing morsels that can be devoured by my hooligans. Emulating the shreds that their mouth would impart upon a kill, accurate? NO just grab, tear, swallow!
Why, you wonder, am I doing this?
Let's see....I love them. I can't see giving them crap any longer. The media feeds us shit and we eat it. If only I had the same will power to feed myself as well as I feed my cats, then perhaps I'd be svelte and muscular instead of one of the Teletubbies.
I won't be Tinky-Winky though! Did you know that Jerry Falwell swore that he was Gay!?
Perhaps, but it could be a common mistake just because he has a murse!
I could easily be mistaken for a axe-murderer, a gynecologists or just a butcher...
Why can't I get the blood out?
Sunday, June 28, 2009
she says...
what a ruse to send me a note saying she wishes I were there.
Perhaps the months leading up to this were simply an artifice as well. It wouldn't surprise me, in a hobby where the character of the person seems to take precendence over the integrity of the animal.
No one leaves their ego at the door even though they disguise it with humility and flattery - the easiest way to wiggle their way into the trust of another.
nothing about the relationship could be described as abstemious. Giving; in ways that cannot be calculated, or figured into true financial figures unless I were going to be heartless. She gave in ways that were (in retrospect) obviously ploys to bargain for strong-arming in the future. However, she didn't take into account that I've finally been pushed around far too many times and have had it up to here (pointing to throat).
Why do people take advantage of others and then try to reverse the accusations and psychology of the actions? Is it their guilt or do they honestly believe their own actions are not damaging and reprehensible?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
Perhaps the months leading up to this were simply an artifice as well. It wouldn't surprise me, in a hobby where the character of the person seems to take precendence over the integrity of the animal.
No one leaves their ego at the door even though they disguise it with humility and flattery - the easiest way to wiggle their way into the trust of another.
nothing about the relationship could be described as abstemious. Giving; in ways that cannot be calculated, or figured into true financial figures unless I were going to be heartless. She gave in ways that were (in retrospect) obviously ploys to bargain for strong-arming in the future. However, she didn't take into account that I've finally been pushed around far too many times and have had it up to here (pointing to throat).
Why do people take advantage of others and then try to reverse the accusations and psychology of the actions? Is it their guilt or do they honestly believe their own actions are not damaging and reprehensible?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Tulips and Evacuation
After the grand event of kittening I finally found great comfort in my over-priced, no back relief experienced (yet) and hot as Hell heat capturing Temper-Pedic mattress. There were dreams and nightmares from all of my thoughts being jumbled together. When I woke up, there wasn't a freshness to my step but at least I could walk without stumbling any longer.
When I finally sleep, it's as though I've taken a bucketful of anxiety and added a pound of vaudeville and stuffed it all into a blender. When I'm lucky the anxiety has been beaten to death and I am only left with the ridiculous performances that dance behind my eyelids.
Thanks to handfuls of prescription medications (one to fix one problem but then that that one creates another, and the one to fix the secondary problem requires another to fix those as well) I awake frequently to visit the throne.
Roll over and toss legs over the side of the bed, toes seeking purchase onto my sandals. (yes I said sandals - slippers are too effing hot) Usually upon sitting up in bed a rush of gas erupts into an incredible belch that which would bring Olympic scoring, I stumble my way from the bed to the toilet all the while groaning and protesting the indignities of my life.
Son'a'bitch this or fuck that ...can't believe I'm awake and why can't I get some rest for a change.!!!..why am I peeing I didn't even have anything to drink before bed!!!...complaints come to my lips so easily as I am sitting there on the stool with my pajamas down around my ankles in a pool of formless cotton-poly blend.
Illumination coming from the night-light on the wall, my tired eyes feel scorched by it! I slam them shut only to open a sliver, enough to be able to guide myself back to the bed.
Do I fall asleep while sitting there, perhaps! I'm not sure but I'm aware that I have a visitor just as I've finished shaking the dew off my lily (wait I don't have a lily but I do have two lips BAHA HAHA get it, Tulips!?!) and about to pull up my pants. Someone, a nude-cat of course, has clambered in and taken refuge in this warm new cozy place.
Seriously there is NO privacy in a home with Sphynx cats. They are not aware of these antics, which are highly demanding and priveledged. They just figure that their company is always welcomed no matter what the occassion.
99% of the time I'd concur but when I'm in my sleeping haze and hurting because a Mack-Truck ran me over, I find little humor when someone pounces onto my shoulder or onto my back while hunkered over the shitter.
Opportunists really - I guess I can't blame them I've been called the same.
In this day and age I think that if you see a shining star and can reach it, GRAB IT with both hands!
When I finally sleep, it's as though I've taken a bucketful of anxiety and added a pound of vaudeville and stuffed it all into a blender. When I'm lucky the anxiety has been beaten to death and I am only left with the ridiculous performances that dance behind my eyelids.
Thanks to handfuls of prescription medications (one to fix one problem but then that that one creates another, and the one to fix the secondary problem requires another to fix those as well) I awake frequently to visit the throne.
Roll over and toss legs over the side of the bed, toes seeking purchase onto my sandals. (yes I said sandals - slippers are too effing hot) Usually upon sitting up in bed a rush of gas erupts into an incredible belch that which would bring Olympic scoring, I stumble my way from the bed to the toilet all the while groaning and protesting the indignities of my life.
Son'a'bitch this or fuck that ...can't believe I'm awake and why can't I get some rest for a change.!!!..why am I peeing I didn't even have anything to drink before bed!!!...complaints come to my lips so easily as I am sitting there on the stool with my pajamas down around my ankles in a pool of formless cotton-poly blend.
Illumination coming from the night-light on the wall, my tired eyes feel scorched by it! I slam them shut only to open a sliver, enough to be able to guide myself back to the bed.
Do I fall asleep while sitting there, perhaps! I'm not sure but I'm aware that I have a visitor just as I've finished shaking the dew off my lily (wait I don't have a lily but I do have two lips BAHA HAHA get it, Tulips!?!) and about to pull up my pants. Someone, a nude-cat of course, has clambered in and taken refuge in this warm new cozy place.
Seriously there is NO privacy in a home with Sphynx cats. They are not aware of these antics, which are highly demanding and priveledged. They just figure that their company is always welcomed no matter what the occassion.
99% of the time I'd concur but when I'm in my sleeping haze and hurting because a Mack-Truck ran me over, I find little humor when someone pounces onto my shoulder or onto my back while hunkered over the shitter.
Opportunists really - I guess I can't blame them I've been called the same.
In this day and age I think that if you see a shining star and can reach it, GRAB IT with both hands!
Friday, June 26, 2009
the fat-lady sings
merely 36 hours past my early estimated time of delivery, at long last we have finally seen wriggling mewling little life forms emerge from a tired and confused first time momma.
Striking a pose and a grimace that would be the envy of Elvis' on stage, her upper lip curled to bare ivory fangs, she begins to push! Ever the supportive and proud expecting parents to be, we are up at the wee hours yet another evening to witness and intervene as necessary. (it's always necessary)
Every minute drags into what feels like hours, hunched over her kitty bed but soon that position wears out its novelty and I switch to propping my face up on one arm while peering inside this large Tupperware domicile. The only real problem is that I'm so weary that I can hardly keep the weight of my fat head up on my arm, it is seriously about to fall off (my face off of my hand - not head off body!)
my arm gets tired; my jaw pops open because my palm has been holding it in place and my head does a hard nod forward that jars me awake again. I drift now and then into this other consciousness - aware that I need to be present for the delivery but my mind sneaking off to get a glimpse at the beautiful sites I've yet to honestly experience.
Her contractions are 5-8 minutes apart and she's not very enthusiastic about it, disappointing news because this has happened with other females in the same line. Something needs to change! Maybe if I just close my eyes but still hold on to her dear little paw, stroke her tummy and continue to murmur to her (she won't know if I take this little nap)...
KERTHUNK! that's the sound my brain made when it imagined I was free falling over a cliff and I pop my eyes open to look into the gorge...that's where my girl is on her back with legs wide open now and she's bearing down hard!
.
.
.
.
.
5 hours have passed from beginning to end; I think the deed is done and so far we have had success. I won't count these eggs (into chickens) even though they did hatch.
its been a difficult night and I'm too tired to tickle the keys anymore. 48 hours nearly sleepless unless you count for the 75 minutes I had in the afternoon on Thursday.
our nude arrivals are here and I can finally rest easy!
Striking a pose and a grimace that would be the envy of Elvis' on stage, her upper lip curled to bare ivory fangs, she begins to push! Ever the supportive and proud expecting parents to be, we are up at the wee hours yet another evening to witness and intervene as necessary. (it's always necessary)
Every minute drags into what feels like hours, hunched over her kitty bed but soon that position wears out its novelty and I switch to propping my face up on one arm while peering inside this large Tupperware domicile. The only real problem is that I'm so weary that I can hardly keep the weight of my fat head up on my arm, it is seriously about to fall off (my face off of my hand - not head off body!)
my arm gets tired; my jaw pops open because my palm has been holding it in place and my head does a hard nod forward that jars me awake again. I drift now and then into this other consciousness - aware that I need to be present for the delivery but my mind sneaking off to get a glimpse at the beautiful sites I've yet to honestly experience.
Her contractions are 5-8 minutes apart and she's not very enthusiastic about it, disappointing news because this has happened with other females in the same line. Something needs to change! Maybe if I just close my eyes but still hold on to her dear little paw, stroke her tummy and continue to murmur to her (she won't know if I take this little nap)...
KERTHUNK! that's the sound my brain made when it imagined I was free falling over a cliff and I pop my eyes open to look into the gorge...that's where my girl is on her back with legs wide open now and she's bearing down hard!
.
.
.
.
.
5 hours have passed from beginning to end; I think the deed is done and so far we have had success. I won't count these eggs (into chickens) even though they did hatch.
its been a difficult night and I'm too tired to tickle the keys anymore. 48 hours nearly sleepless unless you count for the 75 minutes I had in the afternoon on Thursday.
our nude arrivals are here and I can finally rest easy!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
It starts with borborygmus
La Brea, the tar pits, were once shown in a very crappy movie (Arnold Schwarzenegerr's "Last Action Hero") that I watched with step-children and husband. It was a boiling, oozy blackness that radiated filth and with the right imagination one could smell the methane bubbling up and out into the once clear air.
What brings this description and revelation tonight? My stomach and acid reflux. Yuck!
It pretty well amazes me that I can subject my innards to all sorts of nasties at home, with the likes of ancho chilis & Jalapenos and somewhere in the realm of 7-10#s of white onions used in cooking every month but the moment I step out of the door and eat somewhere else you had better believe the gurgling is coming.
An irritable bowel is never really a fun topic unless you're morbid, socially unacceptable, work in the medical field, have only a few friends (fewer still if you have irritable bowel) or are a 'cat person - dog person' or otherwise employed/active in some sort of dirty hobby.
dirty hobby people will talk about ANYTHING and 9x out of 10 it will be just as you are about to enjoy a meal together when the litterbox humor starts.
somewhere deep down at the very base of my stomach, probably where it connects to my small intestine (I personally cartoonize the image of my own body and am now imagining a kidney shaped balloon attached to a washing machine hose that has leaky metal clips holding everything together and the balloon is overfilled and nearly bursting with some gelatinous, squishy feeling material that resembles oozing green slime used on Nickelodeon Television) ...there is a pressure of sorts, maybe its a tickle but its definitely not supposed to feel this way.
The sensation works its way up through my stomach, each moment is a cramp and a shimmy-shake that evolves ...and tells my body "Hey, let's light some incense and really create the mood"
There begins the real fun and I can taste my discomfort as it sends that smokey burning up into my esophagus and into my mouth. I'm sure if it tastes this bad to me, I can't possibly smell that great to anyone else. The positive thing for the moment is, its 2:45 a.m and I'm alone (unless you count for the pair of elderly cats vying for position on my chest thus blocking any ability to type but they get the best saggy seat in the house).
what brought this on, you'd expect I was going to wax poetic about some delicious meal. Starting with an outrageous hors d'œuvre so delectable that another bite would spoil my meal...
nope.
maybe it was an out of the ordinary ethnic Cuisine replete with herbs and spices none I've embarked upon before.
nope.
maybe I just over indulged in the trigger foods that tear my stomach asunder due to the IBD - things like tomatoes (you say toe may toe I say toe mah toe), onions and peppers and the dreaded milk!
nope wrong once again.
I simply had a steak and potato in a restaurant, but I suppose the preparation and handling is all that it takes to destroy that which we protect.
thank you for Omeprazole and Tums! soon the burn will be gone, I'm going to bust a fart and He who smelt it dealt it.
What brings this description and revelation tonight? My stomach and acid reflux. Yuck!
It pretty well amazes me that I can subject my innards to all sorts of nasties at home, with the likes of ancho chilis & Jalapenos and somewhere in the realm of 7-10#s of white onions used in cooking every month but the moment I step out of the door and eat somewhere else you had better believe the gurgling is coming.
An irritable bowel is never really a fun topic unless you're morbid, socially unacceptable, work in the medical field, have only a few friends (fewer still if you have irritable bowel) or are a 'cat person - dog person' or otherwise employed/active in some sort of dirty hobby.
dirty hobby people will talk about ANYTHING and 9x out of 10 it will be just as you are about to enjoy a meal together when the litterbox humor starts.
somewhere deep down at the very base of my stomach, probably where it connects to my small intestine (I personally cartoonize the image of my own body and am now imagining a kidney shaped balloon attached to a washing machine hose that has leaky metal clips holding everything together and the balloon is overfilled and nearly bursting with some gelatinous, squishy feeling material that resembles oozing green slime used on Nickelodeon Television) ...there is a pressure of sorts, maybe its a tickle but its definitely not supposed to feel this way.
The sensation works its way up through my stomach, each moment is a cramp and a shimmy-shake that evolves ...and tells my body "Hey, let's light some incense and really create the mood"
There begins the real fun and I can taste my discomfort as it sends that smokey burning up into my esophagus and into my mouth. I'm sure if it tastes this bad to me, I can't possibly smell that great to anyone else. The positive thing for the moment is, its 2:45 a.m and I'm alone (unless you count for the pair of elderly cats vying for position on my chest thus blocking any ability to type but they get the best saggy seat in the house).
what brought this on, you'd expect I was going to wax poetic about some delicious meal. Starting with an outrageous hors d'œuvre so delectable that another bite would spoil my meal...
nope.
maybe it was an out of the ordinary ethnic Cuisine replete with herbs and spices none I've embarked upon before.
nope.
maybe I just over indulged in the trigger foods that tear my stomach asunder due to the IBD - things like tomatoes (you say toe may toe I say toe mah toe), onions and peppers and the dreaded milk!
nope wrong once again.
I simply had a steak and potato in a restaurant, but I suppose the preparation and handling is all that it takes to destroy that which we protect.
thank you for Omeprazole and Tums! soon the burn will be gone, I'm going to bust a fart and He who smelt it dealt it.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
while babes sleep
Staccato are the sounds of his breath emanating from his sinus; the occasional flurry of grunts and chortles followed again by a sigh and then return of steady breathing.
Why has our maker made men so simple?
I suppose this is a rhetorical question because I already have formed my own answers so long ago.
Will I impart some of my feminine wisdom, certainly!
In my experiences with the 'stronger' gender I've witnessed that they have an innate ability to put all the troubles of the day to rest when it's time to sleep. A high percentage of the time they put all the troubles of the day, the week, and the goings on in life to rest when its time for sex, and they put every trouble to rest when they are watching their favorite program on the television.
Quite simply there is an invisible barrier that allows for nothing but sleep, sex or allowed/perceived happiness to infiltrate! Nothing will penetrate the fortress they've built around their noggin'!
When it's time for sleep, the female counterpart will go about rituals which may or may not include the visit to the bathroom to have a final exodus of the evening meal. A brief but perfunctory brushing of the teeth and then a splash in the shower resulting in wet floors and wet counter-top, the days soiled clothing and underpants heaped onto the floor, his foot prints leading a trail back to the bed.
Brief goodnights are expressed, a brief rehash of the plans for tomorrow and then the light is turned off (CLICK). The sound of his head (ohhhffffff) softly collapsing upon his pillow, a groan as he rolls into a position that best suits and takes away whatever aches his aging bones, and he is already breathing deeply - the sound lulling and amazing...the sound of someone who is truly at peace and ready for sleep.
The day could have had a high speed race, the barn could have been lit a-fire from the gas-can igniting in the 112 degree heat, apocalypse of nuclear war has been announced on the evening news and the car has a slow-leak in the rear right tire but none of this matters because it's time for him to sleep and he intends on getting that sleep.
men will sleep while women will worry -
I lay awake .....
Why has our maker made men so simple?
I suppose this is a rhetorical question because I already have formed my own answers so long ago.
Will I impart some of my feminine wisdom, certainly!
In my experiences with the 'stronger' gender I've witnessed that they have an innate ability to put all the troubles of the day to rest when it's time to sleep. A high percentage of the time they put all the troubles of the day, the week, and the goings on in life to rest when its time for sex, and they put every trouble to rest when they are watching their favorite program on the television.
Quite simply there is an invisible barrier that allows for nothing but sleep, sex or allowed/perceived happiness to infiltrate! Nothing will penetrate the fortress they've built around their noggin'!
When it's time for sleep, the female counterpart will go about rituals which may or may not include the visit to the bathroom to have a final exodus of the evening meal. A brief but perfunctory brushing of the teeth and then a splash in the shower resulting in wet floors and wet counter-top, the days soiled clothing and underpants heaped onto the floor, his foot prints leading a trail back to the bed.
Brief goodnights are expressed, a brief rehash of the plans for tomorrow and then the light is turned off (CLICK). The sound of his head (ohhhffffff) softly collapsing upon his pillow, a groan as he rolls into a position that best suits and takes away whatever aches his aging bones, and he is already breathing deeply - the sound lulling and amazing...the sound of someone who is truly at peace and ready for sleep.
The day could have had a high speed race, the barn could have been lit a-fire from the gas-can igniting in the 112 degree heat, apocalypse of nuclear war has been announced on the evening news and the car has a slow-leak in the rear right tire but none of this matters because it's time for him to sleep and he intends on getting that sleep.
men will sleep while women will worry -
I lay awake .....
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Satan is a Dentist
It hurts; I'm in agony - I've tried to explain this a few times yet you repeat to me "so your in discomfort?"
"What the fuck don't you understand when I tell you that I'm in agony?"
This is the response I have to give the dentist when I've returned only 2 weeks after having had crowns put in. Now I don't know why my mouth hurts, maybe it is the crowns or maybe it's the delicious candy I love to chew on or maybe it's the hillbilly genetics that are my teeth but I AM in agony and that's that.
So, tell me Dr. (ya, like in the movie "Hangover" he's not a doctor...he's a Dentist <>) what is wrong and how are you going to help me today?
Today I skipped taking the ohhhh so lovely Triazolam - can you say that with me boys and girls? Triazolam, that's a prescription drug substitution for Halcion which is a benzodiazepine. It is a member of class of drugs which are used as tranquilizers. They are, in short, the best prescription I've ever been given to cope with a visit to Satan.
For years I've made myself physically ill dreading the visits to Lucifer but finally one day I was Googling ways to cope and came across a few websites about offices that offered ways to deal with it. That they had a 'little pill' that would help you deal with the whole visit,that entire procedures could be done with little to no pain or memory!
I said, "SIGN ME UP!"
When it was time to go back in, (well it's always time to go back in since I have hillbilly genetics involving my teeth) I inquired about this miracle pill and they were very willing to help me get through my fears and telephoned in 4 precious pills for my visit.
The little pill, blue and oval in shape (gosh it's a Viagra!) really does the trick because no sooner did I put that baby in my mouth than I was knocked on my ass and blubbering away the first major visit. Apparently I was moderately cooperative during the procedure and afterwards the husband took advantage of my silly antics and trotted me around to do errands and have lunch with me in public. Sure, that had to be fun - I'll poke fun at myself because I allowed for it to happen but it won't happen again.
Back to today's torture, I was actually scheduled to go this Friday but because every time I put a fork in my mouth with a scrumptious bite to eat I am instantly taken into a realm of pain unlike any previously experienced. Believe me when I say, I know pain and this is some that I don't care to wish upon anyone else (ok I know of one person with red hair from a bottle that can have a dose of it but she'll burn in her own Hell before too long).
Since I've been having to make a habit of eating 800mg of Motrin and another 500 of Tylenol about 20 minutes before EVERY meal just to swallow my dinner the move to push the appointment closer up in the week was pretty important. Beelzebub was gone on a 10 day vacation and couldn't see me any sooner than this; his staff offered to send me out of office to see his "Uncle" who was also a Dentist in town but I passed since I would have to get a new dose of courage to enter yet another Labyrinth of Abaddon.
I didn't take the pill today, I needed to be able to be cognitive of the situation. Explained where and what hurt and how and why it did and WHEN it happened. He (Leviathan) was sympathetic with his puppy eyes and poked around with his sadistic tools and then said, "do you..."and I interrupted with "brux"? and he said, "yes..do you have problems with bruxism?"
yes I do, I'm a nervous unhappy uptight anxious person and even more so the night before a dental visit!
so it turns out, guess what children - my grinding is what's causing this agony for me and there's no fix except to STOP bruxating! holy fuck and shit on a stick.
I am home and now I'm going to take that Halcion AFTER the dentist and sleep because I deserve it.
"What the fuck don't you understand when I tell you that I'm in agony?"
This is the response I have to give the dentist when I've returned only 2 weeks after having had crowns put in. Now I don't know why my mouth hurts, maybe it is the crowns or maybe it's the delicious candy I love to chew on or maybe it's the hillbilly genetics that are my teeth but I AM in agony and that's that.
So, tell me Dr. (ya, like in the movie "Hangover" he's not a doctor...he's a Dentist <>) what is wrong and how are you going to help me today?
Today I skipped taking the ohhhh so lovely Triazolam - can you say that with me boys and girls? Triazolam, that's a prescription drug substitution for Halcion which is a benzodiazepine. It is a member of class of drugs which are used as tranquilizers. They are, in short, the best prescription I've ever been given to cope with a visit to Satan.
For years I've made myself physically ill dreading the visits to Lucifer but finally one day I was Googling ways to cope and came across a few websites about offices that offered ways to deal with it. That they had a 'little pill' that would help you deal with the whole visit,that entire procedures could be done with little to no pain or memory!
I said, "SIGN ME UP!"
When it was time to go back in, (well it's always time to go back in since I have hillbilly genetics involving my teeth) I inquired about this miracle pill and they were very willing to help me get through my fears and telephoned in 4 precious pills for my visit.
The little pill, blue and oval in shape (gosh it's a Viagra!) really does the trick because no sooner did I put that baby in my mouth than I was knocked on my ass and blubbering away the first major visit. Apparently I was moderately cooperative during the procedure and afterwards the husband took advantage of my silly antics and trotted me around to do errands and have lunch with me in public. Sure, that had to be fun - I'll poke fun at myself because I allowed for it to happen but it won't happen again.
Back to today's torture, I was actually scheduled to go this Friday but because every time I put a fork in my mouth with a scrumptious bite to eat I am instantly taken into a realm of pain unlike any previously experienced. Believe me when I say, I know pain and this is some that I don't care to wish upon anyone else (ok I know of one person with red hair from a bottle that can have a dose of it but she'll burn in her own Hell before too long).
Since I've been having to make a habit of eating 800mg of Motrin and another 500 of Tylenol about 20 minutes before EVERY meal just to swallow my dinner the move to push the appointment closer up in the week was pretty important. Beelzebub was gone on a 10 day vacation and couldn't see me any sooner than this; his staff offered to send me out of office to see his "Uncle" who was also a Dentist in town but I passed since I would have to get a new dose of courage to enter yet another Labyrinth of Abaddon.
I didn't take the pill today, I needed to be able to be cognitive of the situation. Explained where and what hurt and how and why it did and WHEN it happened. He (Leviathan) was sympathetic with his puppy eyes and poked around with his sadistic tools and then said, "do you..."and I interrupted with "brux"? and he said, "yes..do you have problems with bruxism?"
yes I do, I'm a nervous unhappy uptight anxious person and even more so the night before a dental visit!
so it turns out, guess what children - my grinding is what's causing this agony for me and there's no fix except to STOP bruxating! holy fuck and shit on a stick.
I am home and now I'm going to take that Halcion AFTER the dentist and sleep because I deserve it.
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