My back hurts this evening. It was so bad that I called my doctor and left him a message and he actually got back to me, suggesting that come tomorrow morning, I come into his office and get back on my anti-cancer routine. I’m not looking forward to getting chemotherapy again, because I have felt so much better this year without it, but I also feel the pain creeping back into my life. I can’t have that. I can’t take the medicine, nor can I take the pain of having to deal with cancer and anti-cancer drugs.
I wish I were strong. I wish I could take all that has been laid out before me with grace and courage, but here I sit trying to find a way to get out of all of this. I went so far as to suggest that we leave state. Go somewhere where they don’t know of my diagnosis. But I can’t run from my body, no matter how hard I try.
My friend James says that he’s coming to see me sometime before May. I don’t know if I want to see any friends after going through a round of chemotherapy.
Pity Party, huh?
There are certainly more people out there that are suffering far more than I am, and they aren’t whining about it in their online journal. I don’t know why I feel that I need to whine about this constantly. It’s not like crying about it can or will change my future. I wish this were a novel and that I could pick up the book and cheat by looking at the back to see how things turn out. Do I get to live well and into my prime, or do I have an early death? Will I get to see what my children grow up to be? Or will they read eulogies to me before they are out of high school?
I shouldn’t be thinking about these things. I should be concentrating on Zinnia’s growth, my Mother’s Day projects, and making up with my mother. My therapist says that in the past seven months I have progressed better than the eleven years I have been in therapy. He says that there are no more pieces that he wants to cover with me, and that by the end of June I will get a certificate that I am well, mentally. I will be staying on the medications, and continue to work on myself in the privacy of my own home. But I no longer need a leader to help me along the way. We came to the conclusion that Roxanna was the reason I couldn’t get well. I considered her one of my bestest friends, and she made me cry every night with her insults and teasing. She knew that she was making me cry, and she never quite stopped.I gave her permission to hurt me and she did. That really broke my heart. The ones that we give our hearts to will never break them, They will never cause us any pain or tears. I felt like I was breaking up with someone whom I had dated. Now, I think that I should move to another state where people won’t know what I have done as an adult.
Some of the people who are mad at me as the people who want to see me naked, and that’s really none of their business, and when I explain that to them, they get a little irate. Let them get irate. Pissed, Pissed off. Angry. I can’t help their emotions.
I do have a new close friend online, Mandy. Perhaps she could take the place of Roxanna as being the friend who doesn’t make me cry from how badly I am to them, make me cry because I have such awesome friends out there who truly care about me. For twice in my life, I have had some “friends” who would see how much I was being helped, and they would turn away because they “couldn’t compare with that,” over the price of an iPod. The gifting wasn’t a contest or a bragging right. God will love you the same if you brought in canned food for the family to eat on for a month or so, or of you brought your stuffed animals you out grew and there for passed them down to children who were sick, dying, injured or they just want something to comfort them. You don’t back out of a donation-a-thon because someone else did better than you.
I remember giving so much to the dying children. “battered” teddy bears where we all sewed up the bears and make cuddly toys for the little boys and girls. There is no drugs allowed and there there is no such thing and a donation that is too small!
Roxanna has no power over me???????????????!!
Again, still knocked up.
I’m starting to sound like a broken record, aren’t I?
I’m beginning to feel guilty of asking for so much time off from work, when the kid seems to be a permanent attachment to my insides. I read Carl’s FB post and he’s having a hard time grading papers, doing lectures and making PowerPoints for upcoming lectures, all while writing the third exam. I love his lines “I’d fucking fail this goddamned exam, if I had to take it! That’s how little I know this psychobabble I’m preaching to sleeping pharm students every morning and afternoon!” I think there was a GIF of my work ID photo burning as the icon. But, Carl, you wanted to be a full time professor! That’s what you told my boss! You even suggested that you be promoted just because you couldn’t get pregnant, in your own words, you were unpregnantable, a word that doesn’t exist, by the way, and therefore you were more reliable, responsible and respectable than I. Little did you know that I was over sixty percent of the meat in the exams, PowerPoints, Lecture notes, grades, and even the handouts and the agenda. I was that valuable.
Still, his brother is my dream man, so I’m going to forgive him this once, pretend that I was deaf at that staff meeting, and offer to come in and grade some papers or just go through the online grade book and assign everyone an F because that’s what they deserve if Carl is telling the truth and people are sleeping through his lectures. I say “if” because I know Carl lied about being more responsible than I (he’s behind in everything and it’s almost two weeks out of Spring Break!), he’s certainly not more respectable, naming names on his Facebook, friending students (my personal NO) and then linking to their profiles when he goes on a profanity-ridden fit when he’s frustrated, and forget reliable. Maybe Carl is pregnant? That’s got to be what’s wrong with him. He’s demanding help from other Assistant Professors tonight, and when they decline because they don’t want to get behind in their own work, he calls them irresponsible and lazy! Oh Carl, you are so not getting promoted in August.
So, since I’m legally going to be pregnant until August, and Mark told me to get rid of the brain tumor while I was off for four months, I feel that I should be doing something productive. Something. Anything. I even made Josh a PlayList for March because I just want something to keep my fingers busy, I’m sick of this …disease… that I caught from unsanitary Carl at the staff meeting a few weeks ago, and I need to occupy my mind. I need something to do. Something that makes me feel accomplished. Something that I can look back on and say, “I did so much while I was waiting for that kid to be born!” that I’m willing to sit down at my computer and write.
So I’m going to work on this site.
By “working on this site,” I’m going to start by changing my handle to “Acid Queen” but that’s not an LSD reference. Not for me anyway, and I’m not secretly Tina Turner nor have I fucked Roger Daltrey or any other member of the Who. I like the name, and I once drank a flask of hydrochloric acid in high school chemistry, I lived, cancer-ridden but alive, and still here to talk about it today.
Being the Acid Queen is one of what I consider one of my stories.
By stories I mean interesting things that have only happened to me.
Back in the day, before the perils of being forced to upgrade to WordPress because Josh is a cunt and makes me do uncomfortable things, I had pages on here of my stories. They were 100% true fascinating things that had happened to me in my twenty-eight years on Earth. I’m going to be thirty-three, the Jesus age, this year, so I think I should have an accomplished and full website like I had once before. Oh yes, this site, due to my own negligence, has become just a shell of what it was just a mere five years ago. When I first had my own .com and was in college and thus had a lot of time on the computer to write, I frequently wrote about things that made me interesting. I edited my own HTML (remember that? do you even know what that is???), made layouts on the college’s Dreamweaver, uploaded with Blogger.com and an FTP client. I had to link to all my own pages with my own editing. Nothing was automatic like it is with WordPress. You kiddies don’t know! Blogging and site maintenance was once something that required time, skill and patience. Now anyone with a fucking keyboard can be a site master and appear to be good at it.
What will my stories contain? That’s the wonderment of you’ve got to keep coming back here and checking things! I can give you a taste, though, for example, did you know that I had a lover who died in the 9/11 terrorist attacks on New York? That I’ve fucked someone super-famous (it’s not Roger Daltrey, I promise!)? Actually two someones, but sex no longer counts once you marry the one you’re fucking. That there is a famous love song out there that is about me? That for the first fifteen years of our relationship I couldn’t tell my husband from his brother and his brother regularly got sex from me because of it? Okay, that last one is just me being a horny bimbo, but, hey, it’s interesting, right? I could make something of it some day! The best of all of this is I am considering naming names. Famous names. That are on Wikipedia and you’ve probably not only heard of, but that you’ve got songs by on your computer or your CD shelf.
Now that you know all that, aren’t you just itching for me to dish, dish, dish?
Of course you are! But I’m doing this as a side pregnancy project and only through August, though I can probably whip up to thirty pages per month, if I’m really dedicated to it.
Oh, and I promise not to write about drug experiences, with the exception of the prescription drug I was given that caused amnesia. That was a pretty fun experience. I could do shit and not have to feel guilty about it the morning after. I pissed off a pretty good amount of people while I was on that drug. Oh well. The true ones stayed.
Have a good night everyone. Don’t stay up too late!
I hurt myself the other day.
Oh, and the dog helped me wrap presents in her own special way.
Christmas was okay. I barely remember opening my gifts.
Today I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. The temporary bassist for the band has been undressing me with his eyes since we picked him up from the air port. I don’t like that. Not only is he married, but we had a fling back in 2001 when I was barely 21. I ended up in a lot of trouble because of that drunken one-night-stand. I don’t want to repeat history, but he seems to have jumped at the chance to help out my husband because he knew I’d be there. Chloe is in the Children’s Hospital tonight, with a horrible infection that caused her fever to spike over 104 F. That was at three in the morning. At noon, she was only a little better, after intervention at the hospital. By six, her temperature was no longer a fever, and I told her to get some rest, I’d see her in the morning. This is the first time since she was a baby that she is away from her parents, or her family. This is the part where I hurl insults at myself, because I should have been paying better attention. Should have.
I’m scheduled to do some recordings of my own starting at mid night. Not sure if I want to publish the photos from tonight or not. There’s a film crew in the studio, making things tighter and the room hotter than usual.
My heart is telling me to ignore the situation, be professional, and kind, but the physical part of me is saying “GO FOR IT!” Really? Go for it? No one else seems to notice anything strange. Maybe I am just over-reacting. I hope.
Back to work with me!
Ahh, the beauty of trolls. Whether you know them strictly on the internet, or they
spill over from your real life, they’re either extremely amusing, or extremely stupid. I had a bout with a troll yesterday. It was a girl I knew in middle school, whom I happen to be avoiding on Facebook. She could never spell or even say my name right. She snarked me Friday night, telling me that it was amazing that one of us grew up to be gorgeous, with angelic kids, and a perfect husband. But I shouldn’t worry, I’d get there some day. LULz! I brushed it off, pretending it didn’t bother me. She and I had kids around the same age. Our oldest daughters were almost the same age.
Yesterday she found out her fourteen year old daughter is pregnant and due before the end of the year. The girl got pregnant at thirteen. This woman is a year younger than me, and she’s going to be a grandmother at age thirty one. I was floored. But then, in her letter to me, she said I needed to get Chloe on birth control now before she gets pregnant too. After all, if it happened to her, it can happen to me. What…? Chloe is six! I highly doubt that she’s going to get pregnant any time soon. She doesn’t even know what
sex is! I deleted the email before it could do any real damage. Wow. This woman seems to think that a kid is abnormal if they aren’t having sex by the time they’re thirteen years old. I’m glad we were never really good friends. I can only imagine what she could have influenced me to do.
I’ve been home from my vacation for a week now. Back to work, too. We’re preparing for the summer finals on the twenty-seventh and then it’s a good couple of weeks before I have to get back to work to make the syllabuses and the PowerPoints. If Carl doesn’t hog that too. He’s been taking over the lectures most of the time, last week, because he’s “just used to being there while I was on vacation.” Fine with me. I tweet and play Scrabble on my phone while he’s running the classroom.
That’s about all there is for me. I have to get ready for work for tomorrow, and I already have a ton of paper work to get done before then. I hope I can make it before I fall asleep. We shall see! I have to say that working this summer has put us nearly $10,000 over in the financial department. I’m thinking about blowing some more money at M.A.C. and getting a new DVD-R. Although I spent a lot of the money in NYC this summer, and on some medical services that I needed while I was there. No worries, it was all minor stuff.
I found an old WordPress export file from April 2009 and one from December 30, 2009, and uploaded them and the twenty comments that I got from the April file. So if you’re interested, back in 2009 there are some new entries from when my site was at acrossthesky.org. Anyone remember that? No? Ok.
I’m twenty minutes late in clocking out because I chose to hang around and see if the woman from the records department was going to call me back today. Doesn’t look like she is going to, so I am officially off until tomorrow morning! *stuffs three pens into purse and runs* One of my students gave me a new set of ear buds, some Ink2 by Skull Candy, and a second gave me an apple for a snack. The third gave me a permanent Starbucks cup with a thicker straw, and a can of Pringles. What gives? I thought I was the Wicked Bitch of Oliphant Hall?! Maybe I’m lacking? There’s going to be plenty of time to change their minds this semester.
My birthday is in exactly ONE WEEK, so you’d better order me something NOW, if you’re going to. *bats eyelashes* Maybe some day I’ll have some things here that are worth a paid subscription for, but not today. Nope, no naked teacher pics just yet.
Now I’m off to home, where I can dig out my The Vampire Lestat book and read till I fall asleep again!
PS: I never thought I’d live to see THIS. Wish he would have told us when this miraculous decision was made. Things could have been so different.
I must be living on some alternate planet and time line. The doctor gave me Vicodin yesterday. Sixty of them. For the next three months. I’m screwed. Three refills. Three chances to fall from grace. A new chance to fall in another way: to selling the shit out of the pub. That isn’t me, but the alternative of taking the medicine when I do not need it scares me. There is a chance that I could get addicted. There is a chance that if I gulp down the pills, I will be searching for more the day after I have them refilled. What if I drive while under the influence? Or wander?
I have a doctor appointment after work (yes, I’m breaking the rules, blogging from work, so what?), and I am afraid of that appointment as well as what I know he will want me to do. He wants me to go back for observations and other medically unnecessary procedures that I feel uncomfortable in doing. Maybe I should bring that up? Hey, if he can get out of writing me prescriptions that make me feel comfortable, maybe I can get out of psychiatric counseling because it makes me uncomfortable! It’s worth a shot!
Why aren’t people commenting here? Whose leg do I have to hump to get some real comments? Not the spammers that I have to delete every day cuz ID won’t install a simple captcha!
I had plans to post tonight. I would love more than to write about my experiences with working for the first time since December, and following up on my post about New York, with some Christmas pictures, write about the next up-coming trip in a few weeks, but my heart just can’t do it tonight. I just can’t. I wish I could go into why this is, rather than pussy-foot around the reasons, but believe me, they are good reasons, and some day I will be able to write about them openly and honestly, just not tonight. I have to let what I know and what I witnessed sink in. It’s just part of who I am. It’s job related, and it upset me dearly, but I will survive in the end. Some days, such as the job today that I finished, I wish I had never left my previous profession and was still passing meds and doing procedures. Life was simpler then. It didn’t involve an emotion-less task of playing in a freezer with a familiar human corpse.
It’s not that I’m not skilled at autopsies, nor do I dislike doing them. Nothing satisfies my curiosity than finding out why or how someone died, but there comes a time when you want to draw a line on what corpse you have to slice up, and unfortunately, in my profession, I do not get that option. It was “do it or lose your license”. Nice people. Half my crew chickened out at the last moment, but that didn’t phase me at all. I’d prefer to do the operation on my own; nothing distracts me more than wondering if someone else has found something I’ve possibly missed in the micro-alleys of the human body. I just hope those that chose to run don’t think they one upped me.
I finished the job, kept my license with flying colours, and then came home to take a bath, wishing the pain and shock would run down the drain with with soapy water. It’s not that easy. It never is.
Okay. That’s all I can blog tonight. Till we meet again!