And that's really when I started to cry...
The saddest thing happened to me yesterday.
I was bumming up and down Mass (it was payday), and I stopped at Brits, a locally run estab that imports your general Guinness/Masterpiece Theater junk that Americans just eat up with a big old soupspoon. Way in the back, there was a selection of perfume. I normally don't wear perfume, but if I find something that smells pretty and doesn't turn me into a walking bright red ball of hives, I pick it up. They had some rose scented perfume, and it was $25, but I figured I would splurge and pick some up. It smelled heavenly on me, and I had no immediate problems when I sprayed some on my wrists.
You have to understand that due to a very psychologically scaring episode of poverty two years ago, I have a hard time justifying purchasing anything that doesn't directly relate to food or shelter. $25, although a drop in the bucket compared to what I make, seems so much to me, and I was really buying this under pressure from my therapist (who feels I do nothing to make myself happy whatsoever). So I did it, and tried not to obsess about how I could have used the money to pay down the principal on my student loans.
I went from Mass down to the movie theater, where I left my perfume in the front seat of the car. As I was going home after the film, about half way down Kasold, I discovered the perfume bottle had shattered from the mix of the alcohol and the heat, and all of the perfume was in the bottom of the plastic bag it was in.
My eyes started to burn, and I felt the tears stinging my eyelids. I started appropriately enough, with a few big fat tears running down my cheeks, but the more I thought about it, the sadder I got. The "ugly cry" started, with actual wailing and sniffling and mascara running. Jason offered me Crazy Bread from Little Caesars to cheer me up, but I refused.
I cried this way over my useless purchase and money wasted for about 45 minutes. It was really horrible. I suppose I was probably crying over a lot of things that this broken perfume bottle symbolized in a Sylvia Plath kind of way (five paragraph theme, anyone?). But I'm not going to go into all that with you. That's what I pay my therapist for every week.
Song of the day: "Precious Things" - Tori Amos.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Recent Observations - The Annoying Edition
* Tomorrow I have what I'm sure is only number two in a long line of "diagnostic testing", which I wholeheartedly believe is really cruel and unusual punishment. It's some sort of input/output test to see how much substance my stomach is really retaining. Since I'm scheduled for this because of the pictures (in living color) gathered from my endoscopy of retained food, what's the point of this test? There is hard evidence that this is happening, why torture me further? Is this some Big Brother conspiracy to slowly beat me down physically until I'm so weak I can't vote in the upcoming election? Ha. Nice try Right Wing.
* While I have been guilty of being The Man, and am currently technically kind of The (Wo)Man, it's not going to stop me from complaining ceaselessly about administration. It doesn't really matter if it's from my workplace or yours. They're all callous and smug. "Save a buck anyway you can...and smash any inkling of worker's rights...".
* I'm seriously listening to MC Hammer right now. I can't go so far as to disclose which song, but yes, Vanilla Ice is next on the playlist.
* My dear sister, Merideth, broke her leg on Sunday. A month before she leaves for college. Now tell me that doesn't suck.
* The staff member who is covering our hours at work tomorrow called tonight to say that she had to be gone by 5:00pm because she had a tattoo appointment at 5:30. ???? Do you have to schedule a tattoo? I thought that was the kind of thing you did on a drunken whim.
* I had to wear a Pixies shirt today because it was all I had clean. I hate the Pixies. And then when I got to the office for marathon meetings, I had to field questions about not only my disgusting eye, but whether I planned on seeing them in October. Oh, piss off. I don't care if it's camp or not.
* Jay Z said it best..."I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one...". Preach on, Brother J.
Song of the day: "Remember Me" - British Sea Power, "Roulette Dares" - Mars Volta, and "Bring the Noise" - Public Enemy and Anthrax (now that's camp).
* Tomorrow I have what I'm sure is only number two in a long line of "diagnostic testing", which I wholeheartedly believe is really cruel and unusual punishment. It's some sort of input/output test to see how much substance my stomach is really retaining. Since I'm scheduled for this because of the pictures (in living color) gathered from my endoscopy of retained food, what's the point of this test? There is hard evidence that this is happening, why torture me further? Is this some Big Brother conspiracy to slowly beat me down physically until I'm so weak I can't vote in the upcoming election? Ha. Nice try Right Wing.
* While I have been guilty of being The Man, and am currently technically kind of The (Wo)Man, it's not going to stop me from complaining ceaselessly about administration. It doesn't really matter if it's from my workplace or yours. They're all callous and smug. "Save a buck anyway you can...and smash any inkling of worker's rights...".
* I'm seriously listening to MC Hammer right now. I can't go so far as to disclose which song, but yes, Vanilla Ice is next on the playlist.
* My dear sister, Merideth, broke her leg on Sunday. A month before she leaves for college. Now tell me that doesn't suck.
* The staff member who is covering our hours at work tomorrow called tonight to say that she had to be gone by 5:00pm because she had a tattoo appointment at 5:30. ???? Do you have to schedule a tattoo? I thought that was the kind of thing you did on a drunken whim.
* I had to wear a Pixies shirt today because it was all I had clean. I hate the Pixies. And then when I got to the office for marathon meetings, I had to field questions about not only my disgusting eye, but whether I planned on seeing them in October. Oh, piss off. I don't care if it's camp or not.
* Jay Z said it best..."I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one...". Preach on, Brother J.
Song of the day: "Remember Me" - British Sea Power, "Roulette Dares" - Mars Volta, and "Bring the Noise" - Public Enemy and Anthrax (now that's camp).
Monday, July 12, 2004
Put your hands together for Mac Tonnies and the Spiders From Mars!
(Am I the only person who will get that Bowie reference? Probably...)
I attended Mac's discussion/book signing at The Plaza Barnes & Noble Saturday night. I will be the first to admit that I was reluctant to read the book; I have an embarrassingly poor scientific/academic foundation with which to clearly understand such things (yup - I went to public school - thank you tax dollars!). Mac, however, discussed the generalities and specifics in such a user-friendly way, that I went home and started devouring it. The premise of his research is certainly interesting, and I'm currently trying to wrap my head around the social/cultural/theological/scientific consequences of extraterrestrial anthropology, which is a nice break from paperwork.
It's nice to have brilliant friends.
In other news, a precise breakdown of my formative years will begin tonight on VH1 with "I Love the '90's". A good time will be had by all.
Song of the day: "Cock Mobster" - MC Paul Barman.
(Am I the only person who will get that Bowie reference? Probably...)
I attended Mac's discussion/book signing at The Plaza Barnes & Noble Saturday night. I will be the first to admit that I was reluctant to read the book; I have an embarrassingly poor scientific/academic foundation with which to clearly understand such things (yup - I went to public school - thank you tax dollars!). Mac, however, discussed the generalities and specifics in such a user-friendly way, that I went home and started devouring it. The premise of his research is certainly interesting, and I'm currently trying to wrap my head around the social/cultural/theological/scientific consequences of extraterrestrial anthropology, which is a nice break from paperwork.
It's nice to have brilliant friends.
In other news, a precise breakdown of my formative years will begin tonight on VH1 with "I Love the '90's". A good time will be had by all.
Song of the day: "Cock Mobster" - MC Paul Barman.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
Life is pain, princess...anyone who says differently is selling something...
I survived my EGD and colonoscopy...barely. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through, and I saw "Robin Hood - Men in Tights" in the theater. I've done all of this before, but it seemed much worse this time. During the EGD, I gagged and wretched so badly that I ruptured some of my capalaries in my face and eyes, which left dermal bruising and sub-conjuctival hemorrhaging in my right eye. I look like someone who has been strangled. It ain't pretty.
My colon looked good, although I'm still waiting for results on the biopsy. The upper half, however, is a mess. I have massive esophogial errosions, a hiatal hernia, and although I fasted for nearly 24 hours, there was still undigested food left in my stomach. Evidently my stomach is not processing food the way it should, probably because the pressure from the hernia is smashing my stomach into a sort of pocket that retains all sorts of fun things, which leads to increased acid production, which aggravates the hernia and causes the errosions. How fun is that? Normally this could be treated by medicine, but I happen to be allergic to the class of medicines that would help, so surgery may be my only option. Do I have time to have surgery? Not if I want to rule the world in a timely fashion.
I'm only 27. I've already been through hell with my damn G.I. system. I'm beginning to wonder what will fix me so I can live a somewhat normal life without pain. Of course my specialists all recommended that I stop smoking and lose weight, which sounds all fine and dandy from their perspective. It was almost as if they were insinuating that all of this could magically be cured if I would just straighten up and fly right. Yes, these circumstances have contributed to these problems, but it doesn't change the fact that there is a problem, and it needs to be fixed. I'm certainly not doubting their advice, but sometimes I get the feeling that I could walk in to the E.R. with a broken arm and I would be told that my weight caused it. So then the guilt begins. I've started having all these knee-jerk reactions...should I have gastric bypass surgery and fix this weight thing forever? Should I find a different line of work that doesn't put me under so much stress so I eat and smoke way too much? I bring these points up to doctors and they rush to say that I don't warrant those kind of extreme solutions. So I wonder what is the solution...because so far an answer has escaped me.
Song of the day: "Professional Widow" - Tori Amos.
I survived my EGD and colonoscopy...barely. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through, and I saw "Robin Hood - Men in Tights" in the theater. I've done all of this before, but it seemed much worse this time. During the EGD, I gagged and wretched so badly that I ruptured some of my capalaries in my face and eyes, which left dermal bruising and sub-conjuctival hemorrhaging in my right eye. I look like someone who has been strangled. It ain't pretty.
My colon looked good, although I'm still waiting for results on the biopsy. The upper half, however, is a mess. I have massive esophogial errosions, a hiatal hernia, and although I fasted for nearly 24 hours, there was still undigested food left in my stomach. Evidently my stomach is not processing food the way it should, probably because the pressure from the hernia is smashing my stomach into a sort of pocket that retains all sorts of fun things, which leads to increased acid production, which aggravates the hernia and causes the errosions. How fun is that? Normally this could be treated by medicine, but I happen to be allergic to the class of medicines that would help, so surgery may be my only option. Do I have time to have surgery? Not if I want to rule the world in a timely fashion.
I'm only 27. I've already been through hell with my damn G.I. system. I'm beginning to wonder what will fix me so I can live a somewhat normal life without pain. Of course my specialists all recommended that I stop smoking and lose weight, which sounds all fine and dandy from their perspective. It was almost as if they were insinuating that all of this could magically be cured if I would just straighten up and fly right. Yes, these circumstances have contributed to these problems, but it doesn't change the fact that there is a problem, and it needs to be fixed. I'm certainly not doubting their advice, but sometimes I get the feeling that I could walk in to the E.R. with a broken arm and I would be told that my weight caused it. So then the guilt begins. I've started having all these knee-jerk reactions...should I have gastric bypass surgery and fix this weight thing forever? Should I find a different line of work that doesn't put me under so much stress so I eat and smoke way too much? I bring these points up to doctors and they rush to say that I don't warrant those kind of extreme solutions. So I wonder what is the solution...because so far an answer has escaped me.
Song of the day: "Professional Widow" - Tori Amos.
Life is pain, princess...anyone who says differently is selling something...
I survived my EGD and colonoscopy...barely. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through, and I saw "Robin Hood - Men in Tights" in the theater. I've done all of this before, but it seemed much worse this time. During the EGD, I gagged and wretched so badly that I ruptured some of my capalaries in my face and eyes, which left dermal bruising and sub-conjuctival hemorrhaging in my right eye. I look like someone who has been strangled. It ain't pretty.
My colon looked good, although I'm still waiting for results on the biopsy. The upper half, however, is a mess. I have massive esophogial errosions, a hiatal hernia, and although I fasted for nearly 24 hours, there was still undigested food left in my stomach. Evidently my stomach is not processing food the way it should, probably because the pressure from the hernia is smashing my stomach into a sort of pocket that retains all sorts of fun things, which leads to increased acid production, which aggravates the hernia and causes the errosions. How fun is that? Normally this could be treated by medicine, but I happen to be allergic to the class of medicines that would help, so surgery may be my only option. Do I have time to have surgery? Not if I want to rule the world in a timely fashion.
I'm only 27. I've already been through hell with my damn G.I. system. I'm beginning to wonder what will fix me so I can live a somewhat normal life without pain. Of course my specialists all recommended that I stop smoking and lose weight, which sounds all fine and dandy from their perspective. It was almost as if they were insinuating that all of this could magically be cured if I would just straighten up and fly right. Yes, these circumstances have contributed to these problems, but it doesn't change the fact that there is a problem, and it needs to be fixed. I'm certainly not doubting their advice, but sometimes I get the feeling that I could walk in to the E.R. with a broken arm and I would be told that my weight caused it. So then the guilt begins. I've started having all these knee-jerk reactions...should I have gastric bypass surgery and fix this weight thing forever? Should I find a different line of work that doesn't put me under so much stress so I eat and smoke way too much? I bring these points up to doctors and they rush to say that I don't warrant those kind of extreme solutions. So I wonder what is the solution...because so far an answer has escaped me.
Song of the day: "Professional Widow" - Tori Amos.
I survived my EGD and colonoscopy...barely. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through, and I saw "Robin Hood - Men in Tights" in the theater. I've done all of this before, but it seemed much worse this time. During the EGD, I gagged and wretched so badly that I ruptured some of my capalaries in my face and eyes, which left dermal bruising and sub-conjuctival hemorrhaging in my right eye. I look like someone who has been strangled. It ain't pretty.
My colon looked good, although I'm still waiting for results on the biopsy. The upper half, however, is a mess. I have massive esophogial errosions, a hiatal hernia, and although I fasted for nearly 24 hours, there was still undigested food left in my stomach. Evidently my stomach is not processing food the way it should, probably because the pressure from the hernia is smashing my stomach into a sort of pocket that retains all sorts of fun things, which leads to increased acid production, which aggravates the hernia and causes the errosions. How fun is that? Normally this could be treated by medicine, but I happen to be allergic to the class of medicines that would help, so surgery may be my only option. Do I have time to have surgery? Not if I want to rule the world in a timely fashion.
I'm only 27. I've already been through hell with my damn G.I. system. I'm beginning to wonder what will fix me so I can live a somewhat normal life without pain. Of course my specialists all recommended that I stop smoking and lose weight, which sounds all fine and dandy from their perspective. It was almost as if they were insinuating that all of this could magically be cured if I would just straighten up and fly right. Yes, these circumstances have contributed to these problems, but it doesn't change the fact that there is a problem, and it needs to be fixed. I'm certainly not doubting their advice, but sometimes I get the feeling that I could walk in to the E.R. with a broken arm and I would be told that my weight caused it. So then the guilt begins. I've started having all these knee-jerk reactions...should I have gastric bypass surgery and fix this weight thing forever? Should I find a different line of work that doesn't put me under so much stress so I eat and smoke way too much? I bring these points up to doctors and they rush to say that I don't warrant those kind of extreme solutions. So I wonder what is the solution...because so far an answer has escaped me.
Song of the day: "Professional Widow" - Tori Amos.
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