Kept beating--beating--till I thought/My Mind was going numb--

So my brain has for all intents and purposes shut itself off. For the past several days, I've barely been able to think, let alone think straight. I keep forgetting what day it is and blank out. My twitching isn't better, either; in fact, it started up on Monday again. The doctor prescribed Ativan for me until the MRI and EEG results get back (which was supposed to be today, but due to hospital bureaucratic procedure, or Latin slowness, or a combination of both, is actually going to be tomorrow), but my parents--being the intelligent people that they are--have yet to fill it. So it's pretty much a moot point now, isn't it?

Yeah, I had an EEG, too, on Monday. I arrived in time for my 3:30 appointment, and after he watched my (conveniently) twitching hand, he packed me off for an electroencephalogram (or EEG, which is infinitely easier and quicker to type), hoping that the electrodes would pick up, I don't know, something. So I came out with my head covered in goo, sorry, gel. Have to use the scientificky terms, right? After the tech pulled off the eight million electrodes, he let me stick my head under a faucet, but by that point I was tired and headachy and feeling incredibly dumb. Not as in, "I'm in an awkward situation and therefore feel uncomfortable," but as in, "I don't know what day it is. Or what time it is. Or what I'm supposed to be doing." That kind of dumb. Now I know what people with bad memories feel like; I could barely remember my own name. I blame the flashing lights; apparently an important part of an EEG is testing responses while exposed to lights flashing on and off at various speeds.
Oh, and at the end of it, I couldn't feel the left side of my face. I think that might be bad, but it might be normal, too. I mean, normal for after an EEG.
In any case, the doc did get a glimpse of my MRI scans and said he doesn't think it's MS. Which means that it could have been, or might still be, and that's a really scary proposition. I'm siding with the doctor on this one; I don't want it to be MS. I'd rather it be some weird psychosomatic thing, although, to be perfectly honest, I really hope it isn't, because then I'd feel, I don't know, really stupid and foolish.

On a completely different note, my siblings' middle/high school (it's combined, since there aren't enough students to merit a separation) has an M-Term, also known as May Term. It's just like Taylor's J-Term, except it's not for college credit and it's in May. And I don't teach at Taylor.
Yeah, you read it right. Teach. Me. Me. The chick who despises children and has zero patience. I'm going to be teaching an elective, so I may actually not be teaching anything at all if no one signs up. I'm kind of hoping that'll be the case, because then I can say, "oh well, at least I offered;" but at the same time, it'd be really embarassing and rather depressing to not have anyone want to be taught by me--even though it's actually quite understandable. Especially given the subject:
Creative Writing.
Now, yeah, I know, I write semi-regularly in a blog and was in a bunch (meaning about 12 credits worth) of writing courses at Uni. But that's all the writing I do. I don't write stories much--I think about them, I plot them out in my head, I'll even tell someone about them if I'm in a really good mood about it, but I almost never write them down. Remember the Ritalin/Ambien incident? That happened because I hadn't written any stories--not one--in over a year.
I don't write for fun. I write for class. I write to keep in touch with people I care about. I write to keep the people I'm supposed to care about but don't up-to-date on my rather bizarre life (hence the blog). I write to vent. I don't write for me, I don't write for other people, I don't write fiction or poetry. I suppose you could call this creative nonfiction, since most of it's true and it's all creative.
I read things. I tell people about the things I read. I write essays and reports about what I read. I tell people what's wrong with their writing after I've read it. I'm a reader. And a critic, I suppose you could say. But I'm not a writer, certainly not a creative one.
So we'll see how this whole thing goes.

Oh, and to close, on a "writing" note, I received a very kind comment about this actual blog not long ago, and it really meant a lot, brought a smile to my face, and other assorted sappy stuff that really does prove I'm not well at all.


There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground/And swallows circling with their shimmering sound

Not in a mood for much, except that this week has been nothing but a waste of my time. Granted, I would argue that my life is nothing but a waste, both of time and everything else; so I'm not sure it's a valid argument. Anyway.

Doc changed his mind. No CAT scan. Just an emergency neuro consult on Monday, right after the MRI.

This sounds like lots of NOT FUN.


His answer trickled through my head/Like water through a sieve

So. I suppose it's been long enough between bitchy ravings, which means (insert fanfare of choice here) you get to read one now!

I went to the library today, because I had nothing else (well, just about--it was either that or watch both Princess Diaries movies) to do. The head librarian was glad to see me, which was nice, though it had more to do with "OMG someone who knows what she's doing and actually understands the concept of shelving books!" than with my existence. It wasn't bad, until I actually got to work, when a raving bitch from hell (read: someone I wouldn't mind seeing spontaneously combust, though that may be too cool of a way to go for me to be pleased with it being wasted on her) walked in with her class.

First thought? Fuck it, I was hoping she wouldn't be here.

The "person" in question is someone I know from high school. You know all those rants about how much I hated high school, and how it was so horrific? Well, she was one of the prime reasons for that. Ever see the movie "Mean Girls"? Think the leader of the nasty popular girls. Except this one has brown hair and a long nose.

In any case, I proceeded with the shelving and as I went back to the circulation desk (ha! It's really just a table with some appropriately-placed circulation notices), she noticed me. Damn.

The only thing I dislike more than bad memories, is the bearer of those bad memories trying to hug me. I'm not a fan of physical contact with people I don't like; in fact, I go through periods where I'm not a fan of physical contact at all. So the hugging thing didn't go over so well. Neither did the used-car salesman smile.

And I know you're all waiting with bated breath to discover what awful thing I said, did, or both said AND did in response. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but (much to my chagrin) I behaved almost nicely. That is to say, I didn't swear at, insult, or take physical action against, her. I wanted to, but I didn't. Mom would have been proud.

I just mumbled something about 'oh, hi,' and 'I hope I can get this done quickly' (the last phrase was accompanied by vague gestures that indicated the entire library as though it was part of some colossal undertaking that had a rapidly approaching deadline). It didn't really work. She kept trying to chat me up with the fake small talk we all know I loathe more than Olson Hall (ooh, bet you didn't see that one coming). How am I supposed to get rid of someone without telling them to just go away and/or leave me alone unless they want me to return to my previous state of being a scary, short-tempered fury? I tried to figure that out all day, and I'm still no closer to an even remotely satisfactory answer.

So now I'm in a bad mood. I haven't been sleeping much since the med change (read: CAN'T SLEEP! I woke up at 5 am, for crying out loud!), and I've had raging headaches for almost a week. I'm not okay with any of this.

And so I close with this, loyal (maybe) readers: I need a way to easily dispose of people I detest without being the bad guy (girl?), and, preferably, without too much effort on my part. This stupid country is pacifistic up the wazoo (they haven't had an army in almost 50 years. Even the Swiss have a fucking army!), so violence is really frowned upon--which means that that option isn't available, either. So a little help would be nice.


I saw an aged, aged man/A-sitting on a gate

So. I'm not in a mood for spilling personal details about my life right now, so this won't be too very long.

Probably not.

It's been weird, being back. It's been a week, and I haven't had a single argument with my parents--or siblings. Dad even apologised for being really harsh and judgmental the last time we had a fight--and Dad never apologises. It was kinda nice.

On a different note, Bruno got completely shaved. He looks like an albino chihuahua; meaning, ugly. No offense (well, not much) intended towards any chihuahua fans out there, but...they're damn ugly. (In case I never mentioned it before, or if you simply forgot--after all, not everybody can have a fantastic memory--Bruno is a dog we're caring for until his owners return from a year in Washington State. He's got a very distorted perception of size, which can be really funny to watch sometimes; but he's old and prone to ticks. Hence the shaving.)

I'm still sleeping a lot, but at least it keeps me out of trouble. I saw Dr. Sancho (my psychiatrist here) this morning--had to wake up at the ungodly hour of seven a.m. to get there on time--and he's taking me off the sleep meds.

So he can put me on antipsychotics. Oh, joy. He also ordered a CAT scan; just to "rule things out." That kinda scares me. Should it? Probably. Oh, well. I'll keep you posted on how that turns out.

D.'s email address was cancelled/voided/whatever the right word is, and I'm almost never online anymore, so I don't have a way to contact him. I probably wouldn't much even if I could, since my apathy has reached astronomical proportions, but there's something about an option no longer being valid that makes one (me, at least) crave using it.

Last note, I had another twitching episode, yesterday. My left hand (again) went nuts, like it had a mind of its own, for something like twelve hours. I've got an appointment with my regular doctor--sorry, "primary care physician"--to get it checked out. I wonder if he'll be able to figure out why.

And that's all.


I'll tell you everything I can/There's little to relate

So, in case you come to realise that I'm not actually around when break ends, it's because...I'm not.
That's right. I finally managed to convey my...level of unwell-ness (I know it's not a word but I'm tired so get over it) to my parents. As in, "I need to get out of here NOW" unwell-ness. So they pulled me out, and now I'm not there anymore. Instead, I'm in Costa Rica. Indefinitely.

Not sure if it'll help or not, but heaven knows I want it to help. If nothing else, I'd like to prove the tight-ass bitch in charge of ResLife (also known as Jill Godorhazy--who, you may be interested to know, has a terrible track record of student interaction. As in, i've never met any student, or even heard of a student, who liked her as ResLife coordinator or even as a person.) that I'm not a hopeless failure. Though I still desperately want to tell her to sod off. Hmm. I may even be able to get away with it now.

I have to admit, though, I feel a bit guilty about leaving Michelle and Austin and my d&d victims. I mean, group members. I'll have to sit down and write out the rest of the story for them, so they at least know if the druid knocked up the pally (no) and who ends up winning the faction war (the Lady). And what happens to Drunk Monk. I'd have mentioned Bekah by name, but I know she doesn't read this, and she's been acting, I don't know how to say it, distant, I guess, for a long time now; "long time" meaning two months, in this case. Up to her, at least I tried. Oh, well. That's life, right? Make a friend, get screwed over, move on, repeat.

Neither my parents nor my siblings have noticed my tongue ring yet, which is a good sign. The longer they go without noticing, the less likely I'll be lectured or sighed at (yeah, sighed at. It's their version of the "we're disappointed in you" speech; it's harder to fight back against a sigh.) because they'll feel a bit ridiculous for not noticing it sooner. I give it another week, max, then I'm off the hook as far as sighing goes. I hope.

I hope.

Going back a ways, the twitching hasn't really been resolved. I'm taking cogentin for it. While it stops most of the twitching, it doesn't completely eliminate it. I'm hoping it'll just go away on its own, I have enough to deal with as it is.

On the bright side, I get to spend time with my puppy now! Well, he's not so much of a puppy anymore, since he's about 7 years old, but, well, you understand. And if you don't, well, you should. And my mom might buy me pants. Yay pants! While my weight finally stopped dropping (I'm about 135 now. Which I haven't been since eighth grade, when I was 3 or 4 inches shorter and barely a B cup), it hasn't come back, even a bit. So my pants are all still way too big. Belts can only do so much, you know? Even my jammy pants are a bit problematic.

Yeah, I know it's weird. I'm probably the only girl on the planet who only has body image problems because she LOST weight. I was perfectly happy the way I was. Now, not so much. I'm not terribly pleased with my shape anymore, and I'm terrified of losing more. If it goes, my curves will most likely go with it, and I'm not okay with that. I like my figure. I liked it even more before it started shrinking. Maybe more junk food and less (ha! like that's really possible) excercise will help. Or not.

And I need to cut my hair, though that has nothing to do with anything at all. But hey, I don't have much to do with anything, either, so I daresay it doesn't really matter much. :P