exhilaration: (me)
My favorite part is where it pegs me as being totally gender-neutral. I swear, if you saw me in real life, you'd know I was a girl! )

And this part really belongs on the gimp_vent comm, but I'm posting it here because sometimes the comments I get there disturb me )

Ok, enough of that. If I go on too much about that shit I won't shut up. [livejournal.com profile] ithildyn gave me five things to elaborate on. Here they are:

Your ideal fantasy long weekend
You're going to have dinner, and your magic fridge has just what you want.
Rose
Music
Fave 'bad' movie


Answers )

I'm sure I can come up with five things I'd like y'all to elaborate on if anyone wants to play the "Five things" meme...
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I did go to the doctor that time I said I had to go to the doctor - several months ago now.

That doctor referred me to another doctor (who is, fortunately, located here in NJ and not in Philadelphia) and THAT doctor referred me to a mobility specialist - basically a glorified physical therapist, I guess.

I've been made aware of several things so far, one being that I am definitely not the only one in my current situation. Every doctor who told me "meh, that's just what happens, deal with it" was completely full of it, just like I was certain had to be the case.

Two, my vague notion that I need to be exercising more/differently was entirely correct. My strong suspicion that I am WAY inflexible and that this is WAY bad was also right on. I mean, I've never been naturally flexible, pre-injury included, I dunno, it's just the way I was built I guess, but this is Not Good.

Three, my lower spine is starting to curve. This is also Way Bad. All those times I stared at myself in the mirror and thought my stomach was sticking out and couldn't figure out why (being that I have not gained any weight) and assumed it was some kind of internal issue - yeah. Apparently I'm becoming deformed. How very attractive. I'd guess this has been slowly happening since, oh, I don't know, all that hardware was removed from my spine? I didn't want that done for exactly this reason. Supposedly these two things are not related, but I don't see how they can't be.

I had to fill out a very intense questionnaire and midway through I kind of had the urge to bolt. I don't know how to explain why, either - I guess it was kind of that a lot of questions were practical, like, asking what kind of household chores I was able to do and what things I needed assistance for. The idea, it seemed, was that the therapist would then teach the patient new ways to do the things the patient couldn't do - I get that the questionnaire was very general and everyone who goes there has to fill one out and everyone's situation is different and so on, but I just got this sudden wave of I don't need this, I don't belong here, I don't need this kind of thing, this is not for me. I don't need help managing my daily life. I just don't want to be in pain.

And... that's about all for now.
exhilaration: (angry adipose)
I guess because of the election my work was really busy. It was a really hectic day all day and didn't let up until the very end of the night. I spent almost nine hours taking names and calling names, being the coordinator. It's kind of monotonous - I just stand behind the podium and tell people how long the wait is (and they argue with me nine out of ten times. It's rare that I say a time and they just say, okay) and I listen over the headset for what tables are open and call names accordingly, and then call for other hosts over the headset to come take people to their seats.

And I get so much shit - like I said, people argue with me non-stop. I say the wait is forty-five minutes, and sure enough the person I'm talking to says to me "oh it's not really that long, it'll be shorter than that, won't it?" Well, no, it won't, or I would have said so, but, see, they're trying to trick me, they're trying to get me to say, well, maybe it will be shorter, so then they can say that it took too long for them to be seated and they want to eat for free. Or I get people who say, well, what about the smoking section? Is that a shorter wait? (There is no smoking in the whole building...) Well, we'll take a table, what's the wait for a table? (As opposed to what, exactly? The floor?) Well, I have children. (Okay, here are some crayons... seriously, you think because you're out with your kids and they're hard to control, you don't have to wait in line?) Well, I'm here with my elderly parents, they don't really have to wait, do they? My father can't stand here in the lobby, he's old, blah blah blah - SORRY, BUT, you STILL HAVE TO WAIT. I don't CARE what your story is. I cannot just snap my fingers and produce a vacant table for you, and I certainly am not bumping you in front of every other person who has been sitting here staring me down from the minute I told THEM how long the wait is.

And I get shit from my coworkers, too. )

And I'm so sick of that job anyway I just want to scream.
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I had big plans for today.

Instead, I am kind of wedged between my futon and my couch - so I'm sitting on the futon with my feet up on the arm of the couch. This is different from laying on the couch with my feet up on the arm, and this is different from sitting back on the futon with my feet on the ground, and this is different than sitting back on the arm of the couch with my feet in front of me.

My feet are up because they're swelling.

I'm sitting up because my back is fucking hurting like hell.

I just want to be still but I keep jerking around instead. It sucks.

I hate my body.
exhilaration: (Default)
Unless you've actually been wondering where I've been. Short version: my favorite place, the ER.

This is the long version. I wanted to post about Supernatural. I wanted to post about my job. I wanted to post about my friends, my love life, my bathroom tiles... but no. It's just stupid health shit. Read at your own risk. )

Whatever. I'm going to work tomorrow. B told me to be prepared to be accosted about my hair. Apparently while I've been out of work they've been cracking down on what's always been in the handbook: no facial piercings, no visible tattoos, and no unnatural colored hair. My hair looks like shit anyway, it's not bad-ass at all, it's faded and ugly. I won't make a fuss, even just for the hell of it, if they tell me I have to dye it. I clearly am not cool enough to have pink hair anyway. /sarcasm.

Well shit. I just read back over this entry - don't read it! Seriously, it's depressing as shit. And I'm not always like this! I swear! Although I'm not doing a very good job of proving it... but if anyone did read this... I don't hate myself. Even though I've been talking shit about myself... I'm not as bad as I sound here. I'm just really going through shit right now. And I've got at least one really good friend, who, apparently, can't be scared away no matter what I do. So, I'm not even alone. So, yeah. I'm fine. Don't anyone worry about me - and I swear, I do have other stuff to write about besides being the eternal fuck-up I am. I've got an episode of Supernatural to watch! And a NaNo project to work on! And... a podfic to listen to! I might even have a season of America's next top model to catch up on... but don't tell anyone that!

Catch y'all on the flip side, for I am beginning my descent into media overload!
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Still at home. Knees still swollen (and also purple) but it's definitely going down, so as far as I can tell everything is ok just a complete pain in my ass.

But... since I've missed like four days of work now, and am going to miss more, now I have to have a doctor's note before I can come back to work. I talked to my GM last night and that's what she said: don't worry about my job, don't worry about calling out, if I can't work, I can't work, but since I've missed more than three days, I need a note saying I am ok to come BACK to work. Not a note excusing me for the days I've missed - I am excused already. I need a note saying it's ok to come back.

So... I have to go to the doctor, I guess. Of course, I can't get a doctor's appointment for another like five weeks (I've already made one) so that won't do... I'm thinking to try the clinic around here or, if that isn't possible (because I have health insurance now, so maybe they won't see me...) I guess my other choice is the ER. Which sucks, and I know you're not supposed to use the ER that way, but... I can't be out of work for five weeks just because it takes that long to get a doctor's appointment. I don't really make enough money as it is - of course my hours got cut after summer ended and besides that, my actual pay is less too because we're not as busy. It sucks.

So not fun + media overload )

And... I may not have failed at NaNoWriMo by writing a story that's too short. I think maybe I can write a few shorter stories, and have them all tie together or something. I've already started another one - this one has time travel. I told you I was a sucker for that :P

This has all been very nice, all the reading and writing and TV-watching, but I'm ready to actually leave the house now plz!
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So, I, ah, wrote a story yesterday and today. It's not 50,000 words, though, so I guess I can't call it my NaNo story, unless I want to keep writing new parts to it. We'll see.

I did watch the last to episodes of "Life On Mars" and I have to say, it didn't end the way I expected it to. If you haven't watched the series, don't click this cause I'll spoil you )

Somehow I got on a little mini-Inuyasha kick - I think because the story I wrote was set in the late nineties-early millennium, so I was trying to think of what kind of stuff was on my mind around then. Well, there was Inuyasha, wasn't there? Before it was a TV show, it was a picture book, being scanlated and transcribed over the internet. Believe me, I've had my head in Inuyasha from the very beginning. I remember when the TV show first aired in Japan how I was so excited to watch a download that I had trouble restraining myself from just watching it unsubbed since I didn't want to wait any longer than I had to. Um, I speak no Japanese. From watching anime I've learned such words as "wait" and "may I?" and "stupid" and "school" and oh, brother and sister and mother and father and cat and dog and (obviously, from Inuyasha) demon and wind scar and stuff, and (obviously, from FMA) alchemy and equivalent trade. But that doesn't count, and it does no good when trying to watch a TV show anyway.

I continue to ramble about anime for a bit... )

I also had this idea that I'd try to find this Inuyasha fanfic I read a few years ago on ff.net. I remembered finding it kind of immature (not a surprise in that fandom) but oddly compelling, well paced, and unfinished. Maybe, just maybe, the author had actually finished the fic? And maybe I could actually track it down again? Well, I found it. I found it by searching ff.net for M rated stories greater than 40,000 words, because those were the specifications I remembered searching before. And there it was. On page four, or something. Clear description - that was definitely the fic.

And here I go on about fanfic and fandom )

When I write stuff I get really involved in it. I kind of pour out everything I've got. All my experiences. All my knowledge. All my dreams and desires and so on. Of course it's all fiction - of course I'm not writing my autobiography or something. To a stranger, it would just be a story, and that's fine. But I hesitate to show anything I write to anyone I know in real life, because I feel like it gives them a view a little deeper into who I am than I'd like them to have. It's like I'm afraid of anyone making any connections between a story and my real emotions/experiences/opinions. I wouldn't let people I know read my diary, if I kept one. And that's kind of the same way I feel about stories. It's just too personal.

Today has been a weird day. It's been a weird couple of days. No, it's been a weird week. Well, really, it's been a weird month.

Or maybe it's just been a weird day. Maybe I've had so much time to myself and absolutely no contact with anyone else (except Erica yesterday morning) that it's given me this odd perspective of myself and my life. But after I dragged myself out of Inuyasha-world, I kind of looked through my journal and was like, WHAT? Really, I went on a blind date? Really, I went to a wedding as someone's date? Really, I just put all that personal stuff ON THE INTERNET? Really, the Phillies won the world series? Really, Barack Obama is going to be the new president? Really, I got all cranky because I couldn't vote? Really? Really I'm stuck in the house doing nothing because I fell and my knees are swollen? Really?

Yes, apparently. Yes really.
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Erica is still here. I'm thinking Erica doesn't have a job any more since she worked for the campaigns... I would rather she not be here right now. I don't even mean not living here - I'm not sure about that yet, but that's not what I meant. I just want the house to myself because I'm fucking miserable and I'm sure I'm being a bitch. She keeps trying to have a conversation with me and I keep telling her to leave me the fuck alone.

She's washing the dishes right now, I can hear her. I think she wanted to clean to give herself something to do and to prove she's a decent housemate, but of course I cleaned everything under the sun yesterday when I was mad.

I'm not mad anymore. I got over that. I mean, I can only spend so much time being angry about things that I can't change. It's just a waste of energy, and I never seem to have enough of that as it is. I don't know how the rest of the world does it - I feel like I'm always pushed to my very limits, mentally, emotionally, physically, everything. I'm just permanently exhausted. I guess I'm getting old or something.

Cut because I keep going about getting old and falling apart. )

I think I'm going to watch the last two episodes of "Life on Mars," which I've kind of been saving for a good time to watch them both together. And try to relax and chill out. Or something.
exhilaration: (angry adipose)
Let me tell you what I feel like right now.

My back hurts.

I don't believe for a minute the simple statement "my back hurts" is an accurate description of what I feel like. Let me try again.

The center of my back is ON FUCKING FIRE. There is a white-hot ball of fucking fire dead center between my shoulder blades and the pain is radiating outward and upward across my shoulders, up my neck and into my head.

Did you know that pretty much every time you move your back moves? Did you know that you use your back to do pretty much everything?

Of course, it fucking hurts whether I move or not, so I might as well move, but not if I'm going to end up passing out from the pain. Or puking my guts out. Neither is ideal.

Yes, I have already double-dosed on anything that could possibly help. This is it. I should have just taken a tranquilizer and knocked myself the fuck out, but there were things I wanted to do today. I would rather have done them anyway, even half out of my head on painkillers, but that's not going to be possible, I'm in too much pain to do any fucking thing at all, and I can't do a fucking thing about it but just sit here and take it.

No tranquilizer, see, because I certainly don't want to OD. And yeah, you can tack "again" on to the end of that. I don't want to OD again.

I don't want to watch a show because I can't even fucking pay attention to it. I'm just so pissed - why does my body do this to me? Why does it not comprehend that there IS NO FUCKING FIRE in my spine and react accordingly? I am doing EVERYTHING I am supposed to be doing - I AM DOING IT RIGHT, WHY DO I NOT GET MY WAY?

I felt fine yesterday, what THE FUCK did I do differently today?

I don't have work today - I do have work tomorrow. So what do I do if I keep feeling this shitty? I can't go to work - I can hardly get the fuck up. If I keep calling out of work, I have to bring a doctor's note - so I have to go see a doctor, who will be like, blah blah blah, oh, you say you're in pain, SORRY ABOUT THAT, why don't you try this that and the other thing that HAVE NEVER WORKED BEFORE? Hm wait, let's see, are you sure you're not just trying to get DRUGS?

I want to be so advanced that I can make my brain tell my body it simply refuses to register this kind of UNCALLED FOR BULLSHIT.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? I haven't felt pain this intense in years! My shoulder? My shoulder hurt? NO IT DOESN'T, THAT IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THIS.

And there's nothing I can do. There is not one single thing I can do about it.

LIFE FUCKING SUCKS.
exhilaration: (Default)
So, a couple things I want to write about, here, one being one of the lj comms I'm on. I started a livejournal for the comms. I wrote in it, yeah, like one day a month or something, but it was really just to participate in the comms. Fandom stuff, some, and other things that just had to do with life, like art and photography and things like that. One comm I've been reading for a while is [livejournal.com profile] poor_skills (which I did mention the other day) and it can be a little infuriating how self righteous people can be about how much they're willing to sacrifice to be cheaper than everyone else in existence... but there's a lot of good information on that comm, especially for someone like me who often finds myself in situations where I'm like, uh oh, didn't expect this one, what do I do, I know, I'll call my mom, she knows, oh wait, not speaking to her, huh, wonder how I sort this one out? And so on.

So there's this girl who's been posting there a lot and it seems she's out of work because she broke her leg. Okay, so, she doesn't know what to do because she can't work because she's hurt, and she's trying to deal with having no income. Great. Okay, so [livejournal.com profile] poor_skills is a good place to get some pointers. Fine. But I've found myself, tonight, just wanting to shake her. Or at least leave her a nasty comment. Which I'm not going to do, because it's probably not a good idea, but... really? Really, she can't cook, because she's on crutches? Really? Really?

HAS IT REALLY NEVER OCCURRED TO THE GIRL TO SIT ON A DAMN STOOL?

I mean, seriously, I swear I am no type of supergimp. I am so far from that. I don't cook often, because I think it's a pain in the ass cooking for one person, and I never feel like doing the dishes anyway so my solution is just not to use them, and yes, that is called being very lazy, but... I can cook. I can cook really well. It never occurred to me to think, ok, I can't cook because I'm on crutches, I have to keep my hands on them or I fall down (her words, not mine) so I have to eat only things that don't need to be prepared, because I can't cook.

Obviously I'm just being really unsympathetic here. Which is why this is here on my personal journal and not on the comm. And yeah, pretty much all aspects of life are harder when you can't stand up on your own. But harder doesn't have to mean impossible. Really. It doesn't.

Moving along, more of the same and a little bit different, I did say I went to the beach, right? )

I really miss living near public transportation. I really, really do. I miss living in the city. I don't like having a car and I don't like driving and I'm the worst driver ever.

And that's... yeah, that's about it, that's all I got for tonight.

Oh. Oh, there is the fact that I hate my job. I really, really hate my job and I fantasize every day about telling off every stupid, condescending, self-entitled customer and then getting fired. I can't wait.
exhilaration: (Default)
For real. Nothing to see.

Edit: Oh, well, I did comment in the [livejournal.com profile] gimp_vent community as to how I both do and do not think of myself as disabled and the comment's about as long as a journal entry. Sometimes when I start on something I have trouble cutting it short, it seems. It's the kind of stuff I try to keep out of my personal journal, for reasons that... oh, go right along with the comment, I guess.
exhilaration: (Default)
Uh huh, you've noticed I've been conspicuously silent.

Lol, no you haven't. But I have been, haven't I?

Well you see, I have been busy hanging out in that fun place called the ER.

I'm fine. Everything is fine, I am ok, there is no need for concern. Seriously. You get to reading this journal, you'll see. I have this tendency to end up there one way or another. Partly because I guess I'm just unlucky, partly because I'm kind of known for doing stupid shit, and partly because I'm just more susceptible to certain things because I have a SCI.

So this particular time was pretty much a false alarm. I joke about being a hypochondriac but really, I'm just trying to be responsible. It's always better to be too careful than not careful enough, is it not?

So this all starts with sleep and me not doing enough of it. )

Ok then. Now you know where i disappeared to. Everything is fine here.

Erica and I have pretty much agreed that we like each other too much to actually remain pissed off - she's not apologizing, I'm not apologizing. Although, really, I would have if I thought it was necessary. I really wish I hadn't snapped at her like that. I still think it was obnoxious how she was acting that day, but - I don't like flying off the handle like that. I am not certain that she's not going to turn up without calling again - which is very annoying to me, and she really doesn't grasp that, it seems. But I am pretty certain she's going to let the whole "let's go to the beach" campaign have a rest for now.
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I luuuurrrrve my font porch. It's like, my favorite place in the house these days. I don't have air conditioning and I don't have a television and so often when I'm home with nothing to do sitting on the porch with the laptop and a beer is just the most awesome option there is. And I always choose most awesome over least awesome.

So that bit I wrote an hour ago or so. Then SOME STUFF HAPPENED. As follows:

So I yelled at Erica really bad. )

But I'm still pissed, and I'm still just sitting here furiously typing, because I don't really know what else to do. That time, that night I keep going back to, that night I decided to pretend like I was some kind of nymphomaniac and slept with my friend Bevan it left me totally out of sorts, I mean, I totally wasn't myself and that's not something I'd normally do to begin with, but then I also had no one to talk to cause... who do I normally talk to about stuff? Him! And I feel just like that now, who do I talk to all the time, who do I feel listens to me the most, oh, Erica! Bevan too, but I don't see him as often anymore, especially not alone. And I can't exactly talk to Erica about Erica, now can I?
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Ok so one day a few years ago when I still lived with Daniel he was doing something in the corner behind his computer, like with the guts of it or something, and he asked me to pick up his phone and make a phone call for him. Fine. So at the time he had his phone programed to dial on voice command, and so he told me what to say to get it to call. He liked it that way cause he said it made him feel Star Trek-ish to say "call Jay" and the phone would call her. Also fine.

Except for the phone wouldn't recognize my voice! I had to give up and dial her from, you know, pushing buttons and the like.

This just furthers the theory that I talk funny. I don't think I sound different. There's no reason why I should sound different - I used to have a little bit of a stutter but the older I get the less it happens - I speak, as far as I can tell, exactly the same as everyone else. I have no type of speech impediment. Just, voice recognition stuff can't even hear me. It doesn't even process that I'm speaking!

I went to Philly yesterday, back to my old 'hood, to visit a friend that lived down the street from us. He had just gotten home from the hospital - he got shot, oh, sometimes last fall, and he had been in the hospital ever since. It's a pretty sad story - he is basically going to need someone to take care of him for the rest of his life. He's not, like, my bestest friend ever, but we lived on the same block, and we'd hang out pretty often, you know, have a few beers together, order take out, sit on the porch, you know, all that EOL stuff.

I wish this was a cute story but really it's just regular old life )

So we sat on the porch. The back porch, the one where they built the ramp. (Not even the same house - he's staying with his parents, they live in a different part of the neighborhood) Couple other peeps from down the street came over with a couple pizzas. We drank some beers. Well, I drank my beer from one hand and held my friend's beer for him and tried my damnedest not to spill it when I tilted it back. The first nurse left early, the night nurse arrived late. We went inside. We locked the door so the nurse would have to knock. We watched some weird freak-nasty porn. This was the routine back in the day, see, when we lived down the street from each other and my friend could hold his own beer. Yes, freak-nasty porn, and on that big TV, too. But it wasn't a single thing like old times. It wasn't a bit like old times.
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My shoulder hurts.

My shoulder has been hurting ever since I last said it was hurting. I've just been trying to ignore it. It's not absolutely intolerable, it's more of a constant dull aching, but the thing is, I'm on pretty strong painkillers all the time. If I can feel it through that, well, obviously something is very wrong.

I did get an x-ray and an MRI like I was supposed to, but I don't know anything more than I did before. Cause the technicians don't read the stuff, you know, they just take them.

I was hostessing at work tonight and I was the first one in so I got out early - Bevan and I went for a beer cause neither of us has seen much of each other recently. I didn't go out at all last weekend because I was so tired, and I'm just as tired now, but I've been getting antsy for company and it was just for like an hour or so. And my shoulder hurt so bad the whole time I was sitting there it was making my fingers go all cold and tingly. I dropped my glass on the ground, it broke, everyone thought I was trashed, and Bevan brought me home.

He offered me percs, which of course I turned down. I had to tell him I'm already on painkillers and if I thought taking more would help I had my own. He asked if I wanted him to give me a shoulder rub and at first I said no, but then I said okay. It didn't help. It felt good, but it didn't help. It's not nerve pain. It's not joint pain either, it's not in the bendy part of my shoulder, it's in the muscle part in the back, and it's so insistent, but it's just the muscles, it SHOULDN'T HURT THIS MUCH!

Finally I just asked Bevan to leave me alone and let me be by myself and miserable, and now I am.

Blegh.

Erica called me this afternoon. I didn't think she actually would, but she did. She said her family is having a Memorial Day party that is also a graduation party for her, and that I should come. I... don't think I am going to go - I know, I know, I am the one who randomly walked up to Erica in the diner and started talking to her, and I do know all kinds of stuff about her, but I still don't know her well at all. I've seen her all of twice in my life, and... I won't know anyone at her party-picnic-whatever, and I just do not feel like going. I feel like everyone there is going to know her and is going to want to know who I am and how I know Erica and I'll just be like, oh I met her in the diner one night, and she'll probably be totally busy will all her guests and wont have time to actually talk to me.

But if I don't go... maybe she won't call me again.

I just... usually I don't get like this. I'm not... shy, it's just that sometimes I don't feel like it. I don't feel like talking to strangers and being nice and polite and social. I do it all day long and all night long at work. And I like to socialize. I like being around other people. I hate staying home. But sometimes... it sounds strange to say it this way, but I just get really sick of myself. I'd like to give being someone else a try, I guess. Of course, there's a long list of things I'd like, and I'm no more likely to get my way on that one than anything else, so I don't know why I even bother.
exhilaration: (angry adipose)
To Whom It May Concern:

Do not invite me somewhere awesome and then arrive to pick me up in a vehicle I am completely unable to get in to because it's freaking three feet off the ground. You suck.

Thank you,

The Management

Unrelated: If you are going to drive around and around and around the block blaring your music, play something cooler than Journey please and thank you.
exhilaration: (impossible things)
Is it "turd" or is it "terd?" My spell check doesn't seem to recognize either one.

Whatever.

I've been sitting here staring at the wall and thinking really intently. It's that kind of night, yes it is.

So there's this girl I work with (restaurant) and I like her.

I don't mean I have a crush on her or anything. She's just a nice person. I have nothing against her, in fact, I rather like her.

She's one of those very, very, almost-sickeningly-sweet types, and I used to despise her because she seemed so fake. But it's not fake. And yeah, she might be annoying sometimes, but I gotta give her credit where credit's due: at least she's genuine. And most people aren't

She can be kind of clueless at times. I try to clue her in on things when I can. She usually doesn't listen to me. I try to pull the "older, wiser, let me explain life to you" thing with her once in a while, but it never seems to stick. She talks about her life all the time, and the boys she likes, and not getting along with her mom, whatever, the girl's a teenager. She's just being a regular teenage girl.

Of all the other idiots I have to work with, I'd take her any day.

So I've got a whole lot to say tonight. It's not all about her, but I think I'm going to start with her. Well, really I'm going to start with me. This is MY journal, after all. )

Hmmm. I could drunk dial my ex right now... bet she would think that was fab.

But I won't, because that would be pathetic. I wonder if she thinks I'm mean, though.

Well, she probably does. Well, she thinks I'm incredibly selfish and I can't really argue with that.

That's kinda like mean, isn't it?
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So, I had this idea last night that maybe I should see a doctor. You know, a woman doctor, an obgyn. Since I've become suddenly a sexually active person again. It would be the health-conscious thing to do, right?

Really, I'm not too worried about myself here. I suppose you can get pregnant from having sex one time, but it would be unlikely at this point in my monthly cycle. I'm actually quite regular. I suppose you can definitely catch a disease from having sex one time, and I suppose it's possible that B could have given me something, but it's about equally possible that I gave him something, for that matter.

It's just... the whole event has unsettled me so badly, and I really have no one to talk to about it. It's not like I have friends to confide in or anything. So I went to the clinic in Philly where I used to go when I lived nearby, and I've been there a few times since moving here, too, because usually they're really good there, and they have all my info on file and everything. Being that going to the doctor is not exactly my most favorite thing to do in the first place, I figured, I might as well go somewhere where I'm comfortable, and not go somewhere new and have to deal with a whole bunch of "new patient" crap and possibly have a bad experience to start with, never mind that it's not like I'm a patient on file anywhere around here so it's not like I could actually get an appointment with anyone...

Oh, I'll cut this, it's gotten kinda long... )
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Now If Only I Could Actually Say It To Shaina...

I. Just had the most horrible experience.

Okay. Not the most horrible. But it was pretty bad.

The ground is covered in ice. Everything is covered in ice. I'm cool with that. I'm really, really careful, it's fine, I've got it. Everyone slides on the ice a little. It's fine.

IT'S NOT FINE.

One of the first things I had done to my house was to have it split into two. The only way to get upstairs is to go up the stairs on the side of the house. The stairs that are, like everything else, covered in ice. AND I LIVE UPSTAIRS.

That little voice, the one that was telling me from the very beginning, Lara, this is not a good idea, Lara, you do not want to go up and down stairs every day, Lara, this is your house, you should fix up the first floor for yourself before anything else, yes, that voice, I should have listened to that one, not the one that said, Lara, you could rent the first floor this winter, you know, you need the money, you can handle the stairs, it won't be a problem...

So there was me, clinging to the railing and making a complete fool of myself trying to get upstairs, it was really... it was completely humiliating, actually. The way the ice had frozen made each step like an incline of ice, and it was, it was, it was... it was completely impossible. I could not do it. I quite possibly have never been so embarrassed in my entire life. Nothing says "I'm pathetic" more than knocking on your downstairs tenant's door and asking for help up the stairs. But I didn't know what else to do, and I was practically in tears just from the bitter cold, never mind the frustration and embarrassment and all the rest. I tried to pull it together a bit, but, seriously. I never want to repeat that ever again.

In which I make use of that thing called a cut, because I am going to unload like I never have before... )

Let me just daydream about my houses a little, or let me just daydream about friends that I don't have, oh, while I'm at it, let me just daydream about someday having a job that doesn't involve continued interaction with idiots, hell, if I'm going to daydream, why don't I go all out and dream about having a body that doesn't play games with me, then, eh?

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Lara I.

October 2012

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