My name is Ioma and this is my LiveJournal.  If you want to learn more about me, you can check out my user info.  This LJ is just where I'll be posting memes and surveys, and the occasional small update about myself.  

I have a regular blog, Odyssey of an Oddity, and that's where I write more substantial updates and stories about myself, my family, my life, and my health...mostly my health or lack thereof.  

This LJ is where I go when I want to distract myself because the pain medication isn't doing the trick, or when I want to forget that I have a potentially life-threatening medical condition.  This is where I go to be superficial and random.  

That being said, don't expect anything really "deep" here - that's what my blog is for.  Anyway, I hope you like my LJ, and thanks for stopping by and checking it out.  :)

Congratulations on winning my auction! Also, congratulations on ruining Christmas for my family and flushing my emotions down the toilet.

Something that I attempted to explain to you, but you either did not understand or decided to completely ignore was this: When PayPal processes a payment through eBay for more than $100, PayPal puts a hold on that money until the buyer leaves feedback, or until 30 days have passed (I think).

Despite the fact that I put directions regarding this in my listing, directions which you should have followed without my having to ask you to do so, I politely asked you to leave me feedback so PayPal would lift the hold on that money, allowing me to transfer it to my bank account, which is where it belongs. Instead, you replied with a rather nasty e-mail, accusing me of trying to steal your money, among the rest of your paranoid, poisonous, snooty, holier-than-thou ranting. Your e-mail was so emotionally-charged that reading it sent me into a panic (having autism sucks). Thanks for that (the freak-out, not the autism).

I have no access to that money. I shipped your items anyway, even though what you have done is like going into a grocery store and putting a bunch of groceries on the counter, showing the cashier your money, and then asking to leave with the merchandise so you can go home with it and test it, and then come back to pay once you’ve decided that the merchandise lives up to your expectations.

How do I know that you’re not trying to steal from me?

Anyway, back to the ruining Christmas thing. That money was supposed to pay for Christmas presents for my family this year. More importantly, I am not the only person waiting on that money. I helped a friend of my mom’s sell his stuff; he was generous enough to split the winnings with me in exchange for my help. I’m pretty sure you fucked up his Christmas, too.

And yet I see you have a perfect, 100% positive feedback rating! How is this possible?

Here, I have no problem saying all this, but to you, all I could say was, “I was simply hoping to have the money by Christmas. I’m sorry to have made you so angry.”

But seriously, I appreciate your withholding money from me, contacting PayPal to prove me wrong (and taking delight in telling me so, talking to me like I’m a 5-year-old), and sending me not only one, but two vicious e-mails.

Again, congratulations on winning the auction! I sure hope you find the items “satisfactory.”

Sincerely,
A Very Upset Seller

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

And because blogging this is a lot more productive than blogging about how pissed off I am that I have to see yet another [probably useless and ineffectual] cardiologist.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

I’m 25 today (and every day until this time next year). I spent most of the day watching TV with a little brown cat stuck to me. I decided to go the healthy route and had a Big Mac for lunch and warm brownies with cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream for dinner. Isaiah blew out my candles for me because I have a severe phobia of fire. He won’t tell me what he wished for because, “Then it won’t come true.”

So how about wishing me a happy birthday? You know you want to. But NO singing. I hate singing.

And I’m STILL waiting for my birthday spanking…

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Mom wanted to get me a cat for my birthday (tomorrow!). A few days ago, she picked up a newspaper, which she very rarely reads, and opened it to some random page. On that page was a black and white picture of a Siamese cat available for adoption from a shelter about 30 minutes away. They named her Venus and she was 2 years old. Very affectionate, but didn’t care for dogs, they said.

I said, “I’ll bet someone has already adopted her. She’s gorgeous!” We called the shelter, expecting to hear that she had indeed been adopted. Instead, we were thrilled to hear that she was still there. Someone put a hold on her a few days ago, but called and took it off earlier that morning.

We jumped at the opportunity and arrived at the shelter a few minutes before it opened. We were taken back to see her. She was sitting calmly in her cage, surrounded by cages with cats who were meowing, rubbing their bodies against the bars of their cages, and reaching their arms as far out of their cages as they could, trying to grab me. We were allowed to open the door to Venus’ cage. I stuck my hand in to pet her. She rolled around affectionately for a bit before rolling onto her back to show me her belly. She licked my hand and then laid down with her head in my hand.

I stayed with her while mom filled out the paperwork, secretly afraid that someone else would adopt her before I could. Several couples passed by her cage, “Look at the Siamese! Now that’s a beautiful cat!”, but they quickly shifted their attention to the cats who were enthusiastically thrusting their arms out, crying for attention.

She was so well-behaved in the car; it was as if we didn’t even have a cat in a carrier in the back seat of our car. She protested for a few minutes after first getting her into the carrier, but she calmed down and sat with her paws tucked under for the rest of the ride home.

As soon as we got home, we let her out to explore her new home, which she did with almost fearless curiosity. I had to lay down and take meds almost immediately, because apparently being upright for two hours is Unacceptable. Just as I was thinking that I should lay down in the living room instead so we could get a chance to bond more, she ran into my bedroom, jumped up onto my bed, and curled up on my chest, purring and laying her head on my cheek. We fell asleep and stayed that way for a few hours.

She is so affectionate. She loves to curl up under the covers. She gives kisses. She wags her tail like a dog. Looking at her is like looking back in time at Sienna; being reminded of how Si-Si looked about 7 years ago. She’s pretty vocal, but in quantity rather than volume. She has attached herself to me, literally. She does not like to be separated from me - she cried when I left the bedroom to get a drink. She’s asleep on top of the monitor right now.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Day Before Ioma’s Birthday, EH-HEM, I mean Valentine’s Day.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Ehlers-Danlos syndrome will be featured on Mystery Diagnosis this coming Monday, December 8th, at 10:00 p.m. on Discovery Health Channel. The episode is called The Baby Who Wouldn’t Stop Crying, and I’ve heard that EDS will be featured during the second half hour of this hour-long show. It will replay several times during the week and you can check the schedule for more times.

I wanted to apply to be on this show, but it looks like I’ve lost my chance. I don’t think they’d feature EDS again - although this will technically be the second time EDS has been mentioned on this show (the first time being an episode about a girl with Chiari malformation and EDS), and I have a different type of EDS than the person being featured (but that’s just splitting hairs). I’m just glad that someone is spreading awareness of EDS.

I wish my doctor could see the show, but I have no way of telling her about it until I see her on the 19th. She and I haven’t been seeing eye to eye for a while now (and I don’t particularly like her nurse, who is sometimes always cranky), and I have had a lot of stress and worry around the situation with no real way to fix it. But that’s another story for another day.

I also have appointments with The Useless Rheumatologist and a(nother) cardiologist this week.

I have to go back to the rheumatologist because my doctor can’t make up her fucking mind about whether or not I should take pain medication for, you know, MY PAIN. As she says, “If the rheumatologist says it’s ok, then I’ll be ok with it.” Now I have to go back to a doctor (rheumatologist) who I felt didn’t really understand EDS and definitely doesn’t really understand my pain JUST to ask if it’s ok to continue on medication and hope he says yes. And when he does say yes, I’m holding my doctor to it.

I’m going to the cardiologist because my heart rate and rhythm has been out of control for several months and we can’t quite figure out why. My blood pressure has been way, WAY out of whack - it’s either extremely high or extremely low. We’ve been trying medication after medication to try to fix both problems, but nothing has helped. And let’s not forget the echocardiogram to take a look at my wonky ticker and its fabulously enlarged aorta (Dear Aorta: Bigger is NOT better. Love, Ioma) and pray like hell I don’t hear The S-Word (surgery).

My symptoms are drastically worse when I’m vertical - the longer I’m sitting up, the crappier I feel. I can only sit up for about 30 minutes before I’m forced to lay down because of dizziness and blacking out, or pass out and scare the neighbors with the mysterious THUD (and wake up with a dislocated…something, no doubt). This is part of why I haven’t been blogging or commenting much (I am still reading people’s blogs, though!). I haven’t really felt like blogging because I don’t always have something nice to say, and I know that nobody wants (or cares) to listen to me whine about my health and how they can’t fix it and my doctor doesn’t get it (or care).

So, watch Mystery Diagnosis on Monday night, and if anyone needs me, I’ll be in The Angry Dome.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Since Friday’s Feast has been gone for so long, I’m serving up something new thanks to the lovely Jodi.  Drumroll please, and get ready (readyreadyreadyreadyready - sorry, I’m a total music addict!) for Food 4 Thought Friday!

Breakfast
What is one thing you look forward to each day?  Each week?
I look forward to talking to my mom each day.  I look forward to checking my “dailies” – websites, blogs, and forums I enjoy.  I also look forward to watching The Simpsons (every day at 6 p.m.).  Now that the new season of House has begun, I look forward to that each week (Tuesdays at 8 p.m.).

Lunch
Are you a hoarder or a chucker?
I’m a hoarder for the most part (because I’m a sentimental softie), but I go through phases where I chuck things.

Dinner
Do your dinner meals consist mostly of home cooked meals, convenience foods (i.e. boxed, frozen, heat & serve, etc.), or fast food?  Who does most of the cooking in your home?
I don’t really eat “dinner” per se.  I eat when my wonky tummy will let me!  Most of my meals consist of convenience food because I’m a horrible cook, and also because it allows me to make smaller portions (I get sick in the middle of eating and have to stop sometimes, UGH).  I’m downright dysfunctional in the kitchen.  If I’m in the kitchen, you can expect things to get explosive.  I do 99.9% of the pyrotechnics “cooking” in my home, except for the times my mom cooks (home-cooked meals) when she and Isaiah visit me.

Midnight Snack
Has the rising cost of gasoline caused you to restrict, limit, or alter anything in your life?  If so what?
Actually…no.  My mom doesn’t have a car right now, and I can’t drive.

Recipe for this Week (instead of your recipe for life - what is it for just this week?)
Don’t do what you do or say what you say because you’re afraid of how you’ll be judged by others.  People will like you if you like yourself first.  Do and say what’s in your heart – be true to yourself.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

There are far greater tragedies, like the daily assault on my poor lungs and sinuses.  To that end, a brief letter:

Dearest Idiot Neighbors (all of you),

Do not smoke outside on your balcony while it is raining.  The increase in moisture makes the smell infinitely worse and carries the smoke directly into my breathing passages.

Better yet, do not smoke.  At all.  Ever.  Thank you!

Smoking can kill you, which would be bad enough by itself, but if you continue to smoke, *I* shall be forced to kill you.

Your loving, caring neighbor,
Ioma

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Alternate Title:  One of the Pharmacists at My Pharmacy is a Fucking Moron

Before I go into the drama that occurred a few Saturdays ago, I’ll say that up until recently, I’ve really liked my pharmacy.  There are two pharmacists that I can recognize by sight – The Blonde One and The Brunette.  I do know their names, but for the sake of privacy, Blonde and Brunette it shall be.  Blonde has physically gone out of her way to help me in the past, bringing my medication to my home when she got off of work once.  Blonde is a total sweetheart.  Brunette, on the other hand…  Well, she was always polite, but that’s about it.

This time, Brunette has gone beyond rude.  She accused me of doing something extremely illegal, and not to my own face, but to my mom’s.

When I pick up my prescription at the doctor’s office, I don’t scrutinize it.  I look at it quickly and make sure that 1)  it’s mine, 2)  it’s for the right medication, 3)  it has the right date on it, and 4)  that the doctor remembered to sign it.  This prescription looked fine to me.  I did notice that the 5 in the number 15 (for the date) looked a tiny bit darker than the other numbers, but I didn’t think much of it and I assumed that nobody else would, either.  I dropped it off at the pharmacy without a second thought.

When mom went to pick up the filled prescription the next day, she immediately noticed that the “N” slot (my last name starts with N) was empty.  “Oh, shit.  Did they not fill it yet?” she thought.  One of the pharmacists saw her and she asked if they had filled it yet.  The pharmacists whispered back and forth, right in front of her, for a few moments before Brunette came to the counter with my medications, wearing a nasty look on her face.

“Was there a problem?” my mom asked.  Brunette, still holding my medications hostage, slid the prescription slip across the counter and pointed to the date, “That number 5 is darker than the other numbers.  We were suspicious that your daughter, or someone, tampered with or altered the prescription.”

Cue my mom getting REALLY freaking pissed.  She pointed to the prescription and, “See that 8?  It’s narrow and kind of looks like a 6.  Do you want to nitpick about that, too?  My daughter doesn’t even see well enough to do what you’re accusing her of doing.”

“Well, you’re right.  That 8 does look like a 6…” Brunette says nastily as she hands over my medications.

What the hell is wrong with people?!  Brunette is lucky she didn’t have to deal with me.  I’m not nice like my mom.

If she was so concerned with the date, she should have called my doctor’s office to confirm before filling it.

I would take my business elsewhere, but they are the only pharmacy in town.  I’m hoping this was just a one-time incident.  Otherwise, Brunette may find herself without a job.

NEWSFLASH:  Dearest Brunette, I do not like having to take this medication, or any medication.  I don’t like being in pain and having a condition that could kill me.  I also don’t know how to get the fuck over feeling guilty about having pain, especially so young.  And so far, no medical professional or authority figure has made me feel ok about any of this.  And my doctor is taking the medication away soon anyway, so you won’t have to deal with it anymore.

*Her name isn’t Jill.  I just parodied a line of an already very funny song.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Last week, I went to my doctor for what should have been a routine appointment.  Our appointments usually follow the same pattern:  the doctor talks to me about stuff and refills any medications that need refilling.  We almost always discuss the same thing – my pain.  It’s not always the only topic of discussion, but it always comes up.

After being on the same medication at the same dose for a little over a year, she has suddenly decided to take me off of it, even though it’s helping my pain. 

At our first visit, she tried to get me a referral to a pain management specialist (a doctor who exclusively treats chronic pain, nothing else), but found that there is nobody in the area who accepts my insurance.  She said she’d treat my pain herself.  She seemed very laid back about it.  The things she said made me believe that she understood that EDS was just plain painful and that pain, unfortunately, does not discriminate.

She did give me the name of the pain management specialist she wanted to refer me to, and I wrote him a letter.  I received a phone call from his receptionist about a week later.  He thought I was interesting and wanted to see me in consultation free of charge.  He was a wonderful person – kind, compassionate, understanding, and very knowledgeable about EDS and pain in general.  Because my insurance won’t pay for any prescriptions he would write, he wrote a letter to my doctor with recommendations for medications that might help me.  If cost wasn’t a limiting factor, I’d go right back to him for my pain management in a heartbeat.  He and his staff are incredible, and I know my pain would be understood and not undertreated there.

My doctor said she received his letter, but she made no comment other than how nice it was that he was willing to see me for free (and I agree).  She is not prescribing the medication he recommended and I did not ask why.

When she first started treating my pain, she would emphasize quality of life, saying things like, “We can help make you more comfortable.”, “You may be on this medication for the rest of your life.”, and “I have to give you a pat on the back for how well you’re dealing with this.”

I told her that I understood that, even with the best pain management in the world, I would most likely have to deal with some degree of pain, possibly for the rest of my life.  I know that she is not a magician, she’s a doctor.  And when it comes down to it, she’s a person, a regular human being, just like me.  I was not expecting her to work miracles, but I was expecting some understanding, compassion, and, most importantly, consistency.

Things have changed.  Now, she says, “We don’t like to keep patients on this medication for very long.” and “You’ll just keep needing more and more.  You’ll be 40 years old and bedridden, disabled, and blaming me for putting you on this medication.”  I haven’t had a medication change or increase in almost a year.  I’m 24 years old and already finding myself stuck in bed because of pain.  How do I get people to understand that?

I can understand her wanting me to try other medications.  I think it’s a great idea to get some x-rays of The Big Offenders (the joints I have the most problems and pain in) to check to see whether or not I have any arthritis.  We already know I have osteoporosis in my hips and spine, and it would be nice to know if I have any arthritis we should be treating.  I’ll be willing to try whatever she wants me to try.

I’m not as upset about the medication as I am about the abruptness of the change.  There was no mention of this during my June appointment.  Her whole attitude, and even her tone of voice, has changed.  She almost sounded scared, somewhat frantic, at times.  I remember what I heard during my previous appointments, and this was not the same.  It was as if I was talking to a different doctor altogether.  She was so abrupt and different that I feel like I’ve done something wrong.  The whole appointment felt wrong.  When I asked about ordering the x-rays and starting a new medication that day, she said that she didn’t have the time – we’d do it in a month.  As she left, she asked if I had anything else for my “list of complaints”.  She probably didn’t mean for that to sound mean, but it bothered me slightly.  I realize I’m a pain in the ass, medically speaking (and probably in many other ways), but you don’t have to remind me.

She is a good doctor.  She listens to me and gets the job done.  She was probably just having an “off” day because she was so rushed – while I was sitting in the waiting room, I overheard that a few of her patients were late for their appointments, and she already had patients backed up.

But I’m starting to think she might have bitten off more than she could chew when it comes to taking care of me.

Still, I feel strange about how the appointment went.  It feels like we’re not on the same wavelength anymore.  I thought we had established some trust and some kind of routine, and this sudden change has left me feeling a tiny bit betrayed, or at least lost.  I’m a little irritated that she chose to change my medications as we’re going into winter – the time of the year when my pain increases significantly.  Also, with the pain under a little better control over the past year, I started doing more stuff, including getting a part-time job and considering going back to school.  I hope the pain doesn’t increase so much that I have to give any of that up (again).

Have I done something wrong?  What do I have to do to get some freaking respect?  Do I have to go in there in a wheelchair, crying to get someone to understand?  I sure hope not, because that’s not my style.  I am so tired of being judged, looked down on, and feeling like a bad person because of my pain.  Perhaps respect is just too much to ask for, especially considering I’m too young to have earned it.

At the risk of being thought of as a huge(er) drama queen, I’ll simply say that since I may be looking at a shortened lifespan because of the vascular nature of my EDS, I do not deserve to live that life with untreated, or undertreated, pain.  I wish I could find a doctor who got that.

This isn’t such a big deal compared to what happened at the pharmacy on Saturday…

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Today is Isaiah’s 8th birthday!  I didn’t get to spend it with him because of our little lack-of-car situation.  Mom’s downstairs neighbor said he’d drive her and Isaiah in to see me tomorrow.  That’s all fine and good, and I am grateful, but I’m still pissed off that we couldn’t spend TODAY together.

I don’t have any pictures (yet - mom promised me she’d take pictures), but I hope to have some in the next few days.

To my little brat brother:  Eight years ago today, I prayed that you’d be born normal, healthy, perfect.  My prayers were answered.  You were a strong and happy baby.  You always laughed so hard that you got the hiccups - like when I would look at you and roll my tongue, or stick my tongue up my nose.  You’re becoming an avid Simpsons fan, but when you were a baby, your favorite movie was Dumbo…except for the part where Dumbo gets taken away from his mom.  I would see it coming and stand in between you and the TV and fast-forward through it so you wouldn’t cry.  You’ll never admit it, but just a few years ago, you were terrified of bugs - now you aren’t afraid to pick them up and scare the girls with them.

Some day soon, too soon, you’ll be taller than I am (but you’ll never be smarter!), but you’ll always be my little bro.  I love watching you grow.

Happy birthday, buddy!  You better have saved me some cake!

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

I didn’t really know how to feel about what he’d just called me.  My logical self knew that I shouldn’t be bothered by it, especially considering his age and maturity level.  He still had no right to call me that.  He should have been minding his own business, anyway.

I was invited to a birthday party for a friend of Isaiah’s.  It was being thrown at the pool, which is within walking distance of my place, and there would be pizza and cake.  Normally I don’t go places where there are lots of kids, but I can’t resist pizza, cake, and the opportunity to swim.

Because I’m a special, special snowflake (you know how some people say their body is a temple – I say my body is more like an amusement park where the rides break down randomly and suddenly), I have to consider logistics whenever I go somewhere.  How much sun exposure?  How hot will it be?  How easily accessible is the place?  How easy would it be for me to get back home if my body turned hateful and I felt I had to leave?

The whole thing seemed quite doable.  There would be almost no sun exposure because it started at 6 p.m. and the sun had already dipped down behind the mountain.  It would be hotter than hell, but remember – POOL party.  Plus, I was willing to risk dizziness, fainting, and seizures for pizza and cake.  With the exception of one big, fat flight of stairs, the place was easily accessible and only a five-minute walk from my house.

So I went, and had a rockin’ time!  Good food, pretty good music, and except for dislocating a shoulder while pulling Isaiah through the water while he held on to me (never fear, he can swim), a good time all around.

I finally hit my ditch point – the point where my pain level got so bad that I had to leave pretty quickly.  I said goodbye to as many people as I could and thanked Isaiah’s friend’s parents for inviting me (and apologized for having to leave so soon).  My arms were not cooperating and I was too stubborn to let someone help me get dressed, so I wrapped a towel around myself and shuffled off in the direction of home.

Just as I came around the last turn, I heard, “Hey!  Hey, you!”

The voice was that of a boy who, I would guess, was about 13 years old.  I could follow the sound of his voice and I knew exactly where he was, despite not being able to see much of anything.  He was on the steps of a house I’d passed by tons of times; a house I’d always thought was vacant.  I never feel particularly comfortable responding to someone I can’t see, and a voice that I didn’t recognize, for that matter.  I still wasn’t even sure if he was talking to me, and I was in too much pain to care.

Up until that moment, I hadn’t considered my physical appearance.  I assumed that nobody would be looking or checking me out.  I hadn’t thought about my very noticeable limp, which only worsens when the pain worsens, and the fact that when I’m in pain, I fold up like the former Pope.  I could only imagine how limpy and folded-up I looked at that point.  I looked straight ahead and kept going.

“HEY!  HEY, YOU!”

I continued to ignore him.  I didn’t feel like socializing anymore, and what the hell did he want, anyway? 

“HEY!  HEYYYYY!”

Oh SHUT UP.  I tried to walk faster.

A second voice piped up…

“Forget it.  Nobody would want an ugly cripple like her, anyway.”

Ouch!  Well, that was a first for me!  I’ve been called a freak, freak of nature, mutant, mistake, retarded (by my first grade teacher, no less!), “a shame”, and a thing (also by my first grade teacher – “Why does God make…things like you?  You shouldn’t even exist.”), but never a cripple…until then.  And UGLY, as if to add insult to injury.

I suppose I asked for it, walking home in a towel like that.  I should have let someone help me get dressed.  Dumb!  Dumb, stubborn girl!  Everything was fully covered.

But I can’t take it too personally.  After all, they were only about 13.  A 13-year-old boy saying jackassy things isn’t unheard of.  Once I had some time to think about it, the whole thing seemed like a rite of passage for them rather than a personal attack:  Get girl’s attention.  If girl ignores you, insult her thoroughly.

I can’t help wondering if they’ll regret it someday, or if they’ll push it out of their brains and forget about it completely, like I should.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Our car is dead.  Like DEAD dead.  It died on Friday, but I’ve been too pissed off and anxious to write about it until now.

We knew it was inevitable.  It was a used car to begin with, and in the past month and a half, it was having problems starting.  Mom was in front of a mechanic’s once when it just would not start, and he looked at it for her.  He said something about coils and pressure, I don’t know, I’m not a mechanic.  He gave it a terminal diagnosis.

The guy who sold us the car had brain cancer.  He passed away in June.  Now his car has gone on to The Great Beyond, wherever or whatever the hell that is.

Why the anxiety, you ask?  Well, there’s just something about not having a car that really fucking gets to me.  Not having a car reminds me of the times I was stuck in the ER alone – both with the Hysterectomy from Hell with resulting bowel and ovarian ruptures, obstructions, and abscesses (just mix-n-match, everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong), and when my gallbladder went into its final self-destruct sequence.  I know that these things aren’t directly related to being carless; it’s the memories of being alone that weirds me out.

Geez.  I’m an adult, and I shouldn’t…*sigh*…but am I the only one who wouldn’t want to be in the ER alone?

I’m not saying I’m going to be making any trips to the ER, I’m just freaking out for the sake of freaking out.  This is MY blog and I’m allowed to freak out.

In a way, it’s a relief that the thing has been officially “pronounced”.  Now we don’t have to worry about, “Oh boy, I sure hope it starts this time!” or, “We’d better keep it running so it’ll…keep running.”

The mechanic who diagnosed it took it for parts.

Rest in pieces, Shit-Mobile.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

Our usual chef is experiencing technical difficulties, but Jodi has come to the rescue!

Appetizer
What are your feelings towards lightning/thunder storms?
I think storms are sorta scary, but sorta exciting.  I really hate it when they knock out the power, though, because most of what I like to do requires electricity.

Soup
Have you ever experienced an earthquake?
My mom says we had a small earthquake when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it.

Salad
Dry heat or humid heat?
Dry heat, hands down.  I lived in Arizona for three years, and people think I’m crazy when I say that it feels hotter here in Virginia during the summer than it ever felt in Arizona because of the humidity here.  When it’s humid, taking a shower doesn’t make me feel any cleaner – I feel just as sticky and gross as I did before getting in the shower.

Main Course
Are you a skier…snow or water?
Neither, I’ve never even tried.  Both activities would have the same end result – a trip to the emergency room.

Dessert
What are your top three favorite ice cream flavors?
Chocolate-chip cookie dough, Neapolitan, and anything that has both chocolate and caramel in it.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

I could’ve adopted a kitten today.  A little mostly black kitten with a white fur locket on her chest.

I woke up this evening with an anti-nausea medication hangover, after trying to sleep the hottest and brightest part of the day away.  I checked my voicemail and there were two suspicious-sounding messages from my mom, “Hey…call me back.”  The tone of her voice suggested that she had something up her sleeve.

By the time I called her back, it was too late.  She was at the pool with Isaiah when she ran into the woman with the little black kitten.  The woman wasn’t 100% sure she was going to keep the kitten, but she was leaning toward it.  She already named the kitten Prada (a name I would never choose – I’d pick something inspired by astronomy).  The woman was obviously an animal lover, she already had a few dogs and birds, and my mom half-joked that a cat would help make her “collection” complete.

My mom and I both feel that the kitten was meant for her and not for me.  I don’t think I’m ready for another cat just yet.  It’s tempting, mostly because I’m not used to being without a cat for so long, but whenever I think about adopting another cat, my mind skips right to the part where that cat gets sick or dies.  I also fear that Dave’s spirit would be angry at me for replacing him so soon.

I still can’t help wondering about a lot of things, though.  When will I be ready for another cat?  Should I have adopted one already?  Am I even a good caregiver? 

The question that I keep coming back to is:  Will his soul come back to me somehow? 

I believe in reincarnation, firmly and absolutely.  I know in my heart that his soul is waiting for another body, if it hasn’t found one and jumped in already.  I also believe that groups of souls tend to stick together, both during a single lifetime and throughout time itself.

Since Dave’s passing, I’ve had dreams where I’m in the presence of another cat, a cat that always looks completely unlike him, but I know it’s him.  I can’t say for sure that those dreams mean that Dave’s soul will come back to me.  The dreams may just mean that I’ll be able to love another cat as much as I loved Dave.  Then again, the dreams could be totally meaningless – a simple product of my preoccupation with Dave, death, and cats in general.

No matter how I think about stuff or analyze the situation, I end up right where I started…wondering if we’ll meet again and when, or if our 12-year friendship was just a single five-minute acquaintanceship compared to the infiniteness of time.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

*woot!*  The big two-oh.  It’s Friday, baby.

Appetizer
When was the last time you had your hair cut/trimmed?
January 11th, 2008 – five days before having my gallbladder removed.  It’s much easier to deal with things post-op when you have shorter hair, and I just felt like treating myself before going under the knife again.

Soup
Name one thing you miss about being a child.
Getting excited over little things – celebrating small victories.  Now that I’m an adult, I feel like if I’m not doing something amazing, it’s not worth feeling great about.  I beat myself up over not being able to do what everyone else does because of my poor health.  In reality, I should be proud of myself whenever I am feeling well enough to do stuff, especially considering I have days where walking, sitting, or getting out of bed are luxuries.

Salad
Pick one: butter, margarine, olive oil.
Butter, of course!  What planet do you think I come from?

Main Course
If you could learn another language, which one would you pick, and why?
I know a little Latin (studied it in middle and high school), and I’d love to pick it up again.  It’s a beautiful language.

Dessert
Finish this sentence: In 5 years I expect to be…
…happy.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

I’d like to wish everyone a very happy, healthy, and SAFE 4th of July, basically a 4th of July that doesn’t remotely resemble the one I had!

First, I should explain:  I have this nasty little habit of magnetically attracting miscellaneous hazardous shit to myself.  I quite literally find random objects hitting me, and I can’t figure out why.  It’s happened all my life and, as soon as we make sure my Good Eye (i.e. My Only Eye) is unharmed, my family and friends laugh about it.

I’m also a gigantic klutz.  I have, thus far, succeeded at falling down multiple flights of stairs, burning myself, setting my hair on fire (which is why they kicked me out of Home Ec), tripping over stuff (constantly – because I can’t see it), and running into poles, sign posts, cables and other wires, trees and branches, and other people (constantly – because I can’t see them).

Ok, back to the other thing.

Here is just a small list of the things that I somehow magnetized to myself, or vice versa, that have caused bodily harm:

1.  Miscellaneous sports equipment, including a bowling ball that came dangerously close to taking my head clean off.
2.  The gymnasium floor.  Lots of times.  Keep in mind that I faint a lot, and I lack the gift of depth perception.
3.  Just the metal part of a hammer.  It actually SNAPPED OFF the hammer and hit me in the head.
4.  A dart.  I was playing that carnival game where you have to throw a dart and pop the balloon to win a prize.  My dart actually hit the balloon, bounced off, and hit me right in my GOOD eye, eh-hem, my ONLY eye.
5.  A wall clock.  I was in the fifth grade, standing at the front of the classroom, giving a presentation on something I can’t remember.  There was a clock hanging on the wall right above my head.  It fell off the wall and onto my neck and upper back.
6.  A pane of glass.  I opened my bedroom window one fateful day, and the entire pane of glass popped out and shattered on my head and arms.

If that wasn’t bad/horrible/interesting/funny enough, I can officially add FLAMING PROJECTILE to that list, and I’m not talking about my friend, Lance, because he wasn’t even there.

The teeny tiny town of Damascus did its firework extravaganza on the evening of the 3rd – I don’t know why, either.  I really wasn’t feeling well that day, but I was determined to see the fireworks, even if it meant being carried out there.  I spent most of that day in bed, partially due to a dislocated and bled-into-the-joint knee, but mostly because sitting up caused me to lose consciousness (damned dysautonomia).  As it got dark, I slowly got out of bed and dressed.  I put on a new silk dress that my mom bought me, “It’ll make you feel better.” she said.

It actually kind of did and, other than tripping over a huge wire that my mom didn’t have time to warn me about, I made it to our spot roughly in one piece.  I lay there while my mom tried to get my almost 8-year-old brother to dance with her to the music being played.  I started to fade as it got darker, and my mom and brother soon sat beside me.

The last few words I heard were “fireworks”, “start”, and “debris” before falling almost completely asleep.

Ok, now I have to have you envision something with me.  You know that part of your ankle, on the inside, that part that’s REALLY boney, where the skin is super-thin?  Keep that in your mind as/if you continue to read…

…our National Anthem starts to play, everyone’s silent, and I open my eyes just as the first fireworks lit up the night sky.  And then:

*THWACKPOW*

“OH FUCK!  THAT REALLY HURT!”

I bolted upright.  Amazingly, I remained conscious.  Everyone is now staring at me.

We still didn’t know exactly what hit me, until we saw the burns on my dress, and the inside of my left ankle and calf.

I’d just been hit by a flaming piece of firework “debris”, which just happened to be speeding toward me at about five thousand miles per hour.  Ok, maybe not, but it hit HARD and it was ON FIRE.

We quickly determined that it wasn’t ER-worthy and went back to watching the show.  This time, I was huddled behind my mom and brother, terrified to look up at the sky, but unable to look away.

My mom and I didn’t say anything to each other until she was half-carrying me home, but we were thinking the same thing:  It could’ve just as easily been my face, but it wasn’t.  It could’ve just as easily been my eye, but it wasn’t.  Thank God.

As we silently counted our blessings, keeping our eyes on the sky, my brother said, “They’re beautiful!  They look like little universes!”

So worth it.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

It’s time once again for Friday’s Feast!

Appetizer
What is the weather like today where you live?
Three words:  Too freakin’ hot.  We had a few days last week where it only reached about 75 degrees, which was practically blissful.  It got up to 90 yesterday and today, and tomorrow looks like it’s going to be more of the same.  I’ve had to turn on the AC in order to keep from fainting and, even with my anti-nausea medicine, I haven’t had the best luck with keeping much of anything down.  This made taking care of my 7-year-old brother…interesting…to put it nicely.

Soup
On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how career-minded are you?
Somewhere in the neighborhood of 4.  I usually think about the jobs I used to be able to do (medical transcriptionist and medical documents editor), or the jobs I might be able to do if my health wasn’t so crappy.

Salad
What type of window coverings do you have in your home? Blinds, curtains, shutters, etc.?
I have both curtains and blinds in my home.  I have regular horizontal blinds in the living room, and evil vertical blinds in the bedroom.  I wanted to block out more light and I hate how blinds look by themselves, so I covered them up with curtains.  The curtains in the living room are beige, and the curtains in the bedroom have blue, purple, and green wide stripes.

Main Course
Name something that instantly cheers you up.
Hearing my mom’s voice, seeing my little brother happy, kitty cats, and listening to music always cheers me up.

Dessert
How many times do you hit the snooze button on a typical morning?
I’m a very deep sleeper when I finally manage to fall asleep, so it’s pretty hard to wake me up.  I have to set my alarm to the radio, tune it to a country music station, turn up the volume to that of a jet taking off, and put the alarm clock all the way across the room so I’ll have to get my ass out of bed and not just kill the alarm clock and roll back over only to fall back to sleep.  Once my alarm goes off, I’m already out of bed and about as awake as I’m ever going to get, so I never hit the snooze button.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

…if only for a moment.

***OH MY GOD, I was just reading more of his blog, and I saw that The Puppy Monster and I share the same birthday (minus the year, of course)!  Holy crap!***

This is one of the few things that does a pretty good job of shutting me up - any words I manage to find seem insufficient.

My mind keeps coming back to the fact that his darkest day took place on the day that the sun shines the longest.  Not that it makes things any easier…I just find it interesting.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.

TGIF, y’all!

Appetizer
If you could live on another continent for 1 year, which one would you choose?
I wouldn’t want to live on another continent.  I can barely stand moving within this continent.

Soup
Which browser do you use to surf the Internet?
I usually use Firefox because it’s easier to enlarge the text.

Salad
On a scale of 1-10 (with 10 being highest), how much do you know about the history of your country?
I’d have to say 1, maybe 2 if I’m being really generous.  When I was in school, I hated history (but not more than I hated gym class).  It was the only class I really struggled with and, with the exception of sixth grade, I always seemed to have a horrible history teacher.  My eighth grade history teacher gave me a D- on my report card (the worst grade I ever received on a report card) because I missed class after dislocating my knee and bleeding into the joint.  I was terrified to show my mom the report card, but when I finally did, she saw that all my other grades were excellent (As and Bs).  She went to my history teacher, who showed her all of the tests, quizzes, and projects that I completed that semester, and I received As and Bs on all of them.  She asked him why he gave me such an awful grade, and he said, “Because I can.”  Needless to say, my mom was PISSED, but my teacher refused to change the grade.  Mom told the principal about it, but he couldn’t make the teacher change the grade, either.  The following report card came with a history grade of A- and no comments from the teacher.

Main Course
Finish this sentence:  Love is…
Love is…I don’t know.  I’m at a loss here.

Dessert
Have you ever been in or near a tornado?
Oh man, this is WILD!  I just had a dream about tornadoes the night before last.  In the dream, there were three tornadoes and it seemed that no matter which direction I went, one of the tornadoes was coming right at me.  I crammed into my mom’s old van (a van we donated to the EDNF a while ago) with a bunch of other people and we tried to out-drive the tornadoes.  I looked out the windows and I didn’t see any tornadoes, so I thought we were safe.  I realized then that we were up in the air – our van had been picked up by one of the tornadoes.  I started panicking and wondered what would happen when we hit the ground…and that’s when the dream ended.

I have been near many tornadoes in real life.  Listing each time would take forever.  One of my mom’s ex-boyfriends was a storm chaser, and he took my mom and me along on lots of his escapades.  The sky usually turns a strange but pretty shade of green.  Seeing a tornado touch down is pretty amazing.

Originally published at Odyssey of an Oddity. Please leave any comments there.