Butterfly Cauldron

This should be a good time for me.

I just had my birthday.

Emmy is in the final stages of getting her Visa approved. She should (could) be here by Christmas.

I have a little money in the bank and nothing major going wrong requiring I spend it all.

All the tests that the doctors did on my last month came back perfectly normal. Aside from a severe Vitamin D deficency, I'm really healthy. My blood sugar and insulin levels were really amazing. My cholesteral and triglycerides were impressive. My doctor was really really pleased -- although it shot her theory that I was insulin resistant down in flames. (A healthy fat girl? Really? Is it possible?? Noooo!!)

I have a new anti-anxiety med that is working wonders for me.

I've reconnected with a couple college friends, so now my weekends are filled with Doing Things with People, instead of staying at home sleeping the days away.

It's really a good life, all told.

So why do I feel like crying?

Why do I feel like all I want to do is hide in my bed, away from people, away from the world and sleep? Just sleep. If I could get enough sleep, this feeling would stop.

I miss Emmy. It's this viceral, heart crushing thing. And she's sad and I can't help her. I can't make things better. I can't tell the people who are stressing her to back the fuck off. Stop thinking everything is about you and your oppression or your privelige or whatever the fuck we're calling it this week. Take your meds or go to church or have a drink or take a walk or play with fucking sock puppets, whatever it is you do that brings you back down to earth with the rest of us who are just fucking people, after all. Fucking people, just trying to get through all the hoops stupid fucking governments put in our way to keep us apart.

I look at this picture on my desk, here at work, that some stranger took of us in the airport at four in the morning just before Emmy had to leave. Again. And it hurts, because I want her here. Now. But if she can't be here, then I want her to be happy where she is and I know she's not and I know it gets worse every day and I can't do a damned thing and I just want to scream at all the people who are making life worse for her. Because dammit, leave her alone.

This powerlessness bleeds into everything. I can't DO anything. I can't write, I can't read, I can't DO anything. I can't even get myself to put a damned dvd on to watch. I can't fold the laundry I've got washed, I can't clean the house. I can barely sleep, even though it's all I want to do. I only feel good and decent when there's no one else around. When I don't have to deal with fucking people and their precious sense of self-importance.

Labels: annoyance, Missing Emmy, rant, stupid people

Dear Fibro,

I hate you. You suck. You are a bad, bad disease and will get no love and no cookie from me. You drain all my energy and then give me insomnia so that I can't sleep. You make me toss and turn and chase my girlfriend out of bed. You make me cranky. You make me so cranky and exhausted that I want to throtle my cats for unplugging the computer. For the millionth time. You make me so tired that I can't stand up long enough to take a shower and that makes me cranky because I really, really, really want to wash my damned hair, dammit.

You freak out my Emmy, which pisses me off. Seriously, give us a break, dammit. Or I'll do...something.

Leave my ankles alone, for fucks sake. I need them to walk. Also, my wrists? Leave them alone too. I need them to do stuff like drive or brush my hair or eat or, I don't know, take drugs to make you go away. So, stop it already.

I've tried to be reasonable with you. I've tried to let bygones be bygones. But seriously? Fuck off already. The best I've felt in years was in the immediate aftermath of a fucking hurricane? What??? You are one sick, sick bastard, you know that? Trees are fallen, powerlines are gone, people are trying to seal up holes in their roofs and THAT is when you decide to take a vacation? What the hell? You couldn't skip town when I wanted to have a night out? You couldn't leave long enough for me to go see a movie, but you'll run off for a week when every fucking thing is closed and the city's under a curfew? Seriously, I hate you.

And of course you come back just as everything is getting back to normal. When the movies are actually open for me to go see. When the restaurants and parks and book stores and all the other fun stuff have come back online, you come back from wherever the hell it was you went. (Admit it: you did go to hell, didn't you? To pick up some tips from other demons on how to torture me, right? I hate you. So much.)

So, here's the thing: leave me alone or I'll do something drastic. You remember the physical therapy? Ha. You didn't like that, did you? And those cortesone injections? Those pissed you off too. I'm not above all out war here, so leave me alone. Dammit.

Labels: annoyance, fibro, pain

Stealing is bad.
Pretending something is yours when it's not? Bad.
Not giving people credit for their work? Also bad.
Using the excuse 'well, this topic has been out there for awhile' when trying to justify not citing your sources? Lame. Cowardly.
Getting huffy when called on your shit? Embarassing. Evidence of immaturity. And being stunningly blind to privelge.

Citing sources is very easy. Unconvinced? Here, I'll show you:

Sylvia says: Beautiful Word
Natalia says: So Much Word
Daisy says: Deadhead Word
Sudy says: Kick Ass Word
Belle says: Super Smart Word
Lisa says: Word! With links!

See? It's easy! (Ooooh. Maybe you don't know the code? In that case. . .I can email it to you. No problem.)

Labels: annoyance, community, feminims, feminism, women, writing

Well, I'm well and truely done with the Boy, from here on out to be known as Mr. Fuck and Run. Why? Because that's what he does.

After his first stint of sex, then silence he came back to me, all apologetic and sweet. I punished him for a bit, making him apologize and grovel a bit. It was fun. Then, since he was being sweet and I was decidedly horny, I let him back in. He came over, oh almost two weeks ago. We had some nice kinky sex and he left. (BTW, medical tape is great if you don't have rope or leather straps. And yes, Mermi, you can indeed get it at Target. I checked.) I told him, as he was leaving, that he'd better not go another month without talking to me or I wouldn't be letting him back in again. He said, "Oh, don't worry. It'll never happen." I said, I've got a five day vacation coming up. Find some time and come over and we can do this again.

Have I heard from him? Only one simple word. When I told him my ankle was still marked from the tape, he said: sorry. That's it. No other communication at all. My vaca came and went and did I? Well, yes. But not with any help from Mr. Fuck and Run. And so, it's been almost two weeks and no word from him again, although I know he's around, because he's on Yahoo Messenger. And so, I am done with him. I don't know what I'll do about sex, because I'm horny like crazy now, but oh well. He's worked himself outta lots of sex and he's got only himself to blame. I'm not merely some hole for him to avail himself of when he chooses.

And the thing is, if that's what we had agreed upon I wouldn't have a problem with it. But see, we had agreed to a friends with benefits deal. Which was great, except he seemed to think, once we'd had sex, he could skip the friends part. In fact, he seemed to think he could forget to 'acknowledge her when she speaks to me, unless I happen to want to have sex that day'. Which still, would have been workable, except ya know, when /I/ wanted to have sex, he was unreceptive. When I was all 'throw me on the floor and take me NOW!' he was....not responsive. Not talking to me. Not acknowledging me.

And so...no sex for him.

Here's the thing, he thought he was a lot better than he was. He is under the impression, dear sweet boy, that he's really well hung. Now, the fact is, he's not bad, but he's not exactly anything to write home about. Just about average, really. Nice and straight, but a little on the thin side. And well, despite being young, he's not got a ton of staying power. He had potentional, but seemed adverse to any direction. Trying to keep his fingers on my clit was a chore. I mean, when a woman takes your hand, puts it on her naked body and shows you how to touch her -- LISTEN.

And he was so damned quiet. Who is completely silent when they're having sex? Particularly kinky, rough sex? Well, Mr. Fuck and Run, that's who. I'm getting into it, and he's just....quiet. I mean, how can you work with that? I ask him what he wanted and he was...well, not exactly verbal. And he didn't seem to want to show me either. So, I don't know. I got the distinct feeling he didn't like being offered advice, like he bought into that whole 'men just KNOW how to make a woman orgasm.'

And, frankly, he wasn't nearly as rough as he thought he was. Maybe it's just me, but if you're tying me up and trying to be the Bad Guy, it helps if you, oh I don't know, use your hands or talk or....I don't know, do something more than fuck. *sigh*

But still, I liked having sex, but it was more about having sex, not so much sex with him. And I want to have more sex. But I'm looking for someone a bit more...into me and my personal pleasure. This Boy has no idea how much I was willing to do with him and, frankly, he never will. Because the next time he comes asking? Eh. I don't think I'll be in the mood.

Labels: annoyance, sex

You know, the one that tells you not to get out of bed in the morning? Yeah. That one.

Warning: This is going to be a bitchy personal post. Skip if you're not interested. Go read my last post instead.

So, where was I? Yeah. Okay, so I woke up feeling all achy. My hands and feet are just throbbing. I had to go off my meds for likt two weeks, until my new insurance company was convinced to pay for it. So that little break was enough for a nastybad flare to set up. So my fibro and lupus have begun to rage like a bastard. I'm tired and I hurt all over. Blah. But, like a trooper, I go into work anyway.

When I get to work, I find an email from one of the guys who reviews the bulletins I do that I've done the last one wrong. I've got to take out a lotta shit and reform and it's just a big mess. I worked on this damned thing for the last two days, but oh well. He told me where to look to find a format to follow and I did. And discovered that, gods dammit, all that work I did wasn't necessary. All I had to do was pull up a copy of the last bulletin (they're done every quarter) and replace the numbers with the new ones. That's it. Which I would have known, had the person who was training me bothered to tell me. Took me an hour and a half, as opposed to the two fucking days I've already spent on it. Grrr.

Then, around 2 p.m., my boss brings me a press release to send to the media outlets. Okay, no problem. I'm a little confused as to which contact list to use, but I figure it out. (This is the first press release I've handled and I hadn't even really seen one mailed out before.) So, they have to be faxed and/or emailed out. There are four huge lists I have to send them too. So, I get to work with the emailing. First off, I had assumed there would be an email group/alias set up. I mean, there are literally hundreds of places this gets sent. And it's been done for fricking years, so it makes sense someone would have set up an email alias, right? Ha! No. So, I get to copy and paste the email addresses into one email. Which takes me at least an hour because there are that many of them. So, I do it and send it off. And start getting Undeliverable Messages immediately. Half the damn addresses are out of date!

So, I'm trying to keep my cool. I am. I ask the boss if it /had/ to go out today. Yes, he says. It does. Well, shit. So, I go and send it to the big newspapers in the state first, get them taken care of since they're the most important. Then I start with the faxing. Except, a lot of the damned fax numbers are out of date! I don't understand how this is possible, because they've been sending press releases for years and how the hell do you let the list get that out of date? Anyway, I'm losing it because it's getting closer and closer to quitting time and I've got like 200 damned people to fax this thing to. So, a couple of my co-workers start helping me out and finally the boss decides, well if it got out to the big papers today, we can send it to the rest of them tomorrow. So, first thing tomorrow morning I get to babysit a fax machine and fax a press release to 176 media outlets.

Oh, and after that I'm making a damned email alias and calling everyone on the frigging list to get the right number and harrass them into giving me a damned email address to send it to instead. Grr. Plus, we're trying to figure out a way to program the fax machine to do a mass fax. This is insane. It's completely timewasting and if I had had any clue about this before, I'd have taken it upon myself to organize it all before the release was due to be sent out.

Then! On the way home, I'm mopy and decide to stop at Walgreens and get some ice cream. While I'm there I realize I need a few other things, so I get 'em and then get to the checkout. I try to use this Visa debit card I have. It's prepaid, so I'm not worried about it. Except it won't go through. And so, I end up having to walk out without any of the stuff I wanted because I have no money in my actual checking account to cover it. *sigh*

I have never been quite so glad to get home before. You have no idea. Now, I need to figure out something for dinner, take a shower and watch Grey's Anatomy. Tomorrow, I'm wearing blue jeans and trying to get out early. *sigh*

Labels: annoyance