Read Write Rant
I have a love-hate relationship with personal websites. Apparently, along with my mind, I often lose access to my admin panels, therefore keeling-ded-ded websites.
I sometimes mock my father for his ignorance of Google (Where did you put my Google?) and Facebook (I sent something to you–did you get it? No, Dad, you put it on your page and didn’t tag me).
I should probably cut that out.
I’ve broken several of them, you see. One, a beautiful and professional one I had commissioned and had paid for but was too embarrassed to contact the designer to see if she could help me save it. Another that I had spent weeks on, exactly how I wanted it to be, only to have something-or-other plug in break it when I installed it, and I couldn’t get the admin panel back.
So, anyhoo.
Eventually, I’ll be doing all of my blogging at www.njray.com. I just have many, many things to learn, and I’m not willing at this point to put all my eggs in one basket, so to speak. So for now, I’m keeping the more personal things here, at the good-and-trusty http://www.lyricalfool.wordpress.com and leaving my more nerdly, book-reading, and ranty side at http://www.njray.
I’d be honored if you checked it out and let me know what you thought of it–fonts aside, as I’m still working on the presentation. And the, you know, website-side of things.
Letting Go Challenge: Week Four
- Broken Dustbuster
- Zipper pouch that doesn’t zip
- Toothbrush from (at least) 2013
- Newer toothbrush, broken courtesy of the dog
- Contacts that expired in 2011
- Cat purse
- Antibiotics from 2004
- Destroyed Kong
- Small brush
- Saints shirt
- Broken Wind Chime
- Broken Dust Pan
- A pair of holey panty hose
- Broken part of a shower head
- Hair gel
- Rusty can opener
- Mascara from over a year ago
- Tiny hair clip with half the teeth broken
- Tweezers that no longer tweeze
- Smiley faced egg
- Peanut butter lid
Three notable things: I found a thumb drive from 2007 which has some of my writing on it, although I haven’t delved into it too deeply since I’ve had it in my car stereo. I’ve found live versions of Tool’s Sober, A Perfect Circle’s Counting Bodies Like Sheep, as well as something that may or may not be Paul McCartney and George Michael.
Also, I have wrapped my first Christmas present. I had bought it last year, maybe? The year before, perhaps? Lost it. Found it. Wrapped it.
And I’ve managed to clean out a drawer in my bedroom. I realize that, as I clear out more room, I’ll be rearranging stuff to make the stuff that I keep even more organized. I’m actually experiencing anticipation at this.
A side effect of this (or perhaps Enbrel, or a combination of the two) is that housework is no longer loathsome for me. Sure, there are definitely ways I’d rather spend my time, but there’s a sense of sanctification that comes with cleaning that I don’t think I’ve ever experience before. There’s a satisfaction in it.
I am reducing the chaos around me–it’s one of the very few bits o’ chaos I have any control over. And it’s not so much about control, or even accomplishment (although those two feelings are definitely nice), it’s more about preparing the way for better things.
When I bought the house, I dubbed it the Harmony House, but, sadly, it quickly proved to be anything but. Harmony for me, isn’t perfect stillness; it’s the gentle lapping of the waves on a shore.
This is harmony. Things, elements, seem to be moving in a way beyond my understanding. I’m just happy to move with them.
So there’s that. 84 things out (plus one pending Christmas present). I’m loving this.
Fabulous Friday: Fit to be Tied
Since my crazy random happenstance visit with the rheumatologist, my life has drastically changed.
Drastically.
She put me on Enbrel, sent me home with three samples (after impressing upon me the value of said booty), and set me up with a pharmacy that handles the Enbrel copay assistance card, since my usual pharmacy doesn’t.
The first night, I was ansty. I hate needles. Loathe them. Wish they’d burn in the fiery pits of hell.
Despite knowing what I wanted for my first tattoo for over 20 years, it wasn’t until I was 40 that I had it done, and that was with, shall we say, medicinal assistance.
Have I mentioned I hate needles?
I did everything according to the oral instructions given. Laid it out 30 minutes beforehand. Check. Alcohol swab. Check. Choosing an abdominal spot. Check.
My hands were shaky and I could see the sweat dripping to the floor.
It’s a pen, much like my father’s insulin pen. You place it and click. It’s that easy.
But my fingers wouldn’t work, and in half a second, I went from “I think I can do this,” to “Oh mah Gawd, my fingers don’t work, I’ll never be able to do this; I’m never going to get any better!” and the sweat joined with copious tears as they splattered against each other, racing for the floor.
I managed to get the pen to a somewhat secure countertop before I went into full-histrionic flailing. My head banged like I was at a Queen concert during a Bohemian Rhapsody encore. My hands fisted and flung, hitting legs, forehead, perhaps even my neighbor’s cockatoo.
Actually, I’m not sure it was quite that bad.
But I did manage to knock the instructions to the floor (when in doubt, read the instructions), and….well.
Well. Well. Well.
In my anxiety, I had forgotten to remove the protective cap.
Cause, stress.
And so I survived it. It wasn’t fun. It still burned. But I did it, and, immediately upon finishing my ten count (click…count to ten, slowly), I texted my best friend: Time for a new tattoo!
Too bad they cost money and stuff.
But now, I’m three shots in, about 2 1/2 weeks into this new med, and…I’m a new person. I’m still stiff (as hell) in the morning, and I’m awfully grateful for a really awesome boss. I still have “generalized pain,” but it’s down several, several notches, and, best of all, I haven’t had any sort of flare since I’ve started.
I am nauseous for several days afterward, and I still get really tired early. What a pain that is–to be too exhausted to do anything, and yet too something else to sleep!
I’m also remembering things better. I’m not sure if it’s a lower dose of the methotrexate or what. I still forget stuff, but I’m “remembering” that I forgot it, so am much better able to take care of the stuff I need to.
Some days I even can do housework after work, or play with the dog. Not every day, but this is a vast, vast improvement over just a couple of weeks ago.
I’m moving better–and therefore, more. I started a lower dose of prednisone this Sunday (10 for 2 weeks, lowering to 5 for 2 weeks, lowering to–hopefully–none for a long, long time) and yet, yesterday was the first day I felt comfortable enough walking to go without the cane at work for bits of time.
Life is fabulous indeed.
Word Wednesday: 10/21/2015
Music Monday (On a Tuesday): Waiting on the World to Change
And when you trust your television
What you get is what you got
Cause when they own the information, oh
They can bend it all they want
It’s hard to beat the system
When we’re standing at a distance
Letting Go Challenge: Week Three
- 2 more worn-out floor mats
- dog-chewed lid
- dog-chewed bowl
- dog rope
- shower shoes
- open-toed shoes
- instant coffee
- pillow
- fingernail polish remover bottle*
- another service pin
- 3 champagne glasses
- small coffee pot
- torn up barbecue grill brush
- phone book–2013 from office
- arthritis soak (Did NOT work!)
- purple shirt–melted
- paper jacket from my first mammogram
- Mitchie folder
I’m counting the polish remover bottle since I consolidated bottles. The dog has never played with the rope, preferring by far entire rolls of toilet paper, entire bags of sanitary napkins, and, as it would appear, Rubbermaid containers and lids as well as the occasional really cool pillow.
She also has an occasional hankering for Tesslon Pearls.
She’s better now. I’ve had these things for a while.
The champagne glasses, I’m pretty sure, are from the set I bought for my wedding, two of which were decorated and later unceremoniously stripped of its ribbon and baby’s breath.
That sounds a little more than vaguely violent.
I have no idea neither who Mitchie is nor how I ended up with a folder. The stuff worth trying to give away, I have, and the rest in the trash.
Proof that I really do hang onto everything–the blue and white lump is a paper jacket that I was given for my very first mammogram. My favorite purple shirt–a tough one to let go of–apparently had some sort of plastic fiber in it. It had spots where it had been literally melted–proof, I suppose that I do occasionally cook.
Sixty-three things down, but I can’t yet bring myself to touch my books. I want to get them to a single book case in the living room, with the overflow in the office. But I want to read them all first. I know some of them aren’t worth reading because I’ve already tried. But I still hang onto them, because I’m just not ready to go there.
So I make excuses, and find other things to get rid of.
Music Monday: Confrontation
Not a full song, but it’s full of so much win, I couldn’t resist.
In honor of my starting Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables.
Letting Go Challenge: Week Two
This week’s 21 things:
- very dirty, worn out door mat
- terra cotta owl
- Glen Haven ear cleanser
- Flea and Tick spray
- Cat Calmant
- Dermacare Anti-Itch Spray
- Hairball Remedy
- Extreme Groom Waterless Foam shampoo
- Chinese take out dish (cracked, courtesy of the dog)
- Rubbermaid storage piece and lid (chewed, courtesy of the dog)
- 9 small spools of thread (where do they keep coming from?)
- Peanut butter jar lid (I don’t even want to know)
This week was a trip back in time, and one I’m surprisingly grateful for.
All of the cat items (listed by brand in case I want to find them again) were from a time I had been reunited with my cats after Hurricane Katrina. (So, the stuff is at least NINE years old!)
I was very grateful that I had someone far away to take them in when I couldn’t. I was living in a fish camp on the river at the time, not exactly the driest place to be that summer, but it was drowned in mud and dead fish and, to this day, has yet to be rebuilt.
It has, however, been cleaned and gutted. So, no dead fish smell.
I was grateful that someone had taken them in. He had offered to take me in, too, but I was too stubborn, too tied to the Mississippi Gulf Coast and my family to ever truly consider leaving.
They had been staying in Florida, vacationing as I called it, while we dealt with the aftermath.
The hurricane itself was a breeze (ha!), I actually slept through the majority of it, but the aftermath was something entirely different. That was a rough time for me; I was living in a camper far too tight for cats who couldn’t stand each other, my alpha having already been returned to me due to her inability to play well with others. She’s never really played well with others.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing a book about her.
I was not so grateful, however, when I saw what shape they were in when they returned.
All of these products were either purchased by the Keeper of the Cats during their stay, or by me to help them recuperate after their stay.
It was a long road to recovery for all of us. It took them a long time get healthy again, and it took me a long time to get my anger within healthy parameters again.
In the end, I realized that he did the best that he could given the circumstances, and he did a hell of a lot more than I was able to, given the circumstances. Once I realized this, this key fact: that he, for all of his attributes and actions, character and circumstances, honestly did the best that he could do, there was something that was similar to–but not quite–forgiveness that sparked within me.
I had realized there was nothing to forgive despite how things may have appeared.
When that happened, I could forgive myself for subjecting them to such tribulation: there was nothing to forgive. I, too, had done the best that I could have done given my attributes and actions, character and circumstances.
There was nothing to forgive despite how things may have appeared.
And I’m not saying that I’d make the same choice today that I made back then. I have, after all, learned a LOT about emergency preparedness since Katrina. It’s just that the choice I made was the best one I could have made at the time.
And that is glorious. No blame. No shame. It just was.
It probably was one of the most powerful lessons on forgiveness I’ve ever had.
A side note: I had originally included my Misfit (so very NOT recommended), but switched it out for another item when I found out I may be able to get my money back on it.
The owl I had bought for someone’s birthday at least 2 years ago. I’ll be gifting it this week.
Forty-two things gone. The thread (all of it) re-homed with a sewing-addicted coworker, the rest of it trashed or re-homed.
I have to say that I am just a little bit impressed with myself.
I had a little lagniappe for the week: In cleaning out my junk drawer, I switched drawers, so that my “junk” drawer is a much smaller one, and what had previously been the junk drawer now holds dish towels. The result of this is that I have a little more room in my pantry, since it was holding the dish-towel overflow.
What a magnificent thing.
Fabulous Friday: Crazy Random Happenstance
When I was referred to the rheumatologist in April, the first available appointment for our only in-network rheumatologist was in December.
Ah, the joys of closed-network insurance plans.
So I found one out of network, and was able to get into him in June.
Last Friday, I received a call that made my heart jump for joy (pretty sure that’s almost literal–I definitely felt something do somersaults). “Ms. Ray,” one of the sweetest voices I’ve ever heard said, “how lucky do you feel?”
“Oh, honey,” I said in my best Southern drawl, “I have never felt so lucky.”
“What are you doing Monday morning?”
“Anything you want me to.”
I had called to be put on the cancellation list and had been warned that there was “about 100” on it, but I assured them I could be there in an hour if they called. My appointment, which was originally scheduled for 7 December, was now on Monday, October 5.
When the doctor came in, she knew my chart. She asked a few pointed questions and made a decision. “We’re going to get you off the steroids. We’re going to try this. Many of my patients have seen a significant difference in 2-3 weeks.”
I’ve been on steroids since April, and, every time I’ve tried to come down on the dose, I’ve been incapacitated.
This was something new.
I told her that I had been tested and found to not metabolize folic acid properly, and had been given a pill to counteract it by someone who was not a rheumatologist. “Does that make a difference?” I asked her, after having been dismissed by the other rheumatologist.
“I’ll research it and have a nurse call you back.”
I walked out of there feeling respected and listened to and hopeful.
Hope’s a powerful, powerful thing.
Her nurse called me back within 2 hours of my leaving my office. This is unheard of in my experience. She had instructions for changing the methotrexate and changing the folic acid.
And that night, after I gave myself my first injection (a comedy best left for another time), I felt powerful.
And here it is, Friday, and I feel fabulous.
This may not be the answer, but at least it’s a new one. She had seen that the “old way” wasn’t working, hadn’t been working, and said that the time for waiting was over.
It’s time to forge new paths.
It’s been a rough week, overall. But damn if it’s not the start of something new.
Yes, indeedy. Fabulous Friday, indeed.
Lyrical Fool 