(no subject)
Sep. 13th, 2007 02:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
denelianfirst off...
from http://www.unshelved.com
i soooooooooooo <3 this strip!!!
second
because i can rant under a cut and no one can complain and it ISN'T MY FAULT that you hit the link lol
i have figured out my reading. i have been addicted to reading since i was nine. which happens to be the age my porphyria kicked in and i started my 21-year-so-far-highway of CHRONIC PAIN.
you KNOW its chronic pain when you go to the physiatrist (pain management doc), and 4 different patients, at different times, look at you and immedietly tell you where the biggest problem is. its like being Norm in CHEERS - except, everyoe knows my pain, not my name.
i have opiates. they are non-cool opiates, the delivery systems (dermal patch) prevents one from getting high - yay for me and boo for you druggies out there - and it keeps a constant amount in my bloodstream. all the time. the only time i am not drugged is if i forget to change my patch for over 24 hours. this was amazing for a while - we built me up to a dosage of 75, and for a week, all we well. and then - my IIB(Intermenent Involuntary Builimia) qudrupled. don't get me wrong - i'm on enough meds that at least once a week i'm throwing up anyway. but every other day seems excessive. the only reason my doctors believe me that it ISN'T buliemia is because people with buliemia don't ask for things to STOP THE NAUSEA AND VOMITING.
so i got phenigren and convinced Dr. Massau (the pain doc) to lower my dosage again.
i forgot how much i hurt at 50. i litterally shudder to imagine/remember what it was like with NOTHING.
and did you know that if it is your hip thats fucked up, its almost impossible to have sex?
and i feel as if i am drowning. i need to scream, to cry, to let it out. but i was brainwashed by Children's Hospital at Stanford. i can't just cry from pain until it is literally at the point of making me pass out - which, btw, is PAST the point i should do something about i, but again, brainwashed. i'm still trying to get over that brainwashing. hell, i think the dead-step-dad and even-more-dead-"uncle" did less damage, COMBINED, than Staford did.
so i need to talk. i love pete. he's a great boyfriend, very cuddly, not too demanding. often sweet, and i *LIKE* silly, and hey, he's a ninja - cool points there. but i can't talk to him. not about this stuff. the first time i tried, telling him that i was afraid i was gonna turn into my step mom and do nothing all day but watch Maury, etc, and that i was POINTLESS - he replied "Your my girlfriend"
i had to hold my breath and VERY carefully turn off all the feminist alarms and weapon systems. it was a very near thing. and THEN i had to explain why that was the very wrongest thing to have said right then. at least he wasnt upset, and appologized, and GOT IT, and tried again.
so THEN i tried my dad. wall. Mel (step-mom) was similar, with added iritation of the hated "whose pain is worst contest"
so THEN i tried my mom. 2 weeks later she is STILL calling me to see if i have killed myself.
so, i read. i have currently (re)discovered that great military sci-fi, the kind where you identify with the characters and all, is the best catharsis for me. i am SUPPOSED to cry when Sgt Green gets while covering the retreat of the Frogs and Krauts from an untenable position to the entrenched American and British position. so its okay to cry (and be jealous)
Its okay to crack up at Ringo's deft characterization of a Space Marine DI ("Upon atmospheric exit your ship's skipper WILL call for pressure check to insure AIR integrity. This command menas NOTHING to Marines, for we are hard as STEEL. SPACE Marines therefore neither LEAK at-moh-sphere nor NEED at-moh-sphere!" "Vorpal Blade", John Ringo) and this is good, it means i am bonding with the characters and when Gunga Dhi and Jeac die, i sob and sob, and feel somewhat better about ME. at least *I* am not being shot at by horrible hostile aliens for no reason. on the other hand...
this is where the REAL DEEP depression comes from. not so much the thought of being stuck on disability for the rest of my life. but if we are somehow invaded - i can do NONE of my duties. i can't have kids (sorry, yes i am a feminist but in the case of an alien attack that is one of the top prorities - keeping humanity alive. at that point, and only at that point and only to end when numbers are being replaced, can i see a ban on abortion. not until then, though)i canNOT fight - i cant even stand for an hour at a time. while i am decent at stratagy and much much better at tactics - the first implies command rank (which i cant get, as there is no way i can pass a physical to enter the military, less way i can chance basic, and OCS would finish kill my husk) and tactics tend to require being in the middle of the dust up. yes, i can shoot a gun. no, i cant run way when the rest do. and most tactics involve movement. i suppose, in theory, i can attach myself to a logistics train and bully people into being efficent. thats about ALL i can do.
*I* cant be efficent. i cant even put on my own SOCKS.
hrm. maybe to suicide corp would take me then? "excuse me, alien oppressior, i have a present fo- *BOOM*!"
from http://www.unshelved.com
i soooooooooooo <3 this strip!!!
second
because i can rant under a cut and no one can complain and it ISN'T MY FAULT that you hit the link lol
i have figured out my reading. i have been addicted to reading since i was nine. which happens to be the age my porphyria kicked in and i started my 21-year-so-far-highway of CHRONIC PAIN.
you KNOW its chronic pain when you go to the physiatrist (pain management doc), and 4 different patients, at different times, look at you and immedietly tell you where the biggest problem is. its like being Norm in CHEERS - except, everyoe knows my pain, not my name.
i have opiates. they are non-cool opiates, the delivery systems (dermal patch) prevents one from getting high - yay for me and boo for you druggies out there - and it keeps a constant amount in my bloodstream. all the time. the only time i am not drugged is if i forget to change my patch for over 24 hours. this was amazing for a while - we built me up to a dosage of 75, and for a week, all we well. and then - my IIB(Intermenent Involuntary Builimia) qudrupled. don't get me wrong - i'm on enough meds that at least once a week i'm throwing up anyway. but every other day seems excessive. the only reason my doctors believe me that it ISN'T buliemia is because people with buliemia don't ask for things to STOP THE NAUSEA AND VOMITING.
so i got phenigren and convinced Dr. Massau (the pain doc) to lower my dosage again.
i forgot how much i hurt at 50. i litterally shudder to imagine/remember what it was like with NOTHING.
and did you know that if it is your hip thats fucked up, its almost impossible to have sex?
and i feel as if i am drowning. i need to scream, to cry, to let it out. but i was brainwashed by Children's Hospital at Stanford. i can't just cry from pain until it is literally at the point of making me pass out - which, btw, is PAST the point i should do something about i, but again, brainwashed. i'm still trying to get over that brainwashing. hell, i think the dead-step-dad and even-more-dead-"uncle" did less damage, COMBINED, than Staford did.
so i need to talk. i love pete. he's a great boyfriend, very cuddly, not too demanding. often sweet, and i *LIKE* silly, and hey, he's a ninja - cool points there. but i can't talk to him. not about this stuff. the first time i tried, telling him that i was afraid i was gonna turn into my step mom and do nothing all day but watch Maury, etc, and that i was POINTLESS - he replied "Your my girlfriend"
i had to hold my breath and VERY carefully turn off all the feminist alarms and weapon systems. it was a very near thing. and THEN i had to explain why that was the very wrongest thing to have said right then. at least he wasnt upset, and appologized, and GOT IT, and tried again.
so THEN i tried my dad. wall. Mel (step-mom) was similar, with added iritation of the hated "whose pain is worst contest"
so THEN i tried my mom. 2 weeks later she is STILL calling me to see if i have killed myself.
so, i read. i have currently (re)discovered that great military sci-fi, the kind where you identify with the characters and all, is the best catharsis for me. i am SUPPOSED to cry when Sgt Green gets while covering the retreat of the Frogs and Krauts from an untenable position to the entrenched American and British position. so its okay to cry (and be jealous)
Its okay to crack up at Ringo's deft characterization of a Space Marine DI ("Upon atmospheric exit your ship's skipper WILL call for pressure check to insure AIR integrity. This command menas NOTHING to Marines, for we are hard as STEEL. SPACE Marines therefore neither LEAK at-moh-sphere nor NEED at-moh-sphere!" "Vorpal Blade", John Ringo) and this is good, it means i am bonding with the characters and when Gunga Dhi and Jeac die, i sob and sob, and feel somewhat better about ME. at least *I* am not being shot at by horrible hostile aliens for no reason. on the other hand...
this is where the REAL DEEP depression comes from. not so much the thought of being stuck on disability for the rest of my life. but if we are somehow invaded - i can do NONE of my duties. i can't have kids (sorry, yes i am a feminist but in the case of an alien attack that is one of the top prorities - keeping humanity alive. at that point, and only at that point and only to end when numbers are being replaced, can i see a ban on abortion. not until then, though)i canNOT fight - i cant even stand for an hour at a time. while i am decent at stratagy and much much better at tactics - the first implies command rank (which i cant get, as there is no way i can pass a physical to enter the military, less way i can chance basic, and OCS would finish kill my husk) and tactics tend to require being in the middle of the dust up. yes, i can shoot a gun. no, i cant run way when the rest do. and most tactics involve movement. i suppose, in theory, i can attach myself to a logistics train and bully people into being efficent. thats about ALL i can do.
*I* cant be efficent. i cant even put on my own SOCKS.
hrm. maybe to suicide corp would take me then? "excuse me, alien oppressior, i have a present fo- *BOOM*!"
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no subject
Date: 2007-09-13 09:54 am (UTC)It's okay. By the time the aliens invade, they'll have come up with cybernetic enhancements that will help you with that, and besides, your loyal crack squad of Lizbians will be there to help you with all that runny/shooty/alien-killy stuff. All you'll have to do is give orders from your palanquin.
And anyway, my clone army will have taken over before then, so I'll change the military requirements to whatever they need to be.
And the breeding thing? Well, I think my clone army scientists can come up with a solution that will still let you enjoy the sexxinz while still, ah "fulfilling your duty to your country". :)
no subject
Date: 2007-09-14 01:44 am (UTC)i am still giggling
your right, i just need to train my Lizbians *G*
thanx, Chris :)
no subject
Date: 2007-09-13 04:20 pm (UTC)