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I can say filthy things in Spanish, Russian, American Sign Language, Japanese, French, German, and English and I think I have about exhausted my vocabulary in the past hour. All of it aimed at me.

I fucked up y'all. I forgot the first rule of dealing with medical people as a crazy person and was actually honest when my pain management doctor asked if I thought about harming myself.

Not forgot exactly. I don't ever forget that rule. But I'm trying to get disability and I need reports to emphasise how bad things are at their worst. So I'm talking about how bad things are at their worst more when my habit has been to omit that information or lie about it.

Today that bit me in the ass.

My pain management doc is now worried about depression. She's taking me off opioid pain management completely. Not abruptly, tapered over four weeks, but still.

And I've been omitting and lying about how much pain I'm in and how much my current meds aren't managing it because I have this anxiety about being perceived as drug-seeking. I haven't said anything about the days I couldn't move my arm from the pain. Which is part of why I didn't argue with her about being taken off the opioid meds. The other part is I don't argue with people in authority when they're doing things that will hurt me; I just want to minimise the damage and get away. So I shut down. She wants to talk to my jerkass psych about it and frog knows what they're going to come up with.

You know what's depressing and makes me think of harming myself? Being in severe and constant pain. Being in pain with not much hope of relief ought to be just wicked fun.

The anxiety sure seems to be enjoying itself. The iron slabs on my chest may leave any time now thanks.

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/5980.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable

Stormy Weather

We has it. Have had it for about a week now. My left arm is a solid mass of pain and doesn't want to work for me.

Which is why I fell off the world again. It's not just physically difficult to communicate since I do so much of it by typing but the brain is also not doing so well at it. I don't have any energy to devote to acting neurotypical.

I'm going to have to actually tell my pain management doc my current meds aren't providing enough relief. It's something I've been trying to not have to say what with the appearing drug-seeking anxieties but I really can't deal any more.

I just wanted y'all to know. I'm going back to watching animé with my arm propped up on pillows.

<3 <3 <3

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/5797.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable


I learned something new today. Mackerel sushi makes my pee smell like mackerel. Which I think is kinda yum but I have an interesting relationship with my sense of smell.

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/5058.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable



I finally got the second packet of disability application paperwork done copied and in the mail. after the letter saying the first deadline had passed and if they didn't get it by 28 june they were going to make a decision based on what they had and holy crap my hands hurt and my brain is way seriously overcooked. It isn't helping that my fucking psych decided I needed to come in and see him before he'd refill the anxiolytics I called to refill last Thursday and neglected to, y'know, communicate that with me.

So I'm a week out of anxiety meds. Doing this paperwork has been cause for much anxiety. Aaaaaaagh. Claws on the inside of my skull. And I should call tomorrow and say it's on the way. Phones. Fuck.

And my hands hurt.


It's not like I'm, y'know. Active. Or noisy. Or anything like. But I'm gonna be quieter a while. Because ow. Just so y'all know.


Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/4689.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable


A hundred forty-five years ago today Union soldiers entered the city of Galveston Texas and announced that the war was over. That legal chattel slavery was ended in the United States.

Here in Texas it's been a day black people have celebrated ever since. President Lincoln had signed the Emancipation Proclamation a few years earlier but it took a war to enforce it. For the past thirty years it's been an official state holiday (though not one state offices actually close for so it could be a more official holiday than it is). The efforts of black people from Texas and Louisiana have, over the past few years, made Juneteenth more widely known outside the black community here. There's more work to do to help spread awareness of it.

Part of Juneteenth is a celebration of what's been accomplished and what freedoms have been gained. Another part of Juneteenth is a recognition of how much work still needs to be done -- a whole lot of it by white folk here in the US. We need to be aware of the legacy of institutional slavery, of institutional segregation, of the systemic inequities and bigotries and barriers to access that still exist and work to our benefit by harming others.

We need to know that even though slavery is illegal it has not disappeared in the US; it has gone underground and the kinds of people who are slaves has changed. To help reduce modern-day slavery and human trafficking we need to reform immigration law and policy, to make it easier and cheaper and less degrading to migrate to the US legally: many slaves in the US are migrants enslaved by the people who smuggled them into this country. We need to decriminalise drugs use and prostitution and merge them into the legal economy: many slaves in the US are kept in bondage with very credible threats of turning them over to an unsympathetic criminal justice and immigration enforcement system. We cannot just pass laws making slavery and human trafficking illegal; we have to change the environment which allows these horrors to flourish.

There's more. There's always more. The work won't be done until we are all free. Until all the barriers that keep people from accessing their social and political and economic environments come down. Until unearned privilege is done and opportunities are as equal as fallible humanity can make them.

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/4581.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable


i am out of the antipsychotic med i've been taking. (been out for a day now.) i called in a refill thursday. no refill. called my psych; the voice mail is full. called the clinic. he's out of town. no one else can write me a script. go to the emergency room.

so i called my gp. hi my psych's out of town and i'm out of my antipsychotic is there anyone there who can write me three-five days of it until i can get more? the answering service says they absolutely do not do med refills on the weekend. did i try the clinic? yes i tried the clinic. they should have someone on call who could write that for you. oh agreed they should but they don't. no luck there.

my pain management doctor might. nope, says the answer phone message. no med refills outside of business hours. okay i can see that and i'd like her to keep her dea license also.

have i mentioned i fucking hate the phone? that phones are evil and talking on them to people i do not know is also a bad thing that takes much effort and leaves my brain in a snarl?

at this point i got two options: stay off my meds until some asshole gets off the stick and writes me a fucking prescription or go to the damn emergency room. both are like, uh, bad. i am all panicky just thinking about going to the emergency room for three days worth of meds gah. and of course the wife is at work with the car and won't be home til like seven. i just don't know which is the worse option. (i'm thinking going to emergency is the worse option but we'll see.)

and this med helps with the panic so not having it is not helping me feel calmer. or think well. it also helps me sleep so not having it meant i got about five hours sleep last night.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

i just love being crazy.

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/3909.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable

Water Water Everywhere

We've had air conditioner repair folk out twice. Our part of it seems to be fixed now; it's not dripping water into the kitchen any more. Now the air conditioner for the apartment upstairs from us is dripping water into one of our closets. Whee.

Oh. And just as a bonus, my grandmother asked my wife in all earnest if she didn't think my having blue hair was going to get me murdered.

There is not enough alprazolam in the world.

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/3585.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable

ow, continued

So in my last post I mentioned getting pictures of the forest in our back garden. And I'm usually really piss-awful about following up on "Oh I'll get back with photos of that!" But this time, this time, I have actually succeeded. At least I have the before pix. I haven't got the after pix done yet.


From Web Pictures

[Image Description: Centred in the photo is an aluminium and wood chime (I really didn't do a good job composing this...). To the left side is a skinny maple tree with saw-edged leaves against a light-coloured wood fence. Broad-leafed trees I cannot identify grow in most of the rest of the photo. Over the fence and between the leaves of the trees there is the varicoloured red brick of the building next to mine.]

From Web Pictures

[Image Description: The middle section of the back garden was where the spade-leafed trees had taken over. A number of these grow much taller than the weathered wood fence almost completely obscured in the background. Beyond both trees and fence is the building next door. Built from salvaged brick it is mainly red but incorporates white and pink bricks also. The chimes which were centred in the first photo are now at the left border of the photo.]

From Web Pictures

[Image Description: The western end of the back garden was dominated by Melia azedarach with a few of the broad-leaf things I can't identify. This shows a cluster of the chinaberry trees; a few glimpses of the multi-coloured red brick of the building next door can be seen through the gaps in the canopy.]

For extra bonus photographic goodness I have for y'all photographic evidence of the pure awesome that is my new head. Check this:

From Web Pictures

[Image Description: Bonus! Against a background of wooden fence and pretty red-leafed maple tree Moira shows off her new head. She is a pale-skinned white woman wearing a dark blue camisole. Her hair is short and pixieish and has been dyed bright blue reminiscent of candy floss.]

And now, as I am still fucking exhausted from everything I've been up to this week, I shall go and watch animé and possibly fall asleep.


Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/3412.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable


I feel somewhat accomplished even if it was done under duress. My grandmother had called, angry; "people" had been calling her complaining that we (my wife, me) were lowering people's property values. Now it's true there are a number of empty apartments in this building. It's likewise true that until this afternoon my back garden looked like a cross between a rubbish tip and a new-growth forest.

Now it just looks like a forest. It's kind of pretty, really. The maple is doing well. There are a lot of 'weed' trees; chinaberry from seeds and rhizomes, something with broad flat leaves, something I hope is oak and not poison oak. I'll see if I can't get a picture before it's cleared up -- my grandmother will be sending someone to do that but she wanted the rubbish dealt with first.

I've told her. I haven't told the wife yet; I want to show her when she gets home from work.

This is going to hurt a lot. It does hurt a lot—it's just going to hurt more later. I should bathe before my hands seize up entirely.


p.s. Oh. Um. Yes: I'm not gone. Just been feeling quiet. I'm starting to poke my way back to the internets now.

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/3257.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable

For trouble Who has to Grade Papers

Oh ouch. I only had to grade chemistry homework and not read papers and that was painful. So I share my pain with yoooooou. In hopes it is amusing/diverting:

Seriously y'all I can deal with barely-legible handwriting. I grew up deciphering my grandmother's writing and few write with such little regard for writing as a mode of communication with other people as she; the folk in first-year chemistry (all ninety-some of them) were no competition. One-word answers where more words were needed? Okay fine partial credit next. But the student I wanted to track down and explain things to with knives and hooks was the one who had very nice perfectly legible handwriting and showed all ou work. ALL OF IT. EVERY. TIME. Wrote a paragraph for every true/false answer. Whenever I got to ou homework in a stack my soul died a little.

I had my vengeance upon them. I'd mark up their spelling and grammar mistakes. Since it was Chem 101 and not a writing course I didn't take points off but some of them got back their homework with a whole lot of red ink. They complained to the professor I was grading homework for. I explained to the professor all wide-eyed and butter-would-not-melt (she knew exactly what I was up to -- amusing myself -- being my advisor and all) this was university and these skills would be required in other classes and after all I wasn't taking points off. She told them to suck it up and me to lay off a little. We reached a déetente.

My younger brother was amongst the ninety-some first-year chemistry students I was grading homework for. I had the highly dubious pleasure of getting to inform him at mid-term he was failing the course and he needed to do other than as he was if he wished to pass by term's end. I got to tell a lot of students that. (The chemists* were somewhat bemused; we expected organic chemistry to be the weed-out course. First-year general chemistry was meant to be accessible enough that students not majoring in science technology engineering maths could use it as a distribution credit for graduation.)

So that sucked. Telling people they were failing, I mean. Especially having to tell my brother. But teaching was wonderful -- the chemistry department made up jobs for me and one was spending time in a library classroom where anyone who wanted tutoring extra help whatever could drop by no appointment or schedule needed. I thought the format was annoying at first: I thought I'd be tutoring one student at a time. It turned out to be amazing for me and helpful for the students. I did a lot of teaching them how to use textbooks and indices. No one had ever taught them how they worked. And that broke my heart. I got pretty good at figuring out where a student's difficulty with a concept started (by asking leading questions) and how to build from there to the specific question they'd first asked. I had one student who had kids my age and was in school because she was driven; she needed it. And everything she learned new was a wonder for her. I loved her so much. Not like romantically or sexually but I loved what she was doing and how she was doing it and how much joy she took in it. (If she'd been interested in me romantically or sexually I doubt I would have been at all averse to the idea.)

Sure I had a lot of people who came by wanting the answers to the homework but they figured out quick they weren't going to get that. Most of them came back and with different questions.

It's one of the better things I've done. Writing about it has me aching and sniffly. Seems I miss it. Teaching in an actual classroom setting would be difficult with the various conditions -- the fibromyalgia wouldn't let me stand; it would make writing on chalk and/or white boards difficult. The neurological and mental stuff makes speaking a problem and looking at people a problem and planning (like lesson plans and lecture notes and exams and whatall) very much a problem. But I do still love sharing what's in my head.

Which I suppose explains why I'm here on these internets and why I write about stuff that might get into oversharing territory. It's a way I can share what's in my head on my terms. It means I don't get paid for it but it means nobody gets to tell me I'm doing it wrong.

* At the time I included myself a chemist also; today I am not a chemist nor any kind of scientist. I am a writer. I might be a writer who has a bunch of science in xer head though xe does not actually do any science or keep up with any topics in a serious way. Science is a job a vocation a career. It's something a person does. I studied science and while I did I was a scientist -- studies are work. So. I am not a scientist.

Aperiodically Legible: Originally posted at http://kaninchen.dreamwidth.org/2956.html. Comment count: comment count unavailable

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