Chloe_0010

Chloe_0010, originally uploaded by maystone1.

Huuuuge paws! Aieeeeee!

Meme

Yoinked from drocera:

94% Dennis Kucinich
90% Mike Gravel
84% John Edwards
83% Chris Dodd
82% Barack Obama
81% Joe Biden
78% Hillary Clinton
75% Bill Richardson
31% Rudy Giuliani
22% John McCain
21% Ron Paul
17% Mike Huckabee
16% Mitt Romney
13% Tom Tancredo
8% Fred Thompson

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

I hate Lupus

I hate that it's robbed me of a year of my life, and the theft continues with higher stakes and more consequences. I hate being fogged in and weighted down by fatigue, and I hate that it's becoming more frequent and not less. I hate this sensation of seeing, feeling myself slip away and there is not one thing I can do to stop it. I hate not doing my share.

I hate the alternative, because really - what sane person wants to die? So I need a solution, a plan. I need to make a peace with this that isn't a surrender, because it's never going away. It may recede (please, I'll take that, really), but it will never disappear.

Maybe I just need to sleep, but that isn't happening, either. Two-thirds of my bed is taken up by sleeping cats, and that's both a comfort and a taunt. Pull me down into sleep with you, cats. Remind me how that works. Still, they make me smile to look at them, and that's a blessing I'm happy to receive.

I feel like a wicked complainuh (as they'd say in Boston), but I know that there's reason for complaint, so I'm not going to apologize for this. Maybe it's because I've always been so inner directed that this particular type of lupus is bringing me so low at times. It's attacking my brain. It's leaching who I am from, well, who I am. Or maybe it isn't really, and it's the dementia making me think that, but then . . . isn't that basically the same thing? [thinks about it] No, I don't think it is. The dementia is a trickster, and with luck it can be chased away. If it is lupus dementia and not something organic and degenerative. In which case I am well and truly fucked.

At this point in the movies or a novel, I'd start making all sorts of bargains with God. Give me back my brain, and I promise I'll never watch bad TV again. Never be intellectually lazy. Never take my sense of self for granted. Sadly, I don't believe in a god who bargains, and sadly I know myself well enough (still) to know that I'm only human and therefore incapable of forever holding up my end of the bargain.

But really. Somebody please make this stop.

I have to stop comparing myself to others. All of the people I hear about - friends of friends - who have lupus and carry on with no melodrama. I'm guessing that they don't have CNS (central nervous system) involvement. (Yeah, right, Lee - just kidney failure or liver failure or ruined lungs or hearts. They have it easy, right? See? Comparing is not the way to go.) And then there's Dar, who has suffered horrible medical problems. Medical problems - what a weak phrase for what she's endured. I hate myself for crying when she doesn't, for complaining when she doesn't, for being frightened when she isn't. I know that some of this is the disease itself, the actual outcomes, side effects, dues, what have you, of this particular illness, but it doesn't go too far to ease the embarrassment and the shame. Does a good job on honing the anger, though. At this rate I'll be a Dark Side Darth in no time flat. Let's see, there was Darth Maul and Darth Sidious, right? And of course, the Vadernator. So I shall be . . . Darth Dementous. Darth Demaystone. Nah, sounds a little too springtime and puppies for a Dark Side badass. Darth Ugoddabekiddingus. Has possibilities. So go ahead, give me my Dark Side name. Pimp my slide to the evil side.

[Poll #1116409]

Man, I need a drink. Or some drugs. Or a Twinkie. What I really want, really really want, is a S'mores Toaster Popup Popem whateverthehellthey'renamed. Just one. I don't want a box of them, because then over time I'll eat the box of them. One. I want one. Is that so much to ask? I may have to settle with a digestive cookie. Or lime sherbet. Hmmmmm. Nope, still want a drink (but gall bladder says, "I shall kill you slowly, but that would give me pleasure. Please. Drink up.') Fuck you, gall bladder! I do nothing for your pleasure! (To steal from Legend. Highly underrated picture,btw.) There are drugs. I took a tranq; I could add a sleeping pill. Half a sleeping pill. I'd still rather have a Pop Tart.

Because I don't have an icon for a lemming

I suppose that you've heard about Greatest Journal going under. I'm joining the swarms (straggle?) who are setting up accounts over at Insane Journal as a backup. I'm there as maystone, so please feel free to friend me there. Also, if you have an IJ, could you leave your name in comments so I can friend you over there? On the other hand, this would be the perfect time to ditch me and leave no tracks :)

I think I'm going to move all of my memory posts over there just to be on the safe side. I had this sudden attack of "Oh crap!" when LJ was bought by the Russians, and it suddenly occurred to me that if this place went under very suddenly, I have no backups for those posts at all.

Back in this world, it was just a very crazy day even for this place. I know! I don't think Dar stopped working for more than 30 minutes at any time before diving right back into something or other. I on the other hand, outside of a trip to the dump (and no, that's a euphemism) and a run to the grocery store, spent most of the day deep in a fog. Weird, weird brain day for me. Don't like it. I managed to putter around and do some minor chores, but really . . . mostly useless.

Then there were the comings and goings. Two of our friends' kids came over to help Dar with some major animal chores. (The daughter wants to be a vet, I believe, so she's anxious to help with the medical stuff.) They were here most of the day. Then Alpaca Deb stopped by to work with Dar on something; I have no idea what. (I hate that I'm so out of the loop, but there's not that much I can do about that in any realistic way.) She pulled out of the driveway and sparky77 pulled in with a carload of DVDs and one very lovely kitty. Her cat, Alexa Minerva (aka Lexy) quickly made herself at home with a minimum of fuss and bother by anyone. There was some hissing on our guys' parts, but really, it was pretty copacetic, all things considered.

Along in there we got word that the kids' mom and their siblings were in a car accident. Everyone is OK although they all were checked out at a hospital (yikes), and the car they were driving was totaled. Their dad went to retrieve them from the hospital (several hours drive time), so Dar fed them and then, because I can't drive at night in the fog and rain, we recruited Q (sparky77 in case you're having trouble following this) to drive them home; I rode shotgun and provided directions, support, and a lot of backseat driving. Poor Q :) Driving unfamiliar back country roads at night in the fog in a strange car is not really highly recommended. We made it, though.

By the time we got home, Mark had made it back from picking up his parents in Syracuse and bringing them back here after their visit in Cape Cod. (Mark's sister and bil drove them from the Cape to Syracuse, where the Parent Exchange took place.) About 15 minutes later, Maddie and her friend pulled in from their trip to Chicago.

In between, many cats were running around. The phone was ringing. Dinner was made and bedrooms de-catted.

Tomorrow? There's a wake for the mother of Dar's best friend; she died Friday after a terrible, long illness. Also tomorrow Maddie's friend needs to get to Toronto to catch a train home, and we have to pick cajoje and her son up at the train station in Kitchener (I think it's there) when they get back from their visit to Montreal.

Meanwhile, things are not all that rosy with some of our animals. Sparky has a glaze over one eye; it looks like the milky white cast that glaucoma causes, but it's really . . . an ulcer? Damn, I can't remember what Dar said it was. Anyway, she's treating it, and there will be a call to our alpaca vet on Monday. Little Cat seems to be truly ill; she'd always had a weak heart, but Dar says it's sounding worse now, and she thinks it's affecting her kidney (liver? damn it!) and that's why Little is being so aggressive with the other cats. She's Dar's baby, the way that Mao is mine. This is really tough on her. And the truly shocking news is that when Dar and Teryn (our friend's daughter) were working with Jester, they discovered that he'd been abused at that stable. It's awful, and I'm not going to go into details now because it's a long complex story that involves much more than mistreating animals. The vet will be looking at Jester, too, but rest assured that he's in good hands here, and he's already showing better spirits. He's on the mend.

The cats are roaming free tonight, for the most part. Lexy is in with Q just for tonight, and poor Little is locked in the laundry room with food, water, and a litter box because she just can't be trusted not to go after one of the other cats when left to her own devices. Pixel and Rocky are trying to sleep on my bed, but Chloe is here and full of mischief, so I think it's going to be a sparse night of sleep for us all.

Plus, this damn prednisone gives me insomnia. It's one of the stated side effects, and I've got it in spades. Off I go to try to drug myself into sleep (a common remedy when you're on this steroid). And see if I can get Chloe to rev down a few hundered RPMs here. Kittens :)