Confessions of an Internet Junkie

I slept for a good portion of the day. I expected it to happen after spending the past two days at shearings, and I wasn't disappointed. It was not a restful sleep, though, so that could have gone better. You know the type of sleep that usually happens either during the day or around the time you need to wake up? You're struggling to awaken and you can't, and the panic starts to set in. For me it's very similar to trying to come out of anesthesia, a feeling I particularly hate. At one point I was trying to call out for help, for Dar to come wake me. She said later that she did hear me saying something, but she thought I was talking to the cats. I'm obviously going to have to work on my summoning-aid-in-my-sleep calls :)

I slept through the birth of the latest cria on the farm. No name yet, but he's a big boy who weighed in at 23.5 pounds. Mom is an experienced birther, but even so Dar had to intervene and reach in to turn the baby around a bit so his shoulders could pass through. She said that mom would have pushed him out eventually, but I don't know - he's a pretty big boy. We have one more cria to go, probably next week. The barn is looking like a proper nursery, with five little alpacas bouncing off the walls and their moms trying to keep them in line.

They're in close quarters tonight, because we have a line of strong thunderstorms threatening our area. We had very high winds earlier, and thunder rumbling in the distance, so Dar and I went out and closed the alpacas in the barn for the night. The babies are prone to running out in the rain (because they're born with no sense of preservation at all, apparently), and we didn't want them to be injured by the strong winds or end up spending the whole night out in the storms. I'll take some pictures tomorrow.

I took some pictures yesterday, but not on my camera. Joellen, if you're reading this, could you email me copies of the pictures I took of Saffron? Thanks.

Pixel's having a nightmare, I think. She's sleeping next to me, and her paws are twitching, her mouth is moving, and her tail is swishing. I think I should wake her. Nope, she quieted down again.

I forgot that it's Memorial Day for you all in the States. I hope you're having a wonderful, summery day wherever you are.

I spent several hours in the car this afternoon driving to and from Toronto to pick up Maddie and Dar from their trip to Cape Breton. I was happy to do it; I missed them, and their trip was just . . . surreal. (Not my story to tell yet.) The day was very warm and very sunny. I slathered on the SPF 60 sunscreen and off I went.

Fast-forward to this evening. I managed to get about an hour's sleep before the flare hit. I felt suddenly as if I had a badly sprained ankle. Then both feet, ankles, and lower legs started throbbing; I couldn't take the pressure of the sheet and blanket on them, so I sat up on the side of the bed. My feet and ankles were inflamed and swollen. OK then. I took some meds to try to calm the ache and tried to go back to sleep. That's when the itching started. First on my legs, and then it spread up my torso and into my arms. I figured I'd rather read than scratch, so I turned on the laptop and started browsing. That went well until my vision suddenly blurred so badly that I could no longer read. Very well, if my body is going to be that way, then I'll just try to get to sleep again. And I almost made it! I was just drifting off when I was awakened by a loud conversation going on a few feet from the bed. Of course there was no one there - hello, aural hallucinations! Haven't heard from you in a while. Pull up a chair and let's chat. No? It's no fun when I'm actually awake? Screw you then. Besides, by this time my nervous system was sending out little jolts of electricity along my arms and neck. At that point, for some reason, a flax cracker with peanut butter seemed to be the answer, so off into the kitchen I went. Fended off Holmes, who wanted me to turn the faucet on so he could drink from it. Chomped on the cracker. And here I am. The itching is dying down. The sprain isn't as achy as it was. I'm still getting the occasional electrical ping. I think I'm going to try to sleep again.

Ah, Lupus. Every flare is a new adventure. You just don't know what it's going to bring. I like the sun, you know? I sometimes crave to be able to stand in the sunlight and let it wash over me, feel it on my face and arms. Instead I wrap myself up in long sleeves and garden gloves and hats and scarves. And even then . . .

1. There are some mad bacon lovers out there, and for them I provide this link to the bacon explosion. I wouldn't touch it with a 10 foot pig snout, but I can think of several people who would just squeee over this. So here you go.

2. This afternoon is the antithesis of yesterday afternoon, all because I spent an hour and change shoveling out the composted layers on top of the barn floor. Intense fatigue, intense burning, numbness, and tingling in my hands and feet, and strong joint pain. Plus a flaming malar rash. It's a flare, and I can't begin to tell you how much I hate it - not for the symptoms it brings but because of the reality behind it. I'll always have to pay if I do anything more than lay around. I don't care. I'm finishing that section of the barn tomorrow.

I've been waiting to post until I had something definitive from my rheumatologist, but that doesn't look to be happening this week after all, so this is just an update. It's a long one, so I'll cut tag it. BTW, the icon for this isn't meant to be taken literally; I just don't have anything else that screams major *head desk* :)
( It's a movie of the week. Or maybe an ep from Arrested Development. )

No sun today on this Sunday, but it was relatively livable outside nevertheless. Mark and I grabbed a couple of shovels and took out the drifting snow that had held my car hostage, then we proceeded to attack the rest of the driveway. Man, I really, really hope that that is the last of the shoveling we'll be doing this year.

I'm still wobbling all over the place, but today was better than yesterday. I was extremely proud of myself for getting that shoveling done (along with some household chores), but I ended up sleeping a lot this afternoon to make up for it. Eh, not a bad trade-off, really. I've missed the physical activity, and it felt great to be actually doing something outside.

Tomorrow I'm going to try to get an appointment to get my hair cut. I have problem hair to begin with - fine texture, thin individual strands - but where previously I had a lot of fine, thin hair with a natural wave, I know have noticeably less and it's limp and dull. I don't have bald spots (that I've noticed), but there's significantly more space between the strands, and that really shows along the part line. Which is now resembling a landing strip along the top of my skull. So, as the walrus said, the time has come. I was going to just go to the local version of SuperCuts, but I thought better of it. I need a good cut, especially since I'm going for short layers. "Wispy," said Dar. "You want wispy." That I'll probably try to spike just so sparky77 will stop harassing me, but I will not be dying it electric blue. Or purple. Although if anyone can point me to a silver dye, I'd be all over it. What is this huge prejudice against gray in the hair dye industry?

On a completely different subject, The Wire is going out with style. I don't want it to end! I can't believe that next week is the last episode, that they'll be shuffling off into the dark in just another 90 minutes. (The last ep is extended length.) There will be no neat endings, because the world is a messy place. The story lines keep evolving, and they leave me despairing of ever finding out where they'll lead. God, it is such a well-written show. I've got Q convinced to watch it, so I just need to track down the season DVDs, and then find the block of time to actually watch them all.

Hope all is well with you, my dears. Me for sleep.

1. Predicted? One inch of snow. Actually fell? A foot of snow - not counting the height of the drifts. My car is buried. Dar had a tough time slogging out to the barn. Damn winter.

2. I got the call for my Urgent Neuro appointment. Forget next week - it's this Thursday. The day after tomorrow. Wow.

Oh what the hell. Three things.

3. I've been reading up and cerebellar involvement with lupus is rare. Teaching hospitals like rare. Therefore teaching hospitals like me. Or as Dar put it: "Your doctor pulled some strings because you're a freak." Yes. Yes, I am.

I have no idea why I'm not asleep since I've been up since early o'clock, been relatively busy, and had no nap or lie down.

I had fall down, though. Twice! Mays fall down go boom. Except that both times I managed to clutch onto something before I actually hit the floor. "You know what this means?" I mourned bitterly to Dar. "It means I can never go into a Crate&Barrel again!" Waaaaaaah! Hahahahaha. I was saying I need to wear a kind of a reverse deep sea fishing harness, except Dar coud keep me hooked up to it and reel me upright when I start to flop around. Hee! We can get her a fishing hat that has the two beer holders on it, except for her it would soda cans. Oooh, oooh! I can train a couple of the alpacas to be my guidepacas. One on each side to hold me up, and i'll fashion a cunning little harness that fits over all three of us. Sort of a cross between suspenders and webbing. With embroidery. Lots of royal blues, deep reds, and purples. Maybe some gold color. And bells so people will know we're coming. Like the sight of a "moderately obese" (it said so on one of my doctor's reports. My gastric bypass surgeon will be so proud.) middle-aged wobbly woman tied to two anxious yet nosey alpacas are going to slip their notice. Better safe than sorry, sez I. Just wait 'til I demand to bring them on public transportation as my mobility aids.

I'll tell you one thing - I damn well want my own disability parking sticker out of this. Dar's is expired, so we do some creative display when we use it, which actually isn't all that often: bad weather and a serious lack of parking spaces, or one of us is really under the weather.

I got into a verbal fight with a cranky old lady during Christmas shopping. She looked like the old lady that Hallmark draws for their cranky old lady line of cards. Normally I love her, but not when she's coming after me, by gum. You drew down on the wrong bitchy broad, cranky Canadian crone! I'd parked in one of those absofreainlutely stupid "reserved" spaces for pregnant women with children. Pregnancy is not an illness (except mentally), it's a choice. You choose to have a gazillion kids and drive thos fucking obnoxious large van/suv/tundra vehicles that no else has a chance in hell of seeing around thereby putting ourself in jeopardy because of your fucking hubris and fecundity and I'm supposed to drag my lupus butt from a half-mile away to placate you? Guess again, Hormone Hannah. So it was a very bad lupus day, and I think it was wicked cold, too. Anyway, I pulled into the Stork Spot because all of the handicapped spaces were taken. Dar and Marie were with me, so I had a "legitimate" reason to park in a handicapped space if one were open, too. Just to keep that in mind.

We pull in. Start to get out of the car. This Hummer-size vehicle pulls in right next to us, and out climb to tiny old people. (Compensating much, Estelle?) She looks at me and says, "How pregnanat are you, Miss? [Nice on so many levels.) Me: Excuse me? Her: "That spot is reserved for pregnant women. You don't look pregnant to me." Me: You wanna know something? Her:What? (Half belligerent, half wary.) Me: Not everyone who has an illness looks like they do. I have lupus, and I'm having a really bad day. I'm gonna have trouble just walking to the store, let alone shopping and then schlepping [yes, I said schlepping] everything back out there. All the handicapped places were full, so I'm using this one. Deal with it.

She grumbled some more and then teetered off to follow her husband who's probably gone through a zillion times. She probably makes him cruise the parking lots looking for Stork Spot Scoffers so she can shake her bony finger and bitch at them. Met the wrong damn woman this time. I told Dar she was probably pissed because I took the spot before she could get to it. Bwah!

OK, I took a lorazepam at 12:30 and 1/2 Imovand at 2:15 and I should really be under by now. WTF? This calls for drastic measures. This calls for . . . boooooooooze. Gimme a break - I'm talking a conservative sip out of the bottle. (How couth am I?) Or a booze ball. (It's what we call those Irish Moonshine candy/cookie things that Dar made. Mmmmmm.) All I know is that I have to go to sleep. Satine might have her cria tomorrow, and I wan't to be unzombified for it. Gah, just hit me over the head, OK?

Off to add to the chemical cocktail in my bloodstream. Anyone got a straw? How about one of those tiny umbrellas? Ciao.

Oooh, before I go. My lovely Q is here! She made it. With Pico (who is Pixel to a T if Pixel went through the enlarger at Kinko's) and our Skrippy is here and I'm looking forward to renewing her acquaintance and just hanging out. Southern Belle in the house! Bless her heart :)

Sleep enhancement. Must find sleep enhancement.