Scary!

So, I'm going to start taking a medication.

A month from now.

Because they have to really, really, really make sure I'm not pregnant before I can take it. Twice from piss and once from blood (the kind they take out with a needle. Sheesh). I had to fill out two consent forms. And they sent me off with a shiny red-covered coloring book. Nah, not really; but it's the shape & size of a coloring book & has all sorts of elementary diagrams. I also have to promise to use two forms of birth control the entire time I'm on the meds. Pssst, book-makers: I have, by now, sussed out how condoms work. But I sure am looking forward to breaking out my crayons tonight.

And then, the entire time I'm on it - which could be anywhere between five to eighteen months (!) - I have to go in every month & get a needle stuck in my arm again to prove I'm not pregnant. Plus go on a website & take a little quiz (sample question, no joke: what is a primary form of birth control?). Also, I can't give blood. Which makes me wonder how my organ donor status is affected, then.

See, the medication causes all sorts of nasty birth defects. Honestly, if I had any intention of shooting babies out of my uterus, like, ever, I would think once or thirty times before taking it.

Oh, and beyond that, I had to solemnly swear & initial in two places to tell my doctor if I start seeing things, hearing things, or feeling despondent, er, beyond the usual malaise. Like life-endingly despondent. So...not a medication I would have wanted to take as a tween. Or a teenager. Or when I was twenty two. Or anytime from about October '06 to August '07, when I was going through this super-fun thing called Disassociation for the second time. Tho' to its, um, credit, the second verse was mildly different than the first! Good times.

And after all this, can I tell you? I don't even have any scary medical condition. At all. Not like that time a couple years ago when my doctor thought I had cancer. Two weeks before I was set to move cross-country. Luckily, I was too busy to think, let alone despair; & then it was revealed to be naught but a false alarm.

We are awfully susceptible lot of miscreants.

Bear With Me Here

My left ankle is in pain from when I slipped down a couple stairs on Sunday.

My knee still hurts from when I fell last week on my way to the airport (note: slide-on platform wedge shoes + heavy duffel bag = BAD IDEA, people!).

My legs ache from the Sunday hours I spent crouched over the loft's built-in furniture, painting it. And I mean ache. I can barely walk (note: leg pain + high-heeled sandals = bad idea).

The cut on my finger looks like it's bleeding through the tape & bandages, but since I'm not supposed to touch it until tomorrow or Thursday, I'll just have to wonder. I banged it on my cubicle door not five minutes ago, which felt simply spectacular.

My left arm is stiff & sore & hurts like hell from the tetanus shot.

My neck has been a place of pain for several days now, as I keep falling asleep in terrible positions.

I left my Vicodin at home because I'm not supposed to take it at work, & tho' my office's first aid supply cabinet is chock full of Advil, Alleve, & Tylenol, not a single helping of ibuprofen is contained therein, let alone the 800 mg the doctor recommended.

My entire body feels like it has been folded & stuffed into an envelope of pain.

Shit, I even finished my book last night, so I'm fresh out of fun easy reading.

I find myself loathe to leave work early, as I've got a 20-hour CIC class starting tomorrow, plus I'm taking simply scads of days off (aka "PTO") this month already. But really I just want to go to my video store, rent some crappy TV or some old Hepburn-Tracy movies & sit on my futon knitting.

Um, also? It's friggin' August. And it's REALLY COLD outside. Okay, it's really 62 degrees & I know it will warm up to the 70s. But it's gray & cloudy & drizzling. NOT FAIR. It's summer! That five-month span in which we know no rain, only sunshine & blue skies! Bastards.

I may have said it before, & I'll likely say it again, but - life is pain, princess.

On the other hand, I'm wearing one of the five dresses I've purchased in the last month. Yeah, that's right - I've magically found five dresses that flatter me & were on sale in a mere FOUR WEEKS. Plus I bought really cute sandals whose cork wedge heels are loaded with GOLD SPARKLES (bonus: they are actually almost comfortable!).

So it's not all bad.

EDIT: Uncle, uncle! I give up! I think the shot has exacerbated my other pre-existing pains. It hurts to move. Futon. Drugs. Visual entertainment of an amusing kind. Sleep. Yes...the Land of Happily Stationary beckons. (For the record, it annoys me to no end that "stationary" means still while "stationery" means paper. Am I the only person who thinks that paper should be stationary-with-an-a? And that still makes way more sense as stationery-with-an-e? Sigh. Probably.)

You've Got A Vicious Streak For Someone So Young

All right, so I'm not all that young. But I do possess a vicious streak of which I was once wholly unaware. I'm not proud of it, but neither am I shamed by it, & it does not seem to unleash itself without cause. We'll forgo specifics.

Karma, however, apparently thought I went a little too far. On Sunday, I was making bread. A batch of plain white bread & a loaf of cheddar bread, more or less scheduled to follow each other into the oven. I have not baked in oh! ever so long, but I've got a camping trip coming up & am indulging in a baking binge.

Anyway, the white bread was rising in my pantry in a big glass Pyrex bowl (it was a cool day but my pantry attains the desired 75 to 80 degree temperature at which bread should ideally rise). I carried the cheddar dough over, also in a big glass Pyrex bowl. I thought, hmm, I really should put down this bowl before moving the other. Then, like a big dumb stupid thing, I failed to do that & decided to move both bowls at once. Long story short, I lost the cheddar bread & one of the big bowls, & gained a nice deep slash on my left hand index finger just below the knuckle, which proceeded to bleed profusely. I called my parents to figure out whether it required stitches (the last time I had a cut that deep, I was 14) & decided not to sweat it. Eventually the bleeding stopped (actually, it more slowed than stopped) & the gash really didn't hurt that badly. Then I decided to go buy a gallon of Ralph Lauren Capri Pink & paint until one in the morning. Fantastic idea. I woke up this morning & couldn't even use the damn finger. (The surviving bread turned out beautifully, by the way.)

Longer story short, I went to an immediate care clinic a couple of hours ago. No nerve or tendon damage, just a bad bleeding cut in an unfortunate place. The doctor taped it up, & now I have this lovely splint on my finger. Which still hurts, only now my finger is utterly pointless. I get to wear it for five fun-filled days! And I can't get it wet! AWESOME. Also, since I believe I was about 10 years old the last time I had a tetanus shot, I got one of those too. Which they tell me will start hurting tomorrow. Oh yeah.

On the other hand, karma did see fit to provide me with prescription narcotics as a result of my pain. Lose some, win some. I'm totally going to dope myself into oblivion tonight & watch Performance, which is summat like Ingmar Bergman's Persona on acid, if I recollect correctly. Starring Mick Jagger. The film was completed in 1968, but the producing studio, Warner Brothers, expected the Rolling Stones version of A Hard Day's Night (which, erm, Performance is decidedly not) & were so pissed off that they didn't release it until 1970. I believe they also attempted to sue the film's makers, Nicolas Roeg & Donald Cammell. The poster's tagline: "This film is about madness. And sanity. Fantasy. And reality. Death. And life. Vice. And Versa." Indeed.