Stupid medical shit and a dream about Loki

I’m actually only making this entry to describe the funny dream I recently woke up from, but since I am making it, I might as well talk about what’s going on while I’m at it. I’ll get to the dream in a minute here.

So last week (to coincide wonderfully with my deep sadness in regard to the decision I made), I was experiencing abdominal pain. Because I have multiple conditions that give me abdominal pain on a regular basis, I didn’t pay much attention, but I did notice it was getting worse. Eventually, on Friday, it had gotten bad enough (and had been increasing consistently enough) to give me some concern. So I went to the doctor, who referred me to a hospital for ultrasounds. And it turns out I have gall bladder stones and need to have the whole silly thing removed.

The doctor’s referral office set me up an appointment for today with a surgeon, and Friday to Wednesday seemed like a long time to wait — especially when they warned me very carefully what symptoms should send me to the emergency room over the weekend — but whatevs. I would wait. However, I wasn’t aware until Monday that I’d been misled by ‘appointment with a surgeon,’ and that this is just a consultation. I have no idea, as yet, when I can actually have this surgery, and an unknown period seems like an even longer time to wait. Because meanwhile, the pain continues to increase, and has with it that general feeling of ill health I hate so much and some nausea on the side, not to mention a lot of emotional distress that may have something to do with last week’s decision as well.

So I’m in too much pain to go to work, but not enough pain (yet) to go to the emergency room. I’m losing money every day, I don’t know how long this will continue, and Poe only knows how much I’m going to be out for the consultation visit (typically my specialist copay is $75) and the surgery itself (last year’s mass removal with no more than a local anesthetic ran me $500). I already had to pay $150 for the doctor’s appointment and the ultrasounds on Friday. Fucking gall bladder. I’m literally selling stocks in preparation for the next however long. AND MEANWHILE I’M STILL IN PAIN.

I was in no frame of mind to get any writing done over the weekend, though yesterday I wrote, like, four sentences on BC 22 (itself part of an entirely different emotional kettle of fish or maybe kettle of emotional fish). I’ve been working on my current RPG Maker project and a picture of two dogs, and watching a lot of Superman: The Animated Series. Just killing time, basically, until I can get this small and expensive bonfire removed from my side.

OK, but what I really came for. I had this dream:

These two minor gods were in some kind of trouble, and I was trying to get them out of it. But it was beyond my power, so I went to Loki for help — knowing full well it was a bad idea, but she was the only god I could actually communicate with. I explained the situation and asked if she would lend a hand.

As Loki replied, images appeared behind her as if she were running a slide show in the background illustrating everything she had to say. “I could help these two minor gods,” she said. “We could do such-and-such, and then talk to so-and-so, and get them out of their jam.” And the slide show demonstrated these potential actions.

Or…” she went on with a smirk, “I could turn them in for a bounty, and that would piss off…” And the slide show started scrolling rapidly through the images of every god in multiple pantheons, line after line after line of them, presumably listing all the many people who would be pissed off by Loki’s choice to betray these two minor gods. And it was pretty clear which option she was going to take.

The slide show thing and Loki’s smartassedness was so funny that I even laughed in the dream despite the situation having been made worse by my choice to go to her for help. I find it so funny in waking life that I had to write it down even though I haven’t logged a dream in a very long time.

And now back to my regularly scheduled suffering.

Edit: I have surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning. I’m so relieved to get it scheduled so soon, I haven’t been able to stop crying.

Bitey and Birthday

The older I get, the more difficult it becomes to remember to start my birthday countdown. It should have started on July 27th this year! Right now I’m putting an entry on the calendar for July 26th of next year so I won’t forget again! Because this shit is important, yo.

Anyway, today it is 29 days until I turn 37. In unrelated news, I got bitten three or four times by a 130lb great Dane named Ludvig last week.

Here are some pictures that aren’t very bloody.

Ribbons and needs. I mean, arthritis and suck.

Although the neurologist referred me to yet another clinic for some radiographs trying to determine exactly what’s wrong with my hands/wrists, I haven’t actually done that yet because of Beeks’s surgery — I’m already in the hole at the moment, and don’t need to be dealing with more medical shit I can put off. The condition exists regardless of whether it’s tendonitis, bursitis, or arthritis.

And whatever its official name, it’s been flaring up hella bad lately, and I decided with extreme reluctance to try to avoid computer use this weekend to give my hands a rest. (My wrist braces help, so I’ll be wearing them as much as possible, but I’m in a lot of finger-joint-pain too, and at the moment I have nothing to help with that. I wish-listed some pressure gloves on Amazon, along with a speech-to-text engine, but I think I mentioned how much immediate debt I’m in.)

Yesterday I was foiled by a very busy (and subsequently very computer-intensive) day at work, but today and tomorrow I’m going to look for other shit to do besides working on stories and all the additional eight million things on the computer I have to work on. It would be a perfect time to get some recording done, but I have a cold with a sore throat, because of course I fucking do.

As I’ve mentioned in the past, it is depressing beyond words not to work on stories, and I am very sad right now.

I’ve been considering stepping away from the current HR chapter because it’s taking so long and a break from it might be helpful, and resuming work on that when I get back around to it in the rotation (meaning I would work on ASZz as soon as I’m off this hiatus). Nobody’s reading HR, whereas one person is reading ASZz and another is reading BC (which would come after that), so I think I’m safe to do this.

Meanwhile, wish me luck not being depressed and doing other things. This post is already counterproductively long.

Recently I was doing vaccines, and the next animal in line was a miniature schnauzer named Puff. So of course, as I’m drawing up the vaccine, I’m singing, “Puff the mini schnauzer came in my room,” and thinking of the owner as Little Jackie Paper. I did at least manage to refrain from using that name when I went to call dog and owner in.

So here comes Puff the mini schnauzer, who is (like every mini schnauzer) one of the cutest dogs that ever lived with his tininess and adorable schnauzer shave and the printed flannel blanket his owner has him wrapped in and his itty bitty wagging tail and pink tongue. And Little Jackie Paper?

Little Jackie Paper is the most gangsta-looking guy I have ever seen. Seriously. I can’t name every aspect of the stereotype in retrospect, but he had them all. There were chains and… yeah, I forget what else.

And he so clearly adored this dog, and had the paperwork and the puppy vaccine booklet and everything; he was the epitome of a caring and conscientious owner. He even listened attentively to everything I had to say about vaccine schedule signs of bad reaction.

I like to think I don’t have a lot of blindly preconceived notions about people of other lifestyles, but the fact that I was enough struck to want to write about this in my journal is evidence that there’s something going on in my head. But at this point, any prejudices I may have had about that type of person must have been thoroughly shaken.

Also at work recently, I was trying to put a cat back into her kennel after surgery. Our cats (understandably) often wake up really crazy, and this was not one of the rare exceptions. She had all her legs splayed out madly, and her whole body was really stiff, so her entire angle was bad for getting her into a square opening.

Then all of a sudden she kicked off the edge of the kennel, did a back-flip over my arm, and caught me right in the mouth with one clawy paw. She cut my cheek, my upper lip in two spots and lower in one, and two gum locations, then fell on the floor. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that both I and the co-worker in the room (our cat lady) were stunned and disbelieving, and today my lip still hurts.

Watch this video, if you want:

Coheed and Cambria has been one of my favorite bands for several years, and I don’t remember whether I mentioned my great happiness or how excellently they performed when I saw them in concert last summer. I really love them.

And not long ago I watched the above video for the first time, and found another, huge reason to love them.

No matter how society is changing, I still feel, most of the time, as if the bulk of it is ranged against me as a lesbian. I feel as if just being open about who I am — being myself — in public is an act of defiance, which is sometimes a bit wearing for a shy and non-confrontational person. I assume on a subconscious level that homophobia is the default. I especially make this assumption about male-fronted nerd culture.

It is not fair and it is not kind to make such assumptions about people, but it is, sadly, what I have been conditioned to assume. Even while actively enjoying the artistic products of those outside the immediate circle I consider relatively safe, I’m still very wary of the people involved, and that’s a tragic way to have to interact with other human beings.

Which is one of the reasons it means so damn much to me when I find an ally in an unexpected place.

And maybe CoCam has been a group of allies all along and I just never noticed. I’ve mentioned before how bad I am about actually paying attention to the bands I follow; I rarely even know the names of the members… or, to be honest, how many members there are (unless I have a poster of them on my ceiling or a desktop wallpaper on my computer or something. Which is rare, because looking at a musician is hardly the point, is it?)

But this inattention may have been doing CoCam — or at least Claudio Sanchez — dishonor all this time. Because if they’ve had the wonderful attitude all along that envisions a music video about the formation of a gay relationship portrayed in a positive and totally normal light, I have not appreciated them as much or as well as I should have. I’ve always adored their music and their storytelling, but from now on there’s going to be an extra layer to my appreciation that, perhaps, should have been there all along.

So I’ve cleared 3/15 bookshelf compartments by now, and with great joy and exultation I pulled out all my figures and set them up in one newly empty compartment. They really need two or three to spread out across (or at least another shelf inside the one compartment they’re in), and they’re hilariously cramped and in each other’s faces where they are, but it still makes me really happy to look up and see them there.

OK, let’s have some photos.

One time I was waiting on a tire replacement, and there was a Fascinations across the parking lot. As I walked toward Fascinations, I noticed something on a window sill in front of a model display:

When I got close enough to see exactly what it was, I had to take pictures.

Oh, creepy Christians. Bless your bigoted, unsubtle little hearts. Anyway, instead of becoming a praying wife, I went into Fascinations and bought the greatest purse anyone has ever made:

It appears I never managed to get a less blurry picture of it. But seriously, you guys, this was my favorite purse I’ve ever, ever, ever had. I loved it so damn much. It wore out and broke about a year ago, but for a while it was just pure, spidery heaven to carry around.

And the last picture is, of course, of Seet Bean: