I am thinking about going back on my brain medication.

I do not want to do this. However, since coming off, I’ve noticed the following:

• I just can’t live without rageahol – I am angry damn near all the time. I am angry at people and places and things. I find myself wishing someone would throw a punch at me just so I have an excuse to go all postal. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a punch, either – go on, cut me off on my scooter or change lanes into me. I WILL WISH THAT I COULD FUCK YOU UP
• My casual swearing has increased by 400%, and has gone up in volume – I am no longer discrete about describing run of the mill things peppered with things like “holy mother of fuck”, “this is the best shit fucking son of a cunt sandwich I’ve ever had”, and “hey, your mom’s a whore – did I mention I saw an eagle yesterday?”
• Things that may have mildly annoyed me while medicated are infuriating now
• I am much more dissatisfied with my life than before, possibly because of my ongoing fury
• I have much more disgust for the things, people, ideas, lifestyles, I find distasteful, rude or stupid. Normally this would be a non-issue, except see bullet points 2 and 3.
• Normal people would be disappointed that they can’t get a dog. I am blindingly, wildly, viciously, fumingly, violently mad about it. Do you want to fight? I will fight you over it. I am small but insane, and my tiny mutant elf hands could do a lot of damage.
• Angry. Angry. Angry. Did I mention that I’m angry? Maybe it’s just left over from last night’s festivities, but I am angry.

So, yeah. Maybe I’m not crazy after all, I’m just plain mad to an unhealthy degree. Good thing you’d never know it to look at me.

Cheery stupid happy updates will return soon, I promise.

I’m not sure what’s more disturbing: the disappointment I felt when my blood results didn’t show a surprise pregnancy, or the true reason WHY I was disappointed when my blood results didn’t show a surprise pregnancy: it would have made for some truly excellent long-winded conspiracy theory update topics.

The doctor says I’m super, which sucks – I want a reason for feeling so crappy. My iron is in fact a little low, but not enough to require that I go on iron pills especially since she warned me 9 times that iron pills make you not poop (which frankly is not a big deal given that I do not poop anyway). She gave me a big list of foods that are rich in iron such as beans and nuts and liver, then rather off-handedly mentioned that a census taker just happens to live down the street and that Safeway has a sale this week on fava beans and a nice Chianti. I’m not so much into the cannibalism as I’d have you believe, so tonight we’re having a Steak and Molding Clay Extravaganza because steak has tons of iron in it and molding clay is just plain awesome.

So, stuff is fine. I’m not dying of werewolf herpes, my withdrawal symptoms should go away in 4-6 weeks (um, what), and I’m feeling much better than I was two days ago.

However, none of this means a goddamn thing because Sasha is sick.

She did another marathon puke today, one I was thankfully not awake for. I called the vet, and we’re going in at 12:30 to find out what’s wrong. I am not good at this. I can’t imagine something being even mildly wrong with Sasha without bursting into tears – if something is seriously wrong, I’m going to need to be taken away by the men in white coats and locked up until I can stop sobbing hysterically. It does not help that Sasha is officially 13 now and that is very old; the likelihood of something being wrong with her is increasing daily. I am scared for her (and for myself because I will completely lose my shit if she dies) and oh, this sucks so much.

Could you please transfer any good thoughts you may have been thinking towards me for my ongoing mental health to Sasha? I’m much more robust than she is, and I throw up a lot less.

Today I feel slightly more human. Last night I had some exciting new ailments to enjoy along with my Verts and my Quease – a massive allergy attack and an onslaught of light sensitivity. I eventually gave up on trying to be alive and took some Benedryl so I didn’t break out into hives overnight, and that seemed to do the trick. It forced me to sleep for almost 10 hours, and I woke up feeling groggy but more human (than human) than I had in over a week. Hooray!

However, the doctor’s office just called and said my test results are in and that I need to come into the clinic as soon as possible to discuss the results. I am so totally dying, aren’t I. On a hunch they ran my blood for other diseases because they knew getting more blood out of me later wasn’t going to happen unless they had a hatchet, and lo I have 17 strains of Super AIDS and also some traces of lycanthropy. My dizzy spells and nausea aren’t withdrawal; they’re an early sign of blood lust. Shit! Everyone run away!

The mailman brought me presents today, which make me very happy. I got my Sephora order – nothing cheers me up like new expensive makeup – and the shiny trinkets I ordered from Retro-a-Go-Go late last month. These things are awesome and can now be scratched off my Waiting list, but there was one other thing the mailman brought me that is just beyond super:

The letter is from the Royal Thai Consulate General, and is obviously not for me. I can’t imagine the contents are anything interesting so I won’t go out of my way to commit mail fraud and see what’s inside – but holy crap, that has got to be the best last name I have ever seen. SUPAPORN! It just rolls off the tongue and splashes across the face, doesn’t it?

I suppose I should stop stalling and go see the doctor so she can tell me I’m dying of werewolf herpes.

Operation: I Am Totally Sane is not going so well.

I’ve never had any kind of addiction or bad habit to break because I am pretty much perfect in every way. This is making my life very hard at the moment, because I am wholly inexperienced in dealing with withdrawal. I’ve been going through what I assume and hope some pretty wicked crazy pill withdrawal, and it’s frankly fucked my life up to an unmanageable degree. When does withdrawal end? It’s been, like, a week. Shouldn’t I be done withdrawing by now? This is stupid.

The Verts have mutated, and now I also have The Quease – I am constantly dizzy and nauseous and unable to do a hell of a lot of anything because I feel so violently horrible. I don’t have any real idea of what’s going on beyond my self-diagnosis – nothin’ but herpes – so I’m suffering. Am I getting sick? Do I have some sort of viral infection? Am I truly short on iron, or do I have some kind of brain disease eating away at my inner ear? Am I just going through withdrawal and all this is normal? What the hell is going on?

Okay, so I can’t walk a straight line and spend a lot of my free time looking for emergency vomitoriums. As fun as this all sounds, we’re only barely scratching the surface: I’ve lost control of all emotions.

Last night, Ed commented that my bowl of chili was large and suggested that I rinse something in the sink instead of using a paper towel. Naturally, this means he thinks I am fat and ugly, so I burst into tears. I’m a little over-sensitive right now; everything is some sort of huge insult and I think everyone is avoiding me because they hate me. Everything makes me cry – commercials, shoelaces, phone books. I’ve teared up more than once over things that make no sense at all – reading an article about road construction causing the traffic lights to go out downtown, for example. It is awesome.

I’m also freaking the fuck out because Sasha has lost some weight and is throwing up a lot. Last night after getting into some people food, she puked up a fountain of vomit. I’m worried about her, so naturally I burst into tears (again) and sobbed hysterically for about 15 minutes. The way I remember it, I was hysterical for three reasons – I feel like shit all the goddamn time; I’m worried about my cat; I do not want to deal with the 8 or 9 piles of puke she just deposited on the floor. All of these are excellent reasons to be upset, but hysterics? Honest to god wailing and tears and hiccups and cat-frightening sobs? That is not normal. Something is not right with me inside my head, and I do not know what.

Ed thinks perhaps I should go back on the crazy pills. I do not want to do this; I was on them for almost 4 years before managing to wean myself off. It’s only been a week, and while I honestly don’t know how much more of this constant nausea and vertigo and random sobbing I can take, a week seems a little short to decide that I am evidently still completely insane and should be medicated as such. I haven’t heard back from the doctor regarding my blood, so I don’t know what’s going on there and I don’t want to go back to the clinic because there isn’t really a hell of a lot they can do. So, I’m miserable, dizzy, barfy, emotional, worried, unemployable, insane, and everyone hates me. Hooray!

I loathe being scared.

There’s a job title that I hadn’t considered but is obviously perfect for me: Vampire Hunter.

I finally managed to scare myself into going to the doctor to ask why I am downtrodden with the Verts all the damn time. The doctor took my blood pressure (after deciding she needed to use the Fatty McFat Arm Cuff on me because I am so obviously corpulent, except it promptly fell off my less-huge-than-she-thought arm – take that, Dr. Skinny) and asked a series of invasive questions (honestly, by the time she got to asking my thoughts on the reverse cowgirl and how I feel about tea bagging as a sport, I began to wonder if I had mistakenly walked into the other kind of clinic). She told me that she didn’t think I had anything deathly serious and that I was probably low on iron (dashing my hopes that I am Iron Man) and sent me along for some blood work at the lab down the hall. Super! Off I went.

Except the primary side effect of having blood withdrawn is feeling weak, faint and dizzy. I am already AT the weak, faint and dizzy stage – getting blood drawn on an empty stomach was, quite frankly, not the best idea I’d had since I used to walk along the lower breakwater during violent windstorms. Also, there’s an inherent danger when I have to get blood drawn – namely, I don’t have any.

(this is why I would make a good Vampire Hunter, get it? I don’t have any blood, so vampires could suck until dawn and they would still be hungry and I would still be un-undead)

I warned the Blood Taker that I am without blood, and she chuckled politely. Then she couldn’t find a vein in my right arm, so she went to the left. Nope, no vein. Back and forth between the two arms until she thought she felt a pulse, so she whipped out a baby needle – I HATE baby needles – and started poking away. I’m not squeamish or anything, but she lost the vein and started fucking my arm with the needle to try for red gold. She eventually gave up and went back to my right arm, this time using a grown-up needle. Same problem. No veins, no blood, and all the arm fucking in the world wasn’t going to make blood come out of me. She finally gave up on me altogether because a line was forming in the waiting room and people were staring at me in horror, and called in the expert – Randall!

I gave Randall the same warning about the no blood, and he laughed. Oh, he was going to get blood out of me – he was going to take it out of my HANDS. Out came another baby needle (ow ow ow), and Randall’s magic touch made my juices start flowing. He got three vials of blood out of me and sent me away with three band aids, a pounding headache, more holes than when I started, and anticipation that I will soon stop having to plan my day around how many hours of vertical time I can manage.

My hand hurts. However, I have Tiger Tiger ice cream and that just about fixes anything at all.

My right shoulder – Ol’ Dislocatey – has been acting up lately. I keep looking out for a drastic, freak change in weather to appear, because I want to be like a salty old Sea Captain who knows when a storm is a-brewin’ because his trick knee is up to no good again. Alas, so far there’s been nothing. No storms, no squalls, no nor’westers – nothing but a sore shoulder and an unused sailor suit hanging sadly in the closet.

Two of my new bras are annoying to me. For some reason, there’s an extra hook on the back. Sounds minor, but since my boobs are huge, there were already more hooks than on a normal bra – one more is just overkill, and it makes the band about two inches wider. That is a lot of extra material to have wrapped around your torso, and I find it bunching and folding in uncomfortable ways. Few things are as awkward in a woman’s world as ill-fitting under things.

If this video for “Tarantula” by the Smashing Pumpkins has any actual tarantulas in it, I will be very angry indeed.

In other news, today kind of sucks. I am both sad AND blue for several unrelated reasons.

At least there’s no sign of bug eggs yet.

Did I ever tell you about that time I had a motherfucking BUG in my EYE?

After leaving the meteor shower on Sunday night, something flew into my face. I stopped to brush it away, but my left eye immediately started watering like something was in it. Things were definitely not feeling right in there, so I blinked the obstruction away until it stopped feeling weird. Paranoid, I checked out my eye with a mirror. One eyeball, one iris, several eyelashes – all was good. I figured I had poked myself in the eye while trying to shoo the insect away, as I tend to do that a lot.

Fast forward to last night around 7:30. We were walking towards a restaurant when my eye started to feel REALLY funky, like someone parked a truck on it. I whipped out my handy mirror, peered into it, and .. what the hell was that on my eye? Oh, it’s nothing major – just a FLY in my EYE. The bug that I thought I brushed away last night actually got CAUGHT IN MY EYEBALL and spent almost 24 HOURS TRAPPED BEHIND MY EYE until it made its way out again.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! A BUG! IN MY EYE!!!!!

I am more than a little convinced that the bug spent its time in my eye socket laying eggs, and things are going to eat their way out of my skull via my left eye.

Oh god, I think I just made myself sick.

HELP!!!!

I’m sick! Honest to jebus, projectile vomiting, wish-I-was-dead SICK!

I’m probably a little inappropriately jolly about this, but it’s only because I feel so much better than I did this time yesterday. I was as death – I couldn’t move, my entire body was sweating, looking at things made my mouth do that pre-vomit salivation thing, and my head – oh, my head. I’ve had headaches and I’ve had migraines, and neither of them hurt nearly as much as my head did yesterday. It was awful. I was scared! I tried to get Ed to come home early and make sure I didn’t die, but he couldn’t get out of work so I braved my mystery illness alone. I couldn’t keep anything down – water, drugs, cat hair, nothing. I lay in bed moaning pathetically (although not too much, because the effort of making noise made me throw up again) until I blissfully passed out. Whatever I had must have snapped during that time, because when I awoke I was much closer to feeling alive than I had been before, hovering on the edge of death like that. My head hurt in varying degrees throughout the night and I’m still nauseous and sweaty today, but I feel so much better than I did yesterday that I am downright delighted about it all.

My mom is mad. She had arranged for her phone number to be moved on the 31st, but apparently it has not happened – she called me and left a message to say that her “damn bloody frickin’ phone” wasn’t working yet. Them’s fighting words! Mom amuses me. She’s all freaked out about the phone, yet she hasn’t called the phone company yet. I have her doing that now – apparently she thought that talking to some chick who went to her work to fix their phone would be good enough to get the job done – so she should be calling me back shortly with an update. Oh, mom. You are helpless due to your own nonsensical ways.

I think I need to get away from the computer now.