Wow!

Ohmygawd, y'all, look what I made! (Imagine I'm saying that while smacking my cotton-candy Bubblicious and wiping cheeto dust on the butt of my daisy dukes -- you'll appreciate it more that way.)

 I'm SO DAMN FANCY.

And you notice how it matches?  Yes?  YOU DID NOTICE, DIDN'T YOU?

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.  Now give me some props*, before I break out my pixie sticks and throw the sugar dust in your eyes.  I'm not messin', that shit burns y'all.

*Definition of props, just for Sarah. 

White devil.

I guess my doctor had a wonderful sense of humor.  He prescribed these tiny little white pills, that I dutifully took.  The first day I took 6.  At once.  I followed the directions.

The second day I took two in the morning, one in the afternoon, and two that night.

Then, I went crazy.  Like, batshit totally effing crazy.

I threw things, and yelled and screamed.  And while I can recall the fervor with which I tried to single-handedly destroy my house (and all those who lived in it) I can't recall WHY exactly, I was so, um, miffed.

So Bryan took out the insert for my little white pills, and read the warning.  Which was:

Watch the fuck out, because this can make some bitches crazy. 

There were the words -- no lie -- PSYCHOTIC EPISODE in the warning.

So Bryan called the hospital, and the doctor said, "Yeah, that's happened before.  If she's doing okay by not taking them, then she can just stop."

Well, at least I know where to get some PCP the next time my family is in town and I want to make an impression.

The good news is that the doctor visits were less than $300, so I guess they're not trying to turn a profit on making people lose their minds.  I was worried it was going to be, like, a bajillion dollars.  In which case I would've had to go down there, and slam my hand on the counter, and yell, "THIS IS TOO MUCH!"  Or I could take another dose of pills and throw coffee mugs at the orderlies.

 I leave you with this photo, taken of Charlie when she was caught getting under the sink.  No one yelled at her or anything, we just said her name, and she did this:

Which I find funny, even when I'm not taking my Satan pills. 

Crawling out of the ooze.

I'm starting to get over one of the worst sicknesses I've had in a long time.  Last week I started to feel like crap, but it came on kind of slowly, and everyone around here has had  a cough and a runny nose, so I just figured it was a normal cold.

 By about Wednesday, though, I could tell that something was wrong.  My lungs hurt, and I couldn't do anything but sleep, and  I wasn't even doing the sleeping thing well.  Late on Wednesday night I woke up in tears because I was so miserable, and hot, and hurting, and nothing I did made me feel any better.

I don't have health insurance out here (there's some weird thing that since I have a child support case in another state, it disqualifies me for health care out here or something weird and stupid...) so I didn't want to go to the doctor.  Bryan insisted, though, and so we finally went.

 Marissa had a mild (but persistent) cough, so I wanted to be on the safe side and have her seen, too.  Just in case.  She was diagnosed with tonsilitis, and got the usual dose of amoxycillin (yum) and cough syrup.

I, however, was diagnosed with bronchitis, and had to have a steroid shot in my hip.  I'm not lying when I say that 3 days later it still hurts.  I also had to have 3 prescriptions filled.  The out-of-pocket cost for the prescriptions alone was $94, so I'm really not looking forward to the bill from the hospital.

 I am, however, starting to feel a little more human.  The moral of the story?  Don't move to some crazy ass state where they won't give you health insurance because you wear pants and comb your hair, and then get all 57 different kinds of sick because it's winter and you're from a state that doesn't have seasons or illnesses.

Bleh. 

A bunch of not even kind of interesting stuff at all.

Maybe I'm lying, and it's a smidge (which is less than "a grip" and more than "a bit") interesting.

 So, I spilled coffee on the keyboard for my laptop.  I know.  I EFFING KNOW.  So, I had to take the keyboard apart, and put it back together, and the keys aren't registering keystrokes, which is kind of a problem for, oh, I don't know, like typing words, or logging into my account (since I have XP, don'tchaknow).  Luckily Bryan is brilliant, and plugged a USB keyboard into my laptop, so it overrides the broken ass laptop keyboard.  It's magic.  I think it came with a unicorn.

Which means I have to send my laptop in to Gateway to fix it.  Because no matter what else I may say about this place, if you think I'm letting some redneck yokel who does computer repair out of his trailer touch my laptop, well, you're just crazy, son.  Unless Gateway wants to charge me a million dollars because I'm an idiot.  In which case, I'll strongly consider the trailer thing.

Being an idiot is not cheap.

And Charlie is getting over being sick, but she's still in that latchy-clingy-screaming-bitchfest-I-don't-want-anyone-besides-Mommy phase.  She'll wander away for a second or two, find me a treasure (like a pen or a screwdriver) and leave it at my feet as an offering.  She mixes it up by occasionally handing me the item, so we get to play the back and forth game for awhile, until I screw it up by doing, I don't know, something, and she screams her ass off at me, and then insists I hold her for twenty minutes to calm her down again.

I went to the store today and bought material for curtains for the girls' room.  I need to work on that, as well as a ton of other projects from my list.  Our room mate is actually leaving tomorrow morning, so I think once she's headed out the first thing I will do is move my sewing stuff into that empty room, and try to get my office stuff set up in there.  And then maybe sew some stuff.  And close and lock the door and hide from Charlie and her incessant screaming.

But!  Charlie is signing, finally.  She can sign: please, food, juice, and up.  Also, she can stick her middle finger up at me and bite me on the shin really hard.  I think that's the ASL sign for "Stop whatever the hell it is you're doing and let me hand you this paperclip."

And I think I've figured out what's been triggering my bad mood for the last few days.  I think it stems from our room mate leaving.  Not because she *wants* to leave, but because she doesn't want to be here.  At all.  And is so itching to be gone, that I've taken it personally.  How could I not? 

But I won tonight at Trivial Pursuit, and I only cheated a little.  That's better than how I usually play (by cheating a whole, whole lot) so I think I'm either getting better, or I'm remembering the answers to questions we've already had.  Either way, I'm still the winner.

Oh!  And I need some book recommendations.  I'm almost done with the books that my mom let me borrow, so I'm going to need to get some new reading material.  Soon.  So give me the titles of some good books you've read lately.  Or even not-so-lately.  Please.  Pretty please.  With sugar on top.  And a screwdriver placed ever so reverently at your feet.

We're all kinds of broken.

Charlie is sick, and teething, and having an eye issue.  She's cheerful, but miserable, if you can believe it.  I spent about an hour last night just holding her, while she rested her hot little head on my chest.  I feel awful for her.

One of our cats appears to have had its tail broken.  I'm guessing this was done by a neighborhood twat kid.  I went outside yesterday and stood on the porch, and bellowed to the world that I would have my revenge.  I think I also said "fuck" a few times.  I'm very upset.

I'm also PMSing, with out the "p."  I know.  Joyful.

Even in my "I'm going rain fire and vengence down upon thee" mood, this video cracked my ass up.  Okay, so maybe it just made me smile for a second.  I'll laugh tomorrow.