Get it over and done with

Got some writing done. Also proofed my bro’s work, helped with dishes (drying silverware and plates, not heavy pans), and cleaned a couple of surfaces that hadn’t been cleaned for the 5 weeks I was in my cast. Doing my exercises; seeing progress but still hating them.

My bro managed to stop me short. I just had no comeback, no reply for his behaviour. I brought up The Handmaid’s Tale – again. Bad idea. Within 2 minutes, my bro was screaming at me about how it was terrible that something that was currently going on had to be minimised through fictional telling. Sometimes he acts like he’s the woman and I’m the man. He thinks he’s a feminist. In truth, he’s as patriarchal as any right wing idiot. His shit just shut me completely down. And I mean completely. All that’s left is a lingering desire for revenge.

It’s influencing my writing.

I can never share this story with my brother. He’ll recognise it right away, and take issue. Good thing, then, that he’s shown zero interest in anything I’ve written over the past five years. This could become a best seller before he’d try to read it. And even then, I doubt he’d take the time to read it all. He’d get to about page two and then he’d be yelling at me from down the hall: “Is this supposed to be me?” I suppose there’s always the chance that his thick skin is so thick he won’t recognise himself when written in the very worst possible manner. After all, he does call himself a feminist even though he doesn’t have clue one about being a woman and often derides females as they’re portrayed in the media and entertainment industry.

I am supposed to rise above it all, and not take issue with hearing the C word fifty times in an evening rant. If I give tit for tat, and go off on all men, I’m brought up short.

This is wearing on me. The obvious disregard for basic cleanliness (why? because it’s women’s work) has always been an issue. 99 times out of 100, it’s me doing all the dishes. Me, cleaning the toilet. Me, hoovering up the dust bunnies. In truth, I can’t tell you the last time my bro used the hoover. A year ago? More? Shoulda made a mark on a calendar. Thrown it in his face a few times. But I’m tired of the ensuing arguments and antics. So I shut up and put up with it. I think many women are in the same sort of space: their partners do not pick up their fair share of housework, leaving the bulk of it to the ‘female’ or ‘feminine’ in the relationship. Men toss this off as ‘You’re just cleaner than I am,’ or ‘Honestly, I was just going to do that myself.’ Or, at least, that’s the shit I hear. After so many years of living together, you’d think my bro would try something else. But, no. Just the same old favourites, over and over.

I suppose by not trying something else, he can retain the illusion that I’m buying it. I’m not, and haven’t for a long time. I also know it won’t change. Yes, he picked up a certain amount of slack while I was down and out. Half the dishes got done just about every day. That means that half didn’t get done, and the kitchen was in a continual state of disarray. I won’t even begin to describe the toilet; it’s disgusting. I could make a long braid with the dust bunnies on the floor.

What I’d give for some cleaning help! One super big day, with healthy young people full of energy, ready to scrub every surface before I can turn around.

Instead, picking up the bottle of coffee milk with my left hand hurt this morning. The damned bottle was too heavy, and it only holds 250ml. Not much I can do other than my exercises and wait. Somehow find some patience.

But my patience is in short supply. With my wrist, with my brother, with the weather. The best I can do is pour all that frustration into my writing. *sigh* It helps, to a point. Not entirely. Now I have to marshal my thoughts into proofing some new material from my bro, because if I don’t I’ll “slow him down”.

Fuck it. Just bite the bullet. How many times we, as women, say that! Whether we are raped in thought, in word, or in fact, that same thought occurs time after time.

Just fucking get it over and done with, in the quickest fashion.

; Yep

I hate my hand exercises. They hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Appalling, too, to see how little my hand flexes. I’ve a long way to go.

Have forgotten how to sleep. Lay down last night, all ready to spend the night on my stomach. But I couldn’t remember how or where to put my hands! By the pillow? By my side? Nothing felt right. Quite a let down.

Managed to take my nails down by half. They’re still too long for my ease. But at least I’m not hitting three keys every time I try to type. Need a new nail file; what I’ve managed to grow is REALLY strong and I’ve worn the one down. Haven’t got to my cuticles. That’s a big job; the skin has really grown down over those left fingers.

Went out in the wind and rain yesterday for a smoke run. How strange to be out, in that weather! Walking around, getting wet, not worrying about it. NL is just getting hit with storm after storm right now. Rarely does the wind NOT blow, and I mean blow like over 40kph. Rain, rain, everywhere. I think our water table is being refilled.

Gotta do some proof reading for my bro. Not big on my list of things to do; it’s boring. Material I’ve proofed at  least six times before, but these are new runs. Do it again. I understand and comply, tho I it does irk me a bit. He won’t read my stuff even once; I’m committed to reading his thru a dozen times or more. It’s out of necessity and the right thing to do, but…still! It’s boring.

Eager to get to my own writing. Telling myself I’ve plenty of time. These stories are not leaving me, just becoming more complete the more time I give myself. Nonetheless, I want to get started. Maybe later today.

Ach! So many dust bunnies around. Not in a place to drag out the hoover, so it continues. Hope to help in the kitchen today, maybe cut some things up for dinner. Think I may be able to do dishes after another day or two of exercises. The place needs my help. My bro just isn’t on the same level as I. The list of ‘things to get to’ grows by the day.

Seems all the skin under the cast is going. My forearm looks like I’ve recovered from a sunburn: little bits of skin are white and getting ready to fall off. Still have swelling, too. *sigh* Does nothing to negate that feeling of ugly hand syndrome.

Time to get up. To borrow a quote from Mystery Men, maybe I should get some pants on if I want to to continue saving the world.

😉 Yep.

My left hand

Happy days are here again!

I have my left hand back. It looks weird and it hurts like hell, but it’s mine and I have it at my disposal once again. Just out of a shower; joy! I scrubbed my scalp with my now very long fingernails. Total ecstasy.

The skin loss is now evident. I had a bad outbreak of my psoriasis under the cast. Just makes my ugly hand look uglier. The docs think the numbness in my thumb will ease, that it was just the nerve getting pinched. I have hand exercises to do and was told it will be painful for another 6 weeks. My bro is all over me taking it easy and has forbidden me to even think of biking for another month.

My only request is that we make pannenkoeken night at our local. 🙂

Next up: try to file down my nails. They’re really long. Saw a woman on the metro with press ons that weren’t as long as my own natural nails. Yeesh! The homemade bouillon was great for healing, but it DOES make my hair and nails grow like mad. And now I can take care of my long hair! Don’t think I have the dexterity to braid it, but I should be able to do more with it.

Have also spent a lot of time thinking about a couple of stories. I’m ready to get back to writing and excited about it. Read some Asimov because the book was slim and easy to hold even with my cast. As usual, I feel the influence. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; just something I should keep in mind. Influence is fine. Picking up in an exact mimic of another’s voice isn’t. And I can be a real parrot.

Tonight, I may sleep on my stomach for the entire time. I’ve missed it.

Ah, it’s good to have my hand back, even if it does hurt!

Six more days

Six days. In six short days, I get my cast off. Yea!! Very ready to do all those things I can’t quite do: really take care of my hair, sleep on my stomach, clean the bloody house. Getting better every day. Using my left for more stuff. Can even bend my thumb easily. Still have some pins and needles in the  thumb. Hoping that goes away.

The last of my dental stitches are gone. No more trailing pieces of string in my mouth. Even chewed on that side last night. Whew! May stay off the methotrexate yet again. That would be 3 weeks. I think I can take that. Really want to ensure everything is healed.

Have been recovering. Not from the broken bones or the dental surgery, but from watching The Handmaid’s Tale. Recovering on several levels. As a writer of horror, I can honestly say that Atwood captured THE nightmare behind every woman’s eyes. In comparison, I feel very much the failure. Traumatised by the story, knowing it’s all too close to reality, plus dealing with large quantities of inadequacy. My inadequacies are the minor part of that. Finding it difficult to look at or listen to any man. The rape scenes hit home, and my anger is close to the surface. Have not been able to discuss this with my bro. I cut him off short when he walked in on an episode and disparaged it. Plus…  If I’m honest, I don’t know that he has the emotional maturity to deal with it. The subtle societal swings and psychological responses from all the characters are difficult to watch because of the brilliance of the show. I do NOT envy those actors; it must be the toughest gig on the planet. The show has unsettled me on many levels.

Won 13 hours of free life on one of my games yesterday. It really seems to me they’ve been monitoring me. Had an awful lot of free lives, like they check in every once in a while: Yep, she’s still got the cast on. Cool with me, dude. I’ve really appreciated it.

So, keep me occupied, computer! I’ve six more days.

As thin as Zak

Every morning after coffee, I enjoy a couple of Ghost Adventures programs. It’s pure entertainment, from the Las Vegas style (or Scratch ‘n Sniff episode if you’re a Farscape fan) host to the musical hits. But let’s face it: it’s thin.

When you have to run together more than one ‘if’ statement in a single sentence, it’s thin. When you have to rely on dark atmosphere and second hand accounts to make your point, it’s thin. When you feel the need to repeat every audio glitch, hiccup, or self generated sound from your crap digital recorders with your interpretation of it on screen, it’s thin. And when the bulk of your argument falls back on your ‘feelings’ (to which I laugh at every single time Zak brings it up), it’s thin.

Why do I have such a fascination with this show if I think it’s bullshit? I believe it’s an accurate microcosm of American ‘culture’ (a term which I use in the loosest sense). To whit:

  1. It’s headed by a tv entertainer; ’nuff said on that one.
  2. It presents unreliable information as ‘fact’, something the US does on a shockingly frequent basis.
  3. It continually uses poor English grammar, indicating the severe drop in educational standards (over decades).
  4. The content is truly nothing, reflecting the almost total lack of non-service related industries in the states (in other words, it’s the equivalent of a job at McDonald’s).

And the people! Yikes! My bro and I have a term for them from 2000AD: blobbies. No surprise that Zak is at the top of the paranormal shows. He’s gotta be one of the only non-blobby investigators or mediums or psychics in the world. Have you noticed that? And the more blobby they are, the more sensitive to the spirits they claim to be. If you haven’t caught on, blobbies are the overtly obese. Those people who work at maintaining their girth. I’ve known several, and noted their habits. They WORK at that amount of fat. Over eat at every meal, never exercise.

…I find it a sad reflection. And honestly, the biggest thought in my brain is: I’m so glad I’m not there!

Several things. One, if you’re gonna go ghost or spirit hunting, get yourself shrunk. I think 80% or more of their ‘feelings’ are their own shit reacting to the spooky stories they tell each other. Two, if you’re gonna tell me you saw something (with your own eyes, as Zak always says, tho he could see thru no other way) while you’re running around in the dark, you’ve got to address the natural and well documented phenomenon of your eyes seeing lights and shapes in the dark when nothing is there. But, no! Never brought up. Three, please try to speak well. Try to use proper grammar. It’s so bad that basic verbs are fucked up. Number one example goes this way: Three words is written on the wall. Good Goddess! Seriously? Obviously so; that example comes up at least once every episode. You have a brain; use it! I’m not asking you to sort out ‘who’ and ‘whom’, for fuck’s sake.

Having said all that, I’m a believer. More than that. Maybe ‘convert’ would be a better word. Just…experienced too much that doesn’t fit into what we usually think of as reality. I used to look for it. Now, I just accept it. No more questions; I feel I know enough of the answers.

What I’ve seen, heard, and been subjected to is not definable. It doesn’t fit into this religion or that. The truth is so much stranger! Is there something after death? Yes, but what you experience will depend on your beliefs. Are there ghosts? Yes, tho let’s be clear: there are ghosts, reflections of past (or future) events, and there are spirits or souls. Both exist. Reflections are just that: reflections that do not interact with you. Spirits are another matter. If you’re dealing with a spirit, you’ve got to properly identify it. That can be terribly difficult (and usually takes more than a couple of nights in a place). Are there angels and devils? Yes, and no. Yes, there are spirits with what we consider negative vibrations. But understand that’s OUR judgement, not their’s. They do not consider themselves evil; they simply ARE. And they vibrations of something powerful – whether positive or negative – carry with it a natural fear reaction from humans. In other words, you can’t say something is ‘evil’ just because you feel fear. And no, you won’t be able to properly sort out their intentions because they are outside the scope of human reality. How do you think the old ‘God moves in mysterious ways’ came to be? Does heaven/hell exist? Again, yes and no, based upon your beliefs and perceptions. I mean… I’ve considered this life as hell for a very long time. There is something beyond our carbon based reality; what you’re gonna think of it is entirely up to you. Suffer if you want. Or go into denial and tell yourself it’s heaven. I’ll tell you this: what comes next is an echo of this place. In other words, there will be good and bad. Pain and pleasure. Choices and consequences. I have seen glorious vistas of warm water bays and hills crawling with armies. Where you find yourself in that mix is up to you.

Where’s my proof? As I’ve said: I gave up chasing it long ago. My proof is largely first hand experience which I can only recount, not offer up pictures. Some experiences had witnesses, many did not.

Gotta admit, my statements are as thin as GA.

Gods! I’m as thin as Zak.


Despite my age and personal attempts over the years to sabotage my health, I’m healing quickly. Back on solid food, only taking paracetamol at night. We’ve rigged a light in the shower room and I’m doing laundry. Hopefully once my clothes are dry I can take a long awaited shower.

*sigh* My life is so exciting right now.

Random thoughts keep returning. The things I absolutely can’t do: deal cards, or shoot a weapon. Do both with my left and I’m hopeless with the right. Or, I keep coming back to the thought that all children want to see their parents dead. Don’t freak on me; I’m talking about an ages old story of overthrowing Gods or the rise of the next generation. I find it logical. Natural. What’s unnatural is the old hanging onto power beyond their hey-day. Yes, the old should give guidance due to their experience. But they shouldn’t actually have power. No idea why this stuff keeps coming back to me. No idea where or how I’ll use it. But it’s in the mix and worthy of mentioning.

NL is still under warnings for high winds. Last night the wind screamed. It was beyond howling. Had problems hearing the tv over it and the volume was up. DAMN! It seemed as if our window was under a waterfall: a continuous heavy stream of water down the glass. Quite beautiful. Wanted to go out in the elements to play. That’s me; give me a storm and I want to be out in it, laughing and shouting with nature. It’s…elemental.

And Elementals have been on my mind, too. If you’ve never encountered these things, let me tell you: they are older than anything else I’ve run into and twice as terrifying. They do not follow any rules but their own. Don’t even try to understand their logic. Just don’t piss them off. They are extremely territorial and (as far as I know) resonate strongly with one element. I’ve encountered a wood elemental and one other, whose resonance I couldn’t figure out. Air, perhaps. Or smoke. …Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even discussing it this much. Maybe the time has come to weave them into a story.

I have done some writing. Or patient one handed typing. Slow going. But so are the pieces of this story. I get little bits fed to me. Still not sure where it’s headed, either. I’m allowing the story to tell me rather than vice versa. Can’t be  sure of this, but it feels like this isn’t my story. I’m not writing it. I’m just putting it to paper. Have had that sensation before, but usually only for a sentence or two. This feels like it’s getting beamed directly into my subconscious. All of it, from the words to the setting to the story. Strange.

Or, perhaps, I’ve just sat too long smoking marijuana. 😉 Tja.

Make it count

My mouth is returning to normal. Still kind of gross out over feeling the stitches, but the swelling and pain have decreased. Began very gently to brush that side. Still can’t do much. Don’t want to rip the stitches or hurt myself. Yuck.

Got my hair done. Ah, the luxury of someone washing your hair! Have 2 braids now. Figured 2 might stay better than 1. Plus, if I gotta feel like a little girl, I might as well look kind of like one. And man, did I have a good chuckle at the hairdresser’s expense. She had to dry my hair before braiding it. MY hair. She began on a low cool setting, doing all the moves that should quickly dry anyone’s hair. Then the heat and power settings went up as she realized she was getting nowhere. She kept silent about it, but I could tell she was a bit shocked. She kept staring at my hair as she dried it, as if she was gonna spot a hidden source of moisture or something. Nope. Just an average day. I’m not kidding when I say it takes 8 hours to dry naturally.

Moving the fingers of my left hand pretty well. The extreme of my stretch still hurts, so I don’t go that far. My thumb is getting irritated by the cast. I keep trying to use it but the cast is in the way. Getting more itching, too. Keep catching myself trying to scratch my arm thru the cast. My right hand scrapes at the gypsum to no avail. It’s a sub conscious thing, and I haven’t trained myself to stop it. It IS funny, tho. Every time.

A bit tired of sitting on my arse, but there’s not much I can do. Getting dressed always hurts a bit, and it takes so long I gotta rest a few minutes afterwards. Going out is not pleasant. I carry my wallet and keys in a backpack but can only use one shoulder. So I walk crooked, trying to keep my pack on my back. Not good for my back. Plus, with my cast I’m always a bit cold. My sweat pants are easy to put on but thin. I can’t zip my coat up all the way. So I’m cold and crooked the  whole time I’m out. Doesn’t make me want to go and do anything.

Hello and good-bye, February. For most of you, I’ll be watching tv and viewing you out the window.

Then I’ll emerge in March, sans cast, like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. I’ve always had ‘cocoon cycles’, times when I completely hide from the world. This is the first time my emergence will be so literal. Not sure what that will mean in real time. Maybe nothing, maybe everything.

I guess it’s up to me to make it count.

So many challenges!

Ow. Will there come a day when I no longer say ‘ow’, or will it just happen more and more often as I age? Don’t answer that; I’ll discover it on my own.

So. Woke up early yesterday so I could make my first appointment for a new cast. That went well. Two people worked on my wrist to stabilize it. Only one sharp intake of breath while they did the cast and moulded it tightly around the bones. I got a purple covering this time just for fun. Didn’t take a picture. In all honesty, they set it so well you couldn’t really see any damage other than some light bruising. Then I had more x rays and a consult with a specialist who estimated that I can get the whole thing removed in 3 weeks. Not as much damage as I thought! Either that, or my bro’s excellent food with homemade bouillon is really making a huge difference. They’ll check with more x rays before taking the cast off. I swear I should be hulking out any day now from all the damned x rays….

Had a short reprieve at home, then back for my dental procedure. More x rays. Upshot: one of my roots had grown into my palette, causing a big problem. It was gross enough that they put a covering over my eyes so I didn’t see all the crap going into my mouth. And OW. The doc had to give me a huge shot straight into my palette and it was the most painful thing he did to me. I’ll spare you the gross details, other than saying that the drill he used was SO LOUD in my head I almost couldn’t stand it. Now I’ve got stitches and a lump from pain in my mouth, making eating very difficult. Not to mention the fact that they took something that wasn’t really painful to me and made it very painful. It wasn’t easy to find a comfortable position last night.

I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself today.

BUT… all of this could be worse. Doing my best to keep that in mind.

Going to head downstairs and make an appointment for my hair. If the doc had said 6 weeks, I’d probably be getting it cut. But 3 weeks? I think I can do that. Actually getting used to – and liking – having it down and out of my perpetual braid. Very happy I can leave it for summer. It’s so much cooler to just pull it back or put it up rather than having a head of hair too short to do anything!

I’m very used to asking strangers for help. Now THAT’S a trust exercise everyone should do. It isn’t easy. And, honestly, I size up everyone before asking. Women are easier to ask than men (not to mention that women are just better at zipping up someone else’s coat). Older women – not too old, actually, just around my chronological age – are best. Chances are high they’ve had children and grandchildren, so they’re used to that kind of thing. So far, no one has refused me. Most smile at my temporary disability. It’s… a very child-like experience. I am literally helpless with my jacket and depend entirely on help from passers by. It takes a bit of courage to ask. But it’s that process of presenting yourself, helpless to strangers, that’s so weird. I feel like I’m 4 years old every time I do it. Almost like I should be wearing a name tag or something. Little lost girl with a broken wrist.

Hoping all the pain will ease today. Still tired from all that happened yesterday. Must say, I was proud of myself while waiting at the dentist. Zero anxiety. Just kept telling myself if it hurt, it hurt. It wasn’t going to last all day. Tho, now, I DO have pain all day! Still. I didn’t wind myself up with worry before the procedure, and that’s good. Could not do that as a kid. I’d throw up and get fevers from worry back then. Seemed to me that I lacked the ability to just put it out of my mind. That was C’s advice: just don’t think about it. But I couldn’t do that. Maybe it was because there was nothing in my life to distract me. Don’t really know. I did try to stop worrying. Never did get the hang of it. Childhood terrors were made all the worse because of it. So once again, thank you medications!

Gods, I need a shower. Gotta get the light fixed first. Then figure out how to do it with my cast. Ach! So many challenges!

Monday can’t come fast enough

It’s my one week anniversary. One week of my cast, my sling, and my hair drama. Woohoo.

Saw Dr T yesterday. Talked about my wrist; not exactly something you can ignore. He advised me to get surgery if needed to avoid future problems. He also cautioned me that 6 weeks is a MINIMUM, and I should really expect more time in a cast. Lovely. I think, too, that I’ve broken 5 bones. Dr T told me there are 10 bones in the wrist and at the emergency room the doc kept saying 5 bones. I think Dr T’s English is better than most, so I’m making a leap of logic here. My courage is better now, so I’ll ask on Monday to be sure. Also thinking of snapping a pic while they re-cast me. Preserve that swollen, yellow green look for posterity. Finally got around to talking about my mood. He’s pleased with my continued stability and we’re moving to a 2 month appointment rotation. Cool. Tho honestly, I’ll miss talking with him.

Hair. It’s down and out of the braid. Oh! It took on that wavy look from the braid and reminded me of all those loose curl hairstyles in Poldark. I liked it. Sadly, it’s my hair, which means I’ve got loads of snarls from leaving it down. Can’t even brush it carefully; pulled out loads of hair with my brush because all I can do is haul it thru all those knots. Will try for an appointment downstairs for a wash, dry, and style. Will ask for 2 braids and hope that stays better than 1.

Things are a bit better. I can zip my coat up all the way. It hurt my wrist too much at first, but now I can stand it. Had to ask total strangers for help: the receptionist at the doctor’s office and a random woman at the chemist. Glad they were willing to assist me. I just can’t get the zipper started. Tried, and failed.

Oh! To make my life even more interesting, the light switch in the shower room is out and my bro needs an electrician to hook it up. So I’m brushing my teeth one handed by flashlight. Have not tried to take a shower yet, and now I can’t. Not until the light is fixed. Used a wet hand cloth to clean up. It makes you feel wet all over but you don’t feel clean. Worst of both worlds.

And my fave game has a glitch on level 1300. I’ve replayed the same  levels for days. Every time I sign out I get reset back to where I was. And yes, I’m imbibing enough marijuana that it took me 2 or 3 times thru before I realized it. I guess I should be pleased I was amused enough to play that much. But now I’m irritated by it.

My tooth is getting worse. More painful and irritating.

Monday can’t come fast enough.

I choose to laugh

Arnica is amazing. I can move my fingers easily. Unfortunately, that also means I can move my thumb. Woke up this morning flexing my entire hand, and let me tell you, it was a mistake. OW. Still have swelling, but it seems so much less than what it was that I’m tempted to say it’s gone. It isn’t. I still got sausage fingers.

Today I see Dr T. Will have to start early just to get dressed and there on time. It isn’t far but I do have to walk a couple of blocks from the metro. Still haven’t sussed out how to wear a coat with my cast. And I can’t zip up my own jacket. Very child-like. Can you zip me up? Can you open this for me? Help! Ugh.

Watching tv, the fast friend of every invalid since the 1950s. Going thru the wall of DVDs. Once again, I’m glad for all the slightly obsessive collecting of my bro. Daytime tv sucks no matter where you are! Watching Poldark again. Can you imagine going thru a broken wrist 200 years ago? Talk about nothing to do!

Allowing myself the tiniest bit of concern for Monday. I start the day getting new x rays and a permanent cast. Will ask about the numbness in my thumb. Then a few hours later – or, more likely, right on the heels of it ’cause nothing will be quick – I have to go see the dental surgeon about my inflamed roots. Don’t know what will happen, but I expect a couple of shots for the pain. In the arm and in the mouth.

Really thinking about cutting my hair. Shorter hair would just be easier right now. But then I condemn myself to a summer with hair too short to tie back and too long to be comfortable. Ugh. Can I get thru 6 to 8 weeks of this? Do not know.

Haven’t done a body scan for other bruising. Too damned difficult. Pretty sure there are bruises on my back, shoulder, and legs. Nothing that compares to the wrist. I just feel it when I lay down in bed and my muscles relax. Then there’s a spot by my spine that really aches. Little wonder. My wrist wasn’t the only thing to hit stuff in the fall. My room is so small I took down one of my pictures from the wall. Also remember hitting the edge of my bed with my back.

Small things bug me. For instance, I was due to do my nails. Now I can’t. In a few days my nails will be long enough to be a real hassle. I can’t clean my ears properly, particularly my left side. Of course my ears are itching. My pustular psoriasis is coming back on both my hands and feet, but trying to use the ointment for it is near impossible. Sweat pants are easiest to put on, but they slip from my butt so I constantly have to pull them up, one handed, giving myself wedgies in varying levels all day and night.

What can I do but laugh at myself? Ask for help when I need it, try not to blame myself. Try to just let time pass without counting the minutes. That’s tough. I keep saying stuff like: It’s only been a few days. Seems much longer to me. But it isn’t even a week.

If I get a plain white cast, I’m asking my bro to buy a new set of colorful markers. I will color it in with some design. Made my mind up about that already. I have 2 options with this: Pout, or laugh.

I choose to laugh.