Rest in peace, Emily.

The Fat Suit

The biggest hurdle to losing weight when you're overweight is the fact that you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. All you see is that you're wearing this fat suit, and that you can't imagine being thin again--it's so far away. You don't begin because you can't see success. And days go by with your weight only fluctuating a few pounds in either direction.

Stupid Arguments on a Stupid Day, Part III

I understand a physician's reasonable caution when prescribing opioids. I plan on having an honest conversation with my GP where I tell him that if he doesn't believe that I have significant pain that needs to be treated, that if he thinks I'm exaggerating in any way, just don't fucking prescribe the pills instead of trying to emotionally manipulate me into feeling guilty about being sick. My illness doesn't check in with my doctor every morning, and ask, "Is this okay? Because if not, I can scale it back." My pain doesn't depend on his schedule, his comfortable level with prescribing opioids.

Just don't prescribe the fucking pills, I don't want to listen to you whine about that shit.

Stupid Arguments on a Stupid Day, Part II

Besides the usual family bullshit, my GP called me last week, just before the holiday, and told me on voicemail that he would no longer refill my Norco prescription once every seven days (for ten pills), that he would only continue to fill it if I picked up the prescription every ten days (for ten pills). He said over the phone that this is what we "agreed to."

We did no such thing. He just dictated it down to me, and has refused to be flexible enough to even change the prescription to "one or more" pills per day (which is what the prescription said originally back in February).

Eventually, I had to call him back, even though we have an appointment on Friday. I did so yesterday, already angry, and wanted to tell him to go fuck himself (I probably would have if I had been able to get ahold of him). Instead, fairies intervened, and I was only able to speak to his office help.

On a different topic, the guy a few tables down from me at Starbucks is telling the woman that his problem with relationships is that he sacrifices too much. "I know there are sacrifices that need to be made in any relationship, but I can't lose myself," he continues.

He sounds exactly like some selfish asshole.

Stupid Arguments on a Stupid Day

Of course, yesterday, I was intensely angry (watched a recent Stanford health video which discussed the link between anger and an increase in chronic pain) for reasons of which I'm not sure about. While I was at the park that morning, Beck ran across a street, chasing something, and almost got hit by a car--and would have, had not the driver braked. She most likely would have died.

My grandmother (from my father's side) is visiting, and whenever she comes over, she is frequently talkative, politically conservative, and always agrees with whatever my father says. She idolizes him in a way that I believe is unnatural for a parent to feel about a child. My grandmother from my mother's side, the one who recently died, thought my other grandmother was annoying as shit. Sometimes, despite the woman's genuine sweetness, she irritates me too.

My parents came home yesterday at approximately the same time, and immediately started talking about my father's medications. My mother threw out this conspiracy theory idea that the doctors were prescribing needless medications for my father for financial gain on the part of the doctor. She couldn't understand that the doctor had prescribed him high cholesterol medication when he only had high blood pressure. I commented that they were related.

"He doesn't have high blood pressure," my mother answered.

I then corrected her, recently the American Medical Association decided anything over 130 was high. She just kept arguing with me like I didn't know what I was talking about.

I ended up yelling at her that she shouldn't let her "nonsense" influence Dad's medical decisions. I mean, the man's father did die of a fucking heart attack.

The whole conversation reminded me of my late grandmother's insistence that she didn't need to take any of her medications either, and my other grandmother's insistence that having a persistent cough doesn't mean anything, much less something serious. If you're eighty-five-years-old and you have had a cough for several months, maybe you should see a doctor. But, nope, no one listens to me because I'm fucking out of my mind.

Poetry Contest

My mother explained to me that the poetry contest for the community college was just a minor stepping stone, and that I shouldn't place much emphasis on it nor any much energy.

I guess I just don't see it that way. My Creative Writing Professor praised my latest poem, called: "Paresthesia," even though he never said much in person about my two short stories. I decided that I would enter the poetry contest again in the spring. Who knows? Maybe if I win two years in a row, I can call myself a "poet" without inducing an ironic gag in myself whenever I say it like trying to swallow a bitter Norco pill without water.

"Whoever is There, Come On Through"

“Being depressed is like being in a dream. The suspicion is that everyone you meet is actually depressed, too, only they don’t know it. Or worse. The suspicion is that they’re just aspects of you, manifestations.”

--The New Yorker,  "Whoever is There, Come on Through," by: Colin Barrett