Okay, so my relationship with my mother isn't the best, right? It's pretty abusive, emotionally. It's the main reason why I'm moving to Chicago.
So I told her I was moving on Monday, right? And she got really pissed off and started interrogating me about it, before saying we'll talk about it this weekend.
Today, she called me and told me she made me an eye appointment for Wednesday, because when I move I 'won't be on [her] insurance anymore'.
She sounded cheerful.
What. The. Fuck.
But I did anyway, because my body is an ungrateful brat.
I woke from a nap yesterday to find that I could not move. My lower back and butt were seizing so painfully that I could barely make it to the door without crying. Vicodin did not help. Ibuprofen did not help. Sleep did not help. My mom (long distance) suggested that I try to ride out the night and go to urgent care today if things didn't improve.
My RA, however, did not agree with this. She came by to check on me and bring me some alcohol (which also did not help), and upon seeing my condition, told me that if I did not come quietly she would call an ambulance. The other RA and two of the girls came with us, which was really awesome of them.
So we got to the ER, and I only had to wait maybe five minutes before being taken to the back--I didn't even have to go through triage. Audrey was even nice enough to come back there and sit with me. In the end, the doc determined it to be the Muscle Spasm from Hell, and shot me full of IV anti-inflammatories. She also gave me a couple prescriptions, and when I didn't have the money to cover them, Audrey was nice enough to pick them up for me and let me pay her back Monday.
So now I'm flat on my stomach in bed, watching Animal Planet and surfing the net from my laptop. Any plans for the weekend? Gone baby gone. Even after a long hot shower, a long session with a heating pad, and a muscle relaxer, it hurts to even shift position. And this could take weeks to resolve. My five-hour bus ride home next Saturday is really gonna suck.
And this is capping off a month that's included strained hips, the flu of doom, money troubles, midterm stress, and my mother having yet another surgery.
Send BPAL and alcohol, pls. I may not survive March otherwise.
I think I prefer that to the other holiday taking place.
So remember when you were a kid, and every year at school people gave out valentines? And the day before, the teacher would take out the craft supplies, and you'd make boxes or bags or whatever to hold all of the good wishes and candy (mostly candy) you got? And on V-Day, everyone would go around the room delivering their valentines?
Remember that one kid, way back in the corner, who was a little overweight, or maybe smelled funny, or had that dad that worked at the gas station and harassed pretty high-schoolers? The one who always got less than everyone else in the class, even though the teacher said you had to give one to every kid in class so no one was left out?
I was that kid. So if you don't like reading pointless angst about things that happened many years ago, now is the time to click over to another blog. Maybe they have some funny cat pictures or something.
I remember once, in third grade, we had a contest to see who could make the best valentine box. I made one with fabric, lace, and ribbon scraps from my mom's sewing pile. I spent all night on it. When I was done, it was absolutely beautiful--I'm not kidding when I say it looked like it could have been done professionally. I was an artistic kid. That year I didn't get any valentines.
Finally, in fourth grade I just stopped accepting valentines. If I refused them all, then it wasn't their doing that I had less. It was no longer a passing of judgement. It was just me being weird. I preferred being laughed at for weirdness, instead of being laughed at for the pettiness of others. (This is my blog, I can angst about grade school as much as I please. )
I've only had two real boyfriends. Both have been in the past year and a half. This is only the second Valentine's Day in my life that I've had anyone to care about, or who cared about me, besides my parents. I'm still a little shocked by that. Doesn't he know that I'm weird, and fat, and unacceptable? His friends will make fun of him for talking to me. If he wants to be popular, he'd better laugh like everyone else.
It sounds petty and whiny. Hell, it -is- petty and whiny. That doesn't change the fact that it took me ten years of school and a move of 2500 miles to actually find a real friend, and a larger group of people that wouldn't spread nasty rumors about me, throw things at my head, and stick sharpened pencils into my butt or thigh when I wasn't looking. When people ask me why I'm so afraid of social interaction, I really have to try not to laugh. What isn't scary about it? The first thing I learned in school was that there were two groups of people--the Acceptable and the Unacceptable--and that you stayed in either one group or the other. The second thing I learned was that I was Unacceptable. This didn't change, not even for a single day, until I moved across the country. Even now I catch myself looking at my friends and wondering when the other shoe is going to drop, and they figure out that I'm not worth the trouble.
Yeah. I kind of hate this holiday. Bring on the zombies.
Names have been changed to protect the possibly guilty.
So I have this friend. Let's call this friend Jane.
Jane told me that she was going to order Lick It Again and send it to me for Yule, because I'd been really wanting a bottle of it. I told her that she absolutely did not have to do this, but she insisted. She also said she was throwing some other imps and such in the package, but the main thing was the LIA.
It's been two months since then. She told me she mailed the package a little over two weeks ago, and to notify her if it hadn't gotten there in a week. The week passed--no package. I told her as she asked; two days later she told me she'd gone to the post office, and found out that it had gotten mixed up with a bunch of packages a man had brought in all at once the same day, but wanted mailed out at different times (?). She also said they sorted it out and mailed the package that same day.
It's been another week, and the package still isn't here. She doesn't live very far away from me (she's closer than the Lab, and those packages normally get here in two days flat). In that week I've found out that she has a history of making promises and not keeping them, like promising another friend she'd buy her a bigger bed, then dropping the subject for 4-5 months until said friend gave up and bought the bed herself. I would still adore her if she hadn't promised to get me anything at all, but the fact that she said she would, and now my chance to buy LIA myself is gone, is really bugging me. I'm beginning to wonder if she actually bought it at all, or is just lying her ass off and trying to look generous without actually doing anything.
So I guess my question is this: How long should I wait before deciding that the bottle of LIA doesn't exist? And if it gets to that point, how do I put out an ISO offering a specific LE bottle in exchange for it?
Grrr. I dislike being yanked around.
Um... hi. *fidget* I got sick of spamming the Get Personal forum, so now I'm spamming the blog island instead. Expect angst. Lots of angst. And random. And, very occasionally, the weirdest most f***ed-up crap ever, which I'm told mostly makes up for the whining.
...oh gods this is scary.