Wednesday 30 June 2010

FlaFiWriMo*

Flash Fiction Writing Month* starts tomorrow. May not be able to keep up with blog posts on top of writing 1k-word stories every day (for 31 days!) Wish me luck though guys!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get started on some flash fic to give me a headstart on tomorrow. Yes, I am a cheater. ;)

*If you're wondering about the lack of a 'Na' at the start of that, it's because this one isn't official yet. Currently DA-specific. But we're working on it! And it sounds so much easier than NaNoWriMo (and so much harder than NaPoWriMo) that I have to give it a try.

Had a Great Day Yesterday :)

Whoops! Missed a day again*! Not like anyone cares.

Know why I missed it though? Because I actually had a wonderful day yesterday. I was so pleased about being able to walk again after the hip fiasco on Sunday that I insisted on walking the dogs in the park for a good hour despite the pouring rain (hey, I'm English, I'm used to it) and then sat 'round my Dad's for a bit eating ice-cream and listening to ridiculous drug stories of the Glastonbury that he'd just got back from.

And then spent the rest of the night playing charades and chess and monopoly and, well, various games that don't hurt me in the slightest** with Rambo. I think he was feeling guilty about the day before.

Oh, and there was some intornetz drama, but that's been going on for a few days and even I don't care about it anymore, I don't know why you would.




*Or two, depending how you look at it. It is nearly 1am as I'm typing this.

**I know what you're thinking - charades would hurt, surely? This would be true if I did the acting-things out part. But I just sat and guessed for hours. Highly entertaining. :D

Sunday 27 June 2010

OW

MOAR BLARGH.

Woke up this morning in aching agony for the first time since I bought myself a full-body pillow (that thing has been AWESOME, by the way. Highly recommended for anyone suffering with muscle or joint pain). I got used to not waking up in more pain than when I went to sleep. I don't like it. As I have no painkillers I thought (stupidly) that I might make it go away by releasing some endorphins in time-honoured natural fashion...

...Whoops.

Left hip's been out of place since this morning. I think it might have trapped a nerve on its way out as it hurts worse than any dislocation I've ever had before. I can't walk properly, had so much difficulty getting up to go to the toilet that I was seriously considering pissing myself. I am in ridiculous amounts of pain today and once again, have no working painkillers as they still haven't fucking legalised medicinal marijuana for me*. Got Rambo to bring me a laptop in bed and take care of me and he's mostly being wonderful but a bit earlier I accidentally let out a rather loud (yet still muffled) groan of agony. I do that sometimes. It helps to let it out and make me feel a bit better. But apparently it pisses Rambo off because he hates being reminded that I'm in pain. I got a bit 'wtf?' at that. I didn't mean for my pain to be so upsetting for him...jeez. If it upsets him that much I just won't do it anymore. *rolls eyes*

Then I cried at him. And he was all 'I didn't mean it like that...it's just that I don't like how you define yourself by your pain. It seems that all you do lately is talk about your pain.' Maybe that's because all I do is be in pain lately. It's been extra-super-duper bad for the last month or so and I thought I was doing a damn good fucking job of hiding it to be honest, but apparently I should suffer in silence more. For God's fucking sake. Fucktard.

Guys, listen closely, there's a lesson in this: DON'T FUCKING TELL PEOPLE OFF FOR ACTING LIKE THEY'RE IN PAIN WHEN THEY HAVE A DISLOCATED HIP AND CAN'T FUCKING MOVE. DICKHEADS.

Sorry for all the swearing. In case you couldn't tell, I'm in a lot of fucking pain today and not dealing with it particularly well.




*I don't give a shit if a few people abuse it. They could just as easily abuse the (much stronger) opiates they prescribe that do SHIT ALL. It's a huge fucking symptom of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome: PAINKILLERS AND ANAESTHETICS DON'T WORK AS THEY SHOULD. Marijuana does. For every single EDSer I've talked to that's tried it. Give us some fucking legal painkillers damn you.

Saturday 26 June 2010

Ranting

(WARNING: Incoming depression/aggression rant. Don't take it to heart, I'm not always this emo/angry.)

Rambo makes me feel like such crap for daring to ask for help sometimes. I was rather broken last night, due to the combination of still being broken from the night before and making the stupid mistake of showering myself* and subsequently was unable to make myself any food. Partly because Rambo had done no washing up for days and I can't do it, and partly because he likes to eat all my ready-meals out of laziness. I fucking hate when he does that. I hate that I have to buy expensive ready-meals anyway but he doesn't have to make it worse and then leave me hungry! Oh, we also keep a box of pre-grated cheese in the fridge so that I can make my own sandwiches when things get like that, but he doesn't like to actually fill that up for me. He'll grate exactly enough for whatever he's making at the time and then leave the rest of the block as is. Literally, as is, he won't even cover it up with cling-film and then it goes all hard and horrible. While we're on the subject, I got myself a nice easy-cup kettle** so I could make myself tea but I still can't fill it up as the top where you pour water in is ridiculously small so if I try and do it with just a glass of water at a time I just make a huge mess. He keeps using it out of laziness and not topping it up for me. Then I can't make tea. I'm English, I need tea!

Anyway, point is, no easy-to-make meals left that didn't require a saucepan, no clean saucepans, and I was starving. I figured 'ok, that's not so bad, I'll get Rambo to quickly rinse one for me and then I can make soup. Yumyum soup!' So I asked Rambo for a bit of help...and he sighed and got stroppy and told me he was in the middle of something and he'd help me in a bit. I go 'ok' and sit down to watch some TV. An hour passes, I ask if he's done yet, he tells me that he's doing an EVE mission for God's sake and I should know those take awhile. I go 'ok' again, go back to my TV. Hour passes, I get bored of TV, ask Rambo if he's done yet, he gets really stroppy and snaps at me to quit bothering him, he'll let me know when he's done. I got pretty upset at this point, as I'm only asking him for two minutes of his time to rinse a saucepan for me. So I sit and cry quietly for a bit, cause if I cry loudly at him he'd get stroppy at me for getting upset over nothing. He carries on playing EVE and doesn't notice my crying.

I eventually got my soup, four and a half hours after first asking, at two o'clock in the morning. I kind of wanted to go to bed before that, but I'd had nothing to eat all day and figured it wasn't healthy, so I waited.

You know, he gets annoyed with me when I don't eat too. As, for the last couple months, as my wrists have been a bit worse, I've been pretty bad at getting myself food and have generally been eating one meal a day because usually once a day people will make me food and the rest of the time I just choose hunger over pain. I wish I had some working painkillers so I could make food regardless. I wish I had enough money coming in that I could afford take-aways when Rambo won't help me. I wish Rambo wouldn't eat all my fucking easy-to-make food, and drink all my easy-to-get drinks, and buy drinks in 2ltr bottles so that I need his help for anything other than water.

BLARGH!

(...on a side note, I ranted at him a bit earlier today when he wasn't busy and he apologised. But I'd already started typing this up and figured I should finish it. I had nothing else to write about. *shrugs*)





*Please, if I'm ever considering attempting this, talk me out of it. Every now and then I get the stupid idea in my head that 'it's not that bad, it can't possibly be as bad as I remember it, I've been overplaying it for sympathy, right?' WRONG. I do this with washing up too. Oh, and changing the bedclothes - I can't lift the mattress to tuck the sheet under and I need to stop thinking I can! Damn my desire for cleanliness!

**You know, the kind where you just have to press a button, put a mug under it, and it will dispense hot water. Yay for not having to lift the kettle!

Friday 25 June 2010

Some Good News

Ohnoes I didn't update yesterday! It's ok, it's not the start of a major decline, I was just a bit stressed/tired/broken/busy/dead to the world.

Also, I made the stupid mistake of trying to play games that don't just play themselves with me only having to hit enter every 5 minutes to put it on auto-attack*. Jesus Christ that was a bad idea. Wrists utterly destroyed. Couldn't type up a blog for you, couldn't even undress myself for bed, or flush the toilet, or lift a glass of water to drink from, or...you get the idea. Destroyed wrists = bad. Still recovering today but I'm a very harsh mistress when it comes to my poor wrists and I'm afraid they won't get much rest time.

On a slightly happier note, I got a letter through yesterday, finally been awarded Housing Benefit. I'm not entirely sure if it's being backdated or not - said on the phone they could do it as far as January, said 'claim starts June 14th in the letter' - but the Council Tax Benefit has definitely been backdated as that went through this morning. I'm assuming as those things are linked that means Housing Benefit will be too but I don't want to get my hopes up - I've been burned before by benefits people. Common sense means squat to them. I have minus money in my bank account and until that changes I'm refusing to think otherwise.

Sister's still threatening to move out and leave us paying rent on this goddamned expensive house all by ourselves**, but I feel that with Housing Benefit I might be able to cope with that now. Especially if they up it when she moves out (the amount I've been awarded is based on the fact that Rambo and I are paying 66% of the rent). Plus a good friend of ours, let's call him...uhhh...The Music Man. Yup, that'll do. Anyway, The Music Man is considering moving on out here to go study at Manchester Uni in September. If he does, well, I've offered him very cheap rent on the condition that he'll do all the housework. Finally I can not live in a pig-sty and not feel guilty about other people doing things! I'll be paying him for it! *Cheers*




*www.thelostrunes.com/?r=1061 - Yes, that's a referral link and a shameless plug.

**Which, by the way, we're only in because she begged us to come move in and help her pay rent as she couldn't afford it herself.

Wednesday 23 June 2010

DLA Changes

There's been a lot of controversy about the changes to DLA announced in the budget yesterday. I wasn't planning on writing anything about it because a) nobody reads this blog anyway and b) so many people have said the things I wanted to say over and over. I could see no reactions to the proposed changes except shock and horror and a terrible, lingering fear. I did not over-exaggerate that. The problem is, you see, I hang around in all the wrong circles. I'm getting a purely biased disabled view on these things. I was extrapolating that to cover healthy people's views. That was very wrong.

I started reading other articles about it, on the Guardian's website, among others, and whilst the articles themselves expressed the same views I'd seen elsewhere, I decided for some unknown reason, to read the comments. I was utterly appalled. I cannot honestly believe that so many people see disabled people as scrounging filth, scum of the Earth. I knew it, rationally, had even come into contact with it in everyday life, but usually veiled. People don't generally like to insult me to my face. All that disappears with the anonymity of the internet, however, and I was suddenly faced with hatred and discrimination on a level I'd previously only speculated about.

And the worst thing about this? DLA is not an out-of-work benefit. It's not something healthy people claim so they can sit on their asses all day. It's something you can claim whilst working. 'OMG YOU GET EXTRA MONEY EVEN WHEN WORKING!?' I hear you say. Yes, yes we do, and we need it. Maybe minimum wage or whatever your income is is enough for someone perfectly healthy to live on, but there are a lot of added costs to being disabled. No, they're not all covered by the NHS, or social care systems, or what-have-you. They don't even begin to cover it. Especially if you're managing to pull off working with your disability. I've found that disabled people who are trying to work are oftentimes worse off than those who don't. Scratch that - ALWAYS worse off. Financially, physically, emotionally. It is very, very difficult to work with a disability and none of you healthy people seem to get that.

It's not just the problem of finding a job you can reliably do (hard enough as it is), and an employer who doesn't mind you taking huge amounts of time off for doctors appointments, random emergencies, and hospital stays (ridiculously hard, you'd think that would count as discrimination, wouldn't you?..). You have to add in the difficulties of getting ready for work in the morning, getting to work in the morning, getting home again when you're feeling as exhausted as if you've just run a marathon, having no energy to do any of the housework when you get home or being able to cook yourself food. So, if you're working, 9 times out of 10 you have to pay someone else to do your housework, and either buy expensive ready meals or pay for takeaways, buy your lunch as you don't have the energy to make your own sandwiches. Every day. Pay for taxis when you're too damned broken to either drive or walk all that way to the bus stop. And I can't even begin to count all the little adaptations and things we need to attempt to live a normal livestyle, little things that occupational therapists won't give you and the NHS won't pay for. Could YOU afford all of that on your measly salary?

If you can, then you're very lucky. And don't worry, anybody who CAN afford those things despite their disability is probably not claiming DLA. It's a ridiculously hard, long, embarassing, emotionally-taxing process that leaves you with the strong feeling of being bullied. Nobody goes through it unless they have to. No, not even those perfectly healthy scroungers you keep telling me about. Of course there are a few of them, but the process is very stringent as it is with them asking hundreds of questions, expecting you to answer word-perfect (and cutting your benefit if you don't), and asking your doctor to support your claim.

Because of all of that - it has one of the lowest fraud rates of any other benefit. 0.5%. Let me say that again: 0.5% fraudulent claims. And they think they can cut the budget by £1.4 billion just by stopping fraudulent claims? I call bullshit. They will stick to that figure, and try to cut claims down that much regardless, just to make it seem like a success. They will employ doctors for these medical assessments who are not specialists in the disabilities they're assessing for and do not know/understand what they're assessing. They will employ those rare doctors I've met who don't believe that invisible disabilities exist and who have, in the past, laughed me out of their office for daring to ask for a referral to OT.

I foresee many, many people who genuinely deserve DLA, losing their claims. I see many, many people who are only able to continue working because of DLA, losing their jobs over this and resorting to claiming actual out-of-work benefits like ESA, costing the government lots of money. I see many, many people who rely on the money to pay for carers, trying to get along without them, hurting themselves and ending up either in hospitals or in care homes, costing the government a lot more money.

This is a stupid, stupid move and the majority of the majority (read: healthy people) need to understand that. I hope to God those discriminatory comments I came across were just a vocal minority. I'm very worried that they're not.

EDIT: Oh, I forgot to mention something about DLA that's been bugging me. It's supposedly non-means-tested, for all the reasons I mentioned above. And that's the way it should be, it makes sense. And whilst DLA itself isn't means-tested...the assessors will take the fact that you're working to mean that you're obviously not disabled and don't need help, even though you need it more than ever at that point. I know people who are terrified to even attempt to find work because of the risk it poses to their DLA, which, once again, they need.

Not only that, but the DLA I get, that isn't means-tested, affects my income from ESA and housing benefit as those are means-tested and include DLA as a part of my income. And then make decisions as to how much money to give me based what a normal person needs to live on...

Tuesday 22 June 2010

Werewolves?

Random snatch of conversation from little kids in the park:

"You know who likes to go to London? Auntie Bessie and Uncle Ron."
"But aren't they scared of the werewolves in London?"
"I don't think so."
"But...the werewolves!"

Uhmmm. Apparently there are werewolves in London now. Did not know that! Watch out 80k!

Monday 21 June 2010

Fickle English Summers

Still stiff, sore, aching and sunburnt from yesterday's 'relaxing' in the park, yet I find myself out here once again. I dunno, I feel like a cat these days, soaking up as much sun as possible whenever I get the chance. I think it's the whole 'English summer' thing; we don't get a lot of sun so we learn to make the most of the little we get and painful consequences be damned!

It's not quite summer holidays yet so I'm hoping to avoid teenagers by coming out here during school hours. Unfortunately, the kind of teenagers that were bothering me yesterday didn't strike me as the type to be going to college and seemed slightly too old to still be at school. Fingers (carefully) crossed I don't see them today, but rest assured I will keep you updated if I do.

Later:

Fickle English summers got the best of me again. Tricked me into going out into the sun and then got all cold and windy on me! It's just not on. Also didn't manage to get much writing done as the right wrist is being stubbornly adamant that it doesn't actually like being attached to my arm. On that note, I'm going to stop writing this now and go throw my wrist in the freezer or something...

Sunday 20 June 2010

Teenagers at the Park

Whoops! I forgot it was Father's Day today. You'd think that would be hard to do, seeing as they were doing adverts for it non-stop on the tv for the last month or so. Unfortunately, all those adverts were along the lines of 'buy your Dad some football stuff for Father's Day!' and I just equated it in my head with the general world cup mania going around and forgot about the main point of the adverts - Father's Day.

Rambo reminded me when I got up this morning so I had a quick dash down to the shop, grabbed some wine and beer (it's all still on offer for the football - yay!), came back and grabbed a few cherished books of mine* that I knew he'd like and ended up giving him a very heavy bag of stuff. He loved it. I'm glad I know my Dad so well and don't have to worry about buying cards and 'best Dad in the world' mugs and the like. It's so much simpler giving him good books and alcohol and he appreciates it so much more.

Anyway, now I've got the obligatory giving-presents-to-Dad-and-listening-to-him-talk-about-crap part of Father's Day over, I'm going back to what I was originally planning to do - sitting in the park in the sun. I've brought three pillows with me this time. Will see if that's enough to stave off the horrors of back pain that the park gave me last time.

Later, in the park:

Just had a very odd conversation with a strange teenager with the thickest Mancunian** accent I have ever heard. Could barely understand a word he was saying. Not that I wanted to understand, I was trying to read. I'm not very fond of people who interrupt me when I'm reading. Especially when these people have apparently only read one book in their entire lives, and can't speak English properly. Apparently, he likes to play computer games. I responded that I did too, he asked me what games, I said mainly RPGs and platformers, strategies and FPSs on rare occasions. He didn't seem to understand a single one of those terms and continued to ask me if I liked CoD because 'CoD is bad-ass'. Oh, he also thinks that stripy arm warmers are emo. I don't keep up with fashion trends so I don't know about that. I thought stripes were punk? I dunno. I tried to explain that I was wearing them to hide tubigrips but he didn't understand that. I showed him the tubigrips underneath and he asked me why I was wearing two layers when it was so warm out. I'm not sure he understands what tubigrips are. He then asked for my number, I said no. He asked why not, I asked why I should, he said 'because I think you're fit'. I'm not sure he understood the question. That's a reason why he should ask, not why I should give him my number. He asked me for a kiss instead, I said no and told him about Rambo. He asked how old Rambo was, I said 24, he said 'fuck it I'm not fighting him. I'll have to get my dad to knock him out'.

Anyway, conversation continued in that vein for a while; I can't be bothered to transcribe it all. Point is - teenagers are idiots. This guy was about 17. I am, once again, seriously worried about the youth of this country, this country's future, and most especially raising my own children*** in this country..




*I know - me giving books away is a shocking revelation. Don't worry, I don't do it to anyone. My Dad's the only exception to the 'MY BOOK GODDAMMIT' rule and only because I know damn well if I ever want to read a book of his I can just take it and he won't care. Don't even need to ask. Sometimes I feel like my book collection is actually twice as big and spanning two houses...

**Mancunian = person from Manchester, for my overseas friends.

***No I don't have any yet. But I'd like to, and if they turn out anything like that kid I am going to go insane.

Saturday 19 June 2010

My Sister Drives Me Crazy

Sister just gave me a 'talking to' about me possibly not being able to afford rent next month because I 'spent all my money on crap'. I honestly can't believe her sometimes. The only reason I'm even slightly worried about money at the minute is because her and Dad have been demanding money off me for no other reason than that they can. Guilt-tripping me into handing over money that I don't have and then telling me off for spending the money that I did have before that just isn't on. I wouldn't have spent it (despite, you know, needing things for medical reasons) if I'd known I'd end up giving the rest away...

I'm such a fucking pushover sometimes. But they always manage to make me feel as if I'm the wrong somehow when I say 'no'; as if I'm some horrible ungrateful bitch. I don't get how that works. I really fucking don't.

I feel like moving to another country just to escape my family sometimes. Spain, maybe. I don't know if they have medicinal marijuana laws, but I do know that it's legal to grow my own there nonetheless. No family + working painkillers? Sounds like heaven. Now I just need to learn some Spanish and find Rambo a job over there.

Friday 18 June 2010

The Public

Man, I hate being out in public sometimes. Just walking along I get jostled by people left, right and centre. Some guy overtaking me whilst walking his bike knocked the handle right into my wrist. He apologised, and that's fair enough, he probably didn't think much of it and I don't blame him; I'm sure it wouldn't have bothered me at all if I had normal wrists. My wrist, though, can't take that kind of punishment and was screaming at me for the next couple of hours.

Then of course I had to deal with automatic doors being out of order, with big signs next to them telling me to push them. I can't push those heavy doors. Had to wait around for a few minutes until someone else was going in, then jump in behind them.

Then when I tried to get the bus home later, all the benches at the bus stop were full and no-one would let me sit down. I tried asking, very nicely, but all I got was weird looks and questions as to why the hell they should. I tried explaining, but they wouldn't listen. I ended up going and sitting on the wall about ten metres away. Not a huge distance, but the buses around here don't tend to wait very long and I was worried I wouldn't be able to hobble across that distance in time. Fortunately for me, there was a particularly nice bus driver who noticed me struggling along towards him and stopped and waited for me. <3 bus driver.

Also, just in case anyone is wondering: No, it's not a good idea to go sit in the sun all day. It was wonderful at the time, although quite uncomfortable, but around 11pm last night that uncomfortableness caught up with me. Goddamn I've not had such bad back pain in a long time. Still not quite back down to normal levels even now. I am definitely taking pillows with me next time. Lots of them. More than I can possibly carry. I'll get Rambo to help.

...I know reading about the various struggles of my daily life is probably incredibly boring to you all. But this is my life. In all of its incredibly unexciting glory. If you're bored, stop bloody reading.

Oh, before I forget, I'd like to point anybody reading this over to BendyGirl's latest post. It's a subject I've tried to write about before but with nowhere near the eloquence this old girl* managed to pull off.



*The 'old' is referring to the elderly lady who wrote the poem, not BendyGirl!

Thursday 17 June 2010

Sunshine

Woke up this morning to a phone call from my sister demanding money. I can't think of many worse ways to wake up. She even told me, yesterday, that she would be able to pay the rent today, but then this morning denied saying that. Great. My dad's also demanding money for Glastonbury next week so although Rambo got paid today we have roughly £100 left to last us the whole month. That would be fine, if all we had to do was buy food. That would be great. But unfortunately, the rent my sister's paying today is two weeks late, which means we have to actually pay rent in another two weeks. Which we shouldn't have to give my sister as I've just given her money but she's not going to be able to afford her half of the rent again and demand more off of me.

Fuck it. I might have some benefits sorted by then. If not, rent will be a couple weeks late again. I can't bring myself to care anymore today. I was looking forward to going and sitting in the sun and I'm refusing to let money troubles ruin my day.

Later, in the park:

You know, I got some new glasses a couple days ago. Needed them for over a year but since it took me so goddamn long to get benefits sorted out I just couldn't afford them* so have been dealing with blurry vision for that long. Now that I can see again I spent the first half hour I was here just lying there staring up at the clouds. It's not something I really noticed when everything was blurry - I didn't miss being able to see the clouds, I didn't even think about the fact that the clouds were blurry. But now that I can see the shapes of the clouds again I'm just absolutely fascinated. Clouds are hypnotising. Hey look, that one there looks like a puppy. Aww.

Even later, still in the park:

Wow. The combination of peace & quiet and a lack of internet is apparently an excellent remedy for writer's block. Managed to write 1000 words in a mere half an hour. I feel very nostalgic; I used to do my best writing sitting outside. Usually up a tree, notebook in hand. I can't believe how much I've missed writing outside. Very, very glad I bought myself this laptop. Although, as little as typing hurts compared to old-fashioned pen and paper writing, my wrists are crying at me from that stint. I think it's time to pull the book out again.



*Strangely enough, as soon as I got benefits backdated, got a bit of money through and could afford them, I suddenly didn't need to. Now that I'm actually receiving ESA the NHS will pay for my glasses. How wonderfully fucked up.

Wednesday 16 June 2010

Simple?

Tried to sit out in the sun today. Problem is, something that sounds so simple is never simple when you have EDS. First, I had to take a shower. This involves one of two options:

1. Wait for Rambo to finish whatever he's doing and help me.
2. Do it myself.

Strangely enough, despite having to wait well over an hour for Rambo to find time to help out, these two options take roughly the same amount of time. Only difference is the second one leaves my wrists completely dead for the rest of the day.

Or at least that's what I thought. I don't know how, but I forgot a very important rule - showering with Rambo leads to sex.

So, the option I took to stop my wrists dying ended instead with utterly dead hips. Aaaand not-so-great wrists. Or jaw. Or knees or ankles even - took too long standing up in the shower.

Next up, I have to get dressed. Again, not as simple as it sounds. Subluxed both thumbs trying to pull clothes on, had to enlist Rambo's help to clip on bras, and spent a lot of time collapsed on the bed exhausted from the effort of trying to find clean clothes in the first place.

So now, it's a good four hours since I originally decided to go sit in the sun, I'm finally clean and dressed and...of course, this being England...the sun is no longer out. Oh well. I'll try again tomorrow.

...Now I'm going to attempt the epic quest that is making some food.

Tuesday 15 June 2010

Benefits and Bureaucracy...Again

Continuing on from last time, I went to see my GP today. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that she was unable to give me a medical certificate from six months ago, and she could not fathom why the ESA people were asking for one now rather than in December when they 'ran out'. She also told me that since they've declared me unfit for work, I don't actually need any medical certificates and she can't understand what they're playing at, but at the same time she wasn't in the least bit surprised as she gets people coming in to see her all the time with ridiculous tales about trying to claim benefits. At least I'm not alone.

I then started crying at her. I'm not proud of this. I just got so goddamned frustrated that I was being sent around in circles when I'd thought that finally everything was actually sorted out for once and got my hopes up. I apologised for it, and she told me not to worry, handed me some tissues, and re-assured me that it wasn't my fault. I know it's not, and I know I shouldn't be crying - I just can't stop myself from crying for silly reasons sometimes. Alright most times.

Anyhow, I'd call the ESA people and have a good old rant at them but my sister's stolen the phone so it will have to wait. Will update later when I've managed to get hold of a phone (and managed to sit on hold on said phone for a good hour or so).

UPDATE: Called ESA people. Explained the situation. They insist that they cannot pay me anything if I don't have medical certificates to prove that I'm unfit for work. What the fuck is going on? They declared me unfit for work, but now need proof of it? They're saying that if I start sending in medical certificates from now that I'll get paid from now on, but they won't be able to pay me for the gap from December until now. I don't get it. At all. Whatso-fuckng-ever. I am ridiculously bad on the telephone though and couldn't argue because I was in the middle of bursting into tears. I so need somebody to sort all of this out for me... :/

Monday 14 June 2010

Left-handed Typing

Subluxed the right wrist yesterday afternoon. It's now 7:30pm the next day and it's still refusing to get back into place. That's over 24 hours of my right wrist (I'm right-handed) not being in the right place!

I keep trying to put it back in, but for those of you who don't have EDS - trying and failing to relocate a joint is a sickening feeling that gets worse each time you do it. Usually this is about ten attempts of increasingly sickening pain until it eventually pops back in, but when I've hit 20 or so and it's still being stubborn I tend to ignore it for a bit before trying again. Getting really sick of that sickening feeling now.

Also, it's bloody difficult trying to type left-handed. I've been ignoring t'internet and housework and my own rumbling tummy all day in favour of staying in bed watching tv. Pretty much the safest option here.

(I tried to make myself food too but I just made a mess dropping things. I can't do shit all with my left hand. Sent Rambo off to make me sandwiches instead.)

Sunday 13 June 2010

I Tried

To everyone out there who doesn't understand what it's like to live with EDS:

I am not lazy. I am not sitting here on the sofa when there's housework to be done simply because I'm ignoring it and hoping it will go away by itself, or that someone else will do it for me. If I promised I would try and do something, I meant I would try. If I tried but couldn't manage it, I'm probably more upset about it than you are; shouting will not help. If I say I can't do something, I mean I can't do it. It's not that I don't want to, and it's most definitely not that I'm using my EDS as an 'excuse', it's that I can't. Just because I managed to grit my teeth, fight through the pain and do it last time, doesn't mean that I can do it every time. Just because I can do something, doesn't mean that it won't drain all my energy and willpower and leave me unable to do anything else for the rest of the day. Just because I do something once does not mean I can do it again. Just because I could do something yesterday does not mean I can do it today. Just because I can do something today does not mean that I will be able to do it tomorrow. Just because I can't do something today does not mean I won't be able to tomorrow. Just because I work my fucking ass off for hours to do one little thing that would take a normal person a tenth of the time, does not mean that I would be able to get a job doing it full-time. Just because you can't see my pain does not mean it's not there. Just because you can't see that what you're saying is incredibly insulting and hurtful, does not mean that I shouldn't get upset.

I am not lazy. I am trying my hardest.

And to everyone who does have EDS but likes to bitch and snipe about who has it worse rather than actually listening to each other's problems and offering support and understanding:

Fuck you. You guys should fucking know better.

FOO'BALL!

Sister's birthday yesterday. Also happened to be 'England Football Day' and the first England match of the world cup.

I'm not entirely sure why, but as usually happens each time the world cup rolls around, everyone I know started turning England into a three-syllable word (ing-guh-luhnd) and singing songs consisting of such wonderful and intriguing lyrics as 'na na na na na na na England na na na' and the other favourite 'En-g-land! En-g-land! En-g-land En-g-land nah nah!' at the tops of their lungs.

Couple that with some particularly bad wrists yesterday and Sister insisting I get her drinks and do pretty much everything she could think of to ask me because, well, it's her birthday and that's just how it goes in our family, and needless to say - I did not have a great day yesterday.

...I also managed to spill a lot of alcohol trying to pour drinks from weak wrists, whilst everyone else there looked on and/or told me off for making a mess. No-one thought to help. Such wonderful family I have.

Friday 11 June 2010

Grammar Rant No.2 - The Burnt/Burned Confusion

I've been 'corrected' many times on this by people who are so absolutely convinced that they're right that they're completely astounded when I explain just how wrong they are and still refuse to believe me. As it happened again just now I felt the need to write up a post on it to explain it to you all. There are many different kinds of these particular verbs, and as they're all irregular and used differently I'm afraid you need to learn each one individually.

Adjective Participles (layman's terms: describing words created from verbs):

burnt/spelt/learned(2 syllables)/past/spilt/spoilt

Examples: 'the toast is burnt', 'it's spelt wrong', 'he's well learned', 'in past times*', 'spilt milk', 'spoilt child'.

Past Participles (layman's terms: past tense verbs):

burned/spelled/learned/passed/spilled/spoiled

Examples: 'I burned the toast', 'I spelled it wrong', 'I learned something today', 'I passed the house', 'I spilled the milk', 'I spoiled my child'.

dwelt/dwelled

Examples: 'She dwelt in a small town', 'I dwelled on that for a while'

Both are acceptable past participles of the verb 'to dwell', but are used in different situations, 'dwelled' should be interchangable with 'pondered' and 'dwelt' with 'lived'.

Pluperfect Participles (layman's terms: complex past tense verbs):

burnt/spelt/learnt/passed/spilt/spoilt

Examples: 'I have burnt the toast', 'I have spelt it wrong', 'I would have passed him', 'I have spilt the milk', 'I've spoilt that child'

Adverbs:

past

Example: 'I walked past the house'.

Easy to tell when to use it - if there's another verb in the sentence (walked) then 'past' is correct, otherwise 'I passed the house' will do.

Verbs that only exist in '-t' form, not 'ed':

Crept/felt/meant/dreamt/leapt/dealt




*Completely unrelated homonym but something that annoys me nonetheless and I've just been reminded of by my own example - it's 'pastime', not 'pass-time'. It may have been derived from those two words but it is a separate word in its own right. Also, 'pass-time' looks stupid. Stop looking stupid.

Thursday 10 June 2010

Rafiki*

New computer arrived today. Very sexy thing it is, too.

...Don't you dare tell me off for spending money on a sexy new computer when I owe my dad so much money. It's not for me, it's for Rambo. He's been supporting me whilst I've had no income whatsoever for the past year and a half, working overtime to be able to pay bills and buy food, and still finding the time to take care of me when he gets home. We've been so tight on money that he's not been allowed to buy anything for himself in all of that time either. He fucking deserves this.

Anyway, sidetrack aside, I was trying to tell you that the wonderful computer I'd ordered without an OS because I refuse to give Microsoft any money...came with Windows 7 installed. Not really a problem, I was planning on pirating it anyway (and in fact, wasted a good hour doing just that this morning before realising it already had it installed), but a tad confusing. They didn't charge me for it or anything, but why bother to install Windows 7 and not give me an activation key for it? That's either some cheap ploy to try and convince me to go buy an activation key, or just them trying to make life slightly easier for pirates by pre-installing software. On the other hand, the main reason I usually buy computers without an OS is because I'm planning on putting linux on them, so it makes life slightly more annoying for their linux customers, but slightly easier for pirates.

I fail to see the logic.

Or, you know, Occam's razor - they just wanted Windows on it whilst testing and forgot to take it off before shipping it. But then I can't rant about how annoying and illogical they are.



*Rambo named his new computer 'Rafiki'. His explanation went something along the lines of 'computers are to humans as monkeys are to lions'. Seriously. Possibly a slightly better reason than me naming my new laptop 'Suzie' because I was putting openSUSE on it.

Wednesday 9 June 2010

Benefits, Bureaucracy and Drugs

Not too much to say today but I promised myself I'd update this daily. Not entirely sure why. I think it was just to keep me writing, even if it's not of the creative variety.

...Blog-writing is better than no writing, no?

Of all the un-interesting things that happened today, the most annoying was spending an hour on hold with the benefits people so that I could ask them why they hadn't paid me this week. Turns out, that apparently they've had no medical certificates from me since December and therefore could only pay my back-dated benefits up 'til then. Now, not only have I been sending them like clockwork every month, I've been sending them seperately. I could understand them all getting lost in the post if I'd sent them in one big packet, but for every single one, sent in different envelopes at different times, to be lost? That's a bit ridiculous. I think it's a lot more likely they did receive them and they're just lost in the system somewhere. Goddamn bureaucracy. Speaking of goddamned ridiculous bureaucracy, why the hell do I need to keep getting medical certificates each month to say that I'm unfit for work when I have a lifelong, progressive condition. It's not like I'm magically going to get better one day, not tell them, and continue to scrounge off benefits. Jesus.

Oh, and apparently my dad was relying on my benefit money getting paid this week so he could afford to put a deposit on a car and buy drugs for Glastonbury in a couple weeks. Now, I know I owe him a lot of money, but he's my dad, dammit. It's not like I borrowed lots of money off him for frivolous things and never paid him back. I owe him money for a few months rent as I stayed at his house when I was homeless and had nowhere else to go. When I was seventeen, by the way. Again, I know I owe him money, I'm not debating that, but I did give him a quarter of it just last week when I got my first payment from benefits. I don't know what the hell he did with it and I don't know how the hell he was planning on getting to Glastonbury before I told him I was getting my benefits through finally. I'm willing to bet he spent it all on drugs. I've not actually told him that I'm not getting paid until I sort new copies of medical certificates out from my GP, but he's gonna get pretty upset with me. I don't think I approve of him getting upset with his daughter for not providing him with drug-money. Or of him charging me rent when I was seventeen and homeless.

Tuesday 8 June 2010

An Introduction

I should probably introduce myself.

Let's see...

I'm female.

I'm 21.

I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Type III and pretty much all of its bastardly secondary-diseases.

I am unable to work because of this, yet am still vainly hoping to eventually make a career out of the small amounts of either writing or coding that I manage to do when my brain is functioning well enough.

I am officially a published writer*. I write both stories (of the fantasy/sci-fi/horror genres) and poetry. Not modern poetry. I write poems that rhyme.

I hate that I have to point out that poetry should rhyme. I don't understand all of this 'modern poetry' crap. Keep it the fuck away from me.

I have a boyfriend. Let's call him Rambo**. We've been together nearly five years now.

I live with my sister and Rambo, three doors down from my Dad's place. This is probably only a temporary arrangement though as Rambo and I are looking to get a cheapo council house and Sister wants to go live on her own (thank God).

I'm not religious in any way, shape or form. That was just a figure of speech. I capitalise God because that's what you do with deities. It's a proper noun. Basic grammar, people.

I am in love. No, not with Rambo (although I am, very much so), but with the English language and all of its irregular yet wonderful nuances.

I read. A lot. Anything and everything. The label on every single bottle in our bathroom has been pored over due to me running out of actual books to read whilst in there. I must have read every single book in this house at least twice, the better ones a good five times or so. You may not think that's a lot, but you should see the amount of books I own. If you're quiet enough, you can hear my bookcases groaning. No, really!

I have an absolutely appalling memory. Something to do with EDS muddling up my brain, most likely. One good thing comes from this though - I get to go back to old stories and feel like I'm reading them for the first time. The fact that I can do this with my own stories is particularly impressive.

I'm bisexual. I do have preferences, though. Rather odd ones, in fact. I find the vast majority of women attractive. Not that odd, so far. It's very rare, on the other hand, for me to find men attractive. Just to show you quite how rare this is, I want you to think back over your life and think just how many men/women/whatever-you-happen-to-like you have met that you've found attractive. Not that you've fancied, had crushes on or fallen in love with (although count those too, of course), just found attractive. I bet you anything you like that it's a lot higher than mine. In my entire life I have found a total of seven men attractive. That's how rare it is for me. But when it does happen, I can't get them out of my head. I fall in love, completely and utterly.



*Ok so it's only one poem in an anthology that's not actually been released yet, and I didn't get paid for it, but it's a start, right?

**Despite the fact that he is never allowed to read this blog, he knows I'm writing it and insisted I let him choose his own blog-name.

Monday 7 June 2010

Grammar Rant No. 1 - Apostrophes

(Staying true to form, I shall turn my first proper post into a rant about grammar (or lack thereof). This will most likely be a recurring theme. Sorry to bore those of you who actually understand the language that you're speaking.)

Apostrophes denote possession (though not a possessive pronoun) or contraction. You can also use the same character for single quotes, although it is no longer referred to as an apostrophe at that point.

Apostrophes have no other uses. Please stop using them to pluralise things. It hurts my eyes.

For those of you who are in need of examples, or are in any way confused about the words possession and contraction:

'You're' is a contraction of the words 'you' and 'are'. The apostrophe is in place to symbolise that there are letters (in this case 'a') missing, not because that's where the two words join. This is why the apostrophe in 'don't' is where it is - replacing the 'o' in 'not'. This can also be used to contract single long words - 'suppose' becomes 's'pose'.

'George's bag' is possession. The bag belongs to George. If, however, we refer to George with a pronoun rather than a proper noun, it becomes 'his bag' - no apostrophe with the pronoun.

Possessive pronouns to remember: his/hers/its/mine/my/theirs/their/yours/your.



This post inspired by some particularly appalling literature linked to me via deviantArt. Please, if you do not understand basic grammar rules, for the love of God, please, don't call yourself a writer.

The Beginning

80k wanted me to make a blog. (If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do it properly and use the tried and tested method of 'ridiculous blog names')

This is me making said blog.

...

Sorry, is that not long enough of a post for you?

Screw you guys. My blog. I'll make it as short/long as I damn well please.