Bowling is Bad

So, Rambo's dad came to visit yesterday, with his girlfriend. I always hate seeing Rambo's dad because he's one of those people who likes to make horrible comments about me behind my back and tell Rambo not to be with me.

We went out to the Trafford Centre, as he wanted to look around it, and I wasn't able to bring the wheelchair due to...well, not wanting to have to argue the fact that I need it for half an hour and then dealing with the looks and comments from him afterwards. Sooo ten-fifteen minutes into walking around and I'm pretty much dead on my feet, at that odd point where I actually can't tell how much pain I'm in any more as it's all merged together into one big nasty feeling and I have to guage my pain level via other symptoms such as my squeezing Rambo's hand enough to sublux my wrist and thumb, without even noticing that I'm doing it; finding it difficult to concentrate and distinguish separate sounds so I'm having trouble listening to the conversation and giving only monosyllabic answers when I realise I'm being asked questions; getting increasingly irritable and screaming obscenities in my head at everyone in sight for the tiniest little things; and an absolute fascination with seats. I know I'm bad when I'm acutely aware of where the nearest seat is and am unable to get my mind off the fact that I want to sit on it. Longing looks at benches in passing gets really weird looks off the strangers sitting on them, you know.

Anyhow, grasping at straws for any excuse to sit down, I manage to convince people to go get food, and then afterwards they drag me into the bowling alley near the food court, pay for four games, and get pretty damn pissed at me for refusing to even attempt bowling*. Apparently not wanting to break my wrist is being a party-pooper, but really, I have trouble lifting a mug of tea at times, and they want me to lift a bowling ball? Not only that, but throw the damn thing? No thank you.

Those were a pretty boring four games. But I got to sit down the whole time, and it was a good rest, enough for another ten-fifteen minutes of walking around the shopping centre, but after that things started to go bad and eventually Rambo's dad had to bring the car around as I couldn't physically cross the parking lot. *sigh*

Ah well, I learnt my lesson**. I got the wheelchair for a reason and I should make use of it when I need it!





*Not Rambo, of course. He argued with his dad, and ended up taking my gos for me. And winning. :D

**Okay, you caught me. I didn't learn my lesson. I never do. I make the same mistakes over and over again. I'll be complaining about the same thing in a month or so, just you watch.

Stupid Boys

I hurt and I am hungry. There are no clean forks, no clean plates, no clean bowls, no fricking ready meals despite me buying six of the things on wednesday and only eating one.

Stupid. Fricking. Boys. Seriously. What the hell?

Also, why is The Music Man only paying me £300 and doing bugger all around the house? That was the rent we agreed upon on the condition that he'd do ALL THE HOUSEWORK.

I need to man up and learn to shout at people, I think.

I Love Moxie and Moxie Loves Me <3

I have been terrible at the blogging lately, but I make no apologies! I been spending all my spoons on the Moxie and have no regrets about it. She's so wonderful she deserves 'em all. I could go on for hours about how awesome Moxie is but I won't - I'll just tell you that she's incredibly smart but it's very difficult to train a dog properly when other people in the house undo it all! Puppies need consistency!

Anyhow, what else has been going on? What was the last thing I told you guys? I forget. Hmmm. Well, last time I went to the doctor she took me off Tramadol with its stupid side effects and we discussed the fact that I've reached the limit of non-morphine-based painkillers and have still had no actual gain from any of them. Is difficult to move onto stronger ones due to not only politics and bureacracy but the fact that people very quickly develop tolerances to morphine-based ones so even if they did help me at first the dose would have to be upped frequently. I'm getting quite worried about this lack of painkillers thing, not so much for right now, (although it is annoying that I am basically functional enough that working painkillers right now would very possibly mean I was able to work again, for a few years at least), but more the fact that I know I'm going to get so much worse in the future and I'm terrified of not having painkillers then.

Anyway, we're trying alternate methods for now - 10mg Amitryptiline at night to help 'control' pain rather than kill it. Not entirely sure how helpful it is as it has the side effect of making me sleep for anywhere from 11-14 hours a night. I normally sleep 8-10 but even setting alarms and getting up after a 'normal' night's sleep, I can manage to stay awake a couple hours but then I end up falling asleep on the sofa for a further couple of hours. Am also sleeping a lot deeper than I normally do which means not moving so much during the night which is sort of good on my joints but bad on my muscles and I'm not entirely sure that the trade-off is worth it. My (acute) pain level might be slightly lower but I'm sleeping tons and am exhausted and drowsy and achy all day. Overall pain level pretty much the same.

Of course, looking after Moxie doesn't help with the aching and exhaustion, but she's worth it!

Sister is definitely not helping. She's been making a habit of barging into my house every day (without knocking, and using a key she stole off my Dad) just to tell me how disgustingly untidy it is and how unfair it is to have a puppy in these living conditions and that she's going to report me if I don't clean it up. Yo-yo-ing between feeling like a horribly bad person for daring to have a puppy when I can't look after her and just being pissed off with her because I know damn well that my puppy has a wonderful home. She's looked after, she's well fed, she's loved, she has toys, she has someone at home with her all day every day (unlike certain dogs I know that get left alone for 10 hours a day while owners are at work) and so what if the house is untidy? It's not unclean and none of the untidiness is anywhere that she can get to. The only things on the floor are cushions, a beanbag (her bed) and dog toys! And dog bowls. And newspaper. Which gets changed everytime she makes a mess. Moxie has an awesome home; other dogs would be jealous.

I'd get the locks changed so she can stop making me cry every day but I'd end up giving the new key to my Dad anyway, and she'd just steal that one as well. Fucking woman.

I r loan shark now?

I DO NOT HAVE ANY MONEY. I barely have enough income to cover bills and food, I'm going without this month to pay for Moxie to have vaccinations.

Why the fuck does everyone think I have money? Why the fuck does everyone want to borrow money off me? How do they make me feel like such a horribly nasty bitch when I have to say no because I honestly don't. Have. Any. Money?

Fucking stop it, you evil fucking people who are capable of working and usually have disposable income. I don't give a shit if you spent all your money on new clothes and alcohol and a haircut and all kinds of other shit that I can't afford because I'm too busy spending my money on food and other essentials, I'm not giving you any of my barely-existent money to pay your fucking bills.

Moxie

My beautiful little puppy is called Moxie. She is ever so sweet but misses her mom and her brothers and sisters a little bit. She's ok if she's distracted, exploring and playing, but she cries a little when she's not...until I pick her up, then she falls asleep on me. Awww.




I am so fricking exhausted. And the house still isn't really ready for her, I just need to watch her and make sure she stays out of certain places until I can kick Rambo into doing stuff for me.

I have minus spoons, but I don't care. Running on excitement and Moxie-love. :)

PUPPYPUPPYPUPPYPUPPYPUPPY

Update on the Choose & Book thing - I ignored it yesterday and didn't book anything. Turns out that was a great idea, TODAY the only appointment available was September 16th, at a place I can get to via public transport.

Hooray for cancellations!

Also, I think I've found my puppy. She's the last one left in the litter, Border Collie cross (with a Labrador, I think), collie shape (and hopefully intelligence!) and all black. Only seen pictures so far but she looks beautiful and I'm going to go see her tomorrow morning. Only £20. So pleased!

If tomorrow all goes well I shall spend the weekend puppy-proofing the house, stocking on puppy food and buying dog beds and food bowls and all that and pick her up on Monday.

So excited!

She needs a name though. Preferably geeky, but subtly so. I mean, I'm not going to call her Leia or anything.

EDIT: Person selling me the puppy wants a puppy-free house by this weekend, so it looks like I'm taking her home tomorrow! Posting quickly to take a break from frantically cleaning the house. I'm going to be dead by tomorrow if I keep this up, but hopefully excitement for new puppy will keep me going!

Choose & Book

What is the fucking point of Choose and Book appointments when of the three places they offer you, only one has ANY appointments available, in fucking NOVEMBER, and that place is the only one that's impossible to get to via public transport?!

This is just fucking ridiculous.

I Couldn't Stop Crying While Writing This

(Note - I'm not sure what brought this rant on, just generally feeling annoyed at the world I guess, but I'd just like to point out, before I get started, that I love my father very much. Really, he's wonderful. The vast majority of the time.)

I'd like to tell you a story about my father, as I've never really had the chance to vent about him before and the anonymity of this blog is so darned attractive to me.

Now, when my father was 18, he was a little short of money. He took out a loan of £5,000. Not for university, you understand; it wasn't a student loan, he just wanted to move out of his mother's house and...well...buy a lot of alcohol and drugs. He managed the second part quite well, at least. He got married at 21, still living at his mom's and still spending all of his disposable income on mind-altering substances. He moved out, at his wife's insistence, when she got pregnant, taking out another loan in the process. Had a kid at 22 (my sister) and another at 23 (me), moving through about 5 different houses in that time and still spending most of his income on alcohol and drugs and leaving his wife at home to look after the kids while he was at work and then out drinking in the evenings. He cheated on his wife, a lot, was found out when he was 24 (I think) and they got divorced. She kept the kids, obviously, as he didn't want the responsibility and at the time she seemed capable of it*. He promised to send money for the kids and to come visit them every weekend. He managed neither, but still came to visit when he was sober enough (once every 2 or 3 weeks, roughly).

Anyhow, at this point he's taken out about £10,000 in loans, paid minimum payments for interest and spent the rest of his money on alcohol and drugs. So not even a tiny dent's been made in that debt. But now he has to pay child support as well as rent and everything, and he starts buying things on credit cards as he doesn't have the income to cover those expenses on top of his drug and alcohol habits. For some reason, despite never paying back loans, the banks still think it's a good idea to give him credit cards.

He maxes out credit cards, gets more credit cards to cover them, constantly switching for that 0% interest for the first few months. Takes out more loans to pay back the first loans so they'll stop chasing him. Debt continues to build.

Ex-wife's craziness kicks in. Won't go into detail but kids are basically living in poverty with their mother, being clothed and fed by their maternal grandmother as much as she can, but she's living on a small pension. He sees this, takes out another loan, gives money to crazy ex-wife for the kids. She spends it on ridiculous things.

He continues taking out loans to pay off loans, switching credit cards, and slowly building up debt. He also keeps moving house as he keeps being evicted for not paying rent. Kids never know where he's living at any given time and don't know when they're going to see him next but he continues to visit as regularly as possible and they adore him as, well, they don't know any better, he hides his drug and alcohol habits, and he's certainly better than a crazy mother.

He also goes through many girlfriends, all of which crazy in their own unique way (maybe he has a thing for the crazy chicks?) and most of them liking expensive things, as crazy chicks do. Debt continues to mount.

Kids grow up a bit, reach 16, can legally leave home. Get the fuck away from their crazy mother as soon as they can. Don't really have anywhere to live as he still doesn't have a stable home. Live off the kindness of friend's (me) and boyfriend's (sister) mothers who let them live with them for reduced rent. Can't afford to go to college or uni as they have to go into full-time jobs to pay that rent. Government won't give them any benefits as they're under 18 and not living at home**.

Unfortunately, kindness of friend's family doesn't really stretch all that far and after six months or so they get kicked out as there's too many people in the house (me) or because they broke up with their boyfriend (sister). My sister gave in and moved back in with the crazy mother for a full month before she couldn't stand it anymore and moved in with a cousin. I decided to take my father's offer of living in his back room*** for £100 a week all utilities and food included. Oh yes, he'd just bought a house at this point. Banks decided it was a good idea to give him a mortgage, despite him being in about £25,000 debt at that point. So now he has £25,000 debt and an £80,000 mortgage. I'm 17, still ineligible for benefits as I'm not technically living at home as even though I'm living with my father, my mother had custody of me and I grew up living with her. I don't really understand it. I get the feeling I probably could have pressed the matter and resolved it but I was young and naive and suffering with undiagnosed EDS and a lot of mental problems from living with the crazy mother. Wasn't capable of pressing anything.

Takes me about three months of living with him before I can get a job, applying at hundreds, literally hundreds of places, but with barely any experience and bad GCSE results it's difficult (social anxiety doesn't help with the interview process). Finally manage to get a part-time job, that pays £100 a week. Exactly enough to pay my rent, but not to pay off the £1300 debt I've built up by living with him these past few months and not paying rent.

Rambo, who I'd only been with for 6 or 7 months at this point (since just before I moved into my dad's), sees how frustrating and painful this situation is for me, talks his mom into letting me live with them for a rent of £40 a month for the both of us (He was 20, she wasn't charging him rent before that but because he was over 18 he was getting £50 a week Jobseeker's Allowance so could afford that easily).

Anyway, back to my dad. The girlfriend he'd bought this house with (and is still with today) is one of the worst of his girlfriend's for expensive taste. Once a year or so she gets bored with a room in the house, spends fuckloads redecorating. Buys gigantic plasma TVs and every games console and starts a collection of DVDs that could rival any Blockbuster's. All on credit, of course.

Between the two of them, they rack up a debt of £50,000 plus their £80,000 mortgage. Living in the lap of luxury, never wanting for a thing. New cars every year. Always have the latest gadgets and technologies. Never paying off any of their debt.

Earlier this year, they declare bankruptcy. All debt written off, except the mortgage. Lose no assets whatsoever. Continue living in luxury as they now have all that disposable income that used to be spent on debt interest. Buy the nicest foods, always have alcohol and drugs in the house, etc etc.

Which brings me to the point where I started getting annoyed and began writing this. I have never bought anything on credit. Never bought anything I couldn't afford. Always been good with money. Always worked as hard as I could, before my medical problems got so bad that I literally couldn't (and for a good while before that as I refused to admit how bad it was). Yet I've never had that kind of disposable income. I've never been able to buy nice foods and not worry about it. I allow myself luxuries now and then, but I'm always very aware of how luxurious they are and they always make me feel guilty for buying them. I buy alcohol for Rambo on rare occasions, as a treat, and I can never afford drugs. I don't even want them for recreational purposes. I just want working painkillers and I can't afford them. But my father always has a good stock in his house, that I'm not allowed, unless I can afford to buy it off him.

Yet he, even now, even being supposedly bankrupt, never worries about money. He has never lived off a tiny income. Has never lived off ramen noodles and toast and asda smartprice soup at 19p a can because it's all he can afford for groceries.

It's just...it's not fair. I know, he works, and he's good at his job. But I've worked, and in every job I've ever done I've done a helluva fucking good job of it, enough for people to comment on it and tell me how awesome I am and how much better I am than the other people before me, enough for people to ask me to come back when I leave, despite all my problems and all of the sick days I had to take. I am a damned fucking amazing woman and I deserve better than this. Fuck, at my age, my father was being a degenerate irresponsible bastard. At my age he was stealing cars and doing drugs and alcohol. How the hell does he get it so easy?

I want a job again. I want to be able to work and be told how awesome I am all the time, again. I want to be able to earn my money, not jump through hoops for the government just to get a measly amount of benefit that can barely pay my bills and buy me food. I want to know that this isn't forever, that things will get easier, that this is just a small part of my life that everyone goes through when they're young.

I can't have that. I know that. I've mostly resigned myself to it, even if I do give in every now and then and desperately hunt for jobs that might, maybe, be suitable for me. I never find any. I don't think they exist.

I just...I wish people didn't throw it in my face so much. I'm constantly being told that because other people work they're better than me, as they contribute to society, and they have a right to be exhausted when they get home and I should immediately jump up and get them drinks and food because I've just been sat on my arse all day, being useless. No matter how much I actually have done that day. If it doesn't earn money, it doesn't count as work and I have no right to complain. About anything. Ever.

And people are always asking me why I don't buy this or that as it might help me, or telling me off for being 'cheap' when I buy things from charity shops or don't buy name-brand things (or, God forbid, buy cheap food; that's apparently the source of all my IBS problems), or getting annoyed with me for not travelling around the country to visit them or go off on holiday with them or go out to pubs with them etc etc etc. Seriously, guys. I would love to do all that. I really would. But I'm doing the best I can with what little I have.

...Most of all, though, I wish that Rambo didn't have to be dragged down with me. He works for a living. He should be able to have a bit of disposable income. He should be able to buy himself luxuries and go out drinking with his friends. He shouldn't have to deal with all of this shit. I know I shouldn't feel guilty about dragging him down with me, but I do. So fucking much. It's NOT FAIR. He deserves better.






*More on that later, if I can really bring myself to dredge up traumatic childhood memories.

**Seriously. I was told, at 16, that if I was living at home and not working or studying, I'd be eligible for benefits, but as I'd moved out (and therefore needed the money) I couldn't have any.

***Back room is not the same as a spare room, by any account. It was a tiny box room that you couldn't fit a bed into. I had an air bed and a sleeping bag on the floor and suffered horribly with back pain for it.

New Pills

Antispasmodics are awesome. Seriously. Stomach's calmed down almost completely, only bugging me the tiniest bit if I sneeze or go into hysterical laughter. Which meant I managed to get laid last night, for the first time since this thing started, over three weeks ago. So freaking happy about that. Oh, I was also laughing without being in pain, and it felt really weird, I was that used to laughter being painful.

New painkillers, though, I'm not so happy about. I can't quite work out if they're giving me a tiny bit of pain relief or if it's just that my abdomen no longer hurts and therefore my overall pain level's dropped. The rest of me is still aching and painful (and just after I started typing this my back went super-crazy spasming-pain*) but overall I feel in less pain...I'm thinking that, as with the laughter, I've just gotten so used to abdomen pain that the relief from that feels weird. I think. New painkillers might be helping a tiny bit. But even if they are, the payoff is too much. These are the first pills that have had any kind of effect on me, pain relief or otherwise, and they're making me ridiculously lightheaded, on top of my normal POTS lightheadedness, and have given me such bad dry mouth that I can no longer eat dry food.

But I'm clinging to the hope that side effects and maybe a tiny bit of pain relief means we're on the right track, and that maybe the next step up will be what we're looking for, and that I nearly have working painkillers. :)

Going back to the doctor on Friday, to get a rheumatology referral, as apparently the one I've been waiting on for the past two months never happened. I got a call about an hour and a half after my appointment yesterday telling me that and asking me to come back. This doctor actually checks up on things when I ask her to, and fast, and then bothers to call me and make a new appointment! I love this doctor. I have never seen such competence from a GP before.





*I ran away about a minute after typing that, literally ran up the stairs, screw joint and muscle pain and lightheadedness, and collapsed on the full-body pregnancy pillow on the bed. That pain was so insane, I can't even begin to describe it, but the fact that I ran upstairs to escape it should be description enough. Anyhow, five minutes on my pillow and I was beginning to feel myself again, another ten minutes and my back was fine. Seriously, those things are incredible. I need to stop thinking I can lie on the sofa without dragging my pillow downstairs first.

GP

Finally got to see a doctor this morning. New one, again. Is very difficult to get to see the same GP twice in a row, but would be very helpful as I wouldn't have to re-explain all my problems. Anyhoo, liking this GP as well. She believed everything I said, and didn't balk at the fact that I've been researching my condition on my own, or the fact that very strong painkillers do absolutely nothing for me. She just moved me up to the next strongest without any hesitation, promised to chase up my rheumatology referral that was made two months ago and I've heard nothing about.

And uh, oh yeah, that weird nasty abdominal pain. Checked my urine, perfectly fine, not an infection. Spent five minutes pressing down on my abdomen in various places and going 'is it sore there?' when I was grimacing in pain. She thinks it's just another IBS symptom and gave me a month's worth antispasmodics to try and told me to come back in a month if it's still bothering me. I hope so badly that it's not still bothering me in a month. I can't stand it any longer. I need to be able to laugh and cry again!

Speaking of crying, I walked all the way down to the doctor's and then the pharmacy as Rambo wouldn't get his lazy ass out of bed. Wasn't so much of a problem walking to the doctor's but after her pressing down on my abdomen so much it was screaming in pain and made walking rather...difficult, shall we say? I've been home for an hour but I've only just stopped crying with pain long enough to get on the laptop.

House of Geeks

I asked Rambo to get me some chocolate milk. He took my thermos away to go wash it, and then got distracted, as usual. After 15 minutes of waiting I got bored, tried to bug him over msn but he wasn't online. The Music Man was, however. Have a transcript of the conversation that ensued when I tried to get Rambo's attention, edited only slightly to remove real names.


Me: You poke Rambo.

TMM: syntax error

Me: Poke Rambo

TMM: #SYNTAX ERROR

Me: Use stick on Rambo

TMM: successful

Me: Use stick on Rambo

TMM: successful

Me: Use stick on Rambo

TMM: successful

Me: Make chocolate milk
Use chocolate on milk

TMM: no chocolate in bag

Me: Pick up chocolate

TMM: can't find chocolate

Me: Go kitchen

TMM: can't move whilst sitting

Me: Stand up

TMM: you need legs to use that action

Me: Get legs

TMM: can't find legs

Me: Get wheels

TMM: can't find hands to operate wheels

Me: Command Rambo make chocolate milk

TMM: admin password required

Me: < actual root password >

TMM: ***** incorrect password ***** - 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.

Me: plenz
42

TMM: ***** incorrect password ***** - 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
***** incorrect password ***** - 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.

Me: open sesame

TMM: ***** incorrect password ***** - 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
***** incorrect password ***** - 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
***** incorrect password ***** - 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING.

Me: < standard 8-letter lower case, upper case & number password of mine >

TMM: Password Accepted

Me: Command Rambo make chocolate milk

TMM: can not find Rambo

Me: look around

TMM: you see a large room, it has a television, a sofa, some computers and a boss. you may go north, south or dennis

Me: north

TMM: you are standing in the street at midnight, you get mugged and die.
GAME OVER.

Me: Start
Start again

TMM: GAME OVER.

Me: F2

TMM: You are at the north pole. You see snow.

Me: eat snow

TMM: You die from... snow poisoning
GAME OVER

Me: F2

TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia.
GAME OVER

Me: F2

TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia.
GAME OVER

Me: F2

TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia
GAME OVER

Me: F2

TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia
GAME. OVER.

Problem Exists Between Keyboard and Chair

Someone on TLR was complaining that their code wasn't working right and I, being the benevolent and wonderful person that I am, offered to help, as I would any fellow coder. Especially when they're complaining about CSS. CSS can be so fucking annoying at times. I wanted to take the opportunity to kick CSS's ass for annoying people.

Turns out, he wasn't coding. He was using other people's CSS layouts for his shitty Kingdom Hearts fansite on freehostia. The site itself should have been enough warning for me, but nooo - I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So I ask him what he's trying to do, and he shows me the old CSS, takes it down, puts the new CSS up (each stage takes roughly 10 minutes, I don't know why) and all he's trying to do is change the plain background to a fixed image. Simple enough, right? But what's he's done is taken an entire new CSS layout from a different person, that has the background he wants, and used that instead of the old code. Then complained that his old layout wasn't the same. I mean, he was changing roughly 200 lines of CSS here in copying the whole damn file from someone, then wondering why the rest of his site didn't look the same.

So I explain to him that changing the background image is fairly simple, and he should go back to the old CSS file and we'll edit that. I'm still feeling fairly nice and generous at this point, even if I am sitting there seething at him for a) being such an idiot and b) telling me that he was 'coding' in the first place. I figure I got myself into this, for offering to help people. That's what you get for being nice, really. I should know that.

Anyhow, we go back to the old CSS and I give him the chunk of code that he needs and tell him to copy/paste it into the body class of his CSS. Whoops. How stupid of me. I thought maybe, as he was telling me that he was having troubles merging the two CSS files together so they worked properly, that he might understand a tiny bit of CSS. No. Not the case. He takes what I gave him and pastes it straight into the HTML, then cries at me when the raw code shows up on his site rather than actually acting like, y'know, code.

I figure 'okay, it'll be too much work to explain to him about editing the actual CSS file that he took, uploaded, and linked to in the header*, so I'll just make him put things inside style tags in the HTML'. I try this. I give him the exact tags and tell him to copy/paste, before and after the chunk of code I gave him. He ignores that and types them in, with typos, then cries at me because the closing tag wasn't right so it managed to break the rest of his html and now nothing works.

I try to explain to him that he typod in the closing tag, and give him another one to copy/paste. He goes 'but that's exactly what I did!' I tell him it's not, I'm looking at it right now and it blatantly says 'stype' rather than 'style'. He gets a little freaked out that I can read his code, but eventually fixes it.

So okay, we've finally got the background image right. Now the text is too dark and can't be read over the dark background. I ask him if he'd rather make the text lighter or change the background of the 'boxes' (read: scrolling divs) to a lighter colour so that the text can be read. He replies to this with 'huh'. No question mark, so I assume he was just making a 'thinking about it' noise and give him a minute. Or two. Or ten. Then I realise he didn't understand the question. I rephrase it in simpler terms and he chooses to change the backgrounds of the boxes.

Now I have to sit and trawl through the depths of this goddamned ugly, unnoted code in order to find the code for the boxes that we need to change. Whilst doing this I get exasperated at the ugliness of this horrible code and express that to him, hoping for a little sympathy. Instead I get an indignant reply of 'My code isn't ugly! What the fuck!?'

No, really. That's seriously what he said. I am in shock at this point. I'd already worked out that this guy was an idiot, but he really honestly thinks that stealing someone else's code is coding, and that it makes it his code. When he doesn't even understand the most basic concepts of said code. I just...I don't know how to deal with that kind of mind-numbing idiocy and I've just wasted the last hour and a half on him. I can't take anymore. I log off MSN and go bang my head against a wall.

Why didn't I shout at him/block him from MSN/give him anything that he deserves, you ask? Because, like I said, I know this guy from TLR. If I do any of that shit he'll start mouthing off about me in chat and then I'll have to mute him for mouthing off and then people will get mad at me because I, obviously, muted him for mouthing off about me rather than just mouthing off in general and I'm a horrible biased mod who doesn't deserve the title and...

Basically, I didn't want to start any drama. TLR has enough of it as it is**. I shall just not speak in chat for the rest of tonight and pretend my internet died if I see him tomorrow. He'll be over his idiotic problems by then, right?






*How the fuck did he manage to do that part right, by the way? I've not got my head around that, yet.

**If you really want I'll rant about TLR-drama later. And the fact that mods are inhuman monsters that should be fought against with every ounce of willpower you possess. Viva la revolution!***

***If you really need me to tell you that that was sarcasm, please do me a favour and bash your own head against a wall, to save me the trouble.

BOYS!

Feeling kind of excluded and left out of things. Rambo and The Music Man are spending all their time playing video games together and I'm stuck up here lying in bed because being out of bed just hurts too much. I'm so bored and lonely. I know, there's a whole internet full of lovely people to talk to*, but that won't cure my loneliness, that's not what I want. I don't want to talk; I'm not a very talkative person. I just want to sit with Rambo and cuddle for a bit, that's all.

I'd tell him this, but the last time I did that he told TMM and they just sat there laughing at me being girly. Rambo has no goddamned tact.

I'm sure there were other things that I wanted to say, but my memory really is that shitty that I can't really remember most of today.

Oh, wait, I know. Rent was due today. We can't really pay it. Rambo managed to lose £300 worth of cheques after I nagged him for a week straight to go down to the bank and cash them. Fairly certain they're in the house somewhere but been looking for a week and can't find them. I'm sure if he'd just clean the fucking house they'd turn up but even with £300 riding on it he'd rather sit around playing video games and going 'Eh, it's not that bad. We don't need the money. We pay rent late all the time!'

I've tried cleaning myself but I don't get very far before I need to collapse and then by the time I've got the energy to try again it's worse than when I started.

Again, who the fuck thought it was a good idea to live with two boys?

...I brought this on myself. I know it. But on the one hand, it's sort of a good thing - if I was living with girls, they'd shout at me for being untidy, rather than the other way around.





*Yes, I mean you guys. You're all lovely. <3

I Can Has Puppy?

My legs are feeling better today and the stairs aren't feeling quite so mountainous. Although my upper body isn't doing so well. I took advantage of being able to use the stairs and did some laundry and tidied my living room a little bit. Now I'm having to rest again, but I feel much better about the resting when I've actually done something productive first.

I'm guessing it is the chair, and I'm just going to have to deal with needing a day to recover after being out for a day in it. Like I didn't spend enough time resting as it is.

Annoying the neighbours with loud music whilst I rest. Singing can be very therapeutic at times.

As a side note - if anyone happens to know of any puppies going free, I would love one. Been trying to find one since my sister moved out and the cheapest I've come across (that isn't, you know, in Cornwall) is £200. Even the rescue centres around here ask for a 'donation' of £100, and they don't have any puppies. I want a puppy. I want to train it from scratch and build a bond from puppy-hood, y'know? Never had a chance to do that before.

Gimme a damn puppy, people. Pet therapy and all that. Is an essential medical need! *cough* No really.

Preferably of the big, fluffy, cuddly variety.

Questions

I swear my knees and ankles are getting worse. It never used to be this much of a struggle to go up and down the stairs. Sure, it was painful and difficult at times, when something was already out of place, but as a general everyday thing, it wasn't that bad.

It is now.

I don't understand why. Is it the wheelchair? I have noticed my knees stiffening up after I'm in it for a while, and the vibrations are certainly hell when I pop my knee out (I keep trying to kick doors open from the chair, heh. Usually on request. I should really explain how much that hurts.)

But I really don't want to stop using the chair, it's great and so much less painful than walking. Plus I only really use it for going into town and the like, I still walk to the corner shop and closer places, which is pretty much all I used to do, but the chair allows me to go out, for hours at a time, and I've been loving that. But is it making me worse?

Is it maybe all the bumping around when Rambo and TMM are fucking about or just generally not being careful with me? I know it hurts at the time, and I have noticed when I got out of the chair a couple times it was hurting more than normal to walk.

If it's them fucking around, should I shout at them about it? Should I get an electric chair so I can push myself? Will that help, or is it the vibrations? Is it the horrible pavements in Manchester that slope in all the wrong directions, rarely have ramps on the kerbs, and are often potholed/gravelly - or, at the worst - cobblestoned?

No other EDSer I know has complained about their wheelchairs making them worse, either through vibrations or sitting still too long or being bumped around, so is it the chair? Do they just have better drivers and better streets?

If it's not the chair, is this just another one of those horribly fast deteriorations of EDS hitting me? Will I level out again soon? Is it possible to find a physiotherapist who actually knows something about EDS and might be able to stop me deteriorating? That I can actually afford? I've seen a few around, but ranging between £25 and £40 per session. I can't afford that. I could maybe manage £5 a session, but even then I'd be complaining about it, as it would cost me a further £5 to get there and back.

If this gets any worse, will I have to move house? I love living three doors down from my Dad but these stairs are killing me. My house seems to have extra-steep stairs, too. If I have to move house, will I be able to? I've tried looking, before, for ground-floor flats and bungalows, but they're either ridiculously expensive, or don't allow people under 65. What the hell is that about? Are the elderly the only people with mobility problems? I tried living on a third floor flat before, rather than a ground floor, but the lift broke down constantly and no-one seemed to care enough to fix it in any sort of sane time period. That was hell on me, too, and that was three years ago. I've gotten so much worse since then.

If I can't move house, and I can't handle these stairs any more, what the fuck do I do? The NHS certainly won't pay for a stairlift or anything, and even if they did...my landlord knows nothing about my problems. He knows nothing, because he, like most landlords, specifically won't take tenants who are on benefits. If he finds out, will I get kicked out of my house? Where will I be able to live? The council certainly don't care about finding me a house that's suitable. We can barely afford this place as it is, expensive bungalows/ground-floor flats are out of the question.

If I had a proper diagnosis, would it help matters? How do I get one when none of the doctors know anything about it? How do I get to go see a doctor that does? The nearest specialist place is a children's hospital in Sheffield. That's expensive to get to, even if it wasn't a children's hospital. The only other place in England now is London, as the Leeds one's shutting down. London's both expensive to get to, and hell on my joints. Last time I tried it was a five and a half hour bus journey and I was in tears by the end.

Useless

My house is looking sort of-not really-not by normal person standards clean! Yay? I dunno. I think it's about as clean now as it was when The Music Man moved in. It says a lot about how bad it got that I'm so pleased by this now. He's failing at being a housekeeper. Stupid boys. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to live with boys? Seriously?!

In other news - I've been so brain-dead since FFM finished that I've just slept the days away, when I've not been crying with pain. Getting quite sick of this abdominal pain now, but still haven't managed to get a doctor's appointment as they're rather shitty about it up here and insist that they can't book one in advance and I need to call at 8 o'clock in the morning to try and get one. Which I do, when I can manage to both remember and wake up in time, and then can't get through until 8:30, at which point they tell me that there are none left. This is just...ridiculous. I was barely coping with my normal level of pain and no working painkillers, add extra on top of it and I just...Jesus. I can't cope. Make it stop.

I can't laugh, I can't cry, I can't sneeze, I can't cough, I can't breathe deeply, I can't yawn...except...I can do all those things, and do do them, involuntarily. And then I spend the next five-ten minutes silently screaming*.

So, yeah. Feeling about as utterly useless and unproductive as it is possible to be right about now. Spending all my time crying and sleeping and eating. Except I'm managing to write a blog post, look! That counts as productive, right? ...Right?

Ugh.





*What, you don't understand silent screaming? Then you've obviously never had to deal with chronic pain. Lucky you.

July Is Over!

Flash Fiction Month is OVER!

I got my last story done at five minutes to midnight. So damn pleased with myself.

Final tally count for the last month is 30 flash fictions, 55 55-word stories and five poems as I apparently have a little bit of an addiction and needed a rhyme fix halfway through.

I also somehow seem to have volunteered myself to make a website for next year's FlaFiWriMo so we can take it off dA and make it somewhat more respectable.

I also somehow seem to have ended up as an admin for a community novel project.

I also, somehow, ended up taking on an insanely large coding project. I'll not go into details now but think D&D/MUD/RP type stuff and you'll be on the right track. Possible income, apparently. *shrugs*

Feeling a little thinly spread at the minute.

...Oh, you wanted to hear about real life stuff? Well, I've had some weird abdominal pain for the last week or so. No idea what's going on but going to the doctor next week. The suggestions thrown at me have ranged from a simple UTI to a pulled muscle to kidney stones to coeliac's disease*. Nobody knows what's going on basically. In lots of extra pain and very worried and confused about it. I hate having pain that I don't understand. It's the worst part of pain.

The Music Man just got back from a ska festival in Wales with his new band, apparently it was insanely awesome, but his laptop got stolen. Is covered by home insurance but we literally only got that like a week ago and I'm not sure how well that claim's going to go down.

Still having no luck with benefits. All very confusing and too much for my poor dead brain. FFM has eaten all of my cognitive functions. Ate them all right up. And they won't even let me rest now - August is crit/edit month.





*Cross your fingers for me. If it's coeliac's then I'm no longer allowed gluten. I fucking love my gluten.