Easy Peasy

Here's something to do if you feel like wasting time at work: http://quiz.history.com/

But the questions are ridiculously easy. Reminds me of how I won my "2010 Census" coffee mug at Merry Main Street (our town's Christmas "doing"). I saw they had swag and walked up and said, "I want a mug. What do I have to do to get it?" So they asked me a trivia question.

"Not counting this year's, when was the last U.S. census?"

"2000." They handed me the mug.

"That's IT? That's all I have to answer? I don't even have to say it's mandated by the Constitution? Or that a bunch of the data ends up in Statistical Abstracts of the United States? Which is a GREAT book, by the way, and a huge bargain."

They interrupted me. "Um, no ma'am. Just the year."

"Oh, okay! Thanks."

I am a total weirdo, but I LOVE Statistical Abstracts of the United States. It's published annually by the Government Printing Office (www.gpo.gov) and compiles a gracious plenty of data about the US. When I was running a library (Ericsson, Siemens' Wireless) I used to drive to the GPO bookstore in downtown Dallas on the release date every year to buy my new copy. You could say that StatAbstracts was my Harry Potter. Except cheaper. And no one has to camp out in tents ahead of time.

Folk medicine

Currently I have a cold. Or really bad allergies.

On top of that, I had a migrane yesterday. It's been a while since I've had one--a couple of years, at least. Therefore, I don't have any handy-dandy migrane narcotics on hand like Midrin or Tylenol-3 or whatever.

I was doing okay at home in the deep, cool, quiet of my tv room, but when it was time to take SassyZAF (no longer Stick Girl) to her piano lesson, it got bad. Here's a tip: if you have a migrane, do NOT go to a music store. Just sayin'.

About 30 seconds away from calling my doctor and asking if I could come in for a shot of Imitrex, I realized it would be cheaper to take one last shot at a home cure: 7-Eleven coffee.

People look at you weird when you buy coffee at 5pm. Not that I care. I mean, I KNOW it's been sitting there for hours, and that the pot is probably a combo of five different brews. As long as they're not decaf, I don't care. Thicker the better. Consistency of tar. Properties of paint thinner. Aroma of dog breath. That's the stuff.

It had a small effect over the next 90 minutes, which was enough for me to get supper [nominally] planned.

Then it happened. My head, I swear, actually felt lighter. The pain simply lifted and my scalp got all tingly.

There is no feeling so wonderful as being in pain, and then NOT. Ah, clarity! Joy! Euphoria!

All yours, available for $1.50 at America's favorite convenience store!

*And I know you're thinking this, but I'm actually not addicted to caffene. I don't drink it daily. Surprised, aren't you? So, no, my headache wasn't due to caffene withdrawl. I've had that headache. That's an entirely different headache. But thank you for your concern.

Hilights

Today I:

Saw the hole in my back yard become something that looks like a pool.

Sprained my ankle taking pictures of it.

Finally fit into the bridesmaid dress.

Embarrassed my daughter.

Was confused by Lost.

Bought yet another pair of cheap sunglasses.

Was extremely impressed that the garbage trucks, who were prevented from collecting in my alley due to our pool construction, actually came back and got it later.

So my neighbors won't hate me. That's always a good thing.

Hypochondriocity

This one's really boring, and only mildly funny in one or two spots. Don't say you weren't warned that this will be a total waste of your time. Anyway--

I'm one of those people who will some day have on my gravestone: "I TOLD you I was sick!"

I'm not always right, but here's the problem: sometimes I am. This does nothing to discourage a hypochondriac like myself.

I first got the reputation for being a hypochondriac in my teens, when I constantly had a headache. Have you ever had to PROVE you had a headache? Try. Think about it.

The thing is, I DID have a headache. And my shoulders were so tense my earrings generally rested on my clavicles. When I was a little older, people I worked with thought I drank a lot because I never looked well-rested, along with the headache thing, and so on.

I had doctor-hopped, trying to find out what was wrong, when I finally got lucky and found a dentist who told me the artificial implant in my jaw that was supposed to fix things actually fucked them up more, was probably shedding bits of teflon in my body, and had to be removed ASAP. I have the pathology report on the surgery. It's icky.

Point is: I was right.

Then there was the time, 8 years ago, when I had this tiny yet horribly itchy rash on my back. I went to the doctor and said, hey, I know that a little information gleaned from the Interwebs is usually a bad thing, so PLEASE tell me this isn't shingles.

He said sorry, I can't. It IS shingles and this has been a weird morning, because the first patient of the day was a brand new case of tuberculosis and I had to call the CDC, so sorry you had to wait. Shingles at age 34? Effed up.

Then, of course, is the constant battle with depression, and my years of working with my doctor to get the right medicine and dosage. It sucks, but at least the medicine helped me quit smoking. Then last year, Doc finally gave me Cymbalta, which has not only lifted my issues with depression, but also alleviated all those aches and pains I've been living with all my life, which are quite like fibromyalgia pain, even though for once I never self-diagnosed fibromyalgia. Okay, maybe once or twice in my head, but never asked the doctor about it.

So I was feeling GREAT!

Then, as you probably know, my Dad's illness which had already gone from bad to worse, went from worse to critical, then worse to casket. It exhausted me.

I expected the exhaustion to lift, but it only got worse, and the damn trees around me were blocking my view of the forest. Not that I could keep my eyes open to see it. I was sleeping up to 20 hours a day. Then I started craving, and I mean CRAVING anything with salt, that crunched. It was all I would eat: potato chips, bagel chips, saltines, anything. In restaurants, I wouldn't even need a to-go box, except maybe for my steak.

When I went to visit Mother at BeerHound's house in March, the 'Hound stared in awe as I ate an entire bag of potato chips (WITH dip) by myself, as I sat and complained about how swollen my ankles were.

Really, they looked like Stretch Armstrong's buddy He-Man: when poked, the dent from my finger would stay for a minute or two.

That's when the BeerHound said quietly, yeah, that's weird. Go to the doctor.

Now, BeerHound and I theorize on health issues on a daily basis. Due to her past and present professions, nutritionist and lab tech, respectively, she can spout diagnostic data prolificly. But since she's not a doctor, she can't and won't give out medical advice.

That's why, when she had NO other comments on my behavior and symptoms, I took her very seriously and went to the doctor the day after I got back.

At which time, of course, the swelling had dissappeared. So I guess I wasn't having heart failure, or kidney failure, or any other major organ failure. So that was nice.

Good hypochondriac I am, I'd already diagnosed myself with Hashimoto's. It's a type of underactive thyroid condition.

The doctor agreed to do some blood tests, and gave me a diuretic for my now non-existent edema. Then a week and a lot of frustration later, I learned that I was NOT suffereing from a thyroid malady; however, I was severely low in vitamins B12 and D. Now I get to take oral supplements of each, plus sit in the sun for 15 minutes a day, and get monthly B12 shots.

I have no idea why I was so anemic, but it feels really good to be awake again.

Thanks for reading this far. Now go sit in the sun.

Who ARE the people in your neighborhood?

12:47 PM

me: i saw the funniest thing!

12:48 PM

David: ?

me: getting out of a car going into a house over on j*#&* street

a drag queen. skinny.

in a snow leopard print chiffon halter dress

12:49 PM

wearing a platinum Marilyn Monroe wig

and heels of course.

carrying..

A WHIP!

David: uhhh wha?

me: :-O

just re-read what i wrote.

;-)

12:50 PM

David: is it drag queen day at school today?

me: must be

12:51 PM

David: wonder what that was about? I mean I know there are lots of republicans living in Texas, but in our neighborhood?

me: i love you.

12:52 PM

David: :>

12:55 PM

Lance: gotta do a craigslist search to find who put in that ad

me: lol

I was bad.

The last time I flew, I did something illegal.

You know when they ask, has anyone else handled your bags? Asked you to carry something, etc?

You say "No," and you really believe it, don't you?

This is from my (handwritten) journal entry:

This guy who has been sitting in front of me for about an hour, working on his computer, got a phone call 10 minutes ago. He started out talking while sitting in his seat but quickly got up. Can NO ONE in this country speak on the phone any more without the urge to multitask, even if it's only a facade? Guess not.

People used to have to stand still or sit to speak on the phone, since it was anchored to the wall.

The guy came back. I wonder if the guy to my right noticed what I did. Which was: I tore a blank page out of my journal and wrote: "You left your bag unattended! Bar Patron, DFW, beerpup (at) gmail (dot) com," and put it in his backpack. Wonder what the outcome will be?

The guy just took another call. Geez.

Non-sequiter: I'm really glad I haven't seen anyone in flip-flops yet today.

Man, that guy just dug thru his bag. I guess I put that note practically on top of his wallet. Let's just call him Mr. "O" for Oblivious.

Two lines, no thoughts, sorta drunk. Nachos sucked, just like last time I was here!

This is where we are before we're up in the air.

Watch this.