Perpetual Smile

“I havnt talked to you in a while and wanted to say hi and stuff,” reads the text message. Ever since opening it, all I can think of are his hands around my throat.

* * * * *

Things have been absolutely bonkers on planet elizawhat. Aside from people from my past popping up like germs on a little kid’s hands, life has been packed with huge projects for clients with looming deadlines, a new niece to snuggle and love and gaze at while she sleeps, anxiety about Popi’s angioplasty that he had done today, a renewed sense of connection and even deeper love for Mike (who has been amazing beyond words through all of the shit hitting the fan), a slew of phone calls to schedule appointments with various doctors, more worry while we wait to see what the doctors say is going on with Dad, depression cycling in and out of me faster than fucking bunnies (and “fucking” is a verb here, heh), and a deep, unquenchable urge to play Sims and write even though I barely have time to sleep.

Suddenly, “bonkers” doesn’t seem quite appropriate; things are absolutely batshit.

* * * * *

Popi has been having chest pains, that go all the way down to his elbow. They found two clogs in the arteries of his heart, and did an angioplasty this afternoon to open up the arteries. They’re not sure why the arteries were clogged; it could be the chemo, it could be something that was already there before the cancer came along. More than likely it is the chemo, because a few weeks ago they did a full slew of tests and no clogs were detected.

I’m angry and afraid, to be perfectly blunt. I’m angry at the chemo, and afraid that it’s going to destroy him, piece by piece, before the cancer does. And then I saw him last night, and seeing him looking well and being with him made me think more positively. I look at my great-great-aunt Nan, who is in her nineties and was diagnosed with stage 3 cancer more than six years ago. She’s fine today, still kickin’, feisty for such an old lady. She makes her own clothing. She drinks wine. She cracks jokes, sometimes dirty ones. She’s got an uncanny strength for someone who looks so fragile. I admire her, deeply.

She is proof that Popi can make it through. It pisses me off when everyone starts discussing hospice. It’s like they’ve already given up. I don’t want to give up. Call me selfish, but I want to keep my Popi. I like to think that he can kick this thing’s ass, even if it’s already taken its toll in so many places: hip, spine, liver, lung. Fuck you, cancer. My Popi is stubborn and won’t go down so easily. I won’t let him.

* * * * *

My niece is a doll. She has Jaysa’s nose, Robbie’s face. Her hair is black and her head is full of it. Her eyes are big and constantly open, aware. She may not be able to see much yet, but she looks like she’s perfectly aware of what’s going on. Ciana Olivia Pelletier already has all of us wrapped around her tiny, long fingers.

* * * * *

It’s hard to talk about everything that is swirling through my mind. I don’t really even know where to start. I’m bone tired, thanks to a week full of nights spent staying up until the ass crack of dawn to get pieces of projects complete. I keep reminding myself that if I work hard now, in five to ten years I’ll be able to enjoy things. Sometimes I wish I could be a “normal” twenty-one-year-old, spending my late nights partying instead of working, falling asleep with veins full of thin, beer- or vodka-chased blood, then waking up to do it all over again the next day. But my partying stages were years ago, when being fifteen meant that I didn’t care much about my future. Now, I want that future, whatever it may be.

* * * * *

I know things have been pretty serious around here. I promise to try to make this place fun again. Thank you for listening.

I want to tell you all about so many things, like Christmas Eve, my latest bout of depression, the Nintendo DS I bought myself as a treat, all of the pain I’ve been having lately, the insane workload I’ve been carrying, and a few other things. But when I sit down to write, all of my thoughts blow away like clouds on a clear summer day. I could tell you about how I lost my appointment card and have no idea when my next rheumatologist appointment is (or was). I could tell you that I feel like it does no good to go anyway. I could explain to you how amazing Mike is and that without him I would not have made it through the last few days.

I want to tell you how badly I want to reorganize my life right now, because it feels so messy and everything I want feels so out of reach. I want to tell you that not every moment in my life has been gloomy; I’ve had some good happy moments lately, too. I want to tell you all about how my family is doing, the love, the fights, the eggshells.

I just don’t know where to start, my friends.

I’ve been reading everyone’s blogs and it seems like we’ve all been having more than our share of ups and downs. I can barely get my thoughts together enough to leave a comment worth reading let alone encouraging. Everything feels so chaotic right now. My own head is a mess and my heart is lost. There is so much to fight right now, but I feel like every time I swing, I miss by a wide berth. (Can you tell I’ve been running around as Link in the latest Zelda game for the DS?)

I know that the end is in sight. I tell myself that, as soon as I finish my big client’s project, things will get a little better. But I know it isn’t just the project that is weighing me down. I spend so much of my time worrying and stressing that when it comes time to take action, I freeze. I think this is defined as ANXIETY. I know that I should probably grab a phone book and call a therapist. I know that I should call my rheumatologist’s office and find out when my next appointment is (or was), since I’m worrying myself sick that I might have to pay a fee if I missed it.

I worry, worry, worry.

I wish that someone would guide me through this, like some sort of magical creature that will say, “Okay, do X and Y will happen, so then do Z and it’ll be all set.” I wish someone would take care of me, even though I am old enough to take care of myself. I need a rope, friends. A thick, knotted rope that I can climb up to the top where I can see everything.

Or maybe I am already able to climb up and look. Maybe I only need to let myself SEE. Maybe I have become so comfortable with the bottom that I’ve allowed myself to stay there. To quote Silversun Pickups, “I don’t care, I’m still here, everything seems perfect from down here.” Except it’s not.

I wish that I only had to handle one thing at a time, but that’s not the way life goes. Maybe if I put everything out, examine everything that I’m dealing with, and SEE it for what it is, then maybe I can figure it out. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to do that. Let’s see:

• The big project. This project is HUGE and is making me a lot of money, which is awesome. The not awesome part is that I’m stuck on a couple of things with it, and being stuck makes me freeze instead of taking action. This needs to stop. I need to figure out how to fix the issues I’m having with the coding. I need to force myself to sit there and work through it. Standing still is not going to help. Letting the anxiety of the Impending Deadline stop me in my tracks is not going to help. If I don’t say “fuck you” to the anxiety, I’m going to be frozen until the Impending Deadline hits me right in the head. I need to remember that it is not only me that will take the hit if Impending Deadline comes and the project is not done. I need to also not let that scare me into frozen fear. I need to keep saying “fuck you” to the anxiety and work through the stubborn code.
• The pain. Whatever the hell is wrong with me has been pretty aggressive lately. A few days ago, both of my hips flared up, with the ache radiating back and forth, so that my whole front hip area was in agony. The next day or maybe the day after, my right hip flared up, then radiated to my back. The back side of my hips and my lower back were a big glow of RED pain for maybe an hour or two. I fell asleep some time after it started, and when I woke up it was gone. This morning, from the front of my hips all the way to my toes ached so badly, I could barely walk. All I wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep, but I had so much work to do and also had to go to work. It quit around the time I went into my day job, so I’d say it lasted at least three hours, maybe four.

  I’m so tired of bouncing from doctor to doctor, spending so much time and money when all I get are no answers. It all feels like a huge waste of time, and once again I feel like they are never going to figure out what is wrong. I think I’m going to spend the rest of my life bouncing between mind numbing flareups and a very thin time slot of remission. What I’m experiencing is the definition of rheumatoid arthritis or some other autoimmune disease, and yet all tests come back negative — except for that one double stranded DNA, which is supposed to mean I have some sort of autoimmune disease, but so far my rheumatologist has been unable to determine which one. I know this requires a lot of patience, but I am not the most patient, and I think after almost three years of pain, pain, pain and a slew of other symptoms, most other people would also have lost their patience.

  I’m also tired of A Certain Person scoffing at me when I complain, as if I am just making this all up. I want to be taken seriously by A Certain Person, but I get the feeling they don’t because they can’t physically see any of my symptoms. I’ve gotten to the point where I mostly say nothing when I’m around them and experiencing symptoms. And anyone who deals with chronic pain knows that it’s so hard not to say anything. Since I spend a lot of time around A Certain Person, I spend a lot of time not saying anything. (And no, it isn’t Mike.)

  I know what I need to do. I need to push the fears of never finding an answer aside once more and I need to call my rheumatologist to either reschedule my appointment or get the date so I can go. When I do call, I need to be adamant about getting in sooner, and I need to stress that my symptoms have once again gotten worse. I need to not let the fact that I feel okay right now get in my way. I need to remember that “okay” can quickly turn into agony and that by speaking up and being a little more vocal, I might be able to get closer to the answers and treatment I need. I need to remember that I do NOT deserve this.

• My wish to write. While I spend most of my time working, I yearn so badly to get back to the novel I started during November. I know that my client’s project has to be done before I can get back to the novel. I need to remember that the sooner I finish this huge project, I will have more free time and will be able to spend that time finishing my manuscript so that I can start editing it.
• Taking the time to relax. I absolutely NEED to do something nice for myself once this project is done. It’s time to use that spa gift certificate my uncle gave me for my birthday so that I can go get that massage. I have been treating myself with DS Zelda breaks, but I also need to remember that too many breaks kills productivity. I need to remind myself that I do deserve the breaks, but should try to get more work done first.
• Popi. This is the hardest of them all, because there is nothing I can DO. Instead, the worry about his health pushes down on me. I don’t know what to do. I do know that I am so scared of losing him.

  His second round of chemo went well. He was only at the hospital for three days, and came back home on the third day. He hasn’t experienced any side effects. He’s just awfully tired from fighting so hard. I am so proud of him for being so strong. His strength makes me want to be strong, too.

  I am having a hard time fighting the worry, though.

Whew, glad that’s all off my chest now. I really need to stop bottling everything up and keeping it to myself. I have a hard time vocalizing the worry, though; I force myself to carry it all on my own.

If you’ve read this all the way through, thank you. I’m so glad that you were here to listen. Now I want to return the favor. Tell me, how are YOU doing?

What is a name?

A name is what you go by. It’s a way for people to identify you, and for you to identify yourself. Names can have positive and negative connotations. The name Liza Minnelli reminds me of my 5th grade teacher, Miss Crane. She called me Liza Minnelli and encouraged me to keep writing. Sometimes she drove me crazy with her red penned edits on the stories and essays that I handed in to her, but I will always love her.

The last name Liuzzo fills me with fear and dread, and the last name Purcell fills me with a weird mix of sadness and disgust.

Somewhere between 6th and 7th grade, I got sick of there being at least three other girls who called themselves Liz. I wanted to separate myself from those Lizs, somehow. I decided it would be cool of me to change the spelling of my nickname from L-I-Z to L-I-S.

I know. I know. L-I-S does not spell Liz. It pretty much spells Liss, as if I were named Alyssa. It also spells LAME.

But in my twelve-year-old mind, it was cool as the other side of my pillow. Forcing an S to sound like a Z was so cool, in fact, that I decided to make everyone I knew spell my name that way, or else they received a lot of whining. (What I should have been working on instead was weaning everyone in my family completely off of calling me Beth. FUCK that nickname is stupid. I’d then managed to get mostly everyone to stop with the Beth, but even today there is one person who still stubbornly slips now and then. And I’ll tell you, if you are ever feeling like dying in a painful, “Let me get my head chopped off” kind of way, just call me Beth.)

Unfortunately, just like any nickname, the stupid S stuck. Liz because Lis, and people started to actually go with it. (Looking back, I should have spent my energy on convincing people to do something more beneficial for me, like buy me my own condo on the beach or something. My power of persuasion is apparently good, though it takes a lot of time.) Even now, a lot of people still spell Liz with an S when giving me gifts or writing me notes.

And suddenly, it just looked really fucking stupid to me.

“That says Liss, not Liz,” I said to myself one day. “Oh man, that’s dumb.”

But how can you kill your own Frankenstein? Especially when the Beth Frankenstein lumbers right next to it?

“Oh man,” I said. “I have way fucked up.”

To make matters worse, my little cousin Katarina took it upon herself to make Elizabeth — or ‘Lizabeth, as she sometimes calls me — sound like the coolest name in the world. It took a long time for my full name to grow on me, but Kat made me LOVE it.

“I can’t make people call me Elizabeth now. It’ll confuse the hell out of them, and they might even question my sanity. Like, really, who changes their mind about their name every five years?” I mulled this over day after day, until seeing L-I-S literally made me want to scream. (Though not nearly as loud as B-E-T-H makes me want to scream. And puke. And kill people.)

So one day, I said casually to the people next to me, “Spelling my name with an S is dumb.” And I stopped doing it. And I told them to stop doing it.

And people still do it anyway. I think they’re all so confused, they don’t know what the hell to call me anymore or how to spell it. I have, indeed, created a monster. The Lizlisbethenstein is coming to eat us all. Hopefully it eats Bethenstein first.

I wish the holidays were over already. Aside from being super stressed out about projects for clients, and worrying like crazy about Popi, I’m now barely going to see Mike on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

In years past, Toys R Us closed at like 6 on Christmas Eve and wasn’t open at all on Christmas Day. This year, they’re still closed on Christmas Day, but they’re open until 8 on Christmas Eve. Scratch that, as of today; Corporate sent an email at the last possible fucking minute and told everyone that they’d be open until 9.

What. The. Fuck.

Why does this matter?

Let me back up. Initially, Mike was scheduled until 8. He was trying to find someone to switch with so he could come over my house and have dinner with Noni, Popi, Biz Noni, Mom, Dad, Lauren, Aunt Wendy, Uncle Lonny, and I, but couldn’t, so he was going to see if he could just leave early because they will probably be dead. Now that they’re going to be open until 9, his boss asked him to stay until they close.

And he agreed.

Trust me when I say he already knows how pissed I am about this.

I understand why he’s doing it. Right now, he’s on great terms with his boss and the district manager, and he really wants to keep those relationships positive in case any higher positions open up. I get that. But still, I had a perfect picture of how Christmas would go, and now it’s just not going to be like that. I can’t help but be selfish and want to have things go my way. So much has not gone my way these last couple of years: my own health, my grandfather’s health, my living situation… I know I should just shut the fuck up and be grateful for what I’ve got. I know that. So many other people have it worse. It just feels like I’ve had a shitty line of luck lately and I guess I was depending on the holidays to be perfect so it could all be better.

To make things worse, I have a huge project deadline for the end of the month that can bleed into the first week of January because of some crazy server issues, but the deadline is making me nauseous because with all of the holiday shit going on, I have barely had time to work on it. Add a whole lot of lack of motivation, and I’m pretty fucked. Fuck you, depression. You’re such a greedy asshole.

So it’s no wonder that I’ve (sort of) picked up smoking again. I made sure not to buy myself a lighter tonight when I picked up a pack of Marlboro Lights. I’ve only had one so far. I don’t feel like I need one now, which is good, I guess. Right now, it’s either smoke or kill someone. Or run away to Florida.

It’s hard to get in the holiday spirit when so much shit is all fucked up. I miss being a little kid, and having only one worry this time of year: Santa not knowing that I really want a Gigapet, or whatever toy. (One year, I asked him every night before bed during this season to bring me a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup. No lie. My love of Reeses started early.)

This year, Santa, all I want is to feel better. Actually, scratch that. I just want everything to go back to the way it was in mid November, when everything was better. When Daddy didn’t lash out every five seconds because he is hurting so badly inside. When I would go to the Barnes and Noble Cafe every afternoon to write with a Pumpkin Spice Latte at my side. When we looked forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas, not a care in the world. When I thought Popi might just have arthritis or a sciatic nerve problem, or something FIXABLE, dammit.

Right now, it feels like nothing in my life is fixable. I feel like I have no friends. I feel like I can’t rant too much to Mike because he is already stressed out enough and I know that by whining that he has to work late tomorrow night, I’m only making it worse. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around my whole family, because I don’t want to say out loud that shit, I don’t believe in god so I have no fucking clue where my grandfather is going to go when he dies.

Fuck.

There it is, guys. There it fucking is.

You might have guessed by now that I am virtually religionless. For the most part, it doesn’t bother me. During the holidays, I celebrate the time I get to spend with my family and loved ones. I look at the Christmas season (that’s what my family celebrates, so that’s what I call it) as a time for sharing the love with your family and showing appreciation for them. Some people might be bothered by this, but whatever. It’s the way I feel and it doesn’t hurt anyone. (I even hold hands while the rest of the family says grace. It’s not a big deal for me.)

I was baptized Protestant and raised with a looser version of the religion my Mom was raised with. Dad’s family is Catholic and pretty much sticks to a looser, more relaxed version of Catholic tradition: no meat on Christmas Eve, but they don’t walk around swatting people on the head with Bibles, nor do they go to church. (Not to say that Catholics swat people with books. Or maybe some of them do. I know my 8th grade substitute teacher was always close!) My mom’s side of the family is even more relaxed. They’re Protestant, I guess, though now I think my mom’s sister, my Aunt Rikki, is more Catholic because her husband is Catholic and I’m pretty sure they baptized Katarina Catholic. (And I’m pretty sure my other aunt, Aunt Elyne, and her daughter Kate don’t celebrate any religion, either. But anyway.)

You’d think, surrounded by all of this religion, as relaxed as it is, that I would be more religious. I honestly have just never “felt” it. I experimented a little, as a kid. I looked into different religions and tried to find my niche, but nothing ever fit. I just don’t feel the presence that so many people say they feel. And that’s okay. It’s okay for you to feel it and it’s okay for me not to, as long as neither of us tries to force our beliefs on the other.

So during the holiday season, I wrap gifts for the people I love putting that love as my sole focus. I am like a kid waiting for Santa, I’m so excited to give people their gifts. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about the gifts I’ll get, too, but it’s more important for me to give. And boy do I give. Every year I try to budget and every year I end up going over. Whoops. Even though my checkbook is not thrilled, I am thrilled to see the looks on everyone’s faces when they open their gifts this year, the gifts that I handpicked to show my appreciation. To say, I love you.

And don’t mistake me for putting it all into a material perspective; I’d be fine without giving or receiving gifts. I just look at it as a time of year to share love.

That’s what my holiday season is all about.

Today is Popi’s third dose of chemo, technically. On Sunday, he had to take six or so “horse sized” (in his words) chemo tablets. I guess they’re a sort of prep for the IV chemo, though I’m not entirely sure. Yesterday was his first IV dose. Noni said that he did really well. He didn’t even get nauseous. In fact, when he got back to his room, he was hungry and had something to eat.

Unfortunately, the doctors told him that when he comes home, he can’t come upstairs.

And I suppose that means it’s time for me to FINALLY explain my living situation, after all this time.

About five (maybe six) years ago, my parents, sister, and I lived in an apartment down the street from my grandparents. (We’ve actually always lived down the street, one way or another. We’ve always been lucky like that.) Without going into a super long explanation, we were unfairly evicted by our landlord (who later realized she was wrong and regretted the decision, but by then it was too late). Because we were given like zero time, we moved in with Noni and Popi, ideally for a couple of weeks until we could get another place.

Noni and Popi live in a three family home with my great-grandmother, Biz Noni, and Noni’s sister, my aunt Barbara. Biz Noni lives on the first floor, Aunt Barbara lives on the second floor, and my grandparents live on the third.

My parents moved in with Biz Noni, and Lauren and I moved in upstairs. We put most of our stuff into storage, because we were only supposed to be there for a few weeks.

Flash forward, five years later.

So, Noni, Popi, Lauren, Squirt (my cat), and I live on the third floor.

The doctors have told Popi that, because of the cancer in his hip and spine, he can’t make the stairs because they don’t want him to risk breaking anything. So, ideally, my grandparents will move downstairs and my parents will move upstairs.

EXCEPT.

These doctors clearly don’t know my grandfather. He wants to be upstairs for obvious reasons, and I can almost guarantee that when he gets home, he will still insist on coming up the stairs (three flights of them, to be exact.) I can hear him now: “I ain’t gonna break nothin’!” Then he’ll go up the stairs, no matter how long it takes him. And he won’t break nothin’, ’cause he’s Popi.

I’ve been all over the place with my emotions lately. They kind of progressed like this: shock, numb, pain, denial. Yesterday I couldn’t face the truth, stuffed everything down, and forced myself to go about my day — even though I just wanted to SCREAM. It wasn’t until last night, when I talked to Mike, that I let some of it out. Mostly I feel like a new bottle of Pepsi; twist my cap and all of the pressure will come out, but not until someone twists that cap. And right now, I’m not sure I want it to be twisted.

Mike and I got into a fight yesterday afternoon. When he got out of work, he called me and apologized, and that was when I was finally able to just let it out. I’ve been writing in a journal almost every day, because mostly I’m just a churning ocean of emotion (hey, that rhymed) inside, and I don’t know how to act or how to express how I’m feeling without looking like a crazy person.

I’ve been sorting through these emotions like the Sorting Hat — one at a time, thinking very hard about each. At least, when I write. Otherwise, I’ve just been focusing very hard on everything, while at the same time unable to concentrate. Does that make sense?

Today I am… I don’t know. I guess I’m pretty much just shoving it all away, not allowing myself to feel anything. Yesterday I floundered between anger and denial. Today I’m just.. nothing. I’m more concerned about the rest of my family than I am with myself. I’m concerned for my cousins, Vinny and Mindy, my sister Lauren, my mom, Dad, Noni, Biz Noni, Uncle Lonny, Aunt Wendy, and of course Popi. We’ve all become this ball lately, sort of clinging to each other and uniting. We’ve always been a tightly knit family, but physical distance has always kept most of us away from each other. Suddenly, to me anyway, that distance feels so far. I just want everyone with me.

Actually, I just want this to not be at all.

So today, while I go about my day, Popi is still at the VA hospital, getting his chemo.

I just want him to come home.

Running around on xmas really takes a toll — especially when you’re running on about two hours of sleep.

For xmas eve, Mike came over for dinner. We had all kinds of seafood: scallops, white cod fillet, some other kind of fillet, and of course the requisite pasta. Noni made lasagna for Mike, since he’s allergic to fish. We had tuna sauce, white clam sauce, some other kind of seafood white sauce, and regular sauce for Mike. Dessert was two kinds of cheesecake — the Jell-O kind and homemade baked — and apple pie. I was so full I could only manage a tiny sliver of the homemade cheesecake, and couldn’t even finish that.

Between dinner and dessert we did gifts. I gave Mom and Lauren their embroidery gifts, and Lauren Wall-E and a To Write Love On Her Arms tee shirt. (I had taken Mom to see It’s A Wonderful Life on stage in November as her gift.) Dad really liked the small First Aid kit and thermos set I got him for hunting. Mike liked his gifts, too. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve got mixed feelings right now. Part of me is really happy and excited. Another part is a little anxious. The other part is mad.

I finally got in touch with the Dean of Academic Affairs today. It turns out that she was out sick last week. I spoke with her over the phone and she said that if I could provide proof — an Academic Advising Form that my advisor wrote the class down on and signed — she would let me graduate. Voila, I have the form! I’m going to meet with her tomorrow to give her the form and take care of whatever paperwork or whatever is necessary.

The bad news is, because I gave up last night, I’ve got to get as much Visual Basic done as possible before midnight tonight. Kind of makes me want to kick myself for not at least trying.

I also might be getting a better car. It’s a 1998 Pontiac Sunfire and the guy will give it to me for $400. I have to go look at it tomorrow with Dad to assess some minor damage and a couple things that are wrong with it. If Dad thinks he can fix the few things that are wrong, and I like the car, I’m getting it.

The downside of things is that tonight I found out a couple certain family members were talking shit about me at a recent birthday party we all went to. It’s nothing that hasn’t been said to my face, but it just pisses me off that someone who was supposed to be my friend would talk badly about me behind my back. It was shocking enough when this person said it to my face; it’s even more shocking to know that they said it to someone else, without me there to defend myself. I am so tired of fake people and the little jabs that this side of the family likes to dish out. I trusted this person, and I thought we were close, but I guess I was wrong.

On top of that, I called another family member — same side of the family — to make sure it was okay if Mike came to dinner and they kind of hemmed and hawed and claimed to not have room. Then they gave me a hard time about us coming later because we also have another place to be. I am so tired of these people refusing to accept our relationship. I thought this person was better than that; they’re usually more welcoming when I bring him around. I didn’t even tell him, because I didn’t want his feelings to get hurt, which I guess is why I was kind of annoyed that he didn’t seem to care when I complained to him about the other family members’ remarks and this one’s problem with us being late.

I constantly feel like the outcast of the family. I don’t know why, but they all seem to have something against me. I never did anything to them. There’s always some sort of jabbing remark, or disapproval toward my boyfriends or my choices. I’m not stupid, I know what qualities to go after in a person. I have standards. I also know how to make decisions for my own life.

Anyway, I have a monster of a headache from doing the whole last minute shopping thing, and I really need to get as much VB done as possible. I guess Thursday will be an interesting day, at the least.

Apparently “Jude” didn’t call me back because she drank too much and “Zeppelin” couldn’t pick me up anyway. At first I was kind of annoyed, but really, did I expect any less? I’ve come to the conclusion that in order to be friends with her, I’m going to have to deal with the way she is. I mean, I called her tonight with the intention of telling her how stressed I am, but we mostly talked about her problems. I have to either accept that this is who she is, or move on. There’s no point in talking to her about it; I’ve tried that time and time again — and of course made a big statement more recently by not talking to her at all — but it obviously doesn’t work. I love her kids like they were my own and I love her like a sister, even if that is the craziest thing in the world. A lot of people don’t understand why I’m still her friend. Sometimes, I don’t understand it either.

Anyway, have you ever noticed it’s impossible to raid the fridge after midnight and not make a lot of noise? Maybe it’s me.

After bringing Mike something to eat — he’s still working third shift — I took a shower and then proceeded to find something to snack on while I work on my Visual Basic assignments. I did really well getting the tortilla chips and salsa. I was feeling kind of proud of myself for not waking anyone up, until I went to make some Kool-Aid. I needed ice and there were two left in the tray. When I went to grab an ice cube and drop it in my water bottle, whatever is wrong with my limbs refused to cooperate and my fingers dropped the ice cube. It hit the floor with the loudest noise ever — I didn’t think ice could be that loud. I glanced at my grandparents (their room is connected to the kitchen), and Noni rolled over, glanced into the kitchen, then rolled over again and went back to sleep.

Speaking of class — yes, this post is all over the place — I got my grades for my Painting I and Crafts classes. I managed A’s in both, even though the Crafts class was a lot of work and I lost a lot of points for trivial things. Still, I survived it and did pretty well.

I should probably go do my Visual Basic labs now.

I feel like I’m at the mercy of some unseen force right now. I swear someone is using a voodoo doll on me.

Saturday night as I got home from my little cousin’s birthday party, I got some super sharp and stabbing pains in my left shoulder. They were in the same spot and only lasted a second or two, but were enough to make me scream, cry, and made my knees buckle. I went to see my new GP on Friday and the nurse practitioner there said she would set me up an appointment with a neurologist. I assumed they’d call me with an appointment later on Friday, but they didn’t. Hopefully they’ll call me Monday, because I can’t take much more of this. I want answers and treatment and relief, and I want it NOW. I am going out of my mind. I’m afraid to do anything or go out in public; can you imagine collapsing on the street or screaming in the middle of the mall? I mean, this is just getting ridiculous. Something is wrong and someone needs to help me before it gets any worse.

I’m also waiting on my college to get back to me. The math/science director still hasn’t responded to my second email, and I won’t get anything until at least Monday. I think my next step should be the Dean; I mean, it was not my mistake and I refuse to pay for the mistake of someone who gets paid to advise students. He obviously gave me the wrong advice, so why do I have to put everything on hold?

Worst of all, Mike is still working third shift. We were supposed to hang out Thursday night (because he was actually off!), but he ended up sleeping through the alarm he’d set and didn’t wake up until one in the morning. He felt bad and I felt bad, but now he won’t be off again until next Thursday. I miss him like crazy and all I want to do right now is drive down there and bang on the doors until they let me in. Then I’d kidnap him and steal him away so that I can be selfish and snuggle in his arms until we wake up. I know he misses me too but somewhere along the line I became sentimental and now I feel like I’m gonna die if I don’t get to see him soon. What happened to the hardass version of me, the one who spat at the very mention of love? Oh. Right. She was one bitter bitch.

On top of everything else, “Jude” invited me to hang out tonight — uh, Saturday night, technically. She was going to have “Zeppelin” come get me, and since I was feeling sorry for myself (because of the Chronic Arm Pains 4.0) I said maybe I shouldn’t. She said she really wanted me to come, and then when said she’d call me back in a few minutes. I assumed she was going to ask “Zeppelin” if she minded picking me up, and that since she wanted me to come over and hang out so bad she’d call me back and make sure I hadn’t changed my mind, but she never called me back. I know I can’t make her give a fuck but really. She knew I wasn’t feeling good — I burst into tears the second she said “hello” when I called her — and yet she still couldn’t be bothered to call me back. This is the shit that makes me want to tell her to have a nice life. When I need her, she never comes through. And yet, when she needs me I am always there.

I love her kids to death and even though I know she’ll pull the You Can’t See the Kids card if I try to stop being friends with her again, I don’t know what else to do. Every time we go through this, she promises to try harder and blahblahblah, but it never happens. We always end up at the same place. She claims that she cares but when it comes down to showing me she cares, she just can’t do it. There’s always something more important.

Anyway, it’s almost 3 am and my arms are killing me. I knew I’d pay for this but I needed to get shit off my chest.