the tao of jaklumen

the path of the sage must become the path of the hero


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A Serious Discussion Regarding Mental Health

I got to be a part of a broadcast with Kenneth “The Culture Monk” Justice, his media/blogging partner/co-host Kylie, and previous guest Dee, only for a minute. But please, dear readers, check it out, because I think they all really hit on some of the concerns we have with mental healthcare in the Western world.

A Serious Discussion Regarding Mental Health (see also “View Original” at the end for the blog post and video)

If anything, I have more to say in the comments, so, I’ll stop here. I did get a chance to mention Bobbi (Parish), and make a subtle reference to Trauma Recovery University/The No More Shame Project, if not by name.

Culture Monk

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Electric Fences and Spinal Cord Stim

The leads for the trial period of the spinal cord stimulator are finally in the epidural space of my spine (as of  16-17h approxminately Monday evening, Pacific Daylight Time).  I am terribly sore right now, and probably will be still by the time this repost publishes.  Please enjoy.  I will probably be re-running the Silver Surfer series next, filling out more Hero’s Journey stages to cover Surfer’s return to the cosmos and The Infinity Gauntlet storyline.

So I’ve already reblogged Steph’s marvelous What’s Your Electric Fence? post, but I figured it would be better to share my thoughts in a separate post, rather than try to cram it into the reblog, or in a comment on her post.

It’s my understanding that such is considered polite in the blogosphere.  So here I am.

Coincidentally, I was surfing YouTube the night before and caught this episode of Ren & Stimpy:

I thought, “Oh dude, don’t mention that– it’s so immature!”  Steph was talking about electric fences in a metaphorical sense– anything that holds us back in our lives.  But then she mentioned “using the public urinal” and I couldn’t help myself.

The other coincidental connection is more serious, however.  A receptionist at the pain center called today to say that pre-authorization (don’t you just love insurance terminology?) had been granted for the trial period for the spinal cord stim procedure and that we could schedule a time to have it done.  It will be the 30th, two Mondays from now.  So I joked to Steph that I was going to have an electric fence threaded up my spine.

What are my electric fences?  Steph listed a few that hold true for me as well.  I was never happy with my looks for years– and I mean my face, as well as my body.  I hated my Scandinavian button nose, as it seemed there was no one around me that had one.  Seriously– I remember years later seeing someone from a Scandinavian country post  their picture online, and I thought, “Hey, that dude has a nose like me!”  I didn’t like my deep-set eyes or my full lips.  Classmates in middle school were actually rude enough to suggest that my mother had to be Asian and my father had to be black for those facial features.

I still don’t like my boyish looks sometimes.  So many people think I’m 10 years younger than I really am.  I grew a beard to try to offset those opinions, but they still came.  When I got my hair cut last Friday, the stylist seemed to act surprised that I had grey hairs in my head.  “They look like highlights,” she said.  Heh.  Nice save there, hun.

Body issues… oh yeah.  My mother’s side of the family gave me mixed messages on eating, so I was worried about dieting… in the fifth grade.  Wish I could go back to my younger self and ask him not to worry, but he’d probably see my humongous belly now, and yell and cry.  Psychiatric drugs, a non-accident back injury, and emotional eating all grew that.  Even my belly button is fat now.

I’m not sure how to end this post now.  All I can think of is fluffy “I will overcome” statements that just feel insincere right now.  But I rather like Steph’s closing thought:

Maybe we can go electric fence trashing together, or at least cause a power outage so they’re just fences and we can jump them together.

She Said What?  Oh Yes She Did!  I’ll take you up on that, Steph.  Thanks again for your post!


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Sometimes, there Ain’t No Sunshine on the Journey


Bill WithersFor some reason, the record companies that hold the rights to Bill Withers’ recordings are clamping down with copyright claims on YouTube (which rather breaks some earlier posts I’ve done). So I found this video that features a recording of Michael Jackson covering it.

Cimmy was reading Michael Jackson: The Magic, The Madness, The Whole Story, 1958-2009 to me a little while ago.  We haven’t gotten all the way through the book yet, but so much of it so far strikes me as a really sad story.  I’d say it was about a showman who didn’t experience much life outside the spotlight, and what real life there was, was terrorized by a very abusive father.  (According to this account, MJ changed his nose so he would look less like his father.)

Now Songfacts had an interview with Bill Withers about his music, and when asked about Ain’t No Sunshine, Withers had this to say:

“I was watching a movie called Days Of Wine And Roses (1962) with Lee Remick and Jack Lemmon. They were both alcoholics who were alternately weak and strong. It’s like going back for seconds on rat poison. Sometimes you miss things that weren’t particularly good for you. It’s just something that crossed my mind from watching that movie, and probably something else that happened in my life that I’m not aware of.”

I have a more pithy term for it, that I came up with during my 12 Step Work: “toxic security blanket”.

My derivative imagining of what a toxic security blanket might look like

My derivative imagining of what a toxic security blanket might look like

Listening to a young Michael Jackson sing this song, then, is haunting to me.  I hear the plea of a child who has no voice; that is, an abused child who does not always have the words to describe how he is being abused.  I think he died from a fatal dose of painkillers because he was trying to treat the pain, but failing.  Apparently, there was no one by his side to help him fight and conquer those inner demons.

This morning was frustrating.  Lately, I’ve started taking a melatonin/GABA supplement and a sleep aid to get to sleep, or rather, to force the matter.  I’ll just quickly say that this is preferable to some of the psych meds that were offered to me as a solution on that end.

But I hurt last night, and as it so happens many times, I had some tonic spasms again, which shook off some of the effects of the sleep aid.

Oftentimes, I have an expression just like this, too

I remember waking a bit this morning to the sounds of the rest of my little family.  As Latter-Day Saints, our meetings are three-hour blocks, and this year, we’re in the 09:00 slot.  So they were rushing around, getting ready, and I remember my son saying, “Daddy, there’s porridge for breakfast!”  But I was still so tired and achey, I could barely move a muscle.

Cimmy called from the church at 09:30, reminding me to take my morning pill salad, and telling me she was going to turn the phone off (so as not to disrupt the services).  I mumbled something incoherent.

I finally stumbled into the shower and turned on the light box that my father-in-law built for me, to help with my SAD and vitamin D deficiency.  I washed my hair but didn’t do all of my fastidious routine.  I read some of the morning newspaper.

Lightbox all fired up

It’s even brighter than this, actually… this is one of my aids to the morning battle

Lightbox CFLs (full array)

and then these are the lights that actually shine down into the shower/tub space

<

p>I was upset, still upset that I had missed church, again.   I hated being in pain.  The pain made it hard to attend, whether we were at the 9, 11, or 1PM (13h) slots– but the early morning schedule has been especially hard.  It was all too easy to go back into the soupy mess of shame, self-loathing, and so on, and I dipped back into the vice that has plagued me since I was at least 11.

I don’t like admitting that the sex addiction is still there, partly with barbs and hooks in the pornography industry.  I’ve read and heard many arguments for and against it, but I’d just like to be rid of it for good, and it’s hard.  It’s not, in my opinion, a very healthy portrayal of real intimacy.  But it’s a toxic security blanket sometimes.  I had little means to deal with the onslaught of sexuality that was dumped into my lap when I was six years old.  My parents thought it was a good idea for me to see them naked during shower time, and my mother in particular decided to point out her private parts.  I had no idea what it all meant, or why my natural curiosity led to me getting my hand slapped.  The more I was able to understand, the proportionately less they said.

Cimmorene has her own issues, including being sexually molested by a boarder when she was 10.  So a good portion of our marriage has been untangling all that awful mess we had in our heads concerning intimacy.  I’m grateful.  I’m especially grateful that she was willing to adjust and adapt for my chronic pain and back ailments.

She knows about all of this.  I’m grateful that she still finds me desirable.  I’m especially grateful that our closeness and love brought us two beautiful children.  But the ugliness is still there.  I must recognize this yin energy in my life, balance it with the yang energy.

Sometimes, there ain’t no sunshine on this journey.

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Journey out of the darkness, into the light (Blog For Mental Health 2014)

First of all, a shout-out to Calamity Rae for letting me know about this: Thank you, and thank you again for all your support!

Next, an introduction to the Blog for Mental Health project:

“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”

original art by Piper Macenzie - All Rights Reserved

Want to learn more about Blogging for Mental Health 2014? Click on the image above.

This is an important issue to me because it’s something I deal with personally: I have a diagnosis of bipolar II mood disorder.  I also was in treatment recently for PTSD– although I haven’t been formally diagnosed with complex PTSD, I think that’s a more fitting paradigm and I appreciate Rae once again for bringing my attention to this issue.

The stigma doesn’t need to continue.  There are plenty of us who are managing much like anyone would with any other health condition.  Yet I know what it’s like to be stigmatized, and I really did experience such at the last blogging platform I was on– so I’d like to help bring attention to this cause.

Other shout-outs:

stephrogers – this badge immediately reminded me of her, as she sees great  significance in the rainbow as an expression of personality and essence of being.  (It’s more than just a political-social statement.)  We had a great discussion on Color Personality Theory.

Aussa Lorens – she works in a psych ward, and she’s keepin’ it real.  No, really, the first comment I made on her blog was saying that she IS telling things realistically as I’ve been there.  She still describes patients with dignity and respect– it’s some of her co-workers that are the real cray cray 😉  If you haven’t read her grand stories yet, head on over!

samara may be over in NYC, but she’s still mah hip-hop homegirl, and shown much love to Cimmy and I.  She gets this issue for a number of reasons– her Freshly Pressed IS THERE A PROBLEM IN YOUR FAMILY? is but one of them.

Le Clown and the Black Box Warnings blog– Eric cares.  Le Clown’s got swagger, but Eric is for real and he cares.  Thanks again, man.  UPDATE: Feb. 7, 2014: Eric Robillard has been outed for narcissistic and sexually predatory behavior.  Although I am upset that I had been deceived, there has been some really good posts that came about because of things coming to light.

Death of Le clown: A case study in the pathology of a predator by at Life of A Fallen Angel is an excellent breakdown of how human predators work, and I highly recommend reading it.

There are so many others that it would take me a long time to list them all– if you think I might be referring to you, I probably am!

Dealing with mental illness is a Hero’s Journey.  Help me bring this issue out of the darkness and into the light.  Things are better than they once were (if the stories aren’t mine, they’ve been told to me by others) but there’s still a lot of road to travel yet.

I think this post actually qualifies for today’s Day 12 challenge for Zero to Hero– From comment to blog post — be inspired by the community— but I will come back to where I left off, and probably come back to it again.

EDIT: Just a quick bonus, here’s our family parody on the Double Rainbow viral video:

 I'm a Zero to Hero Blogger!


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Electric Fences and Spinal Cord Stim

So I’ve already reblogged Steph’s marvelous What’s Your Electric Fence? post, but I figured it would be better to share my thoughts in a separate post, rather than try to cram it into the reblog, or in a comment on her post.

It’s my understanding that such is considered polite in the blogosphere.  So here I am.

Coincidentally, I was surfing YouTube the night before and caught this episode of Ren & Stimpy:

I thought, “Oh dude, don’t mention that– it’s so immature!”  Steph was talking about electric fences in a metaphorical sense– anything that holds us back in our lives.  But then she mentioned “using the public urinal” and I couldn’t help myself.

The other coincidental connection is more serious, however.  A receptionist at the pain center called today to say that pre-authorization (don’t you just love insurance terminology?) had been granted for the trial period for the spinal cord stim procedure and that we could schedule a time to have it done.  It will be the 30th, two Mondays from now.  So I joked to Steph that I was going to have an electric fence threaded up my spine.

What are my electric fences?  Steph listed a few that hold true for me as well.  I was never happy with my looks for years– and I mean my face, as well as my body.  I hated my Scandinavian button nose, as it seemed there was no one around me that had one.  Seriously– I remember years later seeing someone from a Scandinavian country post  their picture online, and I thought, “Hey, that dude has a nose like me!”  I didn’t like my deep-set eyes or my full lips.  Classmates in middle school were actually rude enough to suggest that my mother had to be Asian and my father had to be black for those facial features.

I still don’t like my boyish looks sometimes.  So many people think I’m 10 years younger than I really am.  I grew a beard to try to offset those opinions, but they still came.  When I got my hair cut last Friday, the stylist seemed to act surprised that I had grey hairs in my head.  “They look like highlights,” she said.  Heh.  Nice save there, hun.

Body issues… oh yeah.  My mother’s side of the family gave me mixed messages on eating, so I was worried about dieting… in the fifth grade.  Wish I could go back to my younger self and ask him not to worry, but he’d probably see my humongous belly now, and yell and cry.  Psychiatric drugs, a non-accident back injury, and emotional eating all grew that.  Even my belly button is fat now.

I’m not sure how to end this post now.  All I can think of is fluffy “I will overcome” statements that just feel insincere right now.  But I rather like Steph’s closing thought:

Maybe we can go electric fence trashing together, or at least cause a power outage so they’re just fences and we can jump them together.

She Said What?  Oh Yes She Did!  I’ll take you up on that, Steph.  Thanks again for your post!


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Atonement with the Father: What is my place?

And Moses said unto the Lord, O my Lord, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken unto thy servant: but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue. (Exodus 4:10)

And when Enoch had heard these words, he bowed himself to the earth, before the Lord, and spake before the Lord, saying: Why is it that I have found favor in thy sight, and am but a lad, and all the people hate me; for I am slow of speech; wherefore am I thy servant? (Moses 6:31, The Pearl of Great Price)

I am struggling.  Summing up from previous posts:

  • Chronic pain.  My doctors surmise that scar tissue is triggering joint and nerve pain.  Otherwise, they don’t know what’s wrong.  My back surgery almost 4 years ago was successful, and a surgeon informed me nothing more can be done surgically right now.  But yet I hurt, and more so with violent weather of late.
  • As I fight to help my son and his challenges with autism, I am reminded that most likely, I am on the autism spectrum too.  Some speak of “the little professor syndrome” in regards to Asperger’s syndrome (which is part of the high-functioning end of that spectrum).  It is painful, for “the little professor” one was my mother’s epithets for me.
  • My parents have their own health problems, but they are now faced with end-of-life decisions for my maternal grandparents.  Grandpa is stubborn, but caring for Grandma (who is dealing with Alzheimer’s and dementia) is getting harder and harder for him.
  • I have counseled with my father numerous times for advice.  He takes me to physiotherapy (as I once did for him) because I struggle to get out of the house.
  • I have heard whisperings of the Call to Adventure almost all my life.  I shrink from elaborating too much, lest I be mercilessly mocked.

And now, other challenges that I have not spoken of:

  • My son may have additional problems with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).  I am reluctant to pursue stimulant medication again.  My wife and daughter deal with ADD (note the lack of H; there is no hyperactivity for them, just difficulty focusing), but they both started medicine at later ages.  Cimmorene is wary of psychiatric medicine generally.
  • I have struggled to understand my place in my church community.  Once, my challenges were enough to shake me a bit from my conviction, but through my experiences, I worked hard to re-secure full fellowship in my church.  Over and over, I learned that putting myself out there in that community and serving is the key to fulfillment.  And yet, I still struggle with this concept.  I am in a congregation where NO ONE my age is on disability.  It is hardest within the group of men my age.
  • I believe in the power of ministry; it was part of my pathway back and it remains a part of my understanding of fellowship.  When my own fellowship and membership status was fully reinstated, I asked after a family I remembered from home teaching with my father.  The family became one of my home teaching assignments.  However, the current leader of my men’s group, and someone whom I must report to, is unwilling to introduce himself to them.
  • I went up the chain of command, as it were.  The bishop (read: pastor) assured me he would take care of it, as this leader has a textbook duty to the father of my assigned family– as he is a member of that group.  Two Sundays ago, stake conference was called, and with that, my bishop said, always comes a leadership training for all local male leaders.  He said he would be able to address my concerns in a way that was appropriate and gentle to my immediate leader.
  • I was in pain last Sunday, but some of my plans paid off: our missionaries now are not only engaged in searching for investigators, but also to reactivate existing membership.  Cimmorene said the mother and the eldest daughter of my family (and they two are also her ministry assignment) had attended the main worship service.  They had told her that the local missionaries were responsible (so they DID follow up on my request!) but I relaxed a little when they said the daughter’s boyfriend was investigating our church.  (I avoid confrontation and never wish to be seen as pushy.)

I still have a difficult time– I still wonder what my place in my ward (congregation) is.  I… don’t want to be special.  I want at least one other disabled SAHD in my ward that I can relate to.  I discussed this again with my father the other day (Monday?) and he said my ward needs me.  He said that they needed someone with a unique situation and perspective such as mine.

Perhaps you remember my Superman posts.  Perhaps you know that the main actor in many of them, Christopher Reeve, became paraplegic after an accident.  The fanbase looked up to him even more as he still put himself out there, and talked about his situation bravely, often explaining what he still could do.  Many noted that his wife struggled with her own health– mercifully, it was not long after his passing that she too joined him in death.  But it seems their example endures.

I don’t know why I am in pain like this.  I am grateful for a few friends and family that can relate.  I can only hope to become more like my Master.  I am struggling to understand these visions, these awakenings, these portents that tell me I must be part of a grander purpose, and that there is so much more than the world I now experience.  I am different; it seems there was no end to much of my world telling me that I was different.  And yet, I must put myself out there.  I must serve them, at least, starting with my ward congregation.  I must become one with them; indeed, this must be the path of fellowship, and discipleship.  For thus was the desire of my Master:

That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be cone in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.And the glory which thou gavest me I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one: I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me. (John 17:21)

Till all are one


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But You Don’t Look Sick – part 1

[EDIT: I’m bumping up an old post from the VOX archives– maybe someone new will get something good out of it.  The post was originally published December 29, 2007 @ 11:33h.  Some of my perceptions of my condition have changed– actively working on PTSD now– but I think it still applies.]

Dear God,
I want to thank you for being close
to me so far this day.
With your help, I haven’t been
impatient, lost my temper, grumpy,
judgmental, or envious of anyone.
But, I’ll be getting out of bed in a
minute and I think I’ll really need
your help then!

as quoted from

(On to my thoughts…)

The author says she got this from a friend with fibromyalgia, but I heavily relate to it, especially on a downswing day, and more often than not, first thing in the morning.  (I don’t do mornings and family have said waking me is like trying to wake a hibernating bear.)

My folks had an open house Thursday so family and friends could meet my baby sister’s second husband (they got married mid-December) and I met up with an old church friend who is a physical therapist.  Naturally, we talked about my back injury, but he could not wrap his mind around the fact that I was on disability and couldn’t work.

(Fuck Ted Turner… not everyone that lives with bipolar mood disorder is like him, much less have the fortitude to be OFF meds.)

Of course, not even everyone with the diagnosis say things I can relate to, because it’s broken down farther than that.  Don’t look to the celebrities.  I already mentioned Ted Turner– and while Jane Pauley pointed out her diagnosis is in the third category (rapid-cycling/dysthymic) no one’s really adequately educated the public.  When people speak of mood swings– the lowest of lows I get, but not highest of highs.

DSM-IV uses “Type II” to describe what I experience.  So while I experience major depressive episodes (yes, “major” is part of the terminology used in the definition), the mania is a hypomania at best.  Irritable, edgy, aggressive– but not yet giddy, delirious, etc.

My first psychiatrist said that because I was intelligent and had support from church and family, a lot of the symptoms and problems were pretty well masked.  So I get a lot of the “but you don’t look sick” attitude frequently, even if people don’t come right out and say it.  Worse yet, while I have “support”– what is also masked is some of the deep, deep dysfunctionality amongst my blood kin and I.  Some of the mental health professionals I’ve been to have seen and understood that to a degree, however– but that’s because in addition to what I actually said, some were actually sitting in for some of my sessions.  They could see some of it up close and personal.

Of course, “but you don’t look sick” hurts the very worst when it comes from family members, especially from one who provided you womb and board, literally.  That’s all I’ll say on that for now; as the post is open.  Yes, as naked as it leads me to feel, I think the information might be of use to someone.  I hope I won’t have to squirrel it away to obscurity.

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Not a Things on Tuesday entry

                          <div>         <p>Where do I begin?  Gah, the visit with the p-doc was mixed.<div><br /></div><div>The good stuff:</div><div><ul><li>Lost 5 lbs. over the holidays</li><li>A1C, triglycerides, cholesterol, etc. back where they should be.</li><li>Generally a report of good health</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>The bad stuff:</div><div><ul><li>I have edema in my legs.  The doc spouted some nonsense about drinking less water.  The nurse, I think,  was on it: I need to reduce salt intake and WALK a whole lot more, which is what the back doc and his nurse assistant told me to do post-op anyways.</li><li>Oh, the p-doc, yes, I don't do snappy rejoinders and quick conversation.  Of course, he was probably pressed for time like all community mental health p-docs, but... I want my old one back.  He was a lot calmer.</li><li>Mellaril (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thioridazine">thioridazine</a>) suggested as an alternative to Seroquel to help me sleep.  The Seroquel will not be covered by state/fed insurance at the dosage I'm currently taking, which even then is too much (sends me into a sleepy daze for half the day afterward).  But this new suggestion?  Looks like BAD juju!  (And hey, a zombie reference is MOST appropriate.)  I have to tell the nurse no no NO!</li></ul></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></p>   <p style="clear:both;">      <a href="http://jaklumen.vox.com/library/post/not-a-things-on-tuesday-entry.html?_c=feed-atom-full#comments">Read and post comments</a>    </p>                  </div>                      


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Sick and tired of… being sick and tired.

If it wasn't bad enough that my moods were in flux and there were excruciating pains along my back, now I have caught the bug that has been making the rounds in my home.

It hurts to swallow, and my right ear canal hurts (infection maybe?)

More things to keep me awake 😛

Crossposted to LJ, itemid = 969, security = usemask, mask = 1.

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Please, Neighborhood Lady, I’m having a hard enough time with my own problems.

This weekend was interesting.

Saturday I was watching a little TV with the kids when a loud rap came at the door.  Well, it was probably rude of me not to stand up, but I hurt and so I just reached for the doorknob and opened it.  I believe she asked for Cimmorene and thankfully my dear wife did go to see her at the door.

Okay, so I know not all of you reading are traditional religious types, so I say that what she said next … well, I will tell you what I thought, and I suppose you can tell me later how you figure.  It was something to the effect of "the Lord lead us to you…"

Okay, my relationship with the Divine is pretty personal, but I can say that I'm pretty confident the Lord didn't intend to irritate me this way.  Maybe, maybe, a lesson might be found in helping someone with their troubles, and forgetting my own for a while, but, I already had a discussion with a number of folks including Cimmy and our bishop about explaining to them that they need to ask for help from a … wider network.  And although I've been down and out before, well, hmmm… I just wish they weren't so … needy.

Oh yes, I said they.  I realized that Henpecked Boyish Husband was there, too.  Mercifully, Cimmy went outside to talk to them and shut the door.

From what I understood before that, their troubled daughter (whom I'm sure I've mentioned before) OD'd and somehow they couldn't get her to go inpatient– something about she had to consent first.  Now that I type that, yep, you have to sign the paperwork (reading, hun?) and if she refused, whelp, she ain't going.  Then again, when I went, I did figure it was a good idea.  Both times.

There was a knock again Sunday.  Ok, this is in poor taste to reveal a name, but if I don't inject some humor here, I'm probably going to scream or cry.  When a redhead named Wendy knocks on my door, I want to be offered burgers and such that are Way Better Than Fast Food, not… Cup O' Madness.  Believe me, I've already had mine with The Mad Hatter at some pathetic American excuse for teatime at random times throughout the day.  There's already enough on my plate, and actually, it's a saucer, where the herbal tea is poured out to cool it, old-school, old-fashioned.  Thing is, the saucers are edible, so I have to keep getting new ones.

Oh, right, my point.  She was gushing on about how her daughter was home and… I interrupted, saying I was in a lot of pain and Cimmy was asleep.  She asked me to have her call her… and so I told Cimmy– late that night.

Good… Lord.  (No pun intended, I swear.)

Crossposted to LJ, itemid = 962, security = usemask, mask = 1.

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