State of the Blogger
Not great.
I try to do something new every December, to keep myself occupied while everyone else fucks off to spend time with family. This year I was costuming a Christmas show. The director asked me personally. Seven of the eight actors, and the vast majority of the tech people, were wonderful human beings.
One of the actresses is also a costumer. She did not like, or possibly did not comprehend, the idea that someone else was in charge of the dresses. She argued with every. single. thing. I pulled. For everybody. At every stage. I don't know how she was able to spend so much time hanging over my shoulder while she was also supposed to be rehearsing. Nothing was right. Ever.
I made it all the way to the cue-to-cue, when a different member of the crew cornered me in the ladies dressing room, badgered me until I cried, then did it harder until I ran away and locked myself into a bathroom to make her stop.
I told the production manager I was leaving the building. It crossed my mind that I'd be told not to come back. I wasn't, but I would have been completely okay with that.
The rats are all making honking sounds now. Flathead had a coughing fit he couldn't get out of, and popped a sprocket over it. He launched himself onto my shoulders and huddled there for like an hour, and this is a rat who normally feels the need to make indignant SQRNK noises whenever he's picked up. Okay, we go back on maintenance antibiotics for life, which, let's face it, is going to be like six more months at best.
I have made the important discovery that rats will ingest damn near anything if you mix it with chocolate Ensure. You still need the syringe, you just need it less to get the whole dose into the rat than to make sure you get one dose into one rat, because it's delicious and the little fuckers fight over it. Also, an appropriately-scaled dose of etizolam works on freaked-out rats exactly like it does on freaked-out humans.
I do have more etizolam now. My last source has vanished, so I went through IRC.bio this time, which specializes in pure compounds of known strength for (ahem) GC/MS calibration and testing. This batch is an ethanol solution in a cobalt blue glass bottle with a dropper top. Rather pretty. The place appears to be run by actual chemistry nerds, as they put the full IUPAC chemical name on the label. They also take eChecks. I recommend them for all of your recreational mass spectroscopy needs.
I was out for a good couple of months after I moved. I try not to do that. I start out fine and slowly get worse and worse until I hit a wall. I wish I could fucking explain this to doctors. That's not the profile of an addict; that's what happens when you have a chronic condition and are inconsistent with your medication. It's most notorious when it happens with psych meds, because your manic episode inconveniences everybody, but it's also an issue with things like autoimmune disorders, or chronic pain conditions. You know. The things it's difficult to get treatment for when you're broke and keep fucking moving around. I'm even more paranoid of running out of naproxen, but at least I can get that at CVS. Skip one dose, eh get kind of creaky. Skip two doses, I really regret it. I don't skip three doses in a row, because I like not limping.
I actually got to the point where I was kind of bored by panic attacks. It's really weird to be balled up on the bed, sobbing, in a state of adrenaline-soaked terror, and have no emotional component whatsoever. The reasonable part of your brain just goes, "Fuck, really? Again? (aggrieved sigh) Okay, I guess this is how we're spending our evening, then." Makes it incredibly difficult to get anything done.
Speaking of things that make it difficult to get anything done: Sinusitis. I had a free day on Tuesday and I spent it all in bed with the worst headache of my life. It was fun, in that way that harboring a chestburster alien immediately behind your face is fun. Again, the reasonable part of my brain was really mainly aggravated. I'm like, it's bilateral so probably not a migraine, and my neck is fine so probably not meningitis, can all the decongestant/expectorant I've funneled into my bloodstream please work now?
It crossed my mind to go to urgent care, but A) it was three in the morning at that point and the buses had quit running, and B) I have literally every substance they would have given me for that in my bedroom right now, except for the Tylenol-3, which is codeine and wouldn't work. If it had persisted into the next day I would have eventually dragged myself in to get my own amoxicillin instead of knocking back the FishMox I keep around for the rats, but it didn't, and I don't need to wake up the roommate with the car just so I can wait four hours for some expensive Mucinex.
Even my advent calendar has fucking fallen apart. Happy holidays I guess?
I try to do something new every December, to keep myself occupied while everyone else fucks off to spend time with family. This year I was costuming a Christmas show. The director asked me personally. Seven of the eight actors, and the vast majority of the tech people, were wonderful human beings.
One of the actresses is also a costumer. She did not like, or possibly did not comprehend, the idea that someone else was in charge of the dresses. She argued with every. single. thing. I pulled. For everybody. At every stage. I don't know how she was able to spend so much time hanging over my shoulder while she was also supposed to be rehearsing. Nothing was right. Ever.
I made it all the way to the cue-to-cue, when a different member of the crew cornered me in the ladies dressing room, badgered me until I cried, then did it harder until I ran away and locked myself into a bathroom to make her stop.
I told the production manager I was leaving the building. It crossed my mind that I'd be told not to come back. I wasn't, but I would have been completely okay with that.
The rats are all making honking sounds now. Flathead had a coughing fit he couldn't get out of, and popped a sprocket over it. He launched himself onto my shoulders and huddled there for like an hour, and this is a rat who normally feels the need to make indignant SQRNK noises whenever he's picked up. Okay, we go back on maintenance antibiotics for life, which, let's face it, is going to be like six more months at best.
I have made the important discovery that rats will ingest damn near anything if you mix it with chocolate Ensure. You still need the syringe, you just need it less to get the whole dose into the rat than to make sure you get one dose into one rat, because it's delicious and the little fuckers fight over it. Also, an appropriately-scaled dose of etizolam works on freaked-out rats exactly like it does on freaked-out humans.
I do have more etizolam now. My last source has vanished, so I went through IRC.bio this time, which specializes in pure compounds of known strength for (ahem) GC/MS calibration and testing. This batch is an ethanol solution in a cobalt blue glass bottle with a dropper top. Rather pretty. The place appears to be run by actual chemistry nerds, as they put the full IUPAC chemical name on the label. They also take eChecks. I recommend them for all of your recreational mass spectroscopy needs.
I was out for a good couple of months after I moved. I try not to do that. I start out fine and slowly get worse and worse until I hit a wall. I wish I could fucking explain this to doctors. That's not the profile of an addict; that's what happens when you have a chronic condition and are inconsistent with your medication. It's most notorious when it happens with psych meds, because your manic episode inconveniences everybody, but it's also an issue with things like autoimmune disorders, or chronic pain conditions. You know. The things it's difficult to get treatment for when you're broke and keep fucking moving around. I'm even more paranoid of running out of naproxen, but at least I can get that at CVS. Skip one dose, eh get kind of creaky. Skip two doses, I really regret it. I don't skip three doses in a row, because I like not limping.
I actually got to the point where I was kind of bored by panic attacks. It's really weird to be balled up on the bed, sobbing, in a state of adrenaline-soaked terror, and have no emotional component whatsoever. The reasonable part of your brain just goes, "Fuck, really? Again? (aggrieved sigh) Okay, I guess this is how we're spending our evening, then." Makes it incredibly difficult to get anything done.
Speaking of things that make it difficult to get anything done: Sinusitis. I had a free day on Tuesday and I spent it all in bed with the worst headache of my life. It was fun, in that way that harboring a chestburster alien immediately behind your face is fun. Again, the reasonable part of my brain was really mainly aggravated. I'm like, it's bilateral so probably not a migraine, and my neck is fine so probably not meningitis, can all the decongestant/expectorant I've funneled into my bloodstream please work now?
It crossed my mind to go to urgent care, but A) it was three in the morning at that point and the buses had quit running, and B) I have literally every substance they would have given me for that in my bedroom right now, except for the Tylenol-3, which is codeine and wouldn't work. If it had persisted into the next day I would have eventually dragged myself in to get my own amoxicillin instead of knocking back the FishMox I keep around for the rats, but it didn't, and I don't need to wake up the roommate with the car just so I can wait four hours for some expensive Mucinex.
Even my advent calendar has fucking fallen apart. Happy holidays I guess?
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