[Journal] All flare and no play make Abi something something…

I’ve had an interesting month. Filled with both ups and downs, some more workable than others. Most notably, the reason I’ve been fairly absent is that I’m now on week 3 of the flare from hell. You know how every now and again you get a flare that blows all the others out of the water and leaves you standing there naked, wondering how you ended up in the middle of an arms testing facility? Yeah, one of those.

Moving in with my mother has come with it’s own stresses – we’re now living in a confined space, an entirely new set of boundaries needs to be established (or, more importantly, adhered to) with my mother and my privacy, I have very little space for work – especially important given that it’s not only how I earn money, but also how I destress! – and a whole kettle of conflict issues when the aforementioned points are brought to a head. What this means for  me is that, given how my body reacts to stress, I’ve been a hot mess for the last few months of living here.

It all started with my body going “you know what we haven’t done in a while? Bled like we’re dying out your reproductive organs”, and so it did. Despite all chemical reasoning not to (contraception for period control is THE best invention of the modern world, hands down, when it works), my uterus went flying full-speed into the glass door, and then spewed a torrent of filthy language that would make German grandmother blush when it realised that I was trying to ignore it.

I thought “fair enough, we can deal with this” and despite me being roughly as amicable as a herniated mako shark’s asshole, we got through it. But the problem was, my fatigue didn’t go away. It just got worse and worse and worse.

Queue now where I’m sleeping for roughly 14 hours a day just to avoid heart palpitations from exhaustion, I’m in constant above-average pain and my mental health is beginning to suffer from it all and you can kind of understand why my blogging has been non-existent despite intentions to keep this updated more regularly. I’m in the process of damage control and I’m hoping that every day that passes is one day closer to when this god-forsaken flare decides to give up and go home, but until then, I’m almost entirely bedridden aside from one low-impact activity a day – today’s was going to my GP.

In regards to that side of things, I’m doing well. I finally have a GP who has taken my issues seriously, isn’t treating me like a drug seeker (a moment’s pause in thanks for whatever god helped with this one) and is actually proactive in the management of my condition. To make things a little more rough, my specialist recommended that we wean me off my anti-anxiety in favour of another antidepressant I’m on for the Fibro and CFS, so that certainly hasn’t been helping my moods at all, but the plus side is that the meds they’ve put me on – Pristiq – have helped my moods like nobody’s business when I first went on them. Today we’ve brought me up from the trial dose to the full standard dose, which should do me absolute wonders and stop me being such a heinous cunt. The only thing I need to keep an eye on is that magical surprise lactation issue one boob seems to favour for this particular class of meds, but if my choice is offering people one squirt or two with their coffee and having amazing moods, or hating everything and everyone and having normal chesticles, I know what I’m going to pick. Besides, there’s probably good money in those sorts of pictures 😉

The downside of the doctor’s visit is that it’s confirmed I need to get my weight under control. At the beginning of this year, I was 110kgs. It’s not amazing. I’ve gotten it down to 105 with roughly two months serious work, but I was told that, while I’m not pre-diabetic, if I don’t shed the weight and get down to a manageable size, I’m going to be looking at diabetes in the future. It’s entirely understandable, but it honestly hit me like a bit of a brick to the back of the head, and I couldn’t understand why it was so upsetting beyond the fact that this should be a concern of mine, and then it dawned on me – when you’re chronically sick, you eventually get used to a certain run of fuckery with your body. Things are wrong, but you know what those things are, and they kind of become the neighbours you love to hate. You deal with them every day, but at least you know where you stand with them. When you add something new like this to the mix, it opens the entire cycle of grief all over again because it simply feels nothing short of betrayal from your body.

All of a sudden, your patched together little world is showing signs of the threads breaking, and you’re not certain how you’re going to sew it together again. It’s one of those things where, at least in my case, I had accepted that I had my conditions and there was a certain security in knowing that my conditions were more or less the way they were going to be, with some minor deviations on a broad scale. But this is another issue left of wing. I suppose it’s a bit of a fire under my arse if nothing else. I was already working towards weight loss and finding the old ‘me’, but this has gone to show that in order to keep my body functioning at what MY level of health  is, I need to actually work for it. It also really makes me question the whole ‘fat acceptance movement’ thing. I’m a big girl. I’m not going to deny that, but I’m not morbidly obese. Even when I was 65kgs, I still had broader shoulders and larger biceps than my boyfriend. I don’t fit standard women’s size shirts in the shoulder, and when it came to corset fitting, my ribcage was larger than average. But what this doesn’t change is that I am fat for my body type and that’s where my issues are rising. My body is not happy being this big, and so I’m working on fixing this. However, when I see girls almost twice my size promoting their size as being ‘healthy’, I do wonder how that works for them. Is their body simply coping better with their size? Are they simply in denial about the risks to their liver and pancreas with carrying that much weight? Body positivity is a wonderful thing, and I’m slowly learning how to love my broken, bunky little body, but I don’t think I could ever love the idea of putting myself at risk of disease. I don’t know. I feel like this is a kettle of fish probably best brought up in another blog post.

There have been plus sides to all the shenanigans, though. I’ve got the business back up and running. I made two sales in the last fortnight that has given the the “you can do the thing!” feeling again, and I’ve signed up for what I hope is the first of many courses ranging from silversmithing through to enameling, engraving, stone setting and all sorts that should add to my skills nicely. I am a little stressed about the fact that I have to take ‘stationary hobby business’ through to ‘making $180 a week’ in a matter of 3 months, especially when I don’t have a dedicated work space and, for a good portion of it, my desk has been a sheet of MDF across the bed. I’m presently in talks with the mother about getting a caravan or a demountable for the backyard that I can effectively make my office, but it feels a little like pulling teeth right now.

I also do have some kind of secret good news to share, and I figure this is the best note to end my blog on 🙂 Long story short, once this flare is over, I’ll be taking part in a weekly video presentation for spoonies, by spoonies. Covering everything from hobbies and relationships through to dealing with hospitals, mental health and more. I’m a little limited right now given my health and how long it’s taken me to write this blog post (brain-hands relationship has gone on holiday!), but it will be exciting to be involved in a project like this.

I’m going to leave this here and go and get some sleep.

❤ Abi

 

 

 

 

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[Journal] Round the Twist

It’s been a little while since I updated this blog, and it’s my fault. We did the house move, I got really sick for a while, had a massive flare, had a hard drive crash, wrestled with depression and was generally either in bed or at an appointment. I probably could have written a journal in the mean time, but I was pretty emotionally exhausted and have been dealing with settling in issues here and, honestly, I couldn’t outlay the energy to write a big, long blog update and deal with things on my end as well. So now that I’ve managed to calm things down a little on this end, I can update you all and let you know I’m still here.

So, to begin. Moving was a hassle. Not so much for the physical moving of boxes, but Manthing and I have moved in from a small 3 bedroom house on our own to the even smaller family 2 bedroom home. It’s been a process of culling furniture, playing tetris with boxes to maximise space, clearing out 20 years of hoarding from a garage and generally destroying dustbunnies in any way I can. My mother is a lovely woman but, due to her own fairly rough past, has a history of some mental health issues which are self-perpetuating with her unhealthy behaviour at present. Manthing and I, amongst other reasons, have moved in here in order to hopefully help her, keep her company and ease her back into the world at her own pace. She now has reason to get out and leave the house, eats well (Because I’m an amazing cook!) and has reasonable expectations set for behaviour and routine. Long story short, it’s a good thing.

The problem I face is that this is also the house I left when I was 18 and my mother and I historically have not had the best relationship. I find a lot of her behaviour incredibly frustrating and senseless, and I’m often a little on the snippy side with her and Manthing since I’ve had nothing but above-average pain levels since moving here. It’s somewhat of a tetchy matter and something we’re working towards, but the situation is highly unpredictable due to the present mental health issues in this house. I don’t often know if I’m speaking to my mother or a 16 year old and since these aren’t issues she will address herself, I’m rather at a stalemate about the whole thing and the best I can do is take each day as it comes and do my best to be understanding about it all.

I’ve also had to resign with a new Disability Employment Support service due to policy changes – everyone under 35 and on disability pension is now considered a lazy, layabout dole bludger and MUST return to work, regardless of their personal circumstances. I’ve taken great pains over the last 6 months to explore my educational options and I’d sincerely like to follow up and complete my Vet Nursing studies with a view to continue on to Vet Science, but it has to be done at a snails pace with my body and neurological issues. I’d also enjoy furthering my silversmithing skills and learning how to manufacture set-stone and silver jewellery, but the course arrangements for that make it almost impossible.  But, it’s been decided for me that I must return to work, despite also running a small business. You know, the small business that doesn’t make minimum wage presently due to my shit health? Yeah. So under present circumstances I’m being forwarded for admin/reception jobs I have no say over.

At this point it only looks like one or two days a week, which should be fine in theory, but I’m rather concerned about what’s going to happen when I have a repeat of the last 2 weeks where I have no choice but to spend it in bed or face hospitalisation. I’m damn good at that line of work and can run an entire corporate office while half asleep (and have done so in the past!), but I’m concerned about the days I can’t work properly, I have to go home early or can’t turn up at all. If I don’t make my weekly hours, my pension gets cut entirely and Manthing and my mother don’t have enough to cover the cost of my bills and medication through just the two of them.

So, in the mean time, I’m doing my best to get the business up and happening again, despite everything being in storage. The reason you haven’t seen anything of the 100 Unicorns Project these last few weeks is because I was busy turning my last drawing into a completed colouring page for sale via PDF. It was a little bit of a runabout considering it was my very first, but I learned a lot from the process that will make it much easier for me with the next one. My plan is to release a whole bunch of colouring pages for sale in my Etsy store that will, at the very least, put a few dollars a fortnight into my pocket to make it easier to pay for other things. I considered starting a Paetron for this blog, but I don’t think I offer enough to warrant people contributing towards the blog financially. Furthermore, I think that the few people that follow this blog have health issues of their own which isn’t a cheap thing, so their money would be better spent going towards their own bills rather than paying for me to write and draw. At least with the colouring pages, there’s an actual transaction taking place – they buy the colouring page, they get something for their money. I’m still deliberating wheather I should put the link to the listing here or not, since this blog provides me a degree of anonymity and my shop breaches that. I suppose if enough people are interested in spending two dollars on a page, I would consider it, but that’s not the purpose of this blog post.

“Over the weekend I was referred to a potential new GP. The incident left me rather upset and I wrote a quick post about it on another site, and I figured it was finally time for me to post it here.

So today I saw a potential new GP. I knew we wouldn’t see eye to eye when the first thing out of his mouth was that one of my two major debilitating conditons was psychological and he didn’t believe in it, amongst other things.

While I firmly acknowledge that a good portion of pain management and mitigation comes from a good headspace and that stress and psychological hiccups will increase my pain levels and potentially CAUSE flares for me, disregarding factual evidence based in scientific publications in favour of willful ignorance to uphold your baised and outdated views is frankly a breech of the hipocratic oath. Disregaring the research of fellow doctors and the confirmation of verified conditions in the form of a diagnosis is disrespect for your colleagues and, most importantly, blatantly denying the very real symptoms I face on a faily basis ignores the fact that I am not just a record sheet. I am a human being whose existence and suffering and joy and sadness is as real as anyone else’s. You can not ignore the patient in favour of the medicine. You can’t seperate the condition from the afflicted.

I’ve gone through countless versions of this experience when I see a new doctor for the first time, and it never gets any easier when it happens. If i had a broken arm or fractured pelvis, a quantifiable and documentable deviation from health, you would never dream of telling me that I should just “get my shit together” and “get on with life”. My condition would be real and visible and if you told me that the fracture was purely in my head, you would be booted out of medicine, called a complete imbicle and everyone would hoo ra in behind me about how inconsiderate you were.

Life with an invisible illness stretches so far beyond “I’m sick” that it’s often impossible to explain it to people who have never experienced anything like it. It’s not just the struggle of your own body working against you. It’s having to fight to have people believe you because you pass as healthy and able bodied. It’s having medical practitioners tell you that they don’t believe you or that they don’t believe in the condition. It’s being questioned every time you need pain medication. It’s being labled a drug seeker, an attention whore, lazy, unmotivated and even a hypochondriac. It’s having every action scrutinised by people who deny the truth of your existence, and it still being acceptible for them to vocally deny your issues. It’s a fight. Every single day. Not just against your own body, but against the world. For some people it’s just against doctors. For others, it’s against your friends and family too.

It’s the uncertainty of knowing whether you will be believed and it’s not wanting to talk about your illnesses because of it. It’s wanting so badly to pass as healthy to avoid the scrutiny and yet hating every single second that the beast you’re fighting is invisible to everyone but yourself and the rare few that know that monster, too.

And it fucking sucks.”

 

I figure this might be something people can relate to. I’m still very exhausted from everything that’s happened over the past few weeks, so I might leave this blog entry off here and do my best to keep some more regular posting from here on in.

❤ Abi

[Aside] Thoughts on pain levels

One of the biggest things that stands out to me as a chronic pain sufferer is that most people expect you to be pain free after you take your painkillers. Like it’s as simple as a headache, you pop a few pills and you’re on your way again.

So many people don’t seem to understand that it’s not about pain elimination, but about pain management. The reality of the matter for most chronic pain sufferers is thst you never actually get that “ahh” moment when you’re entirely pain free, but you adopt a new system wherein you have acceptable and unacceptable levels of pain. You expect every day to greet you with a certain level of pain and, after a while,  that becomes your norm or average. Any deviation from that new setting becomes unacceptable and that’s when you end up undertaking pain management, because trying to get back to the previous norm of ‘painfree’ is entirely unrealistic and you will simply end up making yourself sick on painkillers before you get there.

To put it simply,  us pain kitties simply run on a more exaggerated pain management system to healthy people. The principles are still the same, we just  have a different base line for pain to most other people.

On another note, I’m enjoying the idea of ‘microblogging’ in the sense of me sharing smaller thoughts with you all, rather than one big, several – page – long blog once a fortnight. I’m also going to keep trying out the new post settings until I find something I like for this format. I noticed there was no actual discernable change between my normal journal and my status update,  so I’m giving the ‘aside’ setting a go today.

[Picture] Well, that’s a mouthful.

image

So at what point do you need stop taking your pills with food and start taking food with your pills?

Tonight’s lot. I just had to take a picture.

In no particular order for the curious:
– Echinacea,  Garlic, Zinc and Vit C. My secret weapon against colds and flu.
– Two fish oil capsules.
– Standard multivitamin
– Magnesium Glycinate. Specific for Fibro pain.
– Probiotic for IBS control
– Panadiene forte to stop me killing a bitch
– Celebrex for inflammation
– Endep for anxiety and Fibro
– Totally-not-Viagra Pristiq as a trial for Fibro pain.

[Journal] Tweaking the meds again

Over the last few months, I’ve noticed that my ‘nerve pain’ has been coming back.

Nerve pain is the term I use to describe the sporadic, usually-short-lived bursts of pain from parts of my body. Sometimes it feels like a knife in the knee, another time it’ll be a back spazm, the time after that, it can be a very short cluster headache. It’s always random and entirely unpredictable and is very intense. Usually enough for me to cry out/swear/punch a table/use your imagination here, and stop me in my tracks. It can hit anywhere from between my fingers through to *ahem* very specific bits of my ladyparts (which is NOT a fun experience, I can tell you). Anywhere where there might be a cluster of nerves. It can happen once a day, or anywhere up to 50+ times a day. It depends on how much of an arsehole my body is feeling like at the time.

Now, I was initially put on Lyrica in the hope that it might help my overall pain levels, but it only succeeded in making me really groggy. We upped the dose to the 150s I’m on presently and found, quite conveniently, that it actually stopped my nerve pain. Not altogether, but to such a degree that it took my daily average of “[Inert expletive here]!” down from about 30-odd times a day to about 1 or 2. It was amazing. I still felt like a zombie, but I could go about my business without looking like I was about to have a stroke in the middle of the supermarket because my knee just felt like I had been stabbed by an angry dwarf on cocaine.

The problem is that my body, never being content to take the easy street, has decided we’ve built up a tolerance to the Lyrica. So we’re still Queen Derp, but the nerve pain came back and announced itself most spectacularly with a punch-in-the-head cluster headache the other day that had me hugging my own skull. I had noticed an increase in the amount of nerve pain up to then, but had chalked that down to stress and other things.

Now, I had called my specialist a month or two beforehand to let him know that we couldn’t increase my dose to the 150 because I was already on it, but had heard nothing back. This morning I left a message and got a call back after I had already discussed my issues with my GP.

– On an aside, awesome news. Turns out my sinus infection was a twofer. One bacterial, one viral. Yeehaw –

Long story short, I’m right in my assumptions, my GP no longer thinks I’m an idiot and I get to pay less for medication. Downside is that we’ve got two options, both okay’d by my specialist. Option A is to double the dose of Lyrica I’m on and see if it fixes the issue, but then I’m on twice as much as I was before with every chance of me just having the same problem. Or B, we can wean me off it, stay off it for a month to clear my system and then start it up again and see if it works. I feel like this is the human equivalent of “have you tried turning it on and off again”.

I’ve opted for the second one because, frankly, knowing how my body reacted to going on Lyrica, I’m going to be completely braindead if we double the dose. I’m barely functioning now, but at least I’m not putting-my-hand-in-the-sandwich-toaster kind of stupid. Yet. The issue with coming off the Lyrica, though, is the same as going up a dose. It’s not going to be fun. From what I know, it won’t be quite as bad as coming off the Duloxetine, but it’s still not overly fun. And this isn’t the nice, gentle let-down either. It’s a week of every other day and then cold turkey because we need it out of my system asap.

So, tonight is the first night of no Lyrica. I won’t fully feel the effects until about tomorrow afternoon, knowing my body (or maybe sooner, who knows) but I’m probably going to feel like I’m hungover without the ‘fun’ of actually getting there. After this, both my specialist and my GP have said that this is pretty much it. There’s nothing else we can really do without any more research or findings. It’s the end of my proverbial golden road of treatment until someone extends the footpath. Ultimately, if all the Lyrica is doing is stopping those shooting pains (and I’m getting a head full of wet sand in compensation), I think I’d be happier being off it entirely. I’m going to keep logs of how I’m going in regards to pain, just to see if it’s actually worth being on yet another tablet for much ado about nothing in the long run.

Anyway, I’m exhausted, so I’m heading in for the night. As a treat to those who have made it this far, if there’s any animal, mineral or vegitable in particular you want to see immortalised in a comic or just on it’s own, leave a comment and I’ll get back to you at the sound of the beeeeeeep~

[Journal] A catch up

Once again, I managed to fall behind in my blogging schedule.

The last few weeks have been pretty full on. It was roughly a week after my toe procedure before I could walk again. It’s been almost three weeks now? Honestly, I have no real concept of time. But I’m finally able to wear socks and loose shoes. Thankfully, this means no more cold feet when we have our chilly weather snaps. I’m down to weekly visits to the doc so he can look at the mess that is my big toe, though I no longer require a dressing, and I can confirm that it still hurts like all sodomy. I was clever enough to drop my cane on my toe during the doctor’s visit today. I’m nearly in tears over it, Manthing is trying not to laugh at my misfortune and the poor GP doesn’t know what the dickens is going on.

My new GP decided that we needed to go over a complete and thorough patient history. I’m in two minds about this. On one hand I really appreciate his dedication to the task at hand and to giving me the best care he can. On the other hand, I seriously hate the fact that I had to go through all the other shit about my history, stuff I either was or wasn’t told growing up and the whole mental health side of things. He’s suggesting I see both a psychologist (which I’m undertaking in my own time) and a psychiatrist regarding the antidepressants and stuff that I’m on.

I had to get my dose of Endep lifted due to ongoing anxiety issues, panic attacks, negative thoughts, etc. The sort of shit that seeps into your brain like a leaky pipe. I can deal with everything in due time, but when I’m busy fighting my own brain, not sleeping because I’m afraid of the dark and having major panic attacks over nothing, then no progress gets made.

Speaking of panic attacks, I had an interesting experience this week. Albeit regrettable, it was worth noting that I have a new and identifiable trigger for my panic attacks. To simplify the situation, there was a great disagreement with a group of friends due to one being a selfish prig. The whole situation got out of hand, this person in question couldn’t see past their own nose, they threw around a lot of hurtful names (I may be many things, but I am NOT a bully, especially not to someone that I treated as a sister) and the whole thing boiled down to them acting like a spoiled, selfish little child. We were expected to be mind-readers, fortune tellers and have superhuman empathy because we should simply KNOW when this person was upset, rather than them using their adult skills and… well, you know, telling someone. They refused to accept responsibility for damaging property out of carelessness, I was called names for disbanding the gaming group (because it was THEIR group and how DARE I, despite the fact that I was GM) and any attempts to talk rationally to them ended up in them putting on the water works and involving a friend’s parents. I don’t deal well with conflict situations at the best of times, so when this all blew up on Sunday before our Pathfinder game, you can imagine just how pleased I was.

This week has been pretty shocking for pain levels and I’ve spent far more time out of bed than I should have, so when some ungrateful tit turns around and starts carrying on like a child, and tries to tell me what I can and can’t do, you get the idea. To sub up this person’s attitude over the weekend in regard to other people, “HER panic attacks? Her anxiety? What about MY anxiety? I get anxiety too and none of you care!” Suffice to say if I see this individual again, it’ll be too soon.

On the plus side, I’m feeling a little artsy tonight so hopefully I’ll have some new comics for you all. I’ve got a few old ones to put up still (one in regards to a ‘request’ journal I did a while back) and, as always, still taking inspiration from readers if they want to suggest something in particular, or challenge me.

[Journal] That little blue pill

Today saw another visit to the specialist. Aside from consistently being over an hour late every time I go to see him, very little has changed; we’re still exactly two tenths of bugger-all close to improving my pain, but that doesn’t mean that we’re not going to throw medications at it!

After much debate over just how awful Cymbalta was for me (it’s cool, disregard everything I say the first time around, doc) we came to the conclusion that the Lyrica does actually help the horrible shooting nerve pain, but does nothing for the muscular pain or the burning joint pain or anything else that’s going on. So, the Lyrica stays. That’s cool. We put me back on the Celebrex, double my dose and cross our fingers that this might help some other kind of pain – you don’t know unless you try these things. It’s also important that I go back on some kind of anti-depressant/anxiety control and get my sleep back into some kind of order. At present, I’m sleeping for maybe 3 hours a night, if I’m lucky. Unfortunately, I’m also suffering some major mental/cerebral fuckery. Memory loss. Major memory loss. The kind where I’ll forget what day it is, why I got up to use the bathroom (yes, when it’s kind of obvious) and what I’m talking about mid way through a conversation.

So, the deal is that I’ve been put on Amytriptaline. Some of you know that this goes very poorly for me, but this is my option right now. 10811614_10153360609232942_398713081_n Mostly due to my own cockup – I could only remember amytriptaline when I went in, not what it did to me (and I had Manthing with me, too, but he couldn’t remember) so there’s a good chance I’ll need to have this changed by a GP some time in the next week. Granted, I am on a very low dose, so if I do react badly, I at least won’t want to gnaw my own ankle off because it’s smack talking me. But, I’m going to have to start keeping a log of what shit I react badly to and what stuff I can take. Just, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember if it was the Endep or the Xydep, and he would have picked one either way and said “let’s try this and see if it’s this one”, so we’re functionally in the same place.

At the same time, there’s a lot going on in my  brain right now. The real estate have decided to functionally be dicks about the entire housing thing, but we got approved for a new place that we can move into after the 21st. We’re $2500 out of pocket, but jesus tapdancing christ, we don’t have to put up with the hell that is here. We almost wrote off the car today/died, but no biggie. I have no small amount of applause for Manthing’s driving skills for avoiding what would have otherwise been a really awful situation. I’m exhausted and my head hurts. Tomorrow tickets for the Foo Fighters go on sale and I want need to be at their concert in Feb. I’m crossing my fingers that I get tickets for myself, manthing and two friends. They go on sale in 9 hours and I will sell my firstborn child for one.

At this point, I’m running out of brain to write, so I’m going to wrap things up. I’ve got a few comics up my sleeves (just need the time/equipment to draw them and one of those  two are in boxes!) and a few other ideas going on, but you’ll have to wait for that 🙂

[Journal] God damn it

You may have noticed that I have been absent for the last little while. Things are tough on this end.

I had the procedure to repair the damage done to my toe by that arse hat of a doctor. Been keeping off my feet the last few days and in considerable pain. It’s been pouring rain here the last half a week. I’ve had a major pain flare, and then the weather-associated-fuckery to boot, and then the angry toe on top of all of that. I’m a misery burrito right now. Three layers of clothing and then a fluffy bath robe over the top of all of that. I am an angry pinata full of swear words and hatred for everyone and everything. Like assholes who manage to take up two parking spots in something the size of a Prius. When one of those parking spots is a disabled one. The spot I need to use on days like today. If people insist on parking like abortions, I may just have to start keeping a chalk marker in my bag and covering their windows in veiny phallus drawings.

Anyway, I’ve had ideas for comics but just no ability to really hold a pen steady. I’ve also got work for a client that needs to be done, but the same issue. Can’t hold an engraving tool when your hands are wonky as fuck. It would appear that the horribly drowsy side effects of the… Lyrica. That one. I knew it had something to do with music. The Lyrica is evening out. But now I’m also being weaned off the Cymbalta and today is my first day without so I’m wonky in the brain department, having shooting nerve pain, random dizzy spells and want to throw up on people purely out of spite.

if I can get my body to sort it’s shit out, I’ll be back in the swing of things soon. I need to make a few posts, catch up on my reading and nominate some awesome people for an award I was given (which I haven’t forgotten about!).

Anyway, this is as much as I can brain right now.

– Abi