tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64274266247576977712024-03-12T21:45:22.742-07:00What? Is My Autism Showing?(Or, Please don't interrupt me while I'm talking to myself)Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-2901450593042612722015-07-16T02:44:00.000-07:002015-07-16T02:46:20.265-07:00DisabilityFor the past year, I've been trying to file for Social Security Disability. It's because of severe and chronic sleep issues, issues pertaining to autism, depression, and anxiety. Working from home would be an option if I had a laptop and an extremely flexible schedule. Like Pokey flexible.<br />
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My mom keeps reminding me to document, document, document and her advice finally made its way through my fog soaked brain and hit home. I'm doing it here because paper and pen are not working, and Florida basically denied me SSDI because they said I was being lazy and didn't want to work. As if. I've tried reaching out to Florida's Vocational Rehabilitation and they told me they couldn't help and to apply for SSDI. Yup. Florida is really helpful. /sarcasm<br />
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Yesterday, I had a sciatica flare up, both legs. Made it impossible to walk. Chewed on my lip a lot. Got five hours of sleep. Woke up with right foot feeling broken, again, and left arm numb and left hand tingly, with my Kindle some how underneath me. And so begins my day.Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-76364512945567303352014-10-12T04:35:00.001-07:002014-10-12T04:37:50.021-07:00An Open Letter to the Extreme Autism AdvocatesDear Extreme Autism Advocates,<br />
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I've been letting the words stew in my brain for awhile now. Most of the time, the stew gets thrown out because I deem it not worthy of my energy or time. People will have their opinions and thoughts, each like a storm that heaves a ship upon the ocean waves. Now, I think it's time I unleash this stew of words because people - GOOD, decent, loving people, many which I am proud to call "Friend" - are being hurt. Whether it's intentional or not, I cannot say. I personally know that the path of good intentions is often paved to hell.<br />
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At the risk of sounding condescending (or any one of those words that I am supposedly not to use in either tone, actions, or words if I wish to remain a good Aspie), I want people to put on their listening ears. For all intents and purposes of this blog post, we're not going to sling around words like "murder apologist" or "ableist". We're going to define "extreme autistic advocates" as meaning "a person who accuses a specific, targeted group of actions based on the actions committed by one person, and uses that knowledge in an attempt to invalidate their feelings and/or silence them." Gather near me, people, autistic and non-autistic alike. Like most posts, I'm going to take you to the left field of some nondescript baseball field, and, hopefully - between points A to H, back to B, and finally slide HOME! at C, my point will have been made. At the end of this post, our goal will be to fortify our walls three times thick with the ultimate aim of uniting our autism community (really, just one of many communities) so that we shall not fall and that no PERSON should be left without a safety harness.<br />
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Before we being our excursion to the baseball field, please put all your feelings of anger, hurt, and exclusion in the Safety Box. They'll remain in this box, safe, until our journey is complete, when you can retrieve them again (though, hopefully - with any luck - I'll have changed your mind). Though valid, they will have no use here. By typing this, I mean you're going to read with an open mind, with no prior judgments based on your past (i.e. "playing the victims card"), and no judgement made on other persons involved. The words simply are, as honest as I can make them, and with no shits given for whether or not it's upsetting other people. Perhaps, I should also mention that this post is full of triggers (or perhaps I should have done that earlier, oopsie /light sarcasm), but, for the sake of fortifying our autism community, let's set those aside, too. Speaking of judgement, we're all going to agree that murder is wrong, and that no one here supports murderers. We can have compassion (because to be compassionate simply means we're flesh and blood human) - yes even for a murder - without condoning or agreeing to the accused's actions. To make this even less sticky, we're only going to stick to murderers, because I think we can all agree that rapists, arsonists, mass murderers, serial killers, and other heinous related crimes are an entire conversation all together.<br />
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I don't think I need to go back and detail the history of why and how ASAN was formed. Between 2007 and 2009, in between a haze of completing part time graduate studies, working full time, and dealing with my dad's sudden death, ASAN came to be. I was a proud Aspie supporter, and carried that battle flag fully flown. At the time of Autism Speaks and its controversies, the idea of an organization created and ran by autistics to support other adult autistic advocates ("nothing about us without us") was a welcomed distraction from my life. I was a newbie, having formally been diagnosed a few months shy of moving up to Maryland in 2005 for beginning my graduate studies, and had yet to even get scuff marks on my metaphorical Aspie shoes. I grew up feeling very much alienated and different from my peers. To say I cut my teeth on the words of bullies and a dysfunctional family would have been an understatement. As a child, I was punished numerous times for what is now described as an autistic meltdown, and have been fired from more jobs than I wish to count. I knew I had worth as an autistic person, as an Aspie, and that should never be comprised (okay, fine, it has been, but that's life, as I've come to learn). Up until last year, I was very much proud of ASAN and of its president, Ari Ne'emam. Yet, with the tragic attempted suicide/murder of Kelli Stapleton and her daughter, Issy, I have had to take a huge step back and seriously re-consider my identity as an autistic advocate. Could I still be a successful autistic advocate without having to support all that anger and hatred? Am I a "bad Aspie" for supporting parents of autistic kids? For even agreeing that, yes, autism can be hard, that it's not always unicorns and rainbows? Would that lower my value, my worth, as a person? What does exactly "justice" mean, let alone look like? My mom has always raised me to consider all sides of the argument, and that neither side always represents truth because Truth stands by itself and the other parties involved are only perspectives of it.<br />
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My father was an alcoholic and drug addict to such a point that he fried his brain on drugs, became a paranoid schizophrenic, and tried to kill me twice. I don't think he meant to do with it malice nor on purpose - it's rather a sad, tragic demise of a great man who was the only person I couldn't beat at Scrabble and gave me my equal love of books and blue grass music. Rather, it was a side effect of the nasty business pertaining to drug addiction. I know my dad loved my brother and I to the very depth of his being, and that he was sick, and not in his right frame of mind when these acts were committed. I saw my mom's struggles working full time while attending college, dealing with my varying mental health and health issues in addition to her own, and then dealing with my dad. I know without being a parent myself that parenting is nothing to mess around with, and - autism aside - it's a very demanding and taxing job, even calculating for the impenetrable love that a parent usually has for their child. I know that my mom would take a bullet for me in a minute, but that she's also human. My meltdowns and anxiety attacks still cause her an unnerving amount of pain. My dad's suicide attempts were talked in hushed whispers (one of them was on my 12th or 13th birthday), and I've lost count of my own attempts (the one last year, I was within 30 minutes of dying - it's why I now live with my mom in Florida and is half of the reason why I don't work). I've always known that justice never gets fully served, and that justice is just as vague as a term as "normal" in that its definition can vary person by person, even - shockingly - by jurisdiction, as seen in the fight for equality in gay marriages. The very institute that's supposed to uphold the law of the land and the Constitution, can and does deny protection to those very people its supposed to protect. "Mental Health" is still a foreign concept when it comes to law, because of the many twists and turns and this and that's which is the natural state of law.<br />
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I began my Autism growth and maturity in broadening my autism horizon. I colored it in with the views of parents - who have children with varying levels of needs and issues - and I listened. I read blogs from both sides, and quickly found that I had to shut out the angry sounds of "murder apologist" and all the nasty bits I won't hash out here, from some adult advocates. I paused my typing fingers, and I read and I listened. I learned more things about myself from the parents of autistic children than I have in my years flying my Aspie War Banner. I scuffed my autism shoes. I learned the following: Yes, it's okay to say that autism is hard. It doesn't mean you hate autistics or that you hate yourself. Some people are simply assholes, and it doesn't matter if you have a disability or not. Autism parents are very cool people, who are very funny, and - if anything is to be gleaned from their FB posts, they drink an ungodly amount of alcohol and coffee (sarcasm on the alcohol bit). I see in them a reflection of my mom: tough people with thick skins with awesome sauce sarcastic skills and a level of humor that eases some of the hard, the miles of waiting lists, the unlimited red tape, the headache which can be the IEP, the horror story which is the healthy insurance coverage and crumbling bureaucracy of the mental health systems that are yearly having their budgets cut and beds reduced, and the unflappable love that they have for their children and family. They take the hits and keep on running. They mean what they say, without a hidden agenda. When their child is hurt, they cry ten times the amount of tears until they can cry no more. Crying is not a crime or a shameful act that means that a parent hates their child. It simply means that the parent is human, and, if they could, they'd take away your child's struggles and their pain in a heart beat. Not because their child is autistic or whatever, but because they are a parent and its a natural instinct to want to protect their children.<br />
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When parents say they support a friend who couldn't take anymore (though wrong in her actions), then stand there while other people (ones who supposedly don't want others to speak for them, yet have no trouble speaking for others, even without consent and/or possible knowledge) stone them for their compassion, I cannot be silenced - <i>especially</i> when the only advice these supposed advocates - who have an appalling lack of psychiatry, mental health, psychology, case management, and all the knowledge isms that should have been researched in-depth beforehand - have to offer is to give up now and call CPS before they harm their own children. To speak of doing no harm, and then suggesting parents give up their parental rights because, gee, autism parents are apparently ticking murderess time bombs that are set to explode at any given second (/light sarcasm). The actions of one person - whether intended or not - does not imply that ALL people will act in the same manner. To accuse a parent of becoming a potential murder based on the actions of a few, is like calling your mailman a thief because that one mailman years ago stole people's mail. I am upset, too, because voices of discussion - not of debate, but people's own thoughts and opinions - are deleted in attempt to silence them. If the time to speak of a lack of services and funding is not now, then when? You don't like your hands, your voice being silenced. Why do you try to silence parents when they reach out for help? Is it perhaps uncomfortable, reminding you too much of your own childhood, or that, just perhaps, if the world doesn't all singularly view autism as sparkly unicorns and rainbows, that you have failed in your mission of autism awareness? That others might look at you as something less, or that it'll bring you back to that one time when you were punished for simply being? If so, I am truly, sincerely sorry. It is hard to work though that anger and fear. To stop seeing bogeymen behind every closed door, every therapy as an instrument of torture (yes, some are and the history is deep, but, like myself, they have evolved), every "NT" as a person who is trying to erase your identity and/or every autism parent as a monkey trainer. It isn't always like that: life can suck, some people view disabled people as less than, and if you haven't changed their minds as of yet, I am sorry to type that those walls may never be broken down. Life, too, is a spectrum - from the common sense of the intelligent all the way to the ignorant assholes who choose to remain so for whatever reason. I know some of your emotional wounds may never heal, but, by the love of whomever, PLEASE stop picking at the scab! No matter how it itches or grates on your nerves, find your peace so that it may find a way to heal. Healing goes further than hatred. One of the lessons my dad taught me is that anger is wasted energy. If you're all ready short on spoons, I suggest not wasting it on anger, but that's my own two cents plus inflation.<br />
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When I hear of calls of justice, I wonder what Issy would have wanted. Where is her voice? Does her father agree to this advocacy on behalf of his daughter? I see hashtags to step into her shoes, but having been a fairly angry child myself with a streak of violence (oh, we laugh now about my mom threatening to sell our POS used Honda to send me to military school, but several years have passed to allow those wounds to heal), I know that I cannot speak for Issy. Having been twice injured by my dad's drug-related incidents, I couldn't even tell you what Issy would want. I'm one Aspie, one person. My experiences are unique onto me, and me only. For all I know, your dad could very well have also chased you out of the house with a hammer and you got sick at the thought of ever eating an egg salad sandwich again, but each of our feelings on said events would still be different. Our minds, thank whomever, are not hooked up to one giant Borg-like computer where we all share the same feelings and thoughts. I cringe every time that I hear the suggestion that autism parents are incompetent because they're not autistic, and thus should follow to the letter every single adult advocates' advice on raising autistic children (even if they themselves don't have children), that the advocates themselves are right and just in their actions. I would like to take the time to remind everyone that no one - even the medical experts - are the single sole source on how to raise a child, NT or otherwise. There's more opinions on that than there are products in any given grocery store. The person who is most likely to know their own child IS the parent. When I offer up advice, I caution them that I am just one Aspie, and each Aspie is unique. What works for me may not work for your child (especially given that I'm an adult without children), and you, as the parent of said child, should play the role of a detective to figure out what works and what doesn't. Period.<br />
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Not everyone is familiar with the story of Kelli and Issy. Every time I mention the topic to my mom, I have to remind her - who has me, a daughter with autism or however you wish to word it - who they are, of their story. I even know of other (less extreme but equally passionate in their desire for autism understanding) adult advocates who, for whatever reason, really don't care. Yet, for some reason, in the name of supposed justice, some adult advocates are refusing to let go of the fat piece of juicy meat clenched in between their teeth. Exactly, why is that? Some would say that this very controversy - if, it is, in fact, a controversy - has divided and polarized the autism community (I personally thought that Andrew Wakefield did a fine job of that, and this is nothing new). Over the past year, my dad's choices and even my own actions have been brought sharply to the forefront of my brain and re-examined in a new light. I have been able to further heal those wounds, to allow myself to say "I am human. I made a mistake. Where do I go from here, and how do I prevent myself from stretching myself so far that impulsively committing suicide in the future?". Healing is possible.<br />
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I know that I write lengthy novels as opposed to pithy posts. To recap:<br />
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1.) Autism parents - whether autistic themselves or not - have no desire to harm their children, nor plot their future murders. A parent's job is never done, so why waste the precious downtime that they may or may not have on such a messy thing as murder? To commit such a horrible act takes equally horrible, unimaginable amounts of pain and despair, and, unless you've been in that situation where all hope and options are gone, is impossible to understand.<br />
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2.) Mental illness and suicide are real. Some parents are mentally ill, but not all. Mental illness does not always equate to suicide and attempted murders on their children's lives. We each have our own breaking posts and limits to the amount of stress we can carry, parent or not. Thanks to this economy, mental health services are being cut while the demand for services goes up and the number of psychiatric beds are being reduced. Suicidal patients are being turned away due to a lack of beds in mental health facilities (sorry, I don't have the exact article to support my argument, but it's out there on the Internets).<br />
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3.) Please try to remember to speak only for yourself, and not others.<br />
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4.) Your definition of "justice" may not be the same as another person's. Remember, there's always your version of the truth, the other person's view of the truth, and the Truth.<br />
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5.) Because you were hurt and/or abused, does not mean other parents will automatically hurt their autistic child. Yes, people with disabilities are vulnerable, but this doesn't mean there's a boogeyman behind every door. Autism parents are not always the enemy.<br />
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6.) Because of a choice that one parent made in choosing to attempt to kill herself and her child does not mean that a.) All parents will suddenly jump on the band wagon and try to copy said person's actions, and b.) That said person didn't love or hate her daughter. In fact, it applies the <i>exact opposite</i>: How much a parent would love a child to make an unthinkable, horrific choice to take her own child's life so that said child didn't suffer the loss of a parent or their care once said parent was gone. BTW, that wasn't a multiple choice question.<br />
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7.) There are many, many gray areas that even NT's have difficulties in navigating. Compassion isn't a crime nor does it imply that you agree with said, it simply means that you care, that you are human. You don't know how you will react in a situation until you are actually <i>in that situation</i>.<br />
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8.) You really need to listen to autism parents and study up on subjects before speaking about them. It's another thing my mom taught me; if you want to argue something and expect to do so successfully, then you better know what you're arguing before you begin.<br />
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9.) You are the only autism expert on YOU. Everything else is advice, an opinion, a thought. A parent is the expert on their child, not the adult advocate.<br />
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10.) Even if they do the unthinkable or something you don't agree with, the autism community still supports one another. They don't cause the pain to become worse or the wound to deepen via misguided judgement and opinions. They don't tear down walls and divide. They build one another up, so that if there is an emergency, the house still stands.<br />
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11.) Assume makes an ass out of you and me. Communication is a two-way street. By all means, make hypothesizes or guesses; please don't automatically assume. What works for you, may not work for someone else. Therapies have evolved, and even bits and pieces of a controversial therapy might work best for someone. My mom taught me responsibility of my actions and words from day one (yes, even when I couldn't speak). It was a system of rewards for good actions (doing a list of assigned chores equaled so much allowance) and consistent consequences for "bad" behavior (throwing a fit in class would result in writing sentences; my mom knew repetition was one of the ways I learned). People with disabilities are vulnerable. It doesn't mean that they're ALL abused, tortured, and/or killed at every turn. Sometimes, it happens and sometimes justice doesn't happen. Life is shitty like that.<br />
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12.) Words and generalizations can hurt. Anger is wasted energy. Support people. Build them up, don't tear them down.<br />
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13.) One person with autism is one person with autism. Autism is a spectrum. Respect its variety of tastes, sounds, and being.<br />
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I am a proud Aspie who supports autism parents. My aim of this post is not to sling adult advocates across the stone of Damnation while casting autism parents on a pedestal, for all to see. No, I merely seek to open their eyes to the hurt that some adult advocates are inadvertently - intentional or not - causing within the autism community. Compassion isn't a dirty word. The autism community - especially autism parents and caregivers of autistic persons - need support more now than ever. Fredrick Douglas once said "It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men". The same applies here: lay down your battle armor and let the wounds that need mended to heal. It is easier to support autism parents than to repair them when they are broken, when their hope seems to be lost, and they're hanging on by a single thread, exhausted, all options seemingly ended. To build someone up is to support them in whatever they may feel, even if it makes us feel squirmy and uncomfortable; to end their shame of their own feelings, of the need to hide lest they be deemed unsuitable parents, and to not cast judgement nor guilt. Most people who are depressed and/or feeling suicidal simply need a person to listen, to know that they matter, that this too shall pass, even if all hope has seemingly vanished. Give them a flashlight, a beacon of hope. That is how you support a person.<br />
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In conclusion, <b>no one wins</b>. Kelli is in prison - where she will likely not get the mental health support that she needs. Her children - yes, even Issy - have lost their mom. A family was torn apart. A husband lost the support of his wife, and vice versa. Kelli's friends are grieving - even more so by the stones thrown by some adult advocates. Caregivers have not been given more support and/or funding. Adult advocates continue on with their battle cry, having gained very little ground, and ignoring the other children - autistic and otherwise - that have been since killed by their caregivers. It's a horrific, sad story that has occurred. Knowing the verdict, where do we go from here? What can we do to fortify this community, to build one another up? What can I, as a moderator, do to help build a bridge to cross this gap? Is there some happy middle that we can all agree upon? Let me know your thoughts in the comments.<br />
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As always, thank you for reading and guinea pig out!Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-12849253244378059682014-04-19T02:13:00.000-07:002014-04-19T02:34:38.497-07:00May 2013 to well, April 19, 2014<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">I'm almost a year stronger (and sane). Woot!<br /><br />When I got out of the hospital for my suicide attempt, I filed all the paperwork I needed for the short term disability via my employer. The disability company denied my long term disability for reasons unknown. Apparently, you're supposed to recover after six weeks or so (I don't exactly remember) from an attempted suicide and pop right back up and go back to work! (/sarcasm) Yeah, that wasn't happening. The psychiatrist diagnosed me with "<a href="http://psychcentral.com/disorders/acute-stress-disorder-symptoms/" target="_blank">acute stress disorder</a>", which meant no stress. That, and I had to pack before I got evicted from my apartment. Yup, that wasn't stressful <i>at all!</i> /sarcasm </span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"></span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">I broke down and had to actually call the Montgomery County crisis center when I received the eviction notice from my apartment management. I was on shaky ground, and I was - and still am - very much depressed. I'm the responsible sort of person who goes to great lengths to ensure my rent and bills are paid on time, before even buying groceries and personal necessities for myself. It's how my brain operates, and it's logical to me. That's why not being able to provide for myself creates the ongoing depression cycle I'm still in - I abhor the thought of being dependent on anyone but myself. It's not how I was raised, and not how I live, one island alone or whatever be damned (yes, I do understand the irony of that statement).</span></span><br />
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To keep placing one foot forward, I made lists and a time table of when I'd try to get things completed. If I could just focus on the lists and calendars and nonesuch, then I could stay sane for the month and 22 days until my stepdad arrived to help me move:<br />
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Kitchen: 10; an old plastic storage container (minus a broken lid) for the Kitchen Aid and Keurig (coffee machine).<br /> </span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">1 food box (This turned out to be three. I forgot about the flours and stuff that I usually kept in the fridge that were nonperishable).<br /> <br /> 1 box o' chemicals and laundry room stuff<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> <br /> 2 bathroom boxes<br /> <br /> 2 boxes for the guinea pigs, plus diaper bag<br /> <br /> 1 box o' medications<br /> <br /> 2 suitcases and six boxes for clothes, hangers, shoes, graduate gown, and walking boot.<br /> <br /> 1 box o' random crap<br /> <br /> 11 living room boxes, including 2 office boxes, box for arts and crafts, and 1 for computers and accessories.<br /> <br /> 1 altar box<br /> <br /> 1 box for bike stuff (and bike)<br /> <br /> 4 boxes of books, including reference<br /> <br /> 4 plastic totes of winter clothing<br /> <br /> 1 plastic tote of bed sheets<br /> <br /> 1 plastic tote of yarn (don't ask)<br /> <br /> 2 boxes for writing, art stuff, and thesis<br /> <br /> 1 box of bowling trophies and random crap<br /> <br /> 3 boxes for bedroom<br /> <br /> 1 box for Florida<br /> <br /> 1 box for cookbooks<br /> <br />
One TV (one had to get thrown away), two TV stands (the el cheapo one got thrown out), one dresser, three shelving units, three bookshelves, two
shelves, 2 guinea pig cages, a coffee table, three folding tables, a
side table, a side table for the bedroom (which got thrown away), a heating thingy, an ironing
stand, a camping bed, 6 trashcans, 2 or 3 chairs (all got thrown away), a table, an art table (which got thrown away), a small tool
box, 2 hay boxes (one got thrown away), an ottoman, two lamps, a bag of wires, a mirror, a
three drawer thingy (which was previously patched up with duct tape, and was subsequently thrown away), and a file thingy with drawers. The couch also had to go - it was the most comfortable couch, but it was almost too big to get in or out of the apartment, and I couldn't imagine even trying to get it down the narrow hallway that led to my old room. I spent the last month or so sleeping on and saying good bye to my couch. The mattress was thrown away, too, because it was hard as a rock - you know you have a bad bed when the couch is WAY more comfy. Also thrown out was Nascar the Too Loud Vacuum Cleaner, the carpet steam cleaner, and whatever didn't fit in the moving truck. That was AFTER pairing down.<br /><br />It was all I had as a reminder that I was once a functioning, independent adult. I hold onto these lists and pictures in my mind with the knowledge that, in the near distant future, I WILL be there again. My mom's house is only my temporary home until my mind is rested and no longer burnt out. This is the hope that I hold onto.</span></span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y30JK3Q_adM/UzrlVS-ddaI/AAAAAAAAAUE/1RiIBHtMESc/s1600/box+city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y30JK3Q_adM/UzrlVS-ddaI/AAAAAAAAAUE/1RiIBHtMESc/s1600/box+city.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image is my previous bedroom, which is full of empty boxes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show">It was a crappy one month and 22 days. I had to sort through stuff, figure out what could be donated, what could be thrown away/recycled, and clean the apartment from top to bottom. I got behind when I accidentally kicked the rocking chair with the top of my foot, which stayed swollen for a good solid week. I even had to go see the orthopedic doctor for a special shoe because my foot was too swollen to even fit into my regular tennis shoe.</span></span></span><br />
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My bedroom was literally box city. I moved the art table and brick and board bookshelf to the side to make room for the boxes. The boxes were then taped up, sprayed down with bug spray, packed, bought even more tape and plastic totes for winter clothes (winter clothes in Florida? LOL!), and slowly fitted packed boxes back into the bedroom.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--ETg7rE8APE/Uzrll7wa6zI/AAAAAAAAAU4/o5EPzw_xs74/s1600/trash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--ETg7rE8APE/Uzrll7wa6zI/AAAAAAAAAU4/o5EPzw_xs74/s1600/trash.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image is of a box full of papers to recycle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then came the fun part: cleaning. Which meant taking down recyclables and trash down four flights of stairs. With a busted knee, sciatica flair up pain, and a sore foot. Oh, the fun I had! /sarcasm<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uiUspqhUz8U/U1I-qVAkGoI/AAAAAAAAAZw/BEJXWlMmrwk/s1600/feet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uiUspqhUz8U/U1I-qVAkGoI/AAAAAAAAAZw/BEJXWlMmrwk/s1600/feet.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image: My feet, marked "R" with a blue marker and "L" with a red marker (both are upside down, because I wrote them right side up for my view). The right foot is obviously swollen and very bruised, and the left foot is its usually slightly swollen self.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xPUjRdTHa8o/U1I_WbdMIUI/AAAAAAAAAaE/TV4RReLiGkQ/s1600/shoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xPUjRdTHa8o/U1I_WbdMIUI/AAAAAAAAAaE/TV4RReLiGkQ/s1600/shoe.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image: My medical shoe for my foot, which has Velcro straps to allow for swelling.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4ppDRpJFZP0/U1I-vGSSluI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/GF7I7Rb2SaI/s1600/foot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4ppDRpJFZP0/U1I-vGSSluI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/GF7I7Rb2SaI/s1600/foot.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image: A week after the incident, my foot is only slightly swollen and only slightly bruised.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uXDe9NLgVaw/UzrluF5sOSI/AAAAAAAAAVI/LdufsBCCwkg/s1600/to+do.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uXDe9NLgVaw/UzrluF5sOSI/AAAAAAAAAVI/LdufsBCCwkg/s1600/to+do.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two sheets of paper are taped to the wall. They both read "To-Do List" and have various tasks written under them for Thursday through Monday.</td></tr>
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The key to a good move is organization, lots of planning, and having a back up plan to the back up plan. Then I bought a can of frosting to keep my blood sugars and energy levels up. When I first moved to Maryland and couldn't afford food, I bought frosting, corn tortillas, peanut butter, orange juice, and bananas to keep me going. It was almost like I've gone full circle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QCpikqy-Y7M/UzrlYjg1rJI/AAAAAAAAAUM/R7CZMt1eCRU/s1600/calendar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QCpikqy-Y7M/UzrlYjg1rJI/AAAAAAAAAUM/R7CZMt1eCRU/s1600/calendar.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a June 2013 calendar with various doctor appointments and goals to be accomplished.</td></tr>
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To make it even more insane, I had to say "Good bye" to every single one of my specialists. For most typical people, getting to know their specialist is a walk in the park. For me - full of anxiety and trust issues - it was like walking on slippery stones in the river to get to the other side. Most of the time, I'd slip off the stones and into the river. Occasionally, the specialist and I had that connection, and they truly understood and reached out. I had actually worked a job for four years, which meant four years of continual insurance, and I got a chance to build these sought after relationships and we got to know one another. I had 7 specialists to visit and had to get an echocardiogram done for my heart, which is a recommended yearly thing. I picked up medical records and prescriptions. I said good bye to the pharmacist who had gotten to know me by name. I didn't have the money or time to take off a day from packing to go up to Baltimore and back to see the endocrinologist (that was sort of like a hate/love relationship any way. I never really got along with the specialist, but hit it off with the nurse practitioner). A year later, I still miss some of my specialists, especially my psychiatrist, counselor, asthma doc, and cardiologist. I could go to them any time with questions, or free samples of medication to hold me over until the next pay check. Even though I had to pay a co-pay, they were sort of like my mini family up in Maryland: they reassured me when my anxiety was bad, or when I was in a bind. Without insurance, it's kind of like throwing darts in the dark: you hope you don't accidentally hit somebody just walking by (in other words, I'm fine for now, but who knows when my heart will get worse, or what the future might hold?).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BdGoXvn1MWs/Uzrlbi-PhWI/AAAAAAAAAUY/mnCIZybpkDw/s1600/couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BdGoXvn1MWs/Uzrlbi-PhWI/AAAAAAAAAUY/mnCIZybpkDw/s1600/couch.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP, comfy couch. I miss you :-(</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dXjccCj_Iug/UzrlgmBewfI/AAAAAAAAAUo/LX_yQLaZOno/s1600/tv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dXjccCj_Iug/UzrlgmBewfI/AAAAAAAAAUo/LX_yQLaZOno/s1600/tv.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP TV stand I dragged home on the bus and TV. I wish I had the room for you :-(</td></tr>
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In the end, this is what I looked like:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-as5m90Zf8gA/Uzrlp_5WDTI/AAAAAAAAAVA/uKNTVIGjUhU/s1600/crazy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-as5m90Zf8gA/Uzrlp_5WDTI/AAAAAAAAAVA/uKNTVIGjUhU/s1600/crazy.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image: Me, with soap suds formed into triangles on my head, and making a silly, crazy face.</td></tr>
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I told the guinea pigs about the move to Florida, and reassured them over and over again that they would be coming with me, even if I had to tie them to the roof of the moving truck (joking with the last bit). I told them all about Florida, and gave them a social story each night to help them with the transition. Travel buddies help one another on long journeys by making it fun and interesting by comforting one another and not fighting, biting, or otherwise annoying the other <strike>person</strike> guinea pig. They panicked at first, but soon got used to the idea. Perhaps even enjoying it a bit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6eQwWiDU1O8/Uzrld4AxWII/AAAAAAAAAUg/EGkVs_pgY3k/s1600/last+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6eQwWiDU1O8/Uzrld4AxWII/AAAAAAAAAUg/EGkVs_pgY3k/s1600/last+night.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last night in the apartment! Image: Benny is seen in the back of a large dog carrier, munching on hay, and Zeke is hiding/chilling in his igloo, shown in the front.</td></tr>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show">My stepdad flew up on June 25th to help me pack the moving truck on and to drive down to Florida. I said my good byes to the few friends I had made (including the bus drivers) and my co-workers gave me a farewell lunch. My dear former supervisor came over to help me move. The Jehovah witnesses from the first floor and a lady from another building helped to move the couch down. The Jehovah witnesses took the brick and wooden bookshelf as payment. After an apartment inspection and we finished stuffing everything that would fit into the moving truck, we hit the road.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Lf56qLr1NI/UzrljEC9lpI/AAAAAAAAAUw/MAQ6ge19z_k/s1600/travel+buddies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Lf56qLr1NI/UzrljEC9lpI/AAAAAAAAAUw/MAQ6ge19z_k/s1600/travel+buddies.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Travel Buddies. Image is of Benny and Zeke cuddled up on a blanket on my lap. Turns out the moving truck was just a little too small for their carrier. Yes, they spent the entire two days on the road on my lap. Zeke had a blast. Benny? Not so much.</td></tr>
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So, now I'm here in Florida and sort of settled in. Lots of boxes still packed, but I got the basics unpacked. The guinea pigs have my old room. I got my brother's old room. I settled into a new routine, one that revolved around furry critters of the four legged variety and helped my mom with housework (when I'm not busy having sensory overload, anxiety, meltdowns, depression episodes, and not battling with pain of some variety). Soon after moving to Florida, my nephew L. (my best friend's kiddo) learned to walk. In quick succession, he's proven to be quite the little genius: he can now climb, say up to ten or more words, put two words together, count to three, loves being read to (he'll drag a book to his parents when he wants to be read to), and loves exploring his dad's computer. It's amazing how fast he is growing up, and I can't wait until I have enough saved up to fly out and visit him.<br />
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Meanwhile, my niece A. is busy learning to tear things apart (atta girl!), walk, and vocalize. She's her dad's and mom's pride and joy, and it's fascinating watching my younger brother - the person I had watched out for and all those sisterly things - turn into a husband and a daddy. I at once in awe of the man he has become, and so proud.<br />
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Benny has since turned 6, and Zeke is now 3. Zeke has had ongoing issues with a tooth abscess. The first episode in early October involved him not eating, a vet visit, draining the abscess, giving him daily antibiotics for forever and a day, and forcing him to eat by giving him all his favorite foods and oats to help him to gain the weight back that he had lost. He again had another abscess the first week of November, and this one actually exploded. He was given pain medication and more antibiotics, and is now doing okay with the exception of one tooth needing to be trimmed (which I cannot currently afford, but, as long as he's eating, my fingers are crossed!). Zeke has proven to be a brave warrior, and he lets me know he's doing okay by taking the syringe for his liquid vitamin C out of my hands and tossing it (the goof ball). Benny's getting old and sleeps more often, but he's still as demanding and cuddly.<br />
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In addition to Benny and Zeke (my "boyos", Irish slang for male friend), I also have these furry fiends of the four legged type to keep me busy:<br />
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<b>Daisy, Daisy ... </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CiBjNUEhyqM/U1IX3lhwnlI/AAAAAAAAAWM/qsPMAce9CA4/s1600/Daisy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CiBjNUEhyqM/U1IX3lhwnlI/AAAAAAAAAWM/qsPMAce9CA4/s1600/Daisy.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image is of Daisy, who is a Calico. Her left eye is surrounded by a black patch of fur while her right eye is a black and tan patch, with a white patch of fur running down her nose. Otherwise, her fur is all white. She's slightly pudgy, but healthy.</td></tr>
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<br />
I adopted Daisy on July 14, 2013. I'd seen her the day before at a PetSmart adoption event, where my mom had pointed her out to me. She let me hold her and talk to her. I think she saw a sucker, as she all ready had those little paws wrapped around my heart. I decided that I didn't need another mouth to feed - especially on an unemployment salary, as I all ready had two guinea pigs to feed - and walked away. She kept wiggling her way through my mind, and, by that night, I had made up my mind to adopt her. I anxiously called the PetSmart store, but the person who answered had no clue whether she was still there, and advised me to call back the next day at 11 AM. I did, and they couldn't tell me whether or not she'd be adopted by the time I got there, and, no, they wouldn't put her on hold because it was first come, first served. My heart beat anxiously until I was able to go and pick her up, and she recognized me instantly. It was love at first wheek. She fit right in, and has a back bone and can stand up to her brothers, but is also as sweet as can be. She's loud and is a talker. <br />
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Poor Daisy sometimes gets the short end of the stick in that she's usually in her cage, awake and bored, while her brothers sleep the afternoon away. Both her and Benny have adapted to their new home, and can now be heard all the way in the kitchen (on the other side of the house) when they're hungry, bored, want hay, and/or a treat (spoiled little fur balls with sharp teeth :-) ). Daisy loves food - especially oat spray stalks - but refuses all fruit except blueberries, which is strange considering she had been previously starved. I'm just now getting to the point where I can hold and snuggle her without her overly panicking. She loves watching Guy on Triple D's on the FoodNetwork (I think she has a small crush on him). She hates bathes, having her nails trimmed, and being touched on the back. She's smart, curious, and, when she's managed to escape the play pen, is not afraid to wonder outside of the guinea pig room. She's now about two years old, give or take a half of a year, and is quickly proving her dominance in the guinea pig trio. You can't help but love her.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E8j7K49ixnk/U1I-wqc3dGI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/2g4cwvv5mEw/s1600/Daisy+Benny+Zeke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E8j7K49ixnk/U1I-wqc3dGI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/2g4cwvv5mEw/s1600/Daisy+Benny+Zeke.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left to right: Daisy, Benny, and Zeke. A rare moment of "Let's be still so we can play!".</td></tr>
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<b>Sabelle's Dooking it Up!</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GSdO-iTsKnI/U1IbnSeE8yI/AAAAAAAAAWo/t4oaKgt9vJQ/s1600/Sabelle+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GSdO-iTsKnI/U1IbnSeE8yI/AAAAAAAAAWo/t4oaKgt9vJQ/s1600/Sabelle+2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shhh! Be very, very quiet - there's a sleeping Sabelle! Image is of a view of a sleeping Sabelle as seen from between the slates of Benny's crate, which was Sabelle's temporary home until we could get her a proper ferret cage.</td></tr>
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On September 09, 2013, we took in Sabelle (pronounced "Sabel," which is her coloring and breed), a ferret that my mom's co-worker found in her backyard (which has since been proven by the fact that Sabelle loves eating the lizards and grasshoppers the cats bring in. Ferrets imprint from a very early age on the foods they'll eat). The day before we brought her home, I researched ferrets like crazy and figured out the best foods and care for her. She was undernourished and in need of a bath, but we soon fixed her up, and now she's as zany as any ferret deserves to be, and more intelligent than all of us combined. It took us a few weeks to get her to the point where she was healthy and energetic enough to play, but once we got her going, there's now no stopping her. She's known for her temper and throwing around her food and water when she's upset that we won't let her out of her cage - usually, it's for a time out for trying to get into the couch, but sometimes her humans are also busy and out of the house (how dare we go outside without her!) or sleeping in late. We dub these events as "Hurricane Sabelle." I affectionately call her "juvenile delinquent" and "Fuzzbutt" because of the amount of trouble she can get herself into, whether through zany ferret behavior and/or boredom. One morning, I walked into the pantry to find Sabelle on the first shelf of the pantry, posed to jump with a bag of marshmallows in her mouth. Whenever I forget to close the guinea pigs' door, she has been known to climb into Benny's or Zeke's cage or the play pen to "play" by jumping onto the guinea pig's back and refusing to budge.<br />
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She's currently teething, and loves chewing on plastic water bottles, plastic pit balls, and anything she can get a hold of to chew. Sabelle's best friend is a squeaky toy snake, and has been known to also cuddle up with her squeaky toy ducky and her teddy bear. She also loves starch peanuts, warm blankets, towels, and her heating pad (it's microwavable and made for animals), bubble wrap, carting off any bags that are foil or crinkly, Marshall's <span class="irc_su" dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">Crunchy Bandits Tartar Control Treats for Ferrets (which, of course, are now being discontinued, grrrr),</span> climbing, trying to sneak into the guinea pig cages' to "play," going for car rides, and lizards and/or grasshoppers (don't ask, even I don't want to know). <span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Sabelle enjoys being chased and chasing us (Sally's still working on this game).</span></span> She doesn't really care for baths, most treats, or being told that she can't go outside. She's an escape artist, and figured out the cat door before the cats. Luckily, we have a door for the cat door, and my mom has trained her to come to the sound of her snake being squeaked, and we've been able to rescue her when she's managed to escape. Sabelle is my mom's baby, and she'll wake up as soon as my mom walks in the door. She sometimes won't fall asleep unless my mom's cuddled her, and she loves my mom singing to her. In short, she's spoiled, and very much loved.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YB0Znp_eKoM/U1IbsqhQ1VI/AAAAAAAAAW0/t7PQlBGYhUA/s1600/Sabelle1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YB0Znp_eKoM/U1IbsqhQ1VI/AAAAAAAAAW0/t7PQlBGYhUA/s1600/Sabelle1a.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sabelle, sleeping between her teddy bear (left side of the picture) and her green squeaky toy snake (upper/right side of picture). In the very bottom right corner, a patch of yellow fuzz can be seen, which is Sabelle's squeaky toy ducky.</td></tr>
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<b>Skippy the (Traumatized) Squirrel</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fksOjSy78ZQ/U1IeeKKc2sI/AAAAAAAAAXE/FNCdE82ldnI/s1600/Skippy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fksOjSy78ZQ/U1IeeKKc2sI/AAAAAAAAAXE/FNCdE82ldnI/s1600/Skippy.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a regular tree squirrel, who is looking rather pissed off and is clinging to the bathroom doorframe. To his left is a bottle of Windex. Say, Skippy, while you're down there, do you mind cleaning ...? Thanks! The date stamp reads "10/11/2013."</td></tr>
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One October morning (the eleventh to be exact), Skippy the Traumatized Squirrel woke me up by loudly screeching. I woke up, confused as to why there would be a pissed off mouse in my room, thought for a minute about the cats, and soon discovered upon closer inspection that Tony (our hunter) had brought in, not a mouse, but a squirrel. With Baby Girl's help, Tony had the squirrel trapped in the corner under my desk area. I told Tony to <i>get that squirrel out of here!</i>, and he complied by picking the squirrel up and subsequently losing it some where between the living room and entry hallway. Some how, Skippy the Traumatized Squirrel had wound up in the bathroom. After forcefully dragging the cats out of the bathroom and quickly closing the bathroom door (and my mom and stepdad's bedroom door for good measure), I called my mom to inform her that there was a squirrel in the bathroom, clinging for dear life to the door frame. Following my mom's instructions, I found a trash can and a make shift lid, and spent the next few minutes coaxing a very traumatized Skippy into said trash can. To my dismay, he climbed the door frame, and was almost in the shower before I managed to trap him in the trash can. I was too afraid to pull back the make shift lid, as I kept having these images in my head of Skippy the Traumatized Squirrel biting my face clean off. I rushed Skippy the (now very) Traumatized Squirrel outside (dodging cats along the way) and slowly dumped the trash can out, yelling "Be free, Skippy! Be free!". He ran off without a moment's hesitation. Some where out there in our neighborhood, is a very traumatized squirrel. I wouldn't be surprised if he has PTSD episodes whenever he sees a cat. Poor Skippy :-/<br />
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<span class="hasCaption"><b>Sally's Story</b><br />
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We got Sally a few months later, from a rescue place called Fallin' Pines Critter Rescue. We brought her home on November 09, 2013.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rDN5xdUyiHA/U0DZwwsCPvI/AAAAAAAAAVw/AX1hWrq7Jj8/s1600/Sally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rDN5xdUyiHA/U0DZwwsCPvI/AAAAAAAAAVw/AX1hWrq7Jj8/s1600/Sally.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sally, when we first brought her home (her nails are no longer that long, and she's slimed down considerably). Image: Sally is laying on top of bubble wrap, slightly in need of a bath, with a curious, cautious expression on her face.</td></tr>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">At first, Sally would bite Sabelle, and so my mom broke the ferret cage up into two parts. She was very aggressive, obviously had not been outside of a cage much (she was rotund, to put it nicely), and had trouble using her back legs. My mom was thinking of sending her back, but I figured I'd try to make a connection with her. I'm known as the guinea pig lady, so there wasn't much of a leap to becoming the ferret whisperer.<br /><br /> I decided my best approach was to follow my instincts and join her in HER world during play time, which meant getting down to her level on the floor. I allowed her to set the pace, follow her lead, and to allow her to come to me. Consistency was - and still is - mandatory. If I had to reprimand her, a gentle "No" followed by removing her from the situation usually worked. Yelling at her would result in her running off and hiding. We eventually wound up using my room as her playroom (it has carpet, which equaled better traction for her feet) and using slow actions so she knew what was happening, that I wasn't going to hit her, I made play FUN! and exaggerated my happiness (it sounds corny, but she wasn't very social and it let her know I was A-okay). If she did X correctly without aggression she got a treat. This has also worked with litter box training and (with some success) getting her to come to us when we call her name. When she bit too hard during play, I'd gently put my finger by her mouth and firmly say "Gentle". I still have to do this on occasion, so she knows her boundaries, but only because she's really into playing and momentarily forgets.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">I
slowly extended the hours of our play, and now, five months later, she</span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> can use her legs to push herself, </span></span>running </span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">like no one's business </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>all over the house REALLY fast (it's hilarious to watch - it's like watching one of those ACME characters run away from a falling object), self confident, owning the
joint, and trying to do all the stuff Sabelle can do. </span></span>We think her back may have been broken at one point, because she couldn't use her back legs well, she doesn't jump around like Sabelle with her crazy Weasel War Dance (when Sally is really into her play, she rolls onto her back and does this improvised one hop dance), and, even though her balance and ability to stretch her neck has improved, she cannot climb.</span></span> I help Sally to climb atop things when she looks intently UP at an object, and then closely supervising her. She's learning that legs are for jumping, but is still learning how to stick the landing. When she wants up onto the counter or wherever, I will have one hand free and near her at all times because she's gotten so fast, and will jump without a moment's hesitation. She loves nipping toes, which has earned her the nickname of "Carpet Shark" (when she lays down upon the floor, we call her "Ninja Carpet Shark" because her fur and the tile are white).</span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><br />
When we first brought her home, Sally was also very antisocial and disliked being held. She would often whimper in her sleep at night, and, from the way she would thrash about, they looked to be fairly bad nightmares. When I heard her whimper at night (and I have never been more thankful for having sleep issues), I'd wrap her in a towel, sooth her by repeatedly telling her "You're okay, I'm here, you're okay. You're safe, you're here now, you're okay," and pace the house with her until she quit shivering. After a few weeks, she settled in, and she rarely has the occasional nightmare and she's soothed a lot quicker - now, it's five minutes of orienting her that she is here, it's me, she's safe, and then she's like, "Play time!?" (2 AM? Uh, sure?). </span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">I rewarded her for being held and let her know that hands are good by giving her treats. If she wanted down, I'd wait just a bit longer, and then let her down. She now lingers in your arms before wanting <em>down</em>. </span></span></span></span>She enjoys curling up to my side to sleep, and she loves snuggling, and is now allowing my mom to snuggle her. She gives kisses. She's learned how to mimic a whimper so I'll come running to take her out of her cage. Even better is the "Fake Pooping in the Little Box" trick, so I'll either take her out of the cage and/or give her a treat. She's smart, but doesn't really care that we know it. She's happy to have found a home.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">For a ferret that came to us with severe behavior issues, she really has come quite a long way. I recently had to pop her to get her off my oldest guinea pig, and she was shocked more than upset that I'd do such a thing! She went into her cage without a fuss, and, by the next day, all was forgiven.</span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> She's learning to walk on a leash, and has been on two successful trips to PetSmart. I've been able to socialize her by gradually introducing her to people. Now she'll even let children pet her, no biting. If I sense she's scared or tired, I'll pull her back, but, lately, it's like she's never had any social issues.</span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"></span></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">My mom recently bought Sally a bed like Sabelle's. Sally had no clue what to do with this bed, until my mom stuck her in it. Now, Sally hardly sleeps on the floor of her cage, and is learning to enjoy her blankets, her tent thingy, and rarely leaves her bed. We've even seen her stretch all the way to her water bowl from her bed, and she enjoys eating in bed. Sally enjoys treats (her favorite are these chicken stick treats that I call "chicken bones"), bubble wrap, opening up doors, finding new places to sleep, and giving herself spit baths via the water fountain or water cup. </span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Sally enjoys
chewing on pens, and has a few deconstructed pens (all the components
of the pen, like the ink and inside parts, have been removed) under her
tent thingy</span></span> and hidden around the house. She's got toys, too: a blue mouse (she stole that from the cats), a kickster thingy that crinkles (it's used for cats to thump with their hind legs; Bella showed no interest in it, so Sally took that, too), a red, green, and white slipper sock that I used during one of our play sessions (and she subsequently kept and we've since discovered that she loves socks), and a teddy bear that she occasionally likes to snuggle up against (or push off of her loft when she's tired of it). She has this Grinch smile that means she's up to mischief, and it's such a joy to try to keep up with her. Sabelle and Sally have been initiating some form of play, mostly in the form of Sally playfully chasing Sabelle, for about three months now. It's a lot of small baby steps, some back stepping, and a whole lot of poo (which is how she earned her second nickname: Pooh). I will never regret the day that Sally came into our lives.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gDQXyH_ggrs/U1IlJTAWNTI/AAAAAAAAAXk/lu-lRc7e1yI/s1600/Grinch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gDQXyH_ggrs/U1IlJTAWNTI/AAAAAAAAAXk/lu-lRc7e1yI/s1600/Grinch.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image is of a picture of Sally partially hiding behind my craft box on my bedroom floor. Only her head, front torso, and two front legs can be seen, and she is smiling her Grinch smile (named after the infamous Grinch himself). Right after this photo was taken, she attacked my hand to play. Sally is also known to sleep while smiling her Grinch-y smile, obviously planning future mischief. What fun those dreams must be!</td></tr>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Note: It takes a TON of time to get an abused ferret to trust you. That first week was rough because I devoted most of my time to her (and still had to juggle an energetic younger ferret, three guinea pigs, three cats, and a dog) and getting her to know I was safe. It was exhausting, but rewarding work. In this sense, I don't mind being unemployed and having to move in with my mom. I am glad that I am here, that I am alive, and (begrudgingly, slightly less thrilled) that I moved down to Florida. I'm not sure if Sabelle would have been here, and Sally definitely would not have been. Sally needed a family, and I glad that she found us. She's rescued me from some of my own depression, and she makes every day a joy. When she sleeps (in any one of her endless sleeping positions), she is almost always smiling. You can't help but smile back. When she does something new, one of us is quick to point it out and congratulate her. Every day brings something new, and it's just awesome watching her grow into her own and blossom.</span></span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sFBZxNV_vRk/U1Ii-k1QjLI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/PnwnkjlB6Ek/s1600/Sally+Today.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sFBZxNV_vRk/U1Ii-k1QjLI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/PnwnkjlB6Ek/s1600/Sally+Today.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Five months later, Sally clearly has lost weight, her eyes are bright, clear, and shine with intelligence, her neck muscles are strong, she moves with intent, and her fur is all white. In this image, she is laying in her bed (her red, green, and white slipper sock is underneath her and can barely be seen; her little box is behind her), staring at the camera with a joyful expression, as if she is saying "I can come out, right!?" She can get out of her cage by her self via a ramp, but prefers that we pick her up.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4imoWe3TMSE/U1IlH4wnyTI/AAAAAAAAAXg/o6D-KInU4Zw/s1600/Sally+and+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4imoWe3TMSE/U1IlH4wnyTI/AAAAAAAAAXg/o6D-KInU4Zw/s1600/Sally+and+me.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my favorite picture of Sally and I. Sally is cuddled up with me, sleeping, on my left shoulder. My eyes are closed (due to the flash of the camera). We are reclined on my bed.</td></tr>
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</td></tr>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><strong>Tony</strong></span></span><br />
<br />
Tony is named for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony_DiNozzo" target="_blank">Anthony DiNozzo of NCIS</a>. My mom sometimes calls him "Why not?" (because that's Tony spelled backwards!). He is <em>very</em> affectionate, and is very handsome (and knows it, too!). He's my furry hunk of a kitty, and I sometimes call him Tone Tone (because his meow is very tone-ful). He'll wait in front of the house for anyone to come home, and will wait up if I've gone on a late night lettuce run. When I'm in pain, he'll seek me out to comfort me, and he loves hogging the foot of my bed. He lives for cat treats, scritches, and kisses. He's also our hunter, and is known for bringing in the squirrels, snakes, lizards, and various insects. He loves lounging on the pillow I've placed on top of Zeke's cage, in the window itself, or near Daisy's cage (she used to have a mini crush on him until Tony decided to put his mouth around her to see if she'd fit).<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wK3rC0ReK-g/U1IwZp9cMhI/AAAAAAAAAYw/Lj5Q8CetBVE/s1600/Tony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wK3rC0ReK-g/U1IwZp9cMhI/AAAAAAAAAYw/Lj5Q8CetBVE/s1600/Tony.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image: Tony, laying on the pillow on top of Zeke's cage, with his paws hanging into Daisy's cage. His expression is one of pure boredom, like he's just hanging there, and has no intention of bothering Daisy. Tony is part American curl, part Siamese (we think). His paws, chest, and underbelly are white.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UFJJ7kSKxWY/U1IwbB17TzI/AAAAAAAAAY4/U_YaU_FrMRo/s1600/Tony1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UFJJ7kSKxWY/U1IwbB17TzI/AAAAAAAAAY4/U_YaU_FrMRo/s1600/Tony1.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tony, asleep in the guinea pigs' laundry basket, with his tongue sticking out and his fangs showing. As you do.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<strong>Baby Girl</strong><br />
<br />
Baby Girl is my stepdad's cat, and she's a spoiled princess. She's known for swatting at the bell on my mom's and stepdad's door first thing in the morning when she's hungry and wants fed. She's the mother of the ferrets and guinea pigs, and has been known to clean and sleep in their cages. She's part feral cat, and is a little bit anti social and moves her sleeping spots around. If she wants something (usually turkey sandwich meat or whatever meat you're cooking), she'll start acting like she's starving half to death, and gets this "Puss in Boots" look on her face (very wide eyed and innocent looking). She's known for drinking out of the faucets (as if she's too good to drink out of the water facet or water cup). If she doesn't get her way, she will bang the drawers open and closed to show her displeasure. If she wants in a room, she'll scratch at the door until you either yell at her to stop or cave in (mostly the latter). She mostly does whatever the hell she wants, and enjoys tracking in her share of lizards and insects.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kIgzoOXMZ8k/U1IyKOp0POI/AAAAAAAAAZE/N0ToUs1qXbE/s1600/Baby+Girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kIgzoOXMZ8k/U1IyKOp0POI/AAAAAAAAAZE/N0ToUs1qXbE/s1600/Baby+Girl.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Girl, clearly annoyed and grimacing at the camera. She is lounging on top of my blue pillow on the couch. She is a light tan/reddish brown shorthair tiger cat.</td></tr>
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<strong>Bella</strong><br />
<br />
Bella - short for Bellissima - is the kitten. She's built solid with no fat on her, and enjoys jumping on and off of anyone, cannonball style (meaning, using her whole weight, so it hurts like hell). She doesn't have a lot of manners, and has proven it thusly by willfully cleaning herself on the counters and licking the butter on the microwave cart. We're trying to curb the behavior, but it's sort of hard to in a cat that just doesn't care. Bella only comes when she wants to - at first, I was convinced she was deaf, but nope, she just doesn't give a damn - she will come when it pleases her. She's very insistent and doesn't really care that you're busy - when she wants attention, she <em>will</em> get attention, or else. It's taken a lot of effort to move her off of me, the keyboard, or whatever, but she's finally gotten around to using her paw to bat at me when I won't give her attention. She's also known for farting on you when she's upset with you. When she was little and could still fit, her nickname was Spider Kitty because she'd climb under the bed <em>upside down</em> via her claws. She figured that as long as you couldn't get at her, she couldn't be thrown out of the bedroom. She's also known for sticking her head in your mouth when you're sleeping, which scared the dickens out of me the first time she did it (I broke my new laptop screen by throwing it at intruder who I thought had broken into my room; nope, just Bella! I no longer fall asleep with my laptop). She uses her voice really loudly to get in and out of the cat door when it's closed, and she's very expressive. For as annoying as she is, Bella is a sweet and very affectionate kitty. At first, I thought she had also been abandoned as a kitten (nope!), she's just <em>very</em> loving. When Tony isn't around and I'm in pain, Bella will seek me out and cuddled me up until I'm all better. It sort of balances out that whole annoying kitten attitude she has. Sort of.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-25R1pZ-3hjg/U1IyL6JQRZI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/3i5Tr9GcnLI/s1600/Bat+Kitty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-25R1pZ-3hjg/U1IyL6JQRZI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/3i5Tr9GcnLI/s1600/Bat+Kitty.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bat Kitty! Bella is a black and white Maine or Tuxedo cat (we're not sure which). She gets the nickname Bat Kitty because the way her ears flatten to look like the Batman silhouette when her name is being called. Some of the fur is missing on her right leg due to a recent surgery to spay her.</td></tr>
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<br />
<strong>Buffy</strong><br />
<br />
If Sabelle is the youngest in the house (followed by Daisy, then Bella, and up the age chain), then Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) is the oldest, at 13 years old. She is a white and light brown mop (I don't remember the exact breed per se) dog. She is known for protecting her "babies" (stuffed animals), sleeping, snoring, and being a general (loving) nuisance by refusing to move out your way when you're walking by her. When she wants something, she whimpers. She has arthritis, and enjoys following the ferrets around the house. She's especially found of Sally, and the two will sometimes play. Otherwise, she's pushed around by the ferrets (when they're not busy staring down the cats) and is often rebuffed and/or literally walked over by the cats. Buffy takes turns curled up at our feet, and loves moving towels around the house until she's found the perfect spot to sleep. The entry hallway is considered her bedroom. She loves treats and attention, and barks at thunder. She's a good dog :-)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_NlHe_ZidDM/U1I3QYiW-qI/AAAAAAAAAZc/xBezUJ2HVfw/s1600/Buffy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_NlHe_ZidDM/U1I3QYiW-qI/AAAAAAAAAZc/xBezUJ2HVfw/s1600/Buffy.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image is of Buffy laying down on a towel. She's looking the camera, obviously just having been woken up. She's the Buff dog :-)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><b>A Christmas Surprise</b></span></span><br />
<br />
Thanksgiving came with the usual threats of using the guinea pigs in lieu of a turkey, and was followed in quick succession by December.<br />
<br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"></span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">My brother, his wife, and A. surprised us to celebrate A's very first Christmas and New Year's. I was so shocked that I actually cried. I hadn't seen my brother in a long time, nor had yet to meet his wife or my niece. He is in the Navy and had been stationed in Guam, and had just transferred state side to Connecticut in November. We weren't sure if he was going to get leave, and had pretty much convinced ourselves he was going to get his orders.<br /><br />My sister-in-law is a smart, funny, beautiful, and strong lady. She and my brother are a good match. The Sister approves ;-) I was fearful of holding my niece, because I didn't want to drop her due to the neuropathy in my hands. I still got to have fun with her, and got to chase her around some. She's a happy, smart, stubborn, funny, gorgeous, and super awesome sauce kiddo. She can now pull herself up, walk in her walker, and is getting prepared to walk any day now. I'm one proud aunt :-)</span></span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8xATbQZBUc/U1Is0FcS7DI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/fSvPseYZvTo/s1600/Josh+et+al..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8xATbQZBUc/U1Is0FcS7DI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/fSvPseYZvTo/s1600/Josh+et+al..jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left to right: My brother, my sister in law, and A., who is happily waving around a toy. We're all sitting around in the living room, watching TV, and wearing shorts in the AC because that's Christmas in Florida ;-)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<strong>The Rest of the Story</strong><br />
<br />
Since January, I've been trying to get my mind to concentrate long enough to fill out the Social Security forms and other forms of various kinds. It's sort of difficult, too, in that I injured my right wrist when moving boxes and I cannot write for very long without my wrist getting tired and sore. Then I had a week of illness (probably a light dose of the flu) followed by a week of dealing with an ear infection. The left pedal on my bike fell off half way on a 16 mile bike ride, and I gave up my trustworthy bike - that could never be fully repaired because the accidents in Maryland mostly killed it - for a newer bike that I'm still learning to trust (hence, no pictures yet. My weary eye keeps expecting it to eat me alive, <a href="http://calvinandhobbes.wikia.com/wiki/Calvin%27s_Killer_Bicycle" target="_blank">Calvin & Hobbes style</a>). It's never ending fun around here! /sarcasm<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C9K8KO7qn-k/U1IubNHRJCI/AAAAAAAAAYc/v--KkUEoRlA/s1600/peda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C9K8KO7qn-k/U1IubNHRJCI/AAAAAAAAAYc/v--KkUEoRlA/s1600/peda.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of me holding the left pedal of my bike in my left hand. I am wearing my blue gel biking gloves.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TB_Z2Ho6E6A/U1IueNCHgOI/AAAAAAAAAYk/kpyUmAhMREQ/s1600/Bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TB_Z2Ho6E6A/U1IueNCHgOI/AAAAAAAAAYk/kpyUmAhMREQ/s1600/Bike.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My old Clear Creek men's 26 inch bike, complete with back rack and plastic bottle of coffee. My bike is perched against the bus sign, and there is a light drizzle of rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">I am still trying to get myself to contact schools and the student loan people to see about going back to school. I'm thinking of psychiatry and eventually being able to work as an online psychiatrist and connecting people with the help they need, whether it be an ear to listen or a local resource. My eventual goal is to provide some free counseling for those without an income. I know the need is there, especially in rural areas where a therapist may not be found as readily in an urban areas, for folks who are too busy making ends meet to get the help they need, and for those forgoing help to feed themselves and/or their families.<br /><br />I have (most) of the help I need. I need a counselor, and am still mostly tired to my core. I recently upset my sciatica nerve injury when I attempted to ride 16 miles to pick up my medications at Lakeside (the week of mind-numbing pain wasn't worth saving $2 on bus money). It's one step forward and a few steps back, and it's a dance I know well. No, everything is not picture perfect, but, phft, I never liked being photographed any ways ;-)<br /><br />Until the next time, ferrets and guinea pigs out!</span></span>Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-36286600920921354502014-04-01T07:00:00.001-07:002014-04-01T07:50:29.224-07:00April 24, 2013 to April 30, 2013<div class="r">
“It is our choices...that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." <span style="color: black;">Albus Dumbledore, from </span><i>Harry Potter and the Chamber Of Secrets</i> by J.K. Rowling.</div>
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I thought this quote rather apt for the following picture. I have really poor organization skills, but am great with the smaller details (Serenity, thy name is an oxymoron). Combine that with a small apartment (about six hundred square feet of living space), and I was often tripping over my own self. Toss in two guinea pigs and the fact that I have dyspraxia (basically, it means my body has no clue where it is in space and needs a defined, fixed visual map to move around; aka; the pathways have to stay clear and the furniture needs to stay in its place, otherwise I risk injuring myself by either running into or tripping over stuff), and I was often having to clean the apartment every single weekend, otherwise it'd look like a slob met a hay barn. Thanks to a small stackable washer and dryer and high cost of utilities, I was having to do a load of laundry every other day, because the towels and heavier items needed to be dried on a clothes line <i>in the apartment</i>. Most of the loads were guinea pig related because I got into the habit of using rags and old clothes over newspaper instead of sawdust after Oreo (the guinea pig who has since moved to the Rainbow Bridge, may he live in peace) developed sores on his feet from said sawdust.<br />
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Looking back on the following picture almost a year later, I can see the chaos and depression which were my mind.<br />
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Due to the lack of the space in the kitchen, I got good at stacking things so they wouldn't fall over. If you needed to use say, the rice cooker, you'd move the crap out of the rice cooker and into the catch all box on top of the makeshift shelf made from a discarded bookshelf board placed on top of the trash can for recyclables. Due to the lack of proper furniture and the fact that my life revolved around <strike>the coffee pot</strike> command central (aka the kitchen), I got good at stacking papers and other assorted daily living crap in the kitchen ... into the catch all box. It was difficult to think, much less function.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A-eOE238kg4/UXjKQYstEYI/AAAAAAAAAfg/3nOEcNmyg-k/w640-h480-no/2013-04-25+02.16.17.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A-eOE238kg4/UXjKQYstEYI/AAAAAAAAAfg/3nOEcNmyg-k/w640-h480-no/2013-04-25+02.16.17.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Description of the above picture: A picture of my apartment's small kitchen counter. From left to right in back: My Keurig machine (which broke during the move, grr), a bag of Eight O'clock Columbine coffee grounds (probably from a buy one, get one free sale), a Ziploc bag of gluten free crackers (which I got 50% off at Safeway because they were stale), a bottle of liquid Vitamin C for the guinea pigs, a red toaster, a large bottle of fish oil pills, a red rice cooker (in which holds boxes of English and Irish tea) and what appears to be either some sort of over the counter medication or antibiotics (I think I was recovering from bronchitis around this time). In the front, from left to right: A bottle of Lifewater (it's the red flavor), my Kindle, my glucose monitor organizer, a wooden bamboo cooking utensil, my red ceramic jar which holds loose Splenda, a Giant's container filled with some sort of soup, and what appears to be a large cooking pan (which has produce bags inside of it) that is sitting crookedly on top of an oven mitt. Several Ziplock bags holding various items and other boxes and random objects are all squished together in the background. On the wall is my two-level medication shelf (every day items on bottom, seldom used medications on top). I think there may even be a bag of almost-empty coffee grounds <em>behind</em> the toaster, and, yes, that is a box of decaf Irish tea sitting on top of something in the background, next to which a monkey cookie jar sits. A fruit bowl in front of it holds measuring cups, measuring spoons, and small snack sized containers with lids.<br />
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This is the other side of the kitchen which showed the shelving unit and the catch all box on top of the discarded bookshelf on top of the recycle trash can:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-76fJ47e5u-M/Uzo8JU7CYsI/AAAAAAAAARU/MYfZl_awABg/s1600/organization.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-76fJ47e5u-M/Uzo8JU7CYsI/AAAAAAAAARU/MYfZl_awABg/s1600/organization.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very, very well organized kitchen. By "organized", I'm being totally sarcastic. It looks like the kitchen threw up (in other words, the kitchen is very, very messy).</td></tr>
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In between the counter and the above "command central", are a stove with a microwave above that, and the fridge. It'd be the overstatement of the year to say that it stressed me out.<br />
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When it came to time, my mind felt like this:<br />
<span id="goog_1765366377"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1765366378"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--YsnjcGFA1E/UzppS1fuhtI/AAAAAAAAARg/jpn5YCSXjFQ/s1600/blur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--YsnjcGFA1E/UzppS1fuhtI/AAAAAAAAARg/jpn5YCSXjFQ/s1600/blur.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of Benny moving so fast, that he is literally a blur. The blue bottom of his cage is shown, out of focus, in the background.</td></tr>
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To make a long story short, I will summarize the last six days of April 24 to April 30, 2013. I put together these last days of April using Facebook status updates and photos.<br />
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<strong>April 24, 2013</strong><br />
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Today my niece, A, turns 3 months old!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zYIdnvrxS0U/UzpxGGQTy4I/AAAAAAAAASA/lsFDOQ3-KQo/s1600/A2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zYIdnvrxS0U/UzpxGGQTy4I/AAAAAAAAASA/lsFDOQ3-KQo/s1600/A2.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture description: A white cake with two red roses and leaves with the writing "Happy 3 months A-!" is laid to the left of my niece, who is wearing a bright yellow and white stripped "dress" infant onesie (which has a fabric white rose on the front). She is asleep with her hands under her head, looking cuter than a kitten. I have masked her face with a smiley face and bow via Paint (the program), and obscured her name for privacy purposes.</td></tr>
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Originally, I had included the kitchen counter photo as my "daily picture," but I think the above photo makes for a happier photo :-)<br />
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<strong>April 25, 2013</strong><br />
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Today's photo is example of food I ate on the run. Thanks to my Facebook statuses, I finally figured out why I had bought LifeWater's (usually, I cut out an unnecessary spending, like on bottled drinks, to save money). Apparently, for the past week, I had been waking up because my legs had been alternating Charlie horses.<br />
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When I was in a hurry and lacking in protein bars, I usually tossed left over cereal (in this case, Kix), whatever nut I had lying around (I think this bag contains walnuts), coconut shavings, currents, and freeze dried banana chips into a sandwich sized Ziplock bag. If I had extra money, I might splurge on dark chocolate chips. Sort of like a trail mix, but not.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OFuVSOZCIXQ/UzpzEJ3zzyI/AAAAAAAAASQ/TsBX3wW2l3Y/s1600/food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OFuVSOZCIXQ/UzpzEJ3zzyI/AAAAAAAAASQ/TsBX3wW2l3Y/s1600/food.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From front to back: Ziplock bag of "trail mix", cup of coffee, and Lifewater (the yellow kind). In the background, the kitchen sink can be seen, in which there's a few dirty dishes in it.</td></tr>
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<strong>April 26, 2013</strong><br />
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The above picture shows you how I remember things: if I need a particular item and don't want to forget it, I'll carry it around the house with me until I get to the designated spot or activity. That's why there's soap in between the cup of coffee and the white egg "omelet." The soap is Irish Springs. I didn't learn until I moved back in with my mom that Irish Springs is a men's soap. I bought it because it was inexpensive, and I could get them online from WalMart. Oopsie. Now I just use oatmeal soap :-)<br />
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Also, RIP Possum! Indeed, who is going to fill their shoes?<br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><strong>April 27, 2013</strong></span><br />
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From my Facebook wall:<br />
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Posted at 1:29 in the evenin': <br />
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Passed out cold on the floor, tucking the guineas in for the night. Poor things went without hay. I must have sleep walked at some point, because I woke up in bed without any pants. Man, just for once, I wish drinking was involved!<br />
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Need to finish dinner and figure out brunch. My excuses for "meals" lately have been a joke, so need a really nutritious dinner tonight. Um ...</div>
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Posted at 4:15 in the evenin':<br />
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Man, my lungs are sore! Feels like I've been breathing in water. Was sleeping until a hungry hay muncher woke me up. Zeke was also done playing with his paper sack and chowed down on his breakfast, so can he please have some more?</div>
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Posted at 5:18 in the evenin':<br />
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Sorry B dude, all you have left are the crappy treats (apple his foot! He loves the carrot flavored ones, but puts his foot down at apple!?). So, yeah, to the pet store I go or I'm going to break his heart.</div>
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Posted at 12:28 in the evenin':</div>
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Pain killers and piazza [pizza] night. Because, frankly, there's not much one can do with pb, tofu, and guinea food. Everything else is either frozen or involves beans, cabbage, or lasagna. Been there, done that, & lost its appeal.</div>
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Posted at 2:42 in the mornin':</div>
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LOTR :-)</div>
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Conclusion: A fully booked Saturday: I woke up without any pants (I must have taken them off while stumbling to bed after feeding the guineas and cleaning the guinea pig cages' - without giving them hay, shocking! - after working until the wee hours of the morning), fed the guinea pigs, fell back asleep, got woken up by the guinea pigs because they were hungry for hay, was prompted to go to the pet store after B insisted he needed treats, and then came back only to order pizza because I was in pain from going to the store and back, and the food options were lacking. I probably then proceeded to feed the guineas, clean their cages, and watched Lord of the Rings (LOTR), which I bought for my birthday.<br />
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Daily pictures:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HthsK19j-dQ/Uzp1RkPb4EI/AAAAAAAAAS0/njSVGmCTJY8/s1600/Bs+present.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HthsK19j-dQ/Uzp1RkPb4EI/AAAAAAAAAS0/njSVGmCTJY8/s1600/Bs+present.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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B's birthday presents: The Scooby-Doo and the Pirates DVD cost me five dollars and the cat toy was under two dollars (I remember it was on clearance at PetSmart).</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IZSiPAbIlNU/Uzp-OEktYNI/AAAAAAAAATA/fRhwcBuZsms/s1600/outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IZSiPAbIlNU/Uzp-OEktYNI/AAAAAAAAATA/fRhwcBuZsms/s1600/outside.jpg" height="320" width="241" /></a></div>
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A picture of outside, as being seen from the balcony door (the only "window" in the apartment). The screen door is visible.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oPQ7jwoekvE/Uzp-hFbytQI/AAAAAAAAATM/BXi3a4XK7r0/s1600/screens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oPQ7jwoekvE/Uzp-hFbytQI/AAAAAAAAATM/BXi3a4XK7r0/s1600/screens.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The above picture shows my laptop with a broken screen, which is why the flat screen TV is on (I used it as a monitor). The image on the desktop is a 2010 or 2011 Christmas picture of Benny snuggling his favorite "blanket" (an old flower print black skirt that was a hand me down). He has a gold sparkly bow on his head and looking quite upset.</div>
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<strong>April 28, 2013</strong></div>
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I celebrated Benny's birthday today, even though it technically isn't until May 8th (his adoption day). I posted a short video to Facebook, which can be viewed <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10200992482351678&l=8239361840778075243" target="_blank">here</a>. He was pushing five years old, and I was afraid he wasn't going to live very much longer (ha!). Most of my guinea pigs died youngish. Oreo had passed away the previous September. He had developed a respiratory illness, and I couldn't afford to make him all better. He was eating very little, might not have survived, and so I made a very difficult choice to have him put to sleep. Benny spent the next five months sleeping with me until I put an ad in the paper for a friend for Benny, and Zeke came to live with us.</div>
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The last photos for April are of Zeke and Benny, after I have tucked them in and fed them for the evening.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OwbQM9T3Jso/UzqgShMQvfI/AAAAAAAAATc/QapGew5CTXw/s1600/Benny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OwbQM9T3Jso/UzqgShMQvfI/AAAAAAAAATc/QapGew5CTXw/s1600/Benny.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Benny, sniffing the camera as to see if it's edible.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTocbGvO3gk/UzqgUNuw3bI/AAAAAAAAATk/ZtcNCAJgQ7w/s1600/Zeke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTocbGvO3gk/UzqgUNuw3bI/AAAAAAAAATk/ZtcNCAJgQ7w/s1600/Zeke.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeke, looking skeptical.</td></tr>
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I said good night to Facebook at 5:02 AM.</div>
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<strong>April 29, 2013</strong></div>
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I was supposed to have an appointment with my psychiatrist, and overslept it. I remember that making me very depressed (oversleeping appointments and not having a regular sleep schedule are still triggers for my worsening my depression). I went to work, I came home. The only thing I did on Facebook is "like" a status by the Montgomery County Public Library:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IpTJh-TXHiU/Uzqj_u2BVhI/AAAAAAAAAT0/BuGy08tDJIk/s1600/library.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IpTJh-TXHiU/Uzqj_u2BVhI/AAAAAAAAAT0/BuGy08tDJIk/s1600/library.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Text reads: "The very existence of libraries affords the best evidence that we may yet have hope for the future of humanity." T.S. Elliot</td></tr>
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I suppose on Tuesday I was going to have an MRI. I remember that very vaguely.</div>
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<strong>April 30, 2013</strong></div>
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My only activity on Facebook:</div>
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At 6:15 in the mornin':</div>
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mobileweb/2013/04/29/lamar-smith-science_n_3165754.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="fwb">GOP Pushes Politicization Of Scientific Research</span></a><br />
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huffingtonpost.com</div>
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The implications of this is scary. Very, very scary.<br />
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What I've seen from Congress as of late is an aim to kick us back into the Dark Ages, where women have no rights, the people aren't allowed education, wealth, or even enlightment through speech, there's only room for one religion and one thought, and we're all being spied upon in the name of security. Frankly, my government scares the crap out of me and gives me the heebie jeebies!</div>
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At 12:59 in the evenin':<br />
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So, yeah, Zeke is now wheeking for food as soon as I get up and go to the girl's room in the morning. Is there not a minute of peace in thus [this] apartment!?</div>
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I don't remember when the call came. It could have been around 2 PM. I vaguely remember sending my supervisor an e-mail telling her I wouldn't come into work because I was committing suicide. You all know what happens next. If not, read <a href="http://singlegirlandakitchen.blogspot.com/2014/01/shadows.html" target="_blank">Shadows</a>.<br />
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It's not the way I wanted to end Autism Awareness month.<br />
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I was thinking of sharing an Autism Talk's photo:<br />
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<img alt="Portrait" class="img" height="504" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-frc1/t1.0-9/s640x640/431819_502988359765280_792046549_n.jpg" style="left: 0px;" width="360" /><br />
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I might have wrote about how I hate when people post crap like this. Clearly, families need more support and funding. I get that. But the other stuff is just plain bullshit. If all you do is look a rose's thorns, you'll never see the rose. AIDS, cancer, and diabetes are chronic diseases. Autism is a neurological disorder. AIDS and cancer can kill you; autism cannot. A child is more than a number, more than a cost, and more than a disability. They're human beings, too. <br />
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In my opinion, I don't think there's an autism epidemic. Diagnostic tools are being improved upon, the health care professionals are becoming more knowledgeable about the range of autism symptoms, and autistics are no longer being hidden away in institutions. In my opinion, funding for gathering these statistics (which are mostly used to build up panic and fear) should be allocated to improve support within the autism community via respite programs and costs for therapies, expanded education and college supports, and housing within the community so that autistic children have something to transition into once high school is completed. I wish more autistic adults would speak up and tell their stories, but I understand their fear. It's not so much the shame or embarrassment, but the misperceptions about autism, poor understanding of the characteristics of autism itself and how it presents itself, and lack of consideration that causes the most damage.<br />
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I might have posted the answers to the questions I received via Facebook.<br />
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Keepinitreeltwennyfoseven asked "<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699146:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699146:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699146:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">What led you to suspect you were an Aspie, and how was the diagnosis process?".</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699146:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699146:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699146:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">This was my favorite question :-) My mom had laid an article down on the counter. She knows I'm nosy and will read anything laid down on the counter that doesn't look personal or confidential. It was a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2004/04/29/us/finding-out-adults-and-autism-an-answer-but-not-a-cure-for-a-social-disorder.html?src=pm&pagewanted=1" target="_blank">New York Times article</a> on adults with Asperger's. It sounded like me: difficulty socializing and lacking in the skills to do so (ding!), highly intelligent yet marked difficulty in articulating one's thoughts (ding! ding!), having a special interest (ding! ding! ding!), and something to do about sensory issues - for me, lights are always too bright and I dislike itchy clothes (ding! ding! ding! ding!). Most of the people interviewed in the article sounded like me, and I got a tingling situation. I searched for Asperger's and adults, found aspergerinfo.com (which has since been closed), and then found the Autism CARD program here in Orlando, FL, which referred me to the Vocational Rehabilitation department. The Vocational Rehabilitation department no longer does assessments, so I was very, very lucky in getting my diagnosis. Not only was it at no cost to me (I had a part-time job and no health insurance), but I was diagnosed even at the age of 22 (which, in 2005, was no small feat). I went to a neurologist for an assessment in January. The diagnosis process involved a series of tests to assess various properties of my brain and IQ. In May of 2005, I was officially diagnosed as higher functioning autism (which acknowledged the fact that I did not speak in full sentences until I was five - at the time, it was thought to be due to the fact that I had an issue with my tongue not being able to move around freely and/or ear infections). I was also diagnosed as having sensory, attention, and anxiety issues.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699153:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699153:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699153:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699153:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699153:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699153:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">Todd from California asked: "How does fitness and nutrition play into your management of autism?"</span></span></span></div>
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<span data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81699153:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.3">Riding my bike has proved to help my depression and anxiety, but after a serious of major incidents in 2009 involving crashing my bike in not so graceful ways, I haven't ridden my bike in more than four years. My depression and anxiety subsequently became more difficult to manage, and I began adding onto my drug regimen. In the year 2014, I finally finished fixing up my bike and begun riding, only for the crank shaft to break and my pedal to fall off my bike not even two months later. I received a new bike for my birthday, but have yet to adjust it and add the new headlight I also got (my asthma has been acting up lately because of the high pollen counts). It's a work in progress for both the bike riding and managing the health/depression/anxiety issues.<br /><br />As for nutrition, I try to avoid gluten and wheat. It's not so much for my autism symptoms (which was not the inspiration for a change in my diet), but for the fact that I kept coughing up thick white <span class="sxconditionsquery">sputum, had digestion issues, female issues, and was generally feeling poorly. I figured the worst that would happen is that I'd spend a little too much money on gluten free foods and I still wouldn't feel any better. Feeling poorly could have been blamed on eating crappily during the first two years of graduate school. I was diagnosed as having Mitral Valve Prolapse (MVP basically means my left heart valve is floppy, which allows for blood to regurgitate back into the chamber. This forces the heart to work harder to pump blood and oxygen to the body) shortly after my father died on February 05, 2007. The cardiologist had suggested I drop out of graduate school to reduce my stress and the strain on my heart. I only had two semesters left, and was going to graduate, no matter what it took. I developed a very strict schedule so that I would get enough sleep, eat healthier, and reduce my stress through walking and taking time for me (getting let go from one contract due to having a heart condition, then fired from yet another job for having an anxiety attack, allowed me the time to focus on school).</span></span></div>
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<div class="UFIRow UFILastComment UFILastCommentComponent UFIComment display UFIComponent" data-ft="{"tn":"R"}" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81700966:0">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81700966:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81700966:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".8g.1:3:1:$comment10200946252675965_81700966:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">Maria from Maryland asked: "When you were in school prior, did you need special study practices, devices or materials to learn?"<br /><br />Yes. I had my neurologist from Orlando send a letter to the disability office at the University of Maryland stating that I needed academic help. I received an extension on tests if needed, was allowed to work individually instead of in groups, and, at the discretion of the professor, I was allowed extensions on paper due dates. I asked for help when needed, and I took copious notes. If I didn't hear something, I would ask the professor after class for clarification. Due to my issues with hearing loss as a child, I was taught to always sit in the front of the room, ask for clarification, and re-write my notes after school or class so that I could process the material learned in class.<br /><br />I admit that when I first started graduate school, I was immature. The experience forced me to grow up, to be more reliant on myself, and to not be afraid of making connections with other students and to share my experiences of being autistic. I was one of three graduate school students to publish a paper and present our findings at a major conference in Philadelphia. I typically avoid working in groups. My very last semester, I forced myself to work within a group (I was trying to work on my "team" skills. Fail!). During this time, my oncologist suggested that I might have eye cancer, and so the stress became a little too much. Luckily, it was later discovered that I just had a weird eye vein and had a pigment on my eye from a previous infection. I believe the differences between the two groups was that, with the first group, I was allowed to use my strengths (literature review material, data analysis, and creating the PowerPoint presentation), the members were accepting of my differences, and we worked well together. I don't remember why the second group didn't work. I believe it was my stress and communication issues that led to the conflicts. Graduating with my Master's degree had its challenges and, at times, I was ready to throw in the towel. From the time I can remember, my mom has been pushing education, and instilling in me that there is nothing that I cannot accomplish if I want it badly enough - it's all about choices in life and responsibility to oneself to achieve what I want. I never heard the words "disability" growing up. Instead, I heard "Try your best, that's all you can do"; "Put your big girl panties on" (meaning, get back up on that horse and try again, even if you may fall off that damn horse yet again); and "You have a choice in life - whether you wish to go off to college or live in a trailer park with six kids, living on Welfare, it's up to you." My mom's awesome sauce and then some :-)<br /><br />With that, I will sign off to start yet another post to catch you up on the happenings from May onwards. You know, the stuff <em>not</em> relating to the suicide. Wooooot! Until then, guinea out!</span></span></span></div>
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Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-15013406781504258392014-03-29T14:56:00.000-07:002014-04-01T05:06:08.275-07:00Tuesday, April 23 (2013)<b>Please note that I have not confused the year. I am simply going back to finish up my blog posts from last year. Otherwise, I'd feel like a big fraud for not finishing something I had promised, before starting a new project for this year's (2014) Autism Awareness month.</b> <br />
<br />
Monday night I had realized I was out of 24 hour insulin. Big oopsie. I knew I was forgetting something, but couldn't put my finger on the button. One panicky call to the doctor, a follow up call to CVS to make sure I didn't need to beat up any health insurance peeps (learned my lesson last time when it took me 3 weeks trying to get pen needles), and a follow-up call to the doctors to triple check, and, yeah, insulin! I also managed to schedule and reschedule an MRI despite numerous dropped calls and an appointment date given after the expiration of the authorization number. So, I was feeling pretty psyched despite taking two hours to work it all out.<br />
<br />
<i>Except I forgot my wallet</i>, and it was too late to walk back to the apartment and grab it, and then walk back. I then and there had a meltdown and began crying uncontrollably. I was already going without sleep to make up my hours for doctor's appointments and physical therapy, forgetting to eat, and generally feeling like crap. Some how or another, the pharmacist managed to calm me down and we agreed to a simple solution: She'd give me one pen in exchange for picking up the rest with payment the next morning. Thank god for her, otherwise I'd be up a creek without 24 hour insulin, and no time to pick it up until the weekend!<br /><br />Here's the Facebook status I posted about the events that transpired:<br /><br />Ok. So I'll be working until I get a nosebleed on Friday, but I managed to get an MRI appointment AND an indulging prescription! I learned my lesson from last time: call doctor yourself, follow up with doc next day, call CVS - making sure you don't have to brow beat the insurance company first yourself - and then pick up insulin. Only I forget the damn credit card *facepalm* Luckily, CVS gave me a pen out if sympathy (I had a mini meltdowns because my knee hurts, I'm tired and stressed, and I had to walk through the bushes to get to CVS on time 'cause some grandpa was being slow and blocking the exit to the parking lot).<br />
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Back to work!</div>
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<u>Note:</u> It is from here that my blog posts will be from memory. Some of them are saved to the draft folders, and others were retrieved from my phone.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-zZxgnTSHhqQ/UXnMjVP9WqI/AAAAAAAAAKs/ZoHPUjaq6XM/s640/2013-04-25%25252002.32.04.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture shows a Lantus Solostar insulin pen with a CVS label. Above the insulin pen is my glucose monitor organizer. To the left, my Kindle can be seen, and in the upper right hand corner a container of some sort of homemade soup (either taco or black bean) can be seen.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-zZxgnTSHhqQ/UXnMjVP9WqI/AAAAAAAAAKs/ZoHPUjaq6XM/s1600/2013-04-25%25252002.32.04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-69336258305169575192014-03-29T07:23:00.003-07:002014-03-29T13:06:38.518-07:00The 7 Steps of Managing My DepressionThe one thing that has frustrated me the most this past year is that I have been
unable to find any support groups for survivors of suicide attempts. This week, I have found the <a href="http://livethroughthis.org/" target="_blank">"Live Through This"</a> project, and hope to soon add my own story. I've also discovered the <a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/gethelp/attempt.aspx" target="_blank">"Help for Attempt Survivors"</a> section on the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Most people hide their suicide attempts (I don't blame them), and am some what fearful that sharing my own story will prevent me from obtaining future employment. I prevail in the hope that my story helps another person to not feel so
alone, to grab onto hope, and to seek the help they need to continue to stay afloat. It is one of the most incredibly difficult journeys to travel, but YOUR life is worth it - even if you don't believe it now, think it, recite it, chant it, whatever; YOU DESERVE TO BE HERE ON THIS EARTH. You are loved for YOU.<br />
<br />
Note: I highly encourage that this post be shared, as long as you credit it to me (otherwise, I
might stick a cranky guinea pig on you ;-) ).<br />
<br />
These are
the 7 steps of surviving depression that I have found work best for me. <b>Caution:</b> They may not work for you. Take what works for you, and build upon it.
If you have not yet found help, I strongly urge you to do so. You can locate a crisis center via the <a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/getinvolved/locator" target="_blank">National Suicide Prevention Lifeline</a>. Calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) routes to the nearest crisis center.<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>The 7 Steps to Surviving Depression</b></span><br />
<br />
1.)
<b>Lay your anger down.</b> It's okay to feel anger. It's not okay to let it destroy you (or your stuff, especially if you're broke and/or have no income). It's also okay to lay your anger down, and come back to it when
you have the mental energy to deal with it. Give yourself permission to walk away from
yourself. Take a nap, eat a meal, watch TV. Learn to forgive yourself.
Kick yourself in your ass if need be, eat a pint of ice cream, learn from the situation, and move on. My dad taught me this helpful advice that
I still use to this day: Anger is wasted energy. You need all the
energy you've got to tackle what life throws at you, so why waste it on
anger?<br />
<br />
2.) <b>It's okay to feel okay and have fun.</b>
Laughing and smiling are okay, too. It doesn't mean that you're NOT
depressed; it means you're human. Don't worry about putting on an act,
or having to act super depressed for the benefit of those around you.
Those who will understand, will. Keep these people close to you, because
they will be your support and your rock. For those who choose to
not understand out of ignorance or
cultural experience, tell them that your therapist said that
laughter and having fun are the best medicine. Or, tell them nothing. It's your business, not theirs. Don't beat yourself up for smiling, laughing, acting happy, or otherwise
having fun. It's a human thing, and doesn't mean your depression is any
less real.<br />
<br />
Depressed
people are not mopey, sad, or isolated ALL the time. If depression were
as stereotyped as it is, then we wouldn't have such great works as the
Harry Potter series, <i>As I Lay Dying</i>, "The Raven", <i>Old Man and the Sea</i> (Fine. It's the only Hemingway novel I can stand), <i>Carrie</i>, <i>The Great Gatsby</i>, <i>A Street Car Named Desire</i>, or even <i>Huckleberry Finn</i>. All these authors have or have had depression.<br />
<br />
For
me, laughter helps to ease the pain. I appear functional and happy
because that's the method that I have found works the best in helping me to manage my
depression. I must caution you: smiles and laughter can and have been used as masks to prevent myself from seeing my own denial. As to most things in life, it is a very thin line between helping ones self and harming ones self.<br />
<br />
3.) <b>Get help, identify your Warning Signs, and create a Plan of Action</b>: Depression cannot be willed
away, cannot be snapped out of or otherwise made invisible, made to
magically disappear, has no threshold, does not mean that you're weak,
and is <b>real</b>. You may not cry, wish to die, or crawl away into a
cave to escape the misery of human existence. Or, you may prefer to be amongst people. Or, your depression may present as crying non-stop, loudly expressing your wish to die, and as a generic walking commercial for depression medications. Your depression may be like mine, in that you act like a functioning human
that's ever-so-slightly unhinged, followed by anger outbursts, bouts of crying, lots of sleeping yet still exhausted, and isolation. One depressed person is one depressed
person, and only YOU will know your own personal brand of symptoms, when and what makes
them worse, and what helps to ease them.<br />
<br />
For
myself, crying is a wash. I cry when I'm exhausted, angry, overwhelmed,
PMS-ing, in a full on sensory meltdown, when my blood sugar is low, and/or when I'm not feeling
well. I tend to isolate for many reasons: sensory, auditory processing
disorder, and the fact that I'm an extreme introvert. I am easily irritable, especially if my blood sugar is high or I'm having a bad sensory day. My
concentration is usually shot because of my brain's inability to filter out
excess sound (sensory processing disorder) and the inability to slow my
brain down to a manageable level (ADHD).<br />
<br />
In order to gauge my level of
depression, I ask myself the following questions: <br />
<ul>
<li>Have I been sleeping? Is it related to stress, anxiety/worry, or is there something more? </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Have I showered today? On low energy level days, I do not have the energy to do much else, let alone take a shower. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Did I eat? On busy days, it is more common for me to graze than to
sit down to an actual meal. On low energy days, I tend to skip one or
two meals. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Where is my anger level? For me, anger and depression go hand in
hand. If I am under a lot of stress, and cannot do anything to solve a
situation, and I am on red alert re: frustration, I tend to implode. It's not a choice, but an impulsive reaction. My
brain doesn't multitask well and the filters used to stop impulsive actions and slow the input of incoming information (be it sensory, auditory, emotions, or whatever) don't function well (my brain is more like the really cheap AC filters, as opposed to the really expensive allergen filters). My brain enjoys processing one thing at a
time so the processing mechanism doesn't get backed up and overwhelmed. This is
especially important considering my language doesn't come as readily as I
would like it to when I am frustrated, angry, exhausted, not feeling well,
and/or upset. Stress and me are a ticking time bomb. Some days, I am
better at handling it than others, but it all depends on how well I am
feeling from the time I woke up, to the particular circumstances of that moment and day.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>How do I feel? Did I wake up semi-functional, or am I in a total
fog? This one is tricky, because diabetes can fog up your head
(especially if you're blood sugars are bouncing up
and down due to stress, illness, or PMS), and some medications include brain fog and drug hang overs as a side effect. If I'm still dragging my feet by the third
or fourth cup of coffee and have yet to feed the guinea pigs or clean
the guinea pigs' cages, then it's definitely depression effecting my
mood. If I am beating myself up into a bloody pulp, feeling like a
burden, saying negative things about myself ("I am so fucking
worthless!"), and other similar things that scream "Warning Sign!", I now
force myself to realize it and reach out to others. It's still a work
in progress. The most important part is that I have identified my
Warning Signs and have some reasonable plan of action other than harming
myself. </li>
</ul>
This is why I've set three rules for myself, even on
low energy days: 1.) Shower, 2.) Eat, 3.) Find a way to distract myself,
even if it means turning myself into a couch potato and watching Law and Order reruns. It's okay to be
lazy sometimes.<br />
<br />
4.) <b>Low mood days will happen.</b> It's
"normal," and doesn't mean that you necessarily are bipolar. When I was
in fifth grade, I was incorrectly diagnosed with bipolar. I remember being a ten year old kid, thinking it meant
that I was mad (insane), and would die in the gutters like Edgar Allen
Poe and every other depressed poet and author. To this very day, I am
still scared that people will mistake me as bipolar because I do have mood swings and the fact that my
autism is mostly invisible. It's only once you really get to know me
that the autism diagnosis becomes clear.<br />
<br />
Depression is similar to autism and ADHD in that life is very much like a roller
coaster. Some days, you will be functioning, other days, not quite, and
there will be many days in which you will have any number of combinations of
roller coasters. It doesn't mean that you're insane, or "bad", or crazy.
You simply are a person who just so happens to be dealing with a
chemical imbalance in the brain (or, as I sometimes describe it, managing the damn squirrels which have taken up residence in my head).<br />
<br />
5.) <b>"Getting better"
has more to do with accepting and managing your depression than curing your depression.</b> Depression is a medical disease, just like ADHD, diabetes,
high blood pressure, or heart disease. Depression is a mental health
disorder, and is a very messy, complex thing that will require research,
treating yourself like a guinea pig (re: experimentation with medications and cognitive-behavioral techniques), and patience
to figure out what works and what doesn't. It's not a 7-11 quick pit stop for a Pepsi
when you're thirsty.<br />
<br />
Depression is similar to a
long-term relationship with the self: you have to be openly honest with
yourself and your mental health care providers (which may consist of a therapist, a psychiatrist, and/or nurse practitioner), and willing to keep the lines of
communication open between yourself and your mental health care providers. Keep in mind that cognitive-behavioral therapy as a
treatment is only one tool, and that medications might be needed at some point. I swear, Big Pharmaceutical is not out to get you and it doesn't mean that you're a failure as a person (or a parent, if you have a child/children). Yes, trying new medications can be scary, especially with the long list of side effects and whether or not they'll work, which is why it's important to have a trusting relationship with your mental health care providers. The goal is to balance your medications and/or
cognitive-behavioral therapy so that it's effective while keeping the side effects and
symptoms to a minimum. Yes, it can be tricky - I'm medically sensitive and have
developed side effects previously not known to psychiatrists, and group
therapy and de-stressing activities do not work for me.<br />
<br />
Be willing to
compromise and trade off responsibilities on your low energy days (for
me, the key is to do as little as possible while still doing something,
so I feel like I'm accomplishing something), and to accept the things that you cannot change.
Find the support that you need when things are not working out as
planned or going poorly so that you can change what you can. As
you go through treatment, you will gather many tools and tricks. Some
will work, and others won't. Bits and pieces of one treatment option
will work and others may not, and that's okay. Discard the tools that don't work for
you, and use the ones that do.<br />
<br />
<b>Cautionary note:</b> For
those of you who do choose to take medications (antidepressants or not)
to manage your depression, know that the medications will not
automatically make you feel HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY!, but that they will
take some time for the medication to work (4 to 6 weeks at best). A common myth is that medications for depression will make you instantly happy: medications for depression help by evening out your moods so that you can ultimately function better in your life than before the medication(s). Even after taking medication for a few months, you may not feel happy all the time, and you might feel your emotions dulled. This is "normal" and is okay. What's not okay is if a month has passed and you're still feeling nonfunctional. You might need a different dosage, or another medication all together. It is vital to keep your appointments with your mental health providers, and to continue to find other tools to help you manage your
depression. If the side effects bother you too much, speak up and tell your mental health provider. Also, know that there is no shame (or
government/pharmaceutical conspiracy) in taking medications. Do what
works for YOU, and tell the naysayers thank you for their advice, but
all you need from them is an ear to listen without judgement. Speaking
of which, I recommend reading "<a href="http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20393228,00.html" target="_blank">10 Things to Say and 10 Not to Say to Someone with Depression</a>," "<a href="http://www.xojane.com/healthy/how-not-to-be-a-dick-to-someone-with-depression" target="_blank">How Not to be a Dick to Someone with Depression</a>" by Mia Steinberg, and "<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Deal-With-a-Depressed-Person" target="_blank">How to Deal With a Depressed Person</a>" (as shown in pictures!).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
On a side note, ask if it's okay to pray for the person before you
bring up God (the guilt! the guilt!), and know that most people do mean
well, but are usually clueless when it comes to mental illness because
they<span style="font-size: small;">'ve</span> never encountered it before.<br />
<br />
6.) <b>Create a Mood Journal</b>: Depression has a nasty habit of sneaking
up on me, which effectively blinds my ability to perceive my reality at
that particular moment in time. Sometimes, I can recognize it, but, for
me, depression is mostly a sneaky, conniving ninja that karate chops me
from out of no where (bastard!). Figure out what works for YOU and find
some one or some way to remind yourself "Hey, if this and this happens
and I find myself telling myself "I'm A-okay" and all signs are pointing
to the fact that I'm NOT okay, then it's time to haul myself into seeing my mental health provider." Only YOU know the signs of your
particular brand of depression, and only YOU possess the solutions (for example, "If I do not feel well, I will lay down on the couch, snuggle with the cat, and watch Netflix", or "If I feel suicidal, I will contact my mom and then go and take a nap"). Have a plan to NOT commit suicide. Make a list and tape it near your computer screen. Hell, make several copies and post them all over the house. Do what it takes for you to stay well and ALIVE.<br />
<br />
7.) <b>Educate others</b>: Suicide doesn't
always involve making a plan, giving away your most precious items,
making a will, or even saying good bye to love ones. Some times, the
brain "snaps" or "breaks" (or however you describe it), and the brain
takes over and reacts impulsively to the stresser instead of thinking the actions through like most rational brains. The body and mind are in so much mental pain and turmoil, that it hits the "self destruct" button. Unless you've been
there, it is difficult for most people to understand how a person can do
this to themselves. To the best of my knowledge, there's no treatment
or prevention for impulsive suicides, which is why early treatment of
YOUR depression symptoms is so important.<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<u>I will only
type this once, so please read closely:</u> If you feel unloved, know
that I am here, thinking of you, sending you positive vibes, and loving
you. If you feel lonely, I am here for you. E-mail me, comment here. If
you can't think or breath for another second, or do one more fucking
errand, then just stop. STOP. Breath. Step away. (Or, if you're me, just
let out a five minute long scream of profanities. I don't care about
the looks people give me, they're not in my shoes - and, besides, if
they cared at all, they'd bring me espresso chip frozen yogurt and
scream obscenities right along side me). If you'd rather, call the <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255</span></b>.
Call your <a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/getinvolved/locator" target="_blank">local crisis center</a> or the
24 hour grocery store or pharmacy. If you don't have any in your city, it's still worth the possible roaming charge to program an out of state number it into your cell phone or home phone. Even better, keep a
list of emergency numbers on your fridge - family and friends included. Call 911. As a last resort, call 411. Get someone on that damn
phone, and reach out. Don't wait until your brain gets so tired that it
reaches that breaking point of suicide. Just don't. Love yourself enough to reach out and get help. YOU are worthy and YOU are deserving of
love. Write that down on your list of emergency numbers, too, along with
a few pictures of whatever makes you happy or cute pets (if you don't have any cute pets, you can
use one of mine).<br />
<br />
Take care of YOU and do what is best
for YOU. Family, friends, pets, work, errands, your to-do list can wait.
Without YOU, there is no family, friends, pets, work, errands, or your
to-do list. YOU are the most important thing on your to-do list. If you
don't take care of YOU and put fuel in your system, you cannot function.
A former and dear supervisor once told me "You can't expect a car to
run without gasoline." So too goes it with the body. Boundaries are okay. It's equally okay to nicely
say "No." I know this isn't always easy, and I'm still working on this
part. It's a one step forward, two steps back sort of dance. It is
difficult. The journey won't always seem worth the fight, and may seem
too damn long and unending. Here I am, offering you the flashlight so
that you might see the end of the tunnel. It's there. Hold on to that
hope. There is light at the end of the tunnel. YOU can fight your way
out of the hole. It may not seem possible today, or even tomorrow or the
next week or month or year, but it IS possible. YOU possess the
strength - I know YOU can do it! When you read the last sentence, also
read that I'm not talking about doing away with your depression all
together or "You alone are responsible for solving all of your
problems." No! I'm talking about finding a long-term solution that works
for YOU.<br />
<br />
Also read: YOU will find those happy, sparkly
moments, and YOU will hold onto them dearer than life itself. YOU will find
the stars even amongst the darkest night. Even though you might stumble,
YOU will keep your feet on the path that you are journeying. YOU will
promise me, in reading this very sentence, that YOU will seek/find/discover
treatment(s) that works for YOU. Don't worry about feeling selfish or
mental or any number of excuses. You've read this far. Now go out and do
what YOU need to do, whether it's call your psychiatrist, your doctor,
your counselor, your preacher or pastor, reaching out to your community,
calling your mom AND stepdad four times a day, texting your best friend
to let him know that you're still alive, e-mailing me, reaching out to a
stranger, putting together "I'm Okay" or a "Feel Good" scrapbook,
coloring, posting an angry rant on Facebook, or whatever it takes to get
the treatment and services YOU need. As you continue on your path to managing your depression, your opinions,
thoughts, and treatments will continue to grow and evolve. Walk that path, knowing that YOU deserve help, YOU have the power to gather the resources and to keep moving forward, and YOU will survive because YOU have a purpose!<br />
<br />
I will end this very long post with pictures of my current distractions (not shown are Baby Girl, Tony, and Bella, the cats, and Buffy, the dog. Pictures to come later, promise!):<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvOMYly2_DE/UzbD4zNrQiI/AAAAAAAAAPk/W0vyV38Lj2k/s1600/Three+Dishes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Up3EdjWLBLQ/UzbD8ShQ-mI/AAAAAAAAAPs/DsjqNQ2-2fo/s1600/Sally+Cuddling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Up3EdjWLBLQ/UzbD8ShQ-mI/AAAAAAAAAPs/DsjqNQ2-2fo/s1600/Sally+Cuddling.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sally (ferret), fast asleep in my arms, with tongue slightly hanging out of her mouth, and clearly relaxed. Stay tuned for her own incredible story.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_grHIt_J0N0/UzbEGrUlTfI/AAAAAAAAAP8/LFzBtHxO6RI/s1600/Three+Guinea+Pigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_grHIt_J0N0/UzbEGrUlTfI/AAAAAAAAAP8/LFzBtHxO6RI/s1600/Three+Guinea+Pigs.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left to right: the best and adorable bits of fur with teeth (aka guinea pigs) Daisy, Benny, and Zeke.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iwUNeNjHK30/UzbEXn4163I/AAAAAAAAAQE/L0EtSrr_rkU/s1600/SSabelle+Sleeping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iwUNeNjHK30/UzbEXn4163I/AAAAAAAAAQE/L0EtSrr_rkU/s1600/SSabelle+Sleeping.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sabelle (ferret), curled up to sleep and looking very content. Her best friend, a toy squeaker snake, is shown in the upper right hand corner.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Sources:<br />
<br />
"<a href="http://disabledfeminists.com/2010/10/13/let%E2%80%99s-bust-some-myths-depressed-people-are-always-sad-or-they%E2%80%99re-faking/" target="_blank">Let’s Bust Some Myths: Depressed People Are Always Sad or They’re Faking!</a>" by
Anna <br />
<br />
<a href="http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2009/10/18/7-myths-of-depression/" target="_blank"><span class="author">7 Myths of Depression by <span class="authorb">John M. Grohol, Psy.D. </span></span></a><br />
<span class="author"><span class="authorb"><br /></span></span>
<a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/stevenberglas/2011/08/17/ten-signs-youre-depressed-but-dont-know-it/" target="_blank"><span class="author"><span class="authorb">Ten Signs You're Depressed But Don't Know It (Forbes) </span></span></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://psychcentral.com/lib/depression-myths-and-facts-demystified/0003777" target="_blank">"Depression Myths and Facts Demystified" by Margarita Tartakovsky, M.S.</a>
Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-88896266146084764602014-01-19T00:32:00.004-08:002014-03-29T15:01:55.435-07:00Shadows<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-27AprkKwVbA/UtuKu42x6II/AAAAAAAAALc/_k81OwQTImI/s1600/Logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-27AprkKwVbA/UtuKu42x6II/AAAAAAAAALc/_k81OwQTImI/s1600/Logo.png" title="" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Image reads: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. 1-800-273-TALK (8255). suicidepreventionlifeline.org).<br />
<br />
Hold onto hope: <a href="http://www.samhsa.gov/treatment/" target="_blank">SAMHSA Treatment</a> (Mental health and addiction resources).</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If we allow ourselves to seep in silence, to be a friend of shadows, and mask our fear of judgement and pain with smiles, then we truly are alone as we further slide down into Alice's rabbit hole, digging our graves all the more. It's not a good place to dwell. It's that much worse if you're only managing to hold onto the edge of Alice's rabbit hole, because you're so close to the light, but only moments from falling. If we can manage to yell at the very top of our lungs, forcing light into those dark crevices, and share our struggles with others, is only when healing can begin (at the same time, I am also acknowledging that sometimes, people do break beyond repair and the necessary healing never happens, or worse, results in "successful" suicides and/or death). Where light heals and strengthens our resolves and human bonds, darkness tears apart those resolves and bonds, and forces us to focus on the loneliness.<br />
<br />
I was trapped between the light and darkness and, even worse, I was in firm denial. Even as my world un-threaded itself, I firmly believed I had it all under control. On top. Bottom of the third, bases loaded, sliding to home, eye on the ball, nerves shot, bedraggled, but definitely not out. I'm stupidly stubborn like that. Yet, that strength, attention to detail, and independence are what I pride myself on. I can do anything I put my mind to doing. I can build and tear down those walls and obstacles at a moment's notice. With a little will power and tenacity, pop! Up goes a wall! Bam! Down comes a wall! Nothing much has changed other than the fact that I'm learning I have limits, and it's okay to be lazy (Fine. It's a work in progress). Other people sleep on a typical schedule from 10 PM to 5 AM. I sleep whenever the hell my brain lets me. I remember definitions and describe words even if I cannot command words and language as powerfully as other people. Other people are concise and pithy. I can give you a novel, and still be no where near my own point, even if I have taken you from point A to H, may be to P, then back to B, oh yeah, there's X, Y, C, J, and Z! Different? Yes. Difficult? For sure. Pain in the ass? Hell, yes! Not less. I'd like to think that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.<br />
<br />
To make silent a thought or opinion you don't agree with or wish to acknowledge IS dangerous.
Silence isolates and makes a situation far worse than it needs be (a
fact I can relate to very well, and try like hell, am having difficulty changing). It
stops discussion and any means of hope or compromise. Depression is a horrible place to linger, especially in a society that at once demands we pay attention to its warning signs and symptoms, but, in turning to others for help, we instead hear well-intended advice that falls far short of any sort of meaningful help. Or, we're faced with a crumbling mental health bureaucracy of red tape that grows longer and less helpful with each budget cut (or, if you're lucky, and actually do have a job and health insurance, then it's questioning whether you have the finances, and trying to swing time off of work while not letting work get behind). Even better yet, someone extends to you the helpful advice of "Just shake it off" (or, worse, your own advice of "Just gotta kick my ass into gear!"). It's that much worse when you keep telling yourself the same bullshit day in and day out, until you solemnly believe and will swear that if you firmly kick yourself in the ass, pull your big girl panties up, and "just deal with it", you'll solve the whole sordid affair in one afternoon. In the words of Kenny Chesney, "Yeah, I've been there, that's why I'm here" (okay, fine, he was singing about AA meetings, but go along with it!).<br />
<br />
Over the next couple of weeks (months, years), I will be playing catch-up and finishing my original post and thoughts for Autism Awareness. I will be talking often about depression, my suicide attempt (where I was within 30 minutes of dying and still have yet to process that information), and trying to heal and cope while living with my mom in a crappy state with equally crappy transportation and laws that at once discriminate against me and are holding me back (but that I can't do anything about, so, um, yeah. Stay tuned for that anger/pity/anxiety-fun-fueled-sob-fest-of-love party blog post! /sarcasm). I'll also talk a lot about critters, because, after all, what's an autism blog for, if not obsessions? Go furry critters! Wooot!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NfLroqhf9r4/UtuCKsfznmI/AAAAAAAAALM/WVhZFCf70Ps/s1600/Aspie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NfLroqhf9r4/UtuCKsfznmI/AAAAAAAAALM/WVhZFCf70Ps/s1600/Aspie.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am Aspie Strong! (Image: Phrase "Media gossip" and words "Fear" and "Ignorance" are written inside of a circle with an X overlapping the circle). Meaning, I am Aspie strong with the strength that the autism spectrum has brought to me, and I am strong with the support of the autism community. Build one another up; together, we stand tall. Tear each other down, we fall, taking the house and its foundation with us in our tumble. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-41750588772634908822013-04-25T17:30:00.001-07:002014-03-29T14:48:13.495-07:00Monday, April 22HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Mom! Feel free to leave comments for her, below :-)<br />
(<i>oh, yeah, and Happy Earth Day. Go Mother Earth, woot!</i>)<br />
<br />
My brother sent me a Damnit Doll. It sits right by my desk and already is getting a lot of bashing. Better than grinding my teeth or raising my blood pressure/sugar :-)<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-n1EMbMlyVQg/UXnKq0qQ3tI/AAAAAAAAAKY/CFceBMDLssw/s640/2013-04-22%25252022.39.18.jpg" height="400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a Dammit Doll, which reads "Whenever things don't go so well, / and you want to hit the wall and yell, here's a little Dammit Doll, / That you can't do without. / Just grasp it firmly by the body / and find a place to slam it. / And as you whack the stuffing out / yell "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" / www.dammitdolls.com".</td></tr>
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-n1EMbMlyVQg/UXnKq0qQ3tI/AAAAAAAAAKY/CFceBMDLssw/s1600/2013-04-22%25252022.39.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-21358181998071504592013-04-25T17:24:00.001-07:002014-03-29T14:44:52.304-07:00Sunday, April 21stSunday was the same ol' thing: cleaning, laundrying, (which reminds me, the washer machine ate the Downy ball. Again), guinea rearing, and injuring myself by hitting my head on the towel rack and then feeling a large snap on the right side of my left knee (the one with the torn meniscus? Yeah, that one) while cleaning the shower. Good thing the pain killers had kicked in and I was feeling fine (well, until they wore off ha).<br />
<br />
Sundays: Just another day of work!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-SToSFBG2QiA/UXnJU550DkI/AAAAAAAAAKE/exM0kRYHd7A/s640/2013-04-22%25252003.56.31.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guinea pig running through a tunnel. Image is sort of dark, so I can't really tell.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-SToSFBG2QiA/UXnJU550DkI/AAAAAAAAAKE/exM0kRYHd7A/s1600/2013-04-22%25252003.56.31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-HCPr_iUs8Tg/UXnJVR0EPwI/AAAAAAAAAKM/UyX3zyBMeAM/s640/2013-04-22%25252004.08.56.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeke and Benny enjoying hay in their play area.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-HCPr_iUs8Tg/UXnJVR0EPwI/AAAAAAAAAKM/UyX3zyBMeAM/s1600/2013-04-22%25252004.08.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-33060660714325537062013-04-25T14:38:00.001-07:002014-03-29T14:43:52.502-07:00Saturday, April 20thHappy Birthday, Grandma! Say "Hi!" to dad for me!<br />
<br />
Mostly, I just chilled, kicked back, called three of my aunts, and wrapped up my mom's Top Secret project for her 50th birthday :-)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-vbJww_qE1QE/UXmiRb4kYzI/AAAAAAAAAJs/W8PJqsF6BBA/s640/2013-04-21%25252001.05.35.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is me with my left leg propped up on two pillows, with an ice bag on my left knee, a plate of food on top of <i>that</i>, and my work computer can slightly be seen on the right side of the picture.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-vbJww_qE1QE/UXmiRb4kYzI/AAAAAAAAAJs/W8PJqsF6BBA/s1600/2013-04-21%25252001.05.35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-kAIzhWB8oFs/UXmiSlGiTtI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/znU7kWrVYkQ/s640/2013-04-22%25252006.12.24.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The envelope for my mom's Top Secret Birthday Card, which is covered with various sized colored, shiny smiley stickers including a stamp in the upper right hand corner, and reads "Yes, there's 50 smiles!". For privacy reasons, my address and my mom's address are blocked out.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-kAIzhWB8oFs/UXmiSlGiTtI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/znU7kWrVYkQ/s1600/2013-04-22%25252006.12.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-38685699713622155212013-04-25T14:17:00.005-07:002014-03-29T14:40:01.800-07:00Friday, April 19 “Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” - Albus Dumbledore<br />
<br />
16 hour shift & dinner!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-bl0teEUDwiA/UXmdgB21rrI/AAAAAAAAAJc/9KkTJNhjQ0w/s640/2013-04-20%25252001.22.10.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured is a Ziplock square containor of some sort of food: corn, black beans, green peppers, salsa, sour cream, chives, cheese, and rice? (Half the time, I don't remember what the freezer meals contained, so it was sort of like mystery meal every night of the week lol).</td></tr>
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Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-81242799323586159072013-04-25T13:41:00.001-07:002014-03-29T14:37:00.833-07:00Thursday, April 18<i>But on you will go / though the weather be foul / On you will go / though your enemies prowl / On you will go / though the Hakken-Kracks howl / Onward up many / a frightening creek, / Though your arms may get sore / and your sneakers may leak. / On and on you will hike / and I know you'll hike far / and face up to your problems / whatever they are.</i><br />
<br />
Benny and Zeke time!<br />
<br />
Benny and I read Dr. Seuss' "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" (his favorite part? "No, that's not for you! / Some how you'll escape all that waiting and staying / and find the places where Boom Bands are playing!" Memorized. Boo-yah!).<br />
<br />
Zeke and I read from a book of children's poetry and listened to a recording of Yeat's "The Stolen Child" ("For the world's filled with weeping, more than you can understand.")<br />
<br />
Good times!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Un_fmkB7oug/UXmWUEWIHcI/AAAAAAAAAJE/7AZV1cOJPN4/s640/2013-04-19%25252003.18.53.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Benny is pictured looking at Dr. Seuss' "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" book. The page is open to the section quoted above ("But on you will go" etc.).</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeke is pictured laying down and looking fairly content, watching a YouTube video of William Butler Yeats' "The Stolen Child" on my Kindle. To the right his teddy bear is propped up next to the Kindle.</td></tr>
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Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-33671801979222104772013-04-17T14:47:00.001-07:002014-03-29T14:37:38.636-07:00Monday ... Tuesday ... Wednesday?My mom once told me I should start a reality show, because, literally, a typical person can't make this stuff up. I tell people she should have named me after a hurricane. My name is comic gold - an oxymoron or ironic comedy. Peace is such a long, difficult road to obtain, even more so if you're me. I'm a firm believer that people make themselves, but, sometimes, I'd like to think my mom named me "Serenity" to give me some form of peace in this chaotic, no-barriers-held-back world.<br />
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Sunday I was cleaning and wearing socks. For me, cleaning within itself is often a safety threat. Add socks and it's a lethal combination. I lost my balance stepping off the "foyer" (see picture, below) and managed to land on my left side, twisting my ankle (you know, the one with the screws?) and angering my knee with the torn meniscus. Like I said, a person can't make this stuff up.<br />
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I then proceeded to continue cleaning, vacuuming, baking, and guinea pig-rearing and have spent the last two days with liquidy cold fire radiating from my knee, down my shin, and up my thigh. Today, my ankle is taking its share of the pain. I haven't been able to focus and the report I should have finished on Monday is just now ready for editing and formatting.<br />
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Sleep is fleeting and my arthritic right knee has sworn an oath of war against the left. It's been hazy the last few days. Pain has this weird way of sapping all your energy and making you sleepy and then jerking you awake after only five hours of sleep (hence the 3 or 4 hour nap on Sunday from running errands on Saturday and effectively putting me behind schedule on Sunday).<br />
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On the positive side, I'm alive, fairly certain that I didn't break anything, and I might have a potential new business idea as a home safety inspector (let me live in your home for a month and I'll find the safety flaws - might solve the high rent problem, but I doubt the clients would be willing to foot the medical bill).<br />
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Pictures! There's a complementary picture of my swollen ankle, a picture of Benny (the brown furry blur) chasing after Zeke (who was hogging the hay by sitting in the paper bag I had filled with hay and had managed to run out of frame before I could take a picture), my lunch on Tuesday (popcorn), and my lunch today (yogurt, cheese stick, olives, and coffee) - snacky foods that are quick and combat the whole "Ouchy no appetite" side effect of pain.<br />
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Until the next time, hug your loved ones extra tight and guinea out!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of my feet, the left one which is clearly swollen and puffy.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a really blurry Benny, as he chases after his brother (out of frame) while playing in their play area.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a bowl of popcorn, most of which has been eaten.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.ggpht.com/-SL3B-CXj7_k/UW8hazoKlxI/AAAAAAAAAIs/6Btzf1tuxH0/s640/2013-04-17%25252015.19.31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-SL3B-CXj7_k/UW8hazoKlxI/AAAAAAAAAIs/6Btzf1tuxH0/s640/2013-04-17%25252015.19.31.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a small container of olives, a cheese stick, and a Chobani Champions Greek yogurt tube.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6Mbb7biWYjM/UW8haKyQsdI/AAAAAAAAAIk/Iedyq_G4c-4/s640/2013-04-14%25252020.03.14.jpg" height="300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My apartment foyer, in midst of cleaning my apartment. It has all sorts of items stacked on top of it (such as chairs, a TV tray, my tennis shoes, my winter boots, hay, boxes, my leather jacket, the guinea pigs' trash can, recyclables), which is in the process of being cleaned off so as to put all the items back (or thrown out). Shown on the left side of the picture is a chair with a bag of hay on top, and a space heater underneath. Shown on the lower right side of the picture is the knee walker.</td></tr>
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Friday I had to go all the way down to DC - to the far reaches of a hospital in NE DC near Fort Totten - and back for my cardiology follow-up. I left at 12:30 PM and didn't get home until a little before 6:30ish. By the time I got back, I was sore and tired and only managed to barely work 8 hours before passing out. Dinner was a bowl of cereal. The good news is that I got a 6 month follow up (to wait for my knee and my body to heal, otherwise it would be 3 months), but I also need to keep an eye on my blood pressure (ironic, considering that's my assignment for next month's health promotion).<br />
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I lost a whole's day worth of work this week thanks to bronchitis. Pisses me off, considering I'm already behind. I didn't work on Saturday, either, because I spent the whole day running errands and getting the laundry started and taking the recyclables out. From CVS, to Target, then to PetSmart, and lastly to WalMart for the stuff Target didn't have. Even though a good friend gave me a ride home, I still wound up passing out early without dinner for the boys or me. It's pathetic.<br />
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Even more pathetic is that I called the fire department because of a wasp last night. I tried spraying the wasp with Raid for wasps, but only managed to piss the wasp off (fuzzy eye sight, poor aim). I quickly left the apartment, only to realize there might be <i>other</i> wasps outside, so I slowly pushed the door open, peeked inside, and then did a quick 360 with my better leg to make sure there were no wasps <i>behind</i> me. Which is when I high-tailed it to the bathroom, locked myself in, and Googled the fire department to call them. I'm not sure if I'm allergic to wasps and wasn't about to test the theory, and if I got stung, I wanted help sent straight away.<br />
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After relaying all the above to the fireman dude (in which he was laughing - I can't blame the guy), his response was "Ma'am, we can't send a firetruck out to kill one wasp." Sheepishly, I replied "Yeah, okay. Can you please stay on the line in case I get stung?". After he agreed and I had warned him that I can deal with anything but wasps and spiders (and therefore might scream like a little girl and/or cuss), I tip-toed to the living room and eventually killed the wasp after two more sprays. Eeeeech! I scared the boys with my girly scream (sorry) and still have a massive case of the heebie geebies thinking about it.<br />
So, the pictures! Friday I didn't take any pictures because I 1.) Forgot because I was busy and 2.) Don't like taking pictures on the Metro least someone think I'm a terrorist and/or running the risk of my phone being stolen. The train on the way back was packed and my poor knee suffered being stuck in one position and being accidentally whacked with an umbrella a few times (the lady at least apologized, so no hard feelings). Instead, I took a photo of Metro's Web site :-) Then, a picture of the Target, a greeting card I saw while in Target, and how the couch looked once I finally woke up!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a really huge dead wasp.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is a computer screen shot of the travel itinerary from Shady Grove Metro to Providence Hospital.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.ggpht.com/-bO838QChY54/UWq4VTjGgrI/AAAAAAAAAIE/PpOByMbNSBM/s640/2013-04-13%25252014.58.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-bO838QChY54/UWq4VTjGgrI/AAAAAAAAAIE/PpOByMbNSBM/s640/2013-04-13%25252014.58.12.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A picture of the Target building as seen from the back (where the bus stops are located).</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Card reads: "Talking to yourself is easy. Gossiping to yourself is just Weird."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of the couch after I woke up. From left to right: a Pyrex rectangular cooking dish, a plastic re-usable water bottle, two plates stacked upon one another with a fork on top, a blue towel, my sewing kit (a small Ziplock re-usable container), and my plate of what appears to be nachos. On the couch is a small heart shaped pillow and red flannel blanket with an alternating pattern of white zigzag lines, small dots in a zigzag design, and black zigzag lines.</td></tr>
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I apologize for being MIA yesterday. I had to pay bills, complete shipping orders (because of my anxiety and difficulty in walking and navigating a shopping cart, I mostly shop online. WalMart has free shipping if you spend $50 or more. I only go to the store for stuff I can't get online or that I know is cheaper in store - like Splenda or AC filters - or guinea lettuce on a non-Peapod week), and icing my knee, which has decided to act up and required me taking a heavy dose of pain killers once I got home - hence the MIA.<br />
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That and I also forgot to throw my insulin and my afternoon dose of antibiotics and Mucinex into my backpack before heading off to work. On the flip side, I DID remember my lunch, which I wound up not eating to get through Marketing and avoid having high blood sugars (I ate my egg and cheese omelette, the cheese stick, and PB though).<br />
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After bills, personal necessities, hay, and medications, I'll have around $200 left to spend on food for me and the boys, so I'm even more thankful my mom surprised me with a Peapod order. It'll be tight, but I got taco soup in the crockpot and it'll be all right (knock on wood).<br />
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Speaking of bills and icky adult responsibilities, I need to call and make an appointment with my case manager/counselor to work on getting over my fear and anxiety of having a roommate. It's getting way too expensive to be single in this town, and, with no car, I'm sort out of options as far as Maryland is concerned. I don't socialize well and most roommates expect you to be social and, for me, it never goes over well. There was that time one of my roommates locked me in the laundry room because she thought I was hitting on her boyfriend (um, no, and guys stare at me all the flippin' time. I'm thinking it's time to start charging them, but that could get messy, what with the taxes and all). Also, the thought of being confined to one room bugs me to no end - when I think, I pace, and pacing takes space (I have a lot of excuses, but I'm on borrowed time today and will graciously spare you the rest!).<br />
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Since I overslept until 5:30 AM (when Zeke went off and wouldn't shut up until I got off the couch), the boys were so hungry that they wouldn't even let me pet them :-( I gave each a small handful of lettuce and a carrot so I could at least clean their cages, so breakfast for them was at 6:30 AM and 7:40 AM for me. As a "I'm sorry I'm such a horrible mom," I gave them the blueberries from the Peapod order, in which they wound up eating half the pint. Sheesh. I have not one, but TWO blueberry monsters! Like, save some for me!<br />
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So, the pictures! I couldn't resist including a photo of Benny's blueberry expression (he always makes this face when eating blueberries) and Zeke actually taking food out of my hand. Ah, the magically properties of blueberries! I've also included a pic of me icing my knee (with a bag of frozen veggies, no less - I fell asleep with the ice bag last night, so used the frozen veggies this morning). I've also included a pic of my WalMart order because that was the inspiration for the post.<br />
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With that, I'm off to find clothes to work (it was 90 yesterday - 90!) and head off to work. Guinea out!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a WalMart online order.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of me feeding Zeke blueberries.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture shows Benny making his "Mmmm, blueberries" face. His eyes are half closed, and he looks like he's thoroughly enjoying the blueberry he is eating.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is me icing my left swollen knee with a bag of vegetables. Beyond can be seen the chaos which is my apartment. In the upper center of the picture, a pair of brown pants can be seen drying on the clothes line.</td></tr>
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Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-43576271321630259692013-04-09T07:02:00.001-07:002014-03-29T13:56:38.587-07:00Smell the spring on the smokey windGood morning fellow readers! I have bronchitis, which means spring is finally here!<br />
It's really weird, too, because I have arms and legs. I've only caught brief glances of them since October, and its like I have alien limbs. It's just so <i>weird!</i> I'm in this transition from my long winter coat (the "Eskimo" outfit) and winter boots to shorts, a t-shirt, and my birthday shoes (no, not bare feet. New shoes!). No more three or four layers. I feel naked. It keeps tripping my Aspie senses.<br />
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I keep giving myself whiplash, too. It's so unusual to see Benny laying his cage. He's usually snuggled himself under his den of blankets and doesn't come out unless he smells food. Not only that, but he is <i>purring</i> and almost <i>smiling</i>. He honestly had me worried until I noticed the sunlight and decided to check the weather status. Both boys are basking in the sunlight and warm weather. If they were anymore relaxed, they'd become one with their cage ;-)<br />
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A school bus passed me yesterday and one the teenagers tried to taunt be saying "Nice shoes!" I had to stop myself from saying "Thank you, they're a birthday gift from my mom!" I'm just so gosh darn happy about having new shoes - they're comfy, solid, and supportive. I love them so much that I could almost hug them - almost lol<br />
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Thanks to the antibiotics and sleeping from 8 PM to 4 AM, my lungs are no longer feel like they're drowning. They're merely floating. Still short of breath and lungs are sore, but bronchitis is a cake walk for me. It's the every 3-4 year colds that I can't stand.<br />
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My mom also surprised me with a PeaPod order, so I get yummy food two days earlier than planned (no complaints here - I'm finishing dinner up and wrapping that up with a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles for desert!). I'm popcorning along with the boys :-)<br />
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At any rate, I need to finish eating and take a shower. If I can stay awake tonight, I plan on working on a short essay on what it means to be autistic. It's sponsored by ASAN and smacks of good intentions, so definitely worth a go. Until then, guinea out!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A picture of my arm reaching out onto my fourth floor balcony, "pinching" a tree down below in the parking lot. Below are a bunch of planting pots and dishwasher containers filled with dirt and dead plants.</td></tr>
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Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-16136716567249981932013-04-08T04:57:00.001-07:002014-03-29T13:54:15.046-07:00Medication & StuffsHi! Hope you are all having a great start to your day as I enjoy my dinner (I fell asleep last night at 10 PM and woke up at 2 AM and have been busying tending to guineas and finishing up chores; see pictures below - that's what happens when you're single and coming down with something upper respiratory!).<br />
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Before I begin, a quick shout out to my 6 month old nephew Liam - he's officially crawling! Woot! Go Liam!<br />
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I've included in today's post a picture of the prescribed and over-the-counter medications I take. Those on the right are my daily medications and supplements. Moving to the left are those I take occasionally (I have digestive issues, so Tums and Gas-X are my buddies; lately, Mucinex has been my best friend) or rarely (like the nebulizer inhaled steroids and Albuterol for asthma flare ups).<br />
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With the help of my pharmacy (they do try - but they call with reminders to pick up before I get paid. Still, they are awesome and know me by voice lol) and a lot of my own legwork, I some how keep mostly everything managed and "organized" (meaning, I have a weekly pill organizer). I keep my specialists in touch with other specialist (i.e. I keep track of lab and test results and communicate those to the other specialists. Otherwise, it'd be like trying to get a Trekkie and a Star Wars fan to communicate with one another. I'm just the Klingon Translator.). I can barely keep up with it and thus don't expect others to (they should - but docs are people, too).<br />
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The medical care field is filled with potholes and loopholes and it's easy to slip through the cracks. You have to just sometimes become stubborn and do something, or you're going to be dinning with dust bunnies. Be aware and don't be afraid to ask the pertinent questions. For example, "What is my risk of my Mitral Valve Prolapse worsening if I don't get a yearly echocardiogram? If something should go wrong, will the test catch it in time?" This is actually a real question I will ask my cardiologist on Friday . My health insurance company is evil and now has a $750 out of pocket deductible before they'll cover any tests, including blood work, MRIs, or even echocardiograms. I have to be extra cautious and call ahead to make sure the insurance company isn't going to make things screwy (and then call back twice more to confirm).<br />
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I highly recommend visiting AHRQ and their "For Patients & Consumers" section. Lots of awesome, informative material on how to be a proactive patient (and no, I didn't get paid to write that. I firmly believe in their mission and jest at the death panel peeps).<br />
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I am falling asleep and need to finish dinner, check in with my asthma doc, and then make up my mind on whether I'm going into work or pulling the sick card. Until next time, guinea out!<br />
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As a bonus, a pic of the boys hanging out!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left right to right, clockwise: liquid pain medication, CVS dye-free allergy antihistamine, a bottle of Tums, a foil package of Albuterol for my nebulizer, CVS Sinus and Allergy PE, a bottle of glucose meter testing strips, Asmanex, a bottle of naproxen sodium on top of three packs of two individual use alcohol pads each, a foil package of inhaled steroids for my nebulizer, a nasal decongestant, insulin needles for my insulin pens, Advil decongestant, a foil package of Gas-X tablets, my glucose meter, a small pile of the daily medications and stupuliments I take (fish oil, Strattera, metaformin, Calcium Plus, iron, B12, a prescribed allergy pill, Klonopin, and an anxiety medication), my lancet used to draw blood for the glucose meter, and my insulin pens, Lantus SoloStar, and Novalog.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pile of laundry (mostly sweaters and sweatshirts) has been dumped on my couch, waiting to be folded.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A week's worth of dishes, piled up in the sink and ready to be put into the empty dishwasher machine (lower right hand corner). Also on the counter can be seen (from left to right) are American and Irish flags in a vase, paper towel holder, KitchenAid mixer, coffee pot, and popcorn popper.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeke is in his igloo with Benny looking at Zeke. Both are in their play area, and Benny's ball is seen in front of him.</td></tr>
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But! MIA or not, I *have* been taking pictures! No amount of allergy-induced low-grade fevers, under the weather asthma yuckiness, or exhaustion-induced whining can stop me now! Ok, so that's a little white lie big as the Capital! I'm not fit for public viewing, as the little trip to exchange the guineas' rotten lettuce proved to me this morning. I felt like I was in everyone's way, and the bubble-gum-snapping foot-on-the-gas-pedel-lovin' 7 minutes early bus driver (who made me wait another 30 minutes and still didn't afford me the time to get seated before gunning the bus) didn't help. Just don't ever try to run and catch an early bus with a busted knee. It hurts and you won't catch the bus anyways. Live, learn, get Luvs.<br />
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The first picture is of the bus stop by my chiropractor's office, where I get physical therapy for my sciata nerve (I might have two physical therapists in 2 or 3 weeks. You know you're full of grace when you have not only one, but two physical therapists!). It takes me two buses and an hour just to get there, then another hour on the way back. So, if my appointment is at noon, then I leave at 10:50ish to catch the 11 bus. Unlike this morning, I got one of my favorite bus drivers who I haven't seen in a year (mostly because of my sleep schedule) and he was also recovering from a meniscus tear, so we had a good conversation :-)<br />
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The second picture is what I'm doing now. Work, followed by more work, followed by a 4 AM panic attack because my blood sugars were 369, I had the chills, and I had yet to eat or take insulin or my medication. It didn't help that the boys were Jedi mind melding me into cleaning their cage and feeding them (and I had yet to dry their laundry. No newspaper means a load of laundry every other flippin' day. Good thing they're cute).<br />
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The last picture is what I'm making for tonight: Country ribs with homemade yummy barbecue sauce (got the pork at Safeway for $2.76 - woot!). As I only have $15 until I get paid, it's all hands on deck, which means I better get to work so I can get busy cooking in the kitchen tomorrow! (Yes, I do have food. I just have to cook it instead of eating protein bars).<br />
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Until the next time, guinea out!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.ggpht.com/-j6r1VyvxoPk/UWBiBZK8hKI/AAAAAAAAAFs/AHafKgpfrg8/s640/2013-04-05%25252012.37.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-j6r1VyvxoPk/UWBiBZK8hKI/AAAAAAAAAFs/AHafKgpfrg8/s640/2013-04-05%25252012.37.17.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a Ride On bus sign.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.ggpht.com/-Rn6dGPuzqv0/UWBKQm_3VxI/AAAAAAAAAFU/bU13qzTUTEg/s640/2013-04-05%25252007.25.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Rn6dGPuzqv0/UWBKQm_3VxI/AAAAAAAAAFU/bU13qzTUTEg/s640/2013-04-05%25252007.25.22.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of a print copyright log with a pen and white out.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.ggpht.com/-1M9a9254TdU/UWBiBM3LHiI/AAAAAAAAAFk/lNfwpJTA_yE/s640/2013-04-06%25252013.18.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-1M9a9254TdU/UWBiBM3LHiI/AAAAAAAAAFk/lNfwpJTA_yE/s640/2013-04-06%25252013.18.34.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture is of country ribs marinating in homemade barbeque sauce.</td></tr>
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My apologies for the late post, but I promise to do another one today.<br />
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Yesterday I woke up at around 6:30 AM after passing out at my keyboard - yes, while working - around 4:45 AM, only to wake up at around 8 AM to the sounds of lawn equipment. There is nothing scarier than waking up at your desk at an odd hour, because you have to first figure out where the heck you are and why you're so cold, and then some how limp over to
the couch to warm up (because I have yet to make my bed). Luckily for me,
I keep this uber soft blanket (it's thin, but man, that sucker makes me feel all warm and cozy!) on the couch that my mom bought me for Valentine's Day this
year.<br />
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Even worse, especially for me, is waking up to the sounds of lawn equipment. <br />
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Amongst my bag of "goodies," I have sensory processing disorder. I hate seams, rough clothing (I wear most of my sweats, leggings, thermal, and pj bottoms inside-out), bright lights, lawn equipment, bass and/or loud music, the sound of power tools, Nascar the Loud Vacuum Cleaner, and any sort of hummy-constant-all-consuming-cannot-think sound. If I'm tired and already on edge, <i>humming</i> will even make me loose it. As you can imagine, most places - e.g., the mall, stores, bus rides with multiple people listening to their music at top volume et al. - can drive me into sensory overload. It literally hurts my brain and I cannot think. All I want to do is <i><b>escape</b></i>. If I don't and I'm tired or sick, instantaneous meltdown. Three seconds to the ship self-destructing. Non-functioning Serenity. You get the idea. It's not a pretty picture. <br />
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Ear plugs don't work all that well because I am sensitive to vibrations. It is to my understanding that I am more sensitive to vibrations because I grew up with constant ear infections and, at one point during the fourth grade, was losing my hearing due to my ear bones trying to fuse together. As a result of all of that, I have low frequency hearing loss and auditory processing disorder (whether the autism or the ear infections caused latter, no one knows. They just sort of go hand in hand and it really doesn't matter where it originated as long as I know how to deal with it). Having auditory processing disorder means my brain hears EVERYTHING. Because I hear everything at once, it's like I'm deaf without being permanently deaf. I prefer silence. Too much noise and I become over-stimulated. My brain doesn't know how to deal with things one by one, and it's a constant fight to not sit there and channel surf.<br />
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So, the lawn equipment people. I hate spring. There's allergies (which means my ears pop and even the birds outside the window are too damn loud), more people milling about outside, construction equipment, and <i>lawn equipment</i>, my personal nemesis. These aren't your typical apartment lawn maintenance people, either. I know they have a job to do, but they love placing all their equipment right outside my building. It's a curse! Not only that, but they usually show up at random at 8 AM and remain until 4 or 5 PM. The only good news is that they're able to wake me up (you know I'm sick when I oversleep the lawn maintenance people).<br />
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This time, instead of holing myself up in the bathroom as per my norm and taking PTO, I decided to try to make it through and work. It wasn't so bad, but I wound up not going to my chiropractor appointment last night. The exhaustion only really hit me and rolled over me after getting back from the orthopedist (story below with picture!). My blood sugars were low because I had once again forgotten to eat nothing more than a protein bar for breakfast and dinner was nothing more than a box of macaroni and cheese (no vegetables - see explanation with picture below!) at 4 AM. I'm in this funk where I can't get myself to eat. Nothing sounds appetizing and I haven't been able to cook because of my knee (the joys of being single /sarcasm).<br />
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By the time I had come back - around 3 PM - they were still at it! Normally, I can do a little better, but on two hours of sleep and no regular meals, I was one cranky Serenity. The guineas didn't even dare wheek for food or attention (I fed and gave them attention anyway because I'm nice like that). I called into work, moved my chiropractor appointment to Friday, loaded myself up with insulin and pain medication, ate a bowl of cereal and some yummy empanadas, and fell asleep from roughly 4 or 5 PM to 6:30ish PM. I woke up feeling out of it, but minus the "I'm ready to have a meltdown and the apartment management peeps better have this place bolted down." I can tell I am growing up: in the past, I would have forced myself to go through the motions of going to the appointment and running errands on the way home (I still need to go do a drug run at CVS. I took my last anxiety medication last night, so yeah ....) and running the risk of the consequences of having a public meltdown (which I dislike even more than lawn equipment because no one knows what to do and I can't talk).<br />
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After working from roughly 8 PM to 12:41 AM, I passed out on the couch after laying down due to nausea. Thanks to the cortisone shot, I have a constant diabetic headache, but my knee is now less "You will die" and has subsided to a "You suck." MAJOR improvement. CHEER!<br />
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You're probably wondering why I am mentioning "cortisone shot" and are probably dying to know how the orthopedic appointment went. Too make a long short (too late!), pictures!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wear Band-Aids like most women wear jewelry.</td></tr>
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As promised: the results of the knee appointment! The orthopedic doctor says my knee pain is either a torn meniscus or as a result of peroneal nerve damage. For those not in the know, I injured my sciatica nerve back in October while apartment cleaning. The damage was so severe that I had pain down both legs, and lost most of my strength on my left side. By the middle of November, when I was finally able to figure out the health insurance, work/other doctor appointments timing, and financial quirks, I was dragging my left leg instead of walking. The sciatica nerve is still pinched and causing major havoc with my left side (on Sunday, my foot went all pins and needles for two days after vacuuming). The bus incident in December only made matters worse (Note to my readers: if you take the 97 bus route, hang on tight. The PM bus drivers like to speed and take their corners sharp).<br />
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At any rate, the orthopedic doc says to wait two to three weeks and then make an appointment with the MRI folks if the pain still persists and we'll go from there. So far, the pain has lessened and I only have the sciatica pain and diabetic headache from high blood sugars (steroids do some weird chemistry funky dance in the body to reduce swelling, but, unless inhaled, can cause high blood sugars in diabetics). I'm not sure which is worse: that the office staff at my orthopedist's or the MRI folks know me by name, or that neither are surprised to see me. They just sort of sigh and ask what I did this time. It's routine. I swear, one of them even knows the guinea pigs by <i>name</i> and asks how they're doing.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nOHoFMOTNyE/UV1-CvVHM-I/AAAAAAAAAE0/Ks0O2DglazY/s1600/Broken+plastic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nOHoFMOTNyE/UV1-CvVHM-I/AAAAAAAAAE0/Ks0O2DglazY/s320/Broken+plastic.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look! It's modern art!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I'm proud of myself. I remembered I had left over vegetables in the fridge and heated them up to go with my macaroni and cheese. I must have been exhausted from lack of sleep (only three hours the night before, not counting the naps on the bus), because I forgot the dang thing in the microwave. When I woke up this morning, this is what I found. I need to call Rubbermaid and tell them that their products are not microwavable (I even vented the lid) and that they're not Serenity-proof, and can they please do something about that?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wKfqQzAy3Aw/UV1-EV9ujiI/AAAAAAAAAE8/1qSAFLfu2eI/s1600/Fixed+Plastic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wKfqQzAy3Aw/UV1-EV9ujiI/AAAAAAAAAE8/1qSAFLfu2eI/s320/Fixed+Plastic.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost like new!!!</td></tr>
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Thanks to my quick thinking, I cleaned the container out as best as I could and stuck in in a pot of boiling water. When it was pliable, I used tongs to pull it out, cooled it off enough to use another container to make it square again, and then did the same to the lid. Instant-presto, it's fixed! Phew! I am so happy because I got this set as a Christmas present, and I am loving these things better than the plastic containers I have been using (usually, the Giant salsa plastic containers).<br />
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So, with that, funky cool readers, I have to sign out to get ready for work and feed Benny before he passes out from starvation. I told him 9 and it's now 10 AM and I'm regretting not feeding him beforehand (luckily, for me, his treats were on sale and so I stocked up. They only distract him momentarily, but whatever works!). Yes, I will feed you, you poor, starving, moments-away-from-death guinea pig! Until next time, guinea out!Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-31210447107868077972013-04-02T20:53:00.001-07:002014-04-18T22:17:30.767-07:00Happy Autism Something Month!Hi!
I am <i>finally</i> getting my very first Autism Awareness/Acceptance/Whatever floats your boat blog up for Autism Whatever Month - yeah!!! To avoid conflict, blue is my favorite color and I don't care if you light it up neon pink, as long as it's not around me. Whether you celebrate awareness, acceptance, avoidance, or whatever floats your boat, then this blog is for YOU. I don't believe in cures, that vaccines are the sole reason for autism, or that there's an epidemic of massive proportions at hand (Diagnostic tools have improved and are now almost too easy to use).<br />
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[Pause for just a beat there. Me getting something done is a MAJOR accomplishment. Mostly my brain will go "Yeah! Great idea!" and then proceed to the next shiny idea. It's no wonder I tend to go about in circles with nothing much done.]<br />
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If all goes as planned, I will be shoving my long-ignored "Cooking on a Budget" blog out of the way to post a daily picture of a peek into my life. To get it out of my system now, today's pictures will include my two adorable guinea pigs who will have to sacrifice "Mom time" in order for me to post blogs every day this month. As a bonus for Blogger having URL coding issues, I'll post two additional pictures tonight. Five pictures for the price of two, no coupons or store card required - how awesome is that!?<br />
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Since this will be the "introductory" post, I will introduce myself. The name is Serenity. I'm 31, my favorite colors are blue and green (for Father Sky and Mother Earth, respectively), and I love chocolate and coffee. I'm told I have a big heart, that I am funny, have no hidden agenda (I couldn't lie to save my life), kind, generous, and all sorts of other warm, fuzzy adjectives. Truthfully, I know my weaknesses better than my strengths (yes, that's the autism).
I received my official diagnosis at the age of 22 and count myself as very lucky to have been able to do so (not only can most people figure out I'm autistic, but, at that time, I did not have steady income with health insurance. Florida's CARD program rocks!!!). I'm both a sensory seeker and avoider (it's complicated) and among my medical diagnosis (in addition to the autism) are ADHD (executive functioning disorder or "attention issues"), anxiety boarding on PTSD shadow traits (I'm on medication to help control seizures related to anxiety), auditory processing disorder, dyspraxia, anemia, asthma, diabetes type 2, glaucoma, Mitral Valve Prolapse, hyperlordosis with a pinched sciatica nerve currently wrecking havoc on my left side, and early arthritis. I'm probably missing one or two in there. If you didn't catch all that, don't worry. I'll introduce you to them one by one so you don't get so overwhelmed (and, no, I don't know how I do it, either. I'm used to it because, well, it's my life and I know no other).<br />
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Disclaimer: I don't mean for this blog to be viewed as a "Pity Party Blog for One." That's not my goal. My goal is to raise autism awareness. How I choose to live my life is my choice, and I do the best that I can with the knowledge that I possess. Which means, I'm not open to ideas about alternative treatments, experiments, or drinking coffee out of the cup backwards. This is simply who I am and my only focus is to survive to the next day. Super Librarian Girl away!<br />
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So, now the GOOD part. The pictures!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QuCpuJYvngs/UVuh5Ki2FUI/AAAAAAAAAEA/D3nMW1pNwNU/s1600/Alarm+clock.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QuCpuJYvngs/UVuh5Ki2FUI/AAAAAAAAAEA/D3nMW1pNwNU/s320/Alarm+clock.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sonic Boom: Waking up the living dead, but not Serenity. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Yes, that reads 7:30 <i>PM</i>. That's when I had breakfast yesterday, seriously. I have a really screwy sleep schedule. Sometimes I sleep 15 hours, other times 3 hours. The number of sleep hours vary and I have no control over it. It's not something I am willingly choosing. I have sixteen alarm clocks and wake up to none of them (nor the fire alarm or hurricanes or earthquakes or ...). I tried creating a bed time routine, but would often lay in bed until 7 AM the next morning, bored out of my mind. Or, I'd simply run out of time and still have a lot of household chores to do (small apartment and dyspraxia means keeping up with myself, a difficult chore indeed!). I strive my best to work eight hours a day for work. Taking melatonin gives me nightmares and sleep medications only make me really calm. Benadryl, allergy medications, and pain killers have some affect, but my brain is in control of the sleep cycle. It's really sucky because I don't always get to do what I want or need to do. Sometimes I can and then I stand up and CHEER! Mostly, though I just feel depressed because I long for a typical sleep schedule. I used to have one a long time ago, before graduate school or college. It must have been nice. The psychiatrist, the counselor, and I are all in agreement that it's a result of a mixture of the autism, situational depression, inability to effectively manage stress, and my lifestyle (I work way too much).
Some where in there is the answer.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M268OY9YZtY/UVuh5SSJGMI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Pe4AeHBaA1k/s1600/Benny.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M268OY9YZtY/UVuh5SSJGMI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Pe4AeHBaA1k/s320/Benny.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When he sleeps, he means business!</td></tr>
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This is Benny. He likes blueberries, anything mom is eating (e.g.. peas from Whole Foods. I kid you not, he will eat defrosted produce anything, except for Bird Eye's peas), cuddling with mom and watching YouTube or Netflix videos, being read Dr. Seuss' "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" (he <i>loves</i> attention!), his blankets, and willow ball. He doesn't like the word "No." He's my playful, demanding, stubborn, opinionated, loop-hole-loving smarty pants. He will be five in May and (knock on wood) shows no signs of slowing down.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obSPydhqS_0/UVuh6_vfX6I/AAAAAAAAAEc/kCREMO0Mx3M/s1600/Zeke.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obSPydhqS_0/UVuh6_vfX6I/AAAAAAAAAEc/kCREMO0Mx3M/s320/Zeke.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See my new teddy bear?</td></tr>
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This is Zeke. He's my sweet, sarcastic, opinionated, stubborn, stick-it-to-you calmness of my life. He's recently learned how to play and has taught Benny how to bite your finger with just enough pressure to let you know that they want <i>down</i> (joy! /sarcasm). He came into our lives 5 months after Benny's best friend, Oreo, passed away. Benny was in a funk and Zeke turned things around 360 degrees. Since they're both alpha males, it took time for them to "play nice," but now they're sharing, playing, and acting like brothers. They both share a play area in front of the TV and Sunday nights are anything but quiet :-)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dUVJYKbg_y8/UVuh5GdOOTI/AAAAAAAAAEE/J8dbUYVULR8/s1600/Bed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dUVJYKbg_y8/UVuh5GdOOTI/AAAAAAAAAEE/J8dbUYVULR8/s320/Bed.JPG" title="" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How do you make me right side up?</td></tr>
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This was the original picture I was going to post tonight. I washed the blankets and sheets on Sunday, but fell asleep on the couch the last two nights and have as of yet to make it. Will be doing that *soon*. One of my co-workers graciously gave me a ride home, so now my injured knee (which may or may not have a torn something or another - I'll find out tomorrow, so stay tuned!) doesn't have the excuse of "I'm too sore to make the bed," ha!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b3p3xO0jbgg/UVuh5Mes9TI/AAAAAAAAAD8/vknq-V-ZPxY/s1600/Bday+Cards.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b3p3xO0jbgg/UVuh5Mes9TI/AAAAAAAAAD8/vknq-V-ZPxY/s320/Bday+Cards.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup, Gandalf personally sent me birthday wishes. Don't be hatin'.</td></tr>
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. . . Then I remembered my birthday cards (from left to right): from a good friend, my mom, and my co-workers at work :-) These are the peeps who keep me going and I am thankful every moment of them. They're my sanity in this snow globe snowing world.<br />
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With that, it's time for me to sign off so that I can go figure out dinner, clean the guinea pig cages, feed the guinea pigs (oh, who am I kidding? They're going to be eating first!), and then work on other stuffs before bed. And it's already 11:39 PM, sheesh. If you have questions for me, post below in the comments, and I will answer as time allows. Guinea out! Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-57772253825288728962010-10-02T20:19:00.000-07:002010-10-02T21:38:03.114-07:00Gravity is never really that far away and neither is the Taco Casserole ....Here in Maryland, the nights have gradually become more nippy. It's officially FALL. Apples, pumpkins, squashes, roasted cabbage and potatoes, cinnamon and spices, hot apple cider, and Halloween. Okay, one cannot technically <span style="font-style:italic;">eat</span> Halloween, but it's good excuse as any to eat chocolate and candy. It's a reminder that this nasty, brain-boiling worthy hot summer is behind us and winter is upon us (oh, goody [sarcasm]). My favorite part of Fall and Winter is coming home to two cranky guineas and tormenting their warm, cozy lil' bodies with cold, freezing hands :)<br /><br />Apparently, I need to take life more in stride and stop trying to prove that gravity does - and will always - win. Three weeks back, my back bike tire skidded out on some gravel coming down off a hill and I took the full brunt of the fall with my right (re: good) knee and my chin. I think I skidded a few feet because, as I pointed out earlier, I was going <span style="font-style:italic;">down</span> the hill. On a windy day, to boot, and cycling as fast as my legs could go so that I could get to CVS before 6 PM. The good news is that I made it to CVS pharmacy just as they were closing and, thanks to shock, the pain held off until I got into line. The manager called 911, I was cleaned up, I tied an ice bag to my knee, the manager straightened out my handle bars, and I limped home with some asphalt for a souvenir. Some nice dude walking his dog took my bike up three flights of stairs. After popping a few pain killers and one rough night, I limped to the Urgent Care Center the next day and have been proudly on crutches since. And it only took me a week to be able to move my knee, another two days to be able to straightened out my leg, and a few more days to be able to bend my knee enough to put a sock on my foot! The coffee-cup sized color-changing bruise (I mean there was colors in this bruise that I've never seen before!)bout on my left thigh only took two weeks to heal and is (almost) not even visible. The bruises on my right knee came in about a week after the inflammation went down and are still there, four weeks later. I have bruises from my knee to mid-shin bone and I still can't kneel on it (but I can squat!!!). I should be off the damn crutches (aka Thing 1 and Thing 2) either this week or next (depending on the bad leg that got worse due to the injured leg heh). Luckily for me, no broken bones or ligaments and the orthopedist doesn't have to amputate :) That was the bad kind of fall, not the good kind of Fall with apples and pumpkins and Halloween.<br /><br />Since I haven't been able to stand for long periods of time without either the injured or bad leg becoming cranky and/or throbbing with pain, I've sort of become more creative and flexible with meals. Which meant I spent more money the first week on frozen gluten free goodies for lunches and dinner and spent a wee bit more than I wished on taxis. To made up for some of the costs, I adapted a recipe for Taco Casserole my mom gave me and then dumped some chicken (on sale via Peapod - woot to ordering groceries online!) with a jar of Alfredo sauce in one crockpot and then dumped cabbage, potatoes, carrots, celery, garlic, molasses, red wine vinegar, a dash of onion powder/salt/pepper, and weeks-old mushrooms into the other crockpot to roast them (even better with cheese!). The chicken Alfredo is very verstaile - dump it on rice, noodles (gluten free or otherwise) and a side of broccoli or veggie - or even just by itself with a side of roasted veggies and warm chopped apples with cinnamon and butter - and it is one very flexible dish! Both the roasted cabbage and potatoes and chicken Alfredo dishes (aka lazy chicken) are adapted from the <span style="font-style:italic;">Make it Fast, Cook it Slow</span> cookbook by Stephanie O'Dea (I found a copy at my local library - squeal of excitement!). But, the Taco Casserole cannot be beat. It'll feed an army and then some and, lucky for me, freezes well AND goes well with broccoli (it's been on sale lately and is ubber cheap at Giant's ... I'd say I'm almost getting sick of frozen broccoli except I found that Benny will eat it, even warm).<br /><br />Taco Casserole<br /><br />Baking dish (mine is 9 by 13, I think)<br />Package of refrigerated croissants or ingredients needed for the pizza crust on the gluten-free (or regular) Bisquick mix [for the gluten-free version, this means 1 and 1/3 cup of Bisquick Gluten Free mix, 1/2 cup of water, 1/3 cup oil - I used olive oil, but any oil should work, provided it's not oil meant for cars heh - 2 eggs, beaten]<br />Package of ground meat (turkey, hamburger, road kill - whatever floats your boat)<br />Taco seasoning, homemade or otherwise<br />8 oz tomato sauce, salt free or salt-load<br />Doritos, crushed (I used regular tortilla chips)<br />Package of shredded cheese, any flavor that you prefer (you'll need about two cups)<br />Sour cream<br />Salsa (optional)<br />Olives or whatever other toppings that float your boat (optional)<br /><br />----------------------------<br /><br />Turn the stove on to 350 degrees.<br /><br />Ground meat (turkey seems to be on sale a lot lately)<br />Two tablespoons of taco seasoning [NOT the whole package - luckily for me, I called my mom again and she caught me just before I dumped the entirety of my taco seasoning mix into the meat!]<br />8 oz tomato sauce [I used salt free because of the salt in the Bisquick mix but use whatever you prefer.]<br /><br />Brown the ground meat. Drain the meat. Yell at youngest guinea that you're busy cooking and cannot stop every-single-thing to feed him right this very minute, cave, and then almost burn the meat while serving said guinea some goodies from the fridge. Place the meat back into the pan, add the two tablespoons of taco seasoning and the tomato sauce, and stir together. Let simmer for 5-10 minutes or until the majority of the liquids is soaked up.<br /><br />While the meat is doing its thing, create the bottom layer. My mom called for those refrigerated, gluten-worthy croissants smooshed flat to cover the entire baking dish. I used the pizza recipe on the Gluten-free Bisquick box and that worked most awesomely. Never dried out and froze even better!<br /><br />To the bottom layer you will add a layer of crushed tortilla chips. Then add a layer of meat, a layer of sour cream (I only had Greek yogurt on hand and used that), a layer of salsa (optional - I did because I have salsa on hand), and a layer of cheese (I used pre-shredded Mexican cheese). Continue layering ingredients until you've used them up. Since I love olives, I topped mine with sliced olives and some more cheese.<br /><br />Pop the baking dish into a 350 degree pre-heated oven and let cook for 25 minutes or until cheese on top is melted and the bottom crust layer is done. Cool (if you can wait that long!), serve with guacamole, sour cream and/or your favorite toppings and enjoy!<br /><br />What are you go-to meals when your injured or ill?<br /><br />Until then, may your guineas not bite your hands whilst you attempt to warm your hands by wrapping them around their warm, cozy lil' bodies!Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-47494697913276561822010-08-08T11:22:00.000-07:002010-08-08T12:45:37.309-07:00Still trucking along ....It's been a while since I've last posted. I tried sticking to a once-a-month-on-the-weekend sort of deal, but life keeps getting in the way. I think Maryland's recent heat wave boiled my brain and then the smokers, the mildew in my bedroom, the continual stress which is my life, and the constant demands of two guinea pigs (one is energetic, the other one prefers to be left alone until otherwise stated) just leaves this single gal a bit tuckered out by Sunday. And then there's Monday and yet another work week to get through.<br /><br />This week, thanks to my asthma, icky air quality, and smokers on the bus who just need that one last drag before they get on the bus (and inadvertently blowing it in my face and/or breathing space) and I wound up in the ER on Tuesday. My lungs finally caved. It took THREE treatments before they released me with a prescription of oral steroids. Now, thanks to blood sugars that remind me more of the recent Wall Street crisis than anything else, I'm left just a wee bit weak. I can only stand for so long. Thanks to Vicks Vapor waterless thing, I was able to sleep last night and my lungs aren't as congested as they once were and I can breath a wee bit easier. I no longer have to make the hard choice between walking or breathing :) I still have to do my usual chores and cooking (because, seriously, last week my idea was to eat gluten free <a href="http://glutenfreeonashoestring.com/hamburger-helper/">Hamburger Help</a> for a week ... it was good, but, by Friday, I had stooped to making chicken nachos), but hey, floors were made for holding dirty dishes!<br /><br />Thanks to my sharp eye, I picked up some beef on sale, saving myself almost like six bucks in the process. I got split chicken breast buy one get one free. Thanks to 365 Crockpot, I got the grand idea for <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2010/01/slow-cooker-shredded-chicken.html">shredded chicken</a> and, with that, I can add some chicken to my pinto and rice dish, and then make some awesome shredded chicken BBQ sandwiches, thanks to the French Rolls I found at Mom's Organic Market (if you're gluten free and tired of Whole Foods lack of options and high prizes, I'd highly recommend them, especially if you live in Maryland!). So, once again, with a few key ingredients and some store bought stuff (I found gluten free raviolis, gnocchi, and pierogies, I'm going to have a healthy, yummy, and relatively in-expensive meals for next month. Which is really, really great because PEPCO decided to stick their grubby little paws into my bank account (again) and I will be have to be very careful about what I do, and do not, buy. Oh and I'll need Tide and Downy - so this month ought to be, at the very least, interesting.<br /><br />If you, dear reader, will allow me one paragraph on my soap box, I want to say I almost didn't make it last month. I was ready to buy the farm, to go visit my relatives in the sky above, to go and have a long talk with God, etc. As an Aspie with a deficiency in executive functioning skills and an inability to handle stress, I almost snapped. I had to take paid time without leave, which left even less in the good ol' bank account, because I got the runs from eating beans for two weeks in a row (I thought I would have learned my lesson the first time but apparently not ...). The next day was a Code Red day. I got up late, feeling really dehydrated. Well, in my confused state, I finally left the house around 2 PM for work and ... gasp ... forgot to drink water! I thus passed out in the parking lot - about four feet from work - and wound up in the ER (the ER is a constant in my life - it's really pathetic or sad or something because the three constants in life is change, taxes, and death ... and in mine, the fourth is the ER). Anyways, I digress - I took the next day off because I mentally snapped. There's only so much stress one person can handle at a time - add in the constant financial pressures, the "Will I make it to the next pay check?" anxiety, all the while living in the constant fear that if that car does hit you, if you do loose your job, if you get sick and wind up in the hospital, etc. you will totally loose your footing and be buried alive. It's no wonder the United States is living in fear - there's no security, especially if you're living paycheck to paycheck with less than $700 on your credit card as your life savings (or, even worse, none at all). If you find yourself in such a position, don't be afraid to ask for help. I know this is extremely tough for Aspies, especially for those, like me, who WILL be independent come hell or high water, but it is vital.<br /><br />Food, too, is vital to our being - not only via the nutrition, but by its very essence. Food is soul. It is life. It is magic. Add a can of this, some spice of that, and a little protein and bam! you have a great meal (well, granted if you're not adding something gross like peanut butter, tomatoes, and garlic together - and, if so, good luck!). Whether you're following a recipe, reciting a recipe that you learned by rote at your mom's knee, or diverting off onto a unexplored path, food helps us to heal in so many ways. It brings together (and helps create) friends and family, new memories, and, at its very best, a new history [Did I tell you about that one time ...?]. At its very worst, it can destroy our bodies and feed our depression. At it's very best, it can make you smile, even sing, and brighten your day. Your food can communicate for you - as to who you are as a person, at the very essence of your core.<br /><br />Okay, and I took two paragraphs - oopsie :) So, then, I will leave off with a pasta dish that, although it sounds very weird, will get your taste buds going "Ohh, this is good!" and your wallet humming with dollars saved, and a template on creating your own spaghetti sauce (just whatever you do, cook the noodles using the stove method and not the Crockpot - just . trust . me on this!).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Gluten-free or otherwise Green Olive Pasta Salad</span><br /><br />Jar of green olives (or, your favorite olives)<br />Spicy brown mustard (or, your favorite kind)<br />Noodles (gluten-free or otherwise)<br /><br />1.) Cook noodles according to package. Drain; set aside in a large bowl.<br />2.) Roughly chop olives<br />3.) Toss noodles, olives, and mustard.<br /><br />You can also add veggies to this. Experiment!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Spaghetti Sauce Template</span><br /><br />Roughly chopped veggies (bell peppers, mushrooms, onions, garlic, whatever floats your boat - or just onion or none)<br />Two cans of tomato sauce<br />A can of diced basil/oregano/garlic tomatoes<br />Various spices: basil, pepper, salt, Mrs. Dash Italian stuff, parsley, bay leafs<br />Squirt of two of ketchup (as a single person who has yet to find a can of tomato paste that suits my individual serving size need, I just use regular ketchup)<br />Dash of sugar (i.e. no more than a teaspoon - you want a sauce, not desert!)<br />Ground turkey, sausage, beef, or chicken (optional)<br />Other good ideas to add, but optional: kidney beans, 1/4 cup of wine, Parmesan or other hard cheeses (NOT soft because it will glob up and look nasty).<br /><br />Combine ingredients into a big pot. Season to taste (in other words, adjust the seasonings to your taste). Cook on medium heat until boiling. Cover the pot with lid and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 4-6 hours or until you can't stand the smell and serve over noodles or whatever floats your boat - enjoy! :) <br /><br />What's your inspirational stories? What go-to dish keeps your head up high in troubled times (and, no, I'm not talking about the lock pick buried in the cake delivered to the prison ;-) )? What's your favorite food memory? Have a funny story to tell, a bad recipe to post? Do tell!<br /><br />Until the next time, may your guinea pigs have many healthy years ahead of them!Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-22728035089153615322010-03-03T18:08:00.000-08:002010-03-03T19:21:59.134-08:00If You're Lucky to be Irish - You're lucky enough!Hello fellow readers :) It is now the fine month of March - not only is it the month of my birthday, but it's also the month of Saint Patrick's Day. Growing up Irish not only meant being instilled with the fine values of hard work and laughing much, but also wearing of the green on Saint Patrick's Day. As children, my brother and I were so hardcore in this tradition that we wore green to bed so neither one of us would be pinched in the morning (or, at least that's how <span style="font-style:italic;">I</span> remember it!).<br /><br />As an adult, I've taken things to a new level, culinary-wise. Last year, I tried my hand with <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/corned-beef-recipe/index.html">corned beef</a>. I might do that again this year if I'm able to chew (this lucky gal is getting much dental work done - I'm getting fit for a cap on Friday and then, hopefully, some cavities dealt with so I can chew on the other side!). If not, I will just put green dye in my mashed potatoes, have an extra mudslide, and call it a celebration :) Potatoes, of course, are an Irish staple. So are cabbage and Irish soda bread (which I make gluten free, courtesy of <a href="http://glutenfreegirl.blogspot.com/2006/03/finnegan-begin-again.html">Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef</a>), and Irish cheese. One of the most filling, inexpensive, and nutritious dishes I've been able to create as of yet is "Cabbage Stew", which at the request of a coworker I have posted below.<br /><br />So, without further ado, <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cabbage Stew</span>!<br /><br />4 quart or so crock pot.<br />1/2 head of cabbage, chopped into bite-size pieces [Whole Foods will chop a cabbage in half - just as the produce peeps; if using a crock pot larger than 4 quarts, you might need a whole cabbage].<br />1 cartoon of vegetable or chicken broth (I use low sodium)<br />1/2 pack of raw bacon (I use low sodium, uncured - for St. Patrick's day, I splurge and use Irish bacon).<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Veggies</span><br />1 "stew pack" - or two turnips, 2-4 parsnips, 1-3 carrots, 1/2 an onion if using vegetable broth (or a whole onion if using chicken broth), two small potatoes (or one really big one) and whatever else veggies float your boat. All veggies need to be chopped in bite-sized pieces, but make sure they're big enough so as to not turn to mush in the crock pot!.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Herbs & Seasonings</span><br />Herbs to your liking - I use some dill and parsley (it comes in the stew pack). You can use these or whatever herbs float you're boat. You can used dried or the real deal.<br />Seasonings - a dash of pepper and a big heap of diced garlic works well. Sometimes I use some freshly ground mustard seed.<br /><br />If I'm in the mood to go vegan, I'll toss in a can of kidney beans - kidney beans are also a lot cheaper than bacon. Or, you can do both - experiment!<br /><br />Pour veggie or chicken broth into crock pot. Add herbs and seasonings. Taste and adjust according to your taste. Add cabbage, veggies, and bacon (yup, raw - it'll cook in the crock pot, no worries about deadly bacteria or germs!). Leave about 1/2 inch gap between the food and the lid - if you need to add some water or extra broth, feel free to do. Just be careful not to overfill - believe me, you don't want the stuff boiling all over the place! Turn on low, leave for work, and voila! Instant Irish dinner (well, except for the Irish soda bread - I haven't tried that in the crock pot ... yet).<br /><br />Until the next time, May the road rise up to meet you. / May the wind always be at your back. / May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. /And until we meet again, /May God hold you in the palm of His hand.<br /><br />... and may your guinea pigs give you much joy :)Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-26067022181550983132010-02-21T12:56:00.000-08:002010-02-21T14:10:30.353-08:00Can a person really survive on $25 a week?I was reading this <a href="http://www.thekitchn.com/thekitchn/local-midwest/could-you-eat-on-25-a-week--064480">blog</a> awhile back and I was 1.) chuckling [because I've done it before and some weeks, lived on even less] and 2.) wondering if they had access to a crockpot.<br /><br />Yes, it is hard to live on $25 a week. However, there's four weeks in a month (give or take). So, that's $100. With a little planning, one can avoid eating the same thing every single day - granted, it will be meager, it won't be 5 star quality, and there will be times when you want to strangle your co-worker for bringing fast food into the work place, but it is possible to eat cheaply and still eat relatively healthy without starving (although if you had $50 bucks a week, you could get your five servings of fruit AND vegetables per day!).<br /><br />With a bit of research, I learned about the Depression diet and figured out some good modern-day staples: peanut butter, rice, beans, cheese, eggs, frozen veggies (usually cheaper than produce and has more vitamins and good stuff than canned!), frozen fruit (or, canned fruit on sale), dried milk, sugar, flour, and avocados (for a healthier alternative fat). The cheapest meat today, depending on which sales you hit, can range from chicken to turkey (which is cheaper than hamburger!) - pork is often hit and miss (it's either cheap or it's not). An investment in a crockpot means you can purchase the really cheap, crappy beef and turn a tough hunk of meat into a chewable, edible, and moist hunk of meat :) Yes, there's also canned tuna - but I hate fish and, unless I am faced with ultimate starvation, refuse to eat it. It's just not good to my taste buds unless I can smother it in mayo and sweet relish (which would totally throw off my $100 budget unless I could get the stuff at a fast food restaurant - you know, those little packets filled with various chemicals and high fructose corn syrup? Ick!).<br /><br />I'd have to go back to the Giant's to gather up some prices, but the basic idea is to get your fruit in the morning (orange juice - cheap if you go with store brand or even cheaper if you can pick up a sale on either store or name brand) with perhaps an egg and some toast (if you can afford the ingredients for gluten free bread - those who can eat store-bought bread do not know how lucky they are). Or, mix rice with sugar and reconstituted milk. Or, there's oatmeal or there's the brown rice puffs which can be picked up at Whole Foods for a buck and some change.<br /> <br />For lunch, grab some peanut butter and jelly. Or, pasta with canned tomatoes (Del Monte's getting pretty crafty with their salt-free tomatoes and if you watch the sales carefully, you can pick them up at Giant's for a buck a piece!). Snacks can be bananas (combine that with some peanut butter - mmmm!) or whatever fruit or veggies are on sale. Or tuna fish wrapped up in tortillas with whatever condiment you can borrow from the local fast food chain. Be creative (without breaking the law)!<br /><br />Dinner? Simple rice and beans. Or whatever meat's on sale turned into a poor man's stew (meat, potatoes, onion, and carrots in water with may be a bay leaf tossed in if you have the extra money). Or cabbage stew (cabbage, whatever meats on sale, and one of those stew packages if you have the extra money or, if not, then a carrot and onion) and chicken stock (or just water if you're really broke). Garlic is a very cheap seasoning - I get those really big jars found in the international aisles for $2.70 on a bad day and $2 on sale. Various dried seasonings and spices can also be found in the international aisles (and, yup, that's the same aisles as the rice and beans in most grocery stores!) for about half the price of the McCormick spices in the baking aisle.<br /><br />For desert, just throw some flour together with some sugar, oil, eggs and whatever else you have on hand and bam! Brownies (esp. if you have cocoa) or cake or pies [Need I remind anyone of Ritz "Apple" Pie?]. For those who are gluten-free, an investment in all-purpose gluten free mix is a good investment (bonus: with a jar of yeast, you'll have bread all month!). A little investment in some basic staples pays off in the long run!<br /><br />With just a few simple ingredients, you can easily mix & match the above ingredients and create an endless option of meals for $100 a month. But, it does take a good dose of self-control (especially when the all important ice cream is on sale, sigh), time and dedication to cook at home and scrounge for sales and coupons. It's obviously easier to live as a single person than a family of four on $100 (duh) per month. It's difficult, but not impossible.<br /><br />Who here tries to live cheaply? I'd love to hear your stories!<br /><br />Until the next time, may your guineas bring a smile to your face and give you a reason for getting out of bed in the morning other than just to feed them!Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6427426624757697771.post-25250246738166445352010-02-15T07:45:00.000-08:002010-02-21T12:56:05.421-08:00Ka-ching!Here's the cost of my first two meals:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Easy Chimichangas Thanks to the CrockPot</span><br /><br />1 1/2 lb of meat: 5.59 [saved $2.81!] - used half ($2.80)<br />salt and pepper: free<br />1/2 cup of water: free<br />1 diced onion: free<br />3 heaps of minced garlic: $0.02<br />I can tomatoes and chiles: $1 – used half<br />I can diced tomatoes: $1 – used half<br />brown rice tortillas: 2.69<br />Avocado: $1<br />1/4 of Giant's salsa: $.50<br />1/2 can of olives: $0.75<br />Shredded Kraft's Mexican cheese (about 1/4 cup): $0.38<br />Sour cream: $1.22, 2 servings (4 tablespoons): $0.15<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total cost: $9.29 / 4 meals = $2.32</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">California Casserole</span><br /><br />1 1/2 lb of meat: 5.59 [saved $2.81!] - used half ($2.80)<br />1/2 cup of water: free<br />1 diced onion: free<br />3 heaps of minced garlic: $0.02<br />I can tomatoes and chiles: $1 – used half ($0.50)<br />I can diced tomatoes: $1 – used half ($0.50)<br />Remaining Giant's salsa: $3.5<br />Remaining olives: $0.75<br />Remaining shredded Kraft's Mexican cheese (about 1/4 cup): $1.62 [I had a “buy $5 worth of Kraft products, get $1.00 off, so $1.62]<br />18 corn tortillas: $1.20<br />Festive Bean & Corn frozen veggies: $2.49<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total cost: $13.38 / 6 = $2.23</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Turkey and Rice</span><br /><br />Turkey: $4.99 [since I bought one, got one free - $2.50]<br />Brown rice: $0.65 [Got it from the bin @ Whole Foods)<br />pepper and salt: free<br />Chicken Stock: $1.99<br />Giant's brand (3 cheese) – 3/4 of package: $2.00 [$1.75]<br />3/4 of package of the pepper stir fry (Bird's Eye, frozen veggies): $2.39 [$2.00]<br />Frozen broccoli, Giant's brand: $2.50<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total: $11.39/6 = $1.90</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Augratin Potatoes</span><br />Potatoes [I think I used about 3 lbs of potatoes for this gig, so I figured the price to be around 30 cents per pound ($3/10 lb), so $.90).<br />Chicken: $2.95 [I got one package for $5.89 and the second one ($5.04) for free. Minus 2 dollar coupon for buying meat and I got $1.95 per package!]<br />Kraft cheddar cheese: $2.99 [Had $1 coupon, so $1.99]<br />1 1/2 sticks of butter: $0.93<br />6 tbsp of gluten-free flour: $.40 [I use Namaste's Perfect Flour Blend]<br />2 tsp dried thyme: free<br />2 tsp salt: free<br />4 tsp of mustard: free<br />1 tsp black pepper: free<br />3 parsnips: $0.94<br />green onions: $0.99<br />1 pint of heavy whipping cream: $2.69<br />1/2 cup of Silk Creamer: $1.79 [$0.45]<br />1/4 of Pepper stir fry (Bird's Eye, frozen veggies): $0.59<br />Frozen broccoli, Safeway brand: $2.79 [So Giant's IS cheaper than Safeway!]<br />Green beans, Whole Foods brand: $1.79 [compared to the Bird's Eye green beans, which cost me a whopping $2.69!]<br />1/2 package of the Bird's Eye green beans: $1.35 [The other half was used for lunches, along with the 2.50 baby frozen carrots, which I could have picked up a $0.80 bag of fresh carrots and just steamed them and saved myself $1.70 ... sheesh!]<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total: $17.76/8 = $2.22</span><br /><br />Chicken Enchilada Chili<br /><br />Chicken: $1.95 [I got one package for $5.89 and the second one ($5.04) for free. Minus 2 dollar coupon for buying meat and I got $1.95 per package!]<br />1 and 1/4 cans of salt-free tomato sauce and other ingredients for gluten-free enchilada sauce: $1.80<br />2 cans of salt-free Del Monte's bell pepper, onion & celery: $2<br />1 cup of pinto beans: $2.30 [I threw in fifty cents for the olive oil, garlic, vinegar, and various spices]<br />1 onion: free<br />2 tsp of chili powder: free<br />1 tsp cumin: free<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total: $8.05/5 = $1.61</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">16 Bean Soup</span><br /><br />Package of 16 bean soup: $1<br />1 onion: free<br />3 heaps of garlic: $0.02<br />2 tsp of Mrs. Dash Garlic & Herb [Or, one lid full]: I can't remember how much this cost me when I bought it and so I'll just $0.35.<br />1 can of Del Monte's diced tomatoes: $1<br />Water: free<br />Salt: free<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total: $2.37/5 = $0.47</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sloppy Joes</span><br /><br />Turkey: $4.99 [since I bought one, got one free - $2.50]<br />Sloppy Joe Mix (various spices): Um ... I'll throw in $0.80. There was brown sugar, corn starch, and various spices - most of which are free - so I'll be generous and charge myself $0.80.]<br />Tomato paste: $0.50<br />1 cup of water: free<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total: $3.80/4 = $0.95</span><br /><br />Note: Each one of the containers holds enough for two sandwiches. So that's like $0.48 per sandwich! I bake my own bread and I've never honestly tried to sit down and calculate how much it is per slice of bread... Anyone want to take a stab at it?<br /><br />So, if we don't total in the cost of bread, the <span style="font-weight:bold;">total cost of 34 meals is $66.04</span>. Thanks to coupons and snagging good deals, I saved $12 on meat, $2 on cheese, $0.55 off of my soy milk and $.50 on my V-8 Splash (okay, so the V-8 and soy milk tech. doesn't count but whatever - it still adds up to $1.05 in savings!). KA-CHING!<br /><br />Until the next time, may your guinea pigs sleep through the afternoon without a temper tantrum!Serenityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10650101901884658415noreply@blogger.com0