So I am incontinent now.
It just oozes out of me when it pleases. Doesn’t even wait for me to go to sleep any more. Containment has been lost .
Guess I should be calling the hospital and asking whether I should be going back in.
And I will. Real soon now.
But going back in will be a disruption and a drag, so I need to work up to it.
Probably do it tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.
No sign of my new keyboard yet. So typing via clicking persists .
Hopefully it will show up soon.
More after the break.
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog
Hallelujah, he is risen. The new extremely unfancy basic black keyboard I got off of Amazon Basics is working just fine so far, so I am back in business.
Went three whole days without being able to type (and hence blog) properly, and it was hell. I need to blog It’s a biological imperative for me now. All these thoughts and ideas and emotions and so on must be vented (at least in part) or my brain overloads and I become a much less happy Fru.
So woohoo, it is good to be back, baby.
Now what have I been up to?
Oh right, shitting the bed.
That seems to be over for now. The last time it happened was a lulu. Stuff just kept coming out of me and I had to use a ton of Kleenex and other highly unfortunate bits of paper that happened to be there in order to staunch the flow.
A little still made it to my bed but it could have been SO MUCH WORSE.
I tried the “plug the leaking dyke” method at first but that was insufficient because more kept coming out of me in extremely involuntary waves.
So instead, I just pretended I had just “gone” and wiped hard.
These are the traumatic and humiliating details of my life. Pooping the bed in mny sleep. Getting crazy dizzy when I stand up. Having to get Julian to bring me things from the kitchen because going and getting them myself hurts so bad.
And like I have said before, I am not sure I can handle being this dependent on others, ler alone imposing on them so much.
That makes it a sort of double whammy of trust issues and fear of abandonment.
A deep part of my basic programming insists that if I ask too much of people or make the mistake of relying on them being there when I need them. they will decide I am more trouble than I am worth and leave me forever.
That if I am not super careful with this narrow window or opportunity created by my wit, charm, charisma, and so forth, whatever spell I can cast that makes people temporarily forget what a horrible person I am will be broken and they will see the real me.
And the real me is enough to make a saint run for the hills
I know that none of that is true. That the extremely dark picture my childhood memories paint of people’s willingness to tolerate me is an obscenity and cruelly inaccurate.
But the feelings are still there. And I am so scared that the sicker I get. the closer I get to being far more trouble than I am worth.
And then I will truly be all alone.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.
O wait, I’m not done yet.
I got like 400 words to go. technically.
What the hell, it’s not like I have anything better to do.
The word of the day is ARGH!!!!
This just happened : I moved on my bed and that nudged a thing which nudged another thing that nudged another thing and that caused my 2/3 full glass of Decaf Diet Coke to go splashing all over me and onto the floor.
Nothing like the shock of a sudden cold-ish splash of fluid to really hammer home the sheer slapstick futility of me miserable goddamned existence.
Because shit like this just keeps happening and it’s driving me up the wall. I try so hard to be careful and patient and yet my world remains boobytrapped everywhere and the only form of security I know these days is to lie in bed doing absolutely nothing.
Maybe reading or using my tablet. But that’s it.
And I know it’s because my spinal damage is making me spastic. I twitch and tremble and twist and flail so fast that I don’t consciously register it and so to me, subjectively, it seems like shit just flies out of my hands, falls over, falls apart, or otherwise is a victim of the non stop entropy show that is my life.
And there’s not a goddamned thing I can do about it. It’s just going to keep happening in new and inventive ways all the fucking time and all I can do is take it because it is beyond my conscious control yet I still wish to interact with my environs so I just have to take whatever brutal humiliations life has in store for me.
And it’s not hard to see the writing on the wall. Unless the Spine Team can fix me up, I will just keep getting more and more spastic and feeble until I am just a useless twitching slab of meat on a gurney in some back ward somewhere spending all day wishing I had killed myself while I still could.
Ain’t that a pretty picture, kids?
So it’s no surprise that I have been pretty depressed lately. I can’t say y life prospects seem real good right now and the future is someplace I don’t wanna be.
So all I can do is keepo plugging along in the home that dawn is still coming and with it will come hope, joy, and something resembling a life.
Guess I should have gotten my life started while I still could.
Oh that’s right. I couldn’t. Because I’m crazy.
Well that takes care of that, then,
I will still talk to you nice people again tomorrow.