31 March, 2008


All I've done for the past 48 hours is sleep and read Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis. Which is saying something, since reading puts me out like a light now. In college I could read four books at a time in the same week... Now I read fifty pages and lapse into a nap.

So I would read some of Lunar Park, wake up after realizing I had been asleep -- usually tipped off by the fact I was staring at the ceiling, my neck crooked over the top of the armchair I was sitting in and amid a nightmare about one of the stuffed animals I had as a child -- then immediately begin reading from the point at which I began sleeping.

And last night, even when I knew I was going to be down for a few hours, I crawled into bed but couldn't turn out the light. Both because I was compelled to keep reading, and because the novel was scaring the shit out of me.

The above simply translates to what I've already written in the title: Read Lunar Park!

PS: Though the ending is a little -- well, find out yourself (not being mean, you'll be glad you did) -- B.E. Ellis deserves insane praise for his amazingly well done matador-plunge between the shoulder bones of the memoir craze.

All is fiction.

"Memoir" should not have a shelf in bookstores or libraries. Neither should "nonfiction."

Ellis killed memoir. He killed nonfiction (for the too-many who somehow think there is such a thing). He kills (auto- and) biography, too: All the picture-painting turns of phrase we love from "nonfiction" are complete fabrications -- made up: fiction. Everything that makes "nonfiction" worth reading is the fiction in it.

Ellis is a killer, a murderer.

But he can rest easy that he is not akin to Patrick Bateman. Ellis kills out of mercy. He murders what never should have been allowed to live. ...What never really did (I could reference Lunar Park but think I hit something here and hope you will find out for yourself).

And he's done so with the master-stroke of Lunar Park.

This book received some bad press. Likely because Ellis killed modern-day gods. He slaughtered sections of bookstores and libraries -- dragged every single book in them out by their throats and slashed them.

Slaying hundreds of best-sellers is not a way to get one's book good reviews. Not by the fuckers who created memoir-hunger in the first place.

Now memoir never was. Ellis killed bullshit writing so that bullshit writing may prevail, billed as such.

Now the truth... The lies... The fiction... Can continue without hindrance.

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28 March, 2008


I was up until about 6:00 this morning, and was woken up at precisely noon by my pain. I'm trying not to use sleeping pills anymore, and to get into some sort of natural sleep pattern.

Unfortunately, for someone with chronic fatigue syndrome -- which goes with fibromyalgia like peanut butter does with chocolate... In a world where the two can never be separated, though -- my natural sleeping pattern is probably one of the worst things for me.

I used to take, nightly, 200mg Trazodone, a Sonata and a Remeron. Taking all these allowed me to determine what time I would go to sleep, and kept me in dreamland for about seven or eight hours. Since I have been in Lummox, however, I have used these sparingly... Usually when I am trying to correct a botched sleep from the night before, and to go to sleep at a reasonable hour.

Which means that, tonight, I plan on taking a handful of Traz and a Sonata at about 11:00 to get my ass back on track. In the meantime, I probably will have to drink a lot of green tea -- my favorite caffeine delivery system -- simply to stay awake until then. What is absolutely fabulous is that caffeine ensures that my anxiety will kick up like a tornado in the Dust Belt. And the amazing height of my generalized anxiety disorder, when it's fed caffeine like coal used to be to locomotives, ensures that not even 6mg of Klonopin will be able to topple it.

Getting by on a daily basis and not feeling like shit is amazingly difficult sometimes. Even most of the time...

But it is funny that all these problems have caused me to become extremely self-aware... Mindful, in new-new-age-speak.

So there's always some good in the bad...

What I probably should do is simply let my person do what it will: stop taking caffeine, never touch another sleeping pill. But that would cause problems... I'd be awake when most of the US is asleep, and taking naps throughout the day... A freaking wreck.

--So I take the above back. What I really should do is get new prescriptions for Traz and Sonata (the Remeron is pretty useless). Then I should be able to sleep when normal people sleep and be awake when normal people are awake... And when grocery stores, restaurants, etc. are open, which I need to be able to patronize to remain alive.

...What to do...

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27 March, 2008


Yesterday I called my disability examiner, and ended up talking to someone who was taking her calls for her. I was informed that my oh-so-helpful lawyers had not sent my examiner quite a bit of the paperwork she needs to make a determination re my case.

Every goddam time I call my lawyers I have to remind them that I have not lived in Washington, DC since the end of last September, and that I now live in Lummox, Jesusland.

So I told my caseworker's assistant, or whoever the hell I talked to, that my examiner needs form 1696 -- whatever that is -- and that she had not received the form listing the six-or-seven doctors I have seen since coming to Lummox.

Whoever I talked to at my lawyer's office informed me that they had not received the form listing my doctors and their contact numbers. I said this was impossible, since it was sent weeks prior to my call. I was then informed that "maybe it just hasn't been entered into the system yet since our computers were down for a few days."

Words like beautiful music...

But the assistant or whoever was kind enough to simply get my examiner's number and let me know she would call her immediately.

So maybe something is getting done.

But maybe not.

...The shite thing being that I never know what my caseworker has or has not done until and unless I call her.

If I didn't have fibro fog and could keep a thought in my head for more than a few minutes (I have to re-read what I've just written to be able to stay on-topic simply when I write these posts for crissake) I would fire my lawyer(s) and do the rest myself.

But I can't. And that's kinda the point... Part of the reason I'm seeking disability: cognitive memory disorder keeps me from being able to do just about anything for myself. The agony of fibro keeps me from doing the rest.

...Not that I'm all-too-down regarding my situation. The above is just a statement of facts. And I'm coming to grips with fibro and the limitations it puts on me so, though the above para. seems depressing, the matter I deal with ceases to get me down.

Ignorance is bliss.

...But the fucking pain is another thing...

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26 March, 2008


"Temporomandibular joint disorder (TMJD, TMJ or TMD), or TMJ syndrome, is an umbrella term covering acute or chronic inflammation of the temporomandibular joint, which connects the lower jaw to the skull. The disorder and resultant dysfunction can result in significant pain and impairment.


"Muscle pain can sometimes be associated with trigger points in muscle tissue. These trigger points can be localized by digital palpation, both intraorally and extraorally. This is known as myofascial pain syndrome."

The above is from Wikipedia.

Here is how I use my TENS (transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation) unit to help with my myofascial trigger points, which hurt like hell, curtail how wide I can open my mouth and cause me to bite down on my teeth extremely hard in my sleep, and probably grind them a bit (known as bruxism... One night I forgot to wear my bite block, which situates a plastic pad between my molars to keep them apart like parents would homicidal children riding in the back of the family van on a very long trip. In the morning I discovered that I had shattered my back-bottom-right molar into four pieces):

I place the two-inch-diameter electrodes (sticky pads) directly on my TMJ and turn up the juice. I electrocute the hell out of the joint for only about a minute every morning and night because I'm placing the electrodes right on my trigeminal nerve, which allows one to feel one's face (somewhat important... Even if one experiences only pain from it), and if I fuck that nerve up I'll end up looking like a stroke victim... But perhaps on both sides of my face.

I should note that all TENS units tell users specifically NOT TO DO THIS. Therefore, like just about anything else I do, I cannot recommend it to anyone else.

But oh sweet zombie jeebus how much it helps...

The trigger points remain painful to the touch, but I can open my mouth wider than I have been able to in years. The electrode-application seems to function as the most effective massage on earth. I probably would have to be massaged all day, just on my TMJ, to achieve the same results.

I'd rank the improvement in my facial pain from a 10/10 to a 4/10. Pretty damn amazing.

So I love my TENS unit dearly, even though it does absolutely nothing for any of my other trigger points or pains. The relief I get from my myofascial pain is enough to make me wish my TENS unit were a woman so I could marry her. What's more, I'd switch teams and marry it if it were a guy and we lived in Massachusetts. ...Well, as long as it (he) didn't have a mustache...

That written, DO NOT USE A TENS UNIT FOR TMJ OR MYOFASCIAL PAIN SYNDROME! (Following my motto, adapted from Gandhi: Cover the ass you want to see in the world.)

[It makes sense for the pain and anxiety scales to make a comeback now that I'm on 30mg of OxyContin and 6mg Klonopin:

Pain: 6.5/10.

Anxiety: 4/10.

I see Dr ML&S April 7, at which point I hope to have my Oxy dose increased, so my pain should decrease even more. At this point I will be treated, medically, as best as is possible. This will likely mean that my pain and anxiety will both be around 3.5/10. Still debilitating, but the best that can be done, and enough to make me happy. Ish.]

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25 March, 2008


I'll never talk to X again (or write her). This, after the e-mails I've previously posted, and then a phone call that was the most uncomfortable discussion in all of human history. (Slight exaggeration...)

I tried to be nice, but both X and I seemed to realize "there's nothing to save."

Neither of us will ever care or ever wonder what happens to the other for the rest of our days... I'm not sure exactly how much I can write about someone and be protected legally, so all I will write is that I went to high school with X, and the person she was then is not at all who she is now. The complete opposite, actually, and so into herself and the capitalist dream that I can't stand it anymore.

And there's the whole being-completely-misunderstood-by-her because she apparently didn't/doesn't care enough about me to Google "fibromyalgia" even once.

So that's that.

Your Ex-Lover Is Dead seems quite appropriate here:

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20 March, 2008


[The below is my response to an e-mail X sent me after the e-mail I sent to her, and previously posted.]

I truly didn't mean to cause a shitstorm here.

Anyway, my problems were never that I was abusing drugs -- my problems were fibro and everything that comes with it, plus under-treated generalized anxiety disorder.

Tons of shit comes with fibro... Likely everything you thought was caused by drugs.

But now I'm on 30mg OxyContin, 6mg Klonopin, 60mg Prozac daily -- just-about optimal treatment. The problem before was that I was not on the right drugs, nor the right dosages.

I am unbelievably better now and probably feel as good as I ever will (though my Oxy probably will get bumped up a bit).

If you thought I was having a drug problem, you should have brought it up... You would have found out that I haven't been on Percocet (drugs) since early January. I've had to do without any pain medication for months, and that has been the cause of all my problems. I even came close to offing myself...

And after going through all that, to be so misunderstood is incredibly hurtful. This is obviously the worst time in my life so far (and hopefully in my entire life), but we DO talk about you and your problems primarily.

Granted, I'm not incredibly forthcoming when it comes to mine... But shit -- can't you figure out that losing my life as I knew it was/is incredibly tumultuous? Did you really need me to spell it out?

And I'm sorry, but there are many times that you make me feel like the only reason you don't "lose ME" is because I am useful to you, in that I can predict what your douchbag ex was/is doing.

I don't want to "lose you." I just want you to get rid of the fucking fuck somehow...

So what I wrote was off the mark. I missed one out of 100. I apologize. I just wish the fucker was out of your life so we could talk about anything else but that thing that continues wasting the rest of the world's oxygen...

I didn't want to offend you, and I apologize for doing so.

But christ, can't you block his numbers? Can't you do SOMEthing more than what you're doing?

And I don't know why I seemed to go off today... My head feels strange now that it is clear. Or as clear as it ever has been since I have had fibro.

Maybe I was having a Woe-Is-Me moment for some reason and decided everyone else's problems are minuscule compared to mine and that I didn't have to be civil.

Probably the case, and I don't know why.

I apologize. ...And I know part of my behavior is that I'm almost as sick of your rat-fucker of an ex as you are...

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"Anyway, I'll write about what happens tomorrow at my shrink's. He's in a place that advertises itself as providing 'Christian Mental Health Services.' ...So hopefully I'm not taken off all drugs and told to simply pray away my anxiety (and fibro, for that matter, which could just be god's way of telling me I'm pissing him off with the atheism thing...)."

I wrote that yesterday. I apologize for being offensive -- though it was, of course, a gross exaggeration for humor's sake.

But was it funny?

I don't think of it as very funny today, after seeing Dr. Sweet at the place that offers "Christian Mental Health Services."

But Dr. Sweet did act differently from many psychiatrists I have been to: in that he listened, was empathetic, and really knew his stuff.

He took a history, trusted me, and put me back on 6mg of Klonopin. Ideal!

He also gave me a neurological test that, once again, proved that I have cognitive memory disorder. Or is it cognitive deficit disorder? ...Point made: I'm dumb now. I have what we fibromyalgians refer to as fibro fog.

My anxiety is down today thanks to Dr. Sweet. I spent only about 40 minutes with him, but he improved my life immensely in that time.

In the future he only wants to do med checks, which is the exact appropriate thing, but means I will see him in four months, if I still am in Lummox at that time. If I am not, I can only hope to find his doppelganger in Portland.

I apologize for my idiocy. And we know I'm not talking about the fibro fog on this score.

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[This response is to an e-mail from someone who got back from a vacation and e-mailed me to let me know that and a bit more. The "bit more" is explained below.]

I just got back from a walk, a shrink's appt. before that, and now I need a nap after a quick post to my blog, which I may just put off... Hulk tired.

Glad you're alive. Hope you had fun in Some Place You Visited.

Call the goddam cops on your ex and his whole fucking family already.

[This girl -- let's call her X -- is being kinda-stalked by her ex-boyfriend (receiving phone calls and text messages long after the relationship has been over, having told him she doesn't want to hear from him again, but getting the messages, etc. nonetheless... Still, she responds to the communications, even if only to say "stop it.") Wacko's sister is even in on the act, having invited X out to dinner a month ago just to ask her all the questions her nutty brother wanted answers to -- "seeing anyone," etc.

OK, let me amend "psudo-stalked" to Scary-Stalked Family-Style.]

...My guess is you don't because on some level you like the attention -- and especially the fact that you can drive someone absolutely batshit insane. (Though he was going to be that anyway, without you, sweetie pie -- sorry to write that it's not you... You were just there when he had his psychotic break...)

...So keep the game going, by all means.

...Apologies if the above seems crude, but I am an ass, after all, tired, in pain, excuses excuses.

...I'm going to be out tomorrow. Hanging out with Y, actually. ["Actually" because X knows Y.] She's the only person in Lummox I know besides Z... Good thing her musical taste is impeccable.

Later on I'll explain the magic of fibro fog to you, aka cognitive memory disorder. Basically, it's akin to having ADD... I can't recall what was said five minutes ago unless the context is explicitly re-discussed or I think about it for a while... And I mean think about it for about five minutes... The big test psychologists and shrinks give me, which I fail miserably, is that I cannot remember a list of things read to me -- one test was five things, the other only three shapes of different colors -- after having a conversation for five minutes.

Kick ass!

It's all new and wonderful... a sort of metamorphosis I have no problem dealing with... Or at least accept, as what cannot be escaped must be.

...And soon, disability and Portland. Dropping out of the workaday world for the rest of my life. This last has been a goal of mine for years, since I became enamored of socialism...

But is fibro too high a price to pay?

Before I was put on OxyContin, my answer would have been a definitive FUCK YES.

Now the jury is hung; dead... But probably was one hold-out away from returning a verdict of FUCK YES before being strung up.



PS: I thought I would take this opportunity to update you on my situation, though I'm sure you couldn't care less since all we talk about is you you you... I'm sorry that I'm too drained already, today, to be further wearied by tackling your problems.

...Please know the above is not meant to be mean, not anything against you, but only the statement of a fact both of us know.

PPS: I probably will post this to my blog, leaving out any details that could identify anyone discussed here because I'm fucking lazy and think posting my correspondence provides a good window into my heart of darkness...

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19 March, 2008


Now that I'm used to OxyContin (the side effects are gone, the pain relief is not and, I have every reason to believe, never will be), it's back to insomnia.

I'm seeing a new shrink tomorrow morning, so hopefully he writes me a script for Trazodone, 200mg of which allows me to sleep... Or has in the past, anyway... I haven't taken it in a while and antidepressant drugs have a funny way of not doing what they once did after they haven't been taken for a while, or after they've been taken for a few weeks or months.

Which is to write that drugs like Trazodone (an atypical antidepressant best used for insomnia) can crap out on you at any time. They're magical that way.

...Or maybe I can get my Klonopin back up to 6mg per day. Having a lot less anxiety would allow me to get much more sleep (8.5 hours is my personal requirement... It's what I needed -- and got -- almost every night before I had fibro).

Anyway, I'll write about what happens tomorrow at my shrink's. He's in a place that advertises itself as providing "Christian Mental Health Services." ...So hopefully I'm not taken off all drugs and told to simply pray away my anxiety (and fibro, for that matter, which could just be god's way of telling me I'm pissing him off with the atheism thing...).

Until then, enjoy Lover's Spit!

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Well, no more skating. I can’t stand the pain after falling more than a few times... And the slightest brush of a knee against a metal ledge when I miss a grind causes the joint to balloon (see prev. post).

So now I have to find another way to have fun.

Parkour? ...I need to find something that involves mortal danger (otherwise, where’s the excitement?), but causes less pain than busting my ass and knees from grinds...

Maybe I can get back into skiing... I’m hopefully about to move to Portland, near Mt. Hood and year-round skiing...

Of course, these are stupid fantasies. I haven’t come to accept the limitations fibro puts on my physical activity.

I must come to accept walking as the most strenuous activity I can do, and ten pounds as the most I can lift (no joke), and that with incredible pain.


Speaking of moving to Portland, I suppose my Social Security disability claim could be approved soon. Hopefully within a month, allowing me to move and once again live independently.

The waiting has become unbearable. The closer I come to being given disability benefits, the farther away it is in my sight.

...Days stretch like months... I watch the clock and urge it on but the hands move counterclockwise...

Which, naturally, makes me extremely anxious. A 10/10, as it always has been, or thereabouts, ever since I have had to live here in Lummox...

...Agony... Anxiety... Waiting...

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18 March, 2008


I don't even want to write anymore. I just want Social Security to pay out so I can get the hell out of here and resume my life.

There is nothing here... Nothing to do and no one doing anything themselves...

Everything good about me is rotting -- my goodwill toward all, my desire to do anything, my hope...

This place is a prison...

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14 March, 2008


For some of you, some of the time, when you load my blog cashmoneygrants.com will take over the page. If this is happening to you, please hit STOP when all the major pieces of the blog have appeared, as soon as they have appeared.

In the meantime, I'm going to see what actions, including legal actions, I can pursue against these sons of bitches.

I apologize for the inconvenience. Hopefully I can get these assholes out of my business quickly.

Thank you very much for your patience.

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Today I had my second-to-last physical therapy appointment. My therapist, who I refer to as Mary Cassatt, worked with my insurance and got me a TENS (Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation) unit for free. Love her -- which explains why she gets a great name and people like Dr. Douchebag get names like Dr. Douchebag (those who follow this blog will know that he's the shrink who cut my Klonopin dose from 6mg to 4mg per day before he knew anything about my case. I've been super-anxious ever since he did that, and he doesn't care one bit. What a fucking douchebag...).

So I'm about to watch TV and electrocute the hell out of myself for the rest of the night. Should be fun!

...I'm also definitely getting used to the 30mg of OxyContin per day that I'm on. Yesterday (or today, to nitpick) I went to sleep at about 2:00 and woke at 10:00. Not bad. And I didn't feel like I had to dive under my bed's covers at 8:00 pm like I have every preceding day this week. Good stuff!

And today I don't feel tired or apathetic at all, plus I'm not getting motion sickness. Pretty sweet!

So I currently use only Oxy, Klonopin, Prozac, and a TENS unit to control my pain (from fibro) and generalized anxiety disorder (which is really, left unchecked, a 24/7 panic attack). And I think I may as well drop the Prozac. But I'll probably have to wait to get out of my parents' house to do that, since they figure I may as well take it since it may be doing something and it's cheap because I get the generic: fluoxetine.

But, the Prozac, I am all but sure, is doing nothing. Studies show that antidepressants are only slightly better than placebos. ...And I've been on every SSRI, SNRI, Gabitril, et al, and none of them helped. I have always needed Klonopin, and have been on large doses of benzodiazepines since age eighteen. It's the only thing that works for my anxiety at all and, therefore, the only thing I truly believe I should be taking for it.

So after all the crap with all my doctors -- I've seen about fifteen in all for my fibro -- I'm simply going to be on Klonopin, OxyContin, and use a TENS unit.

Very, very simple. The doctors I see and have seen, of course, had to make it as fucking hard as possible for me to get to this point -- trying probably around thirty drugs in all that didn't work, under-treating my pain and anxiety while doing so (except for Dr. L in DC. Guy is a genius, and provided me with the most stable period of my life by taking such good care of my GAD in my pre-fibro days).

To wrap things up: I have known for years that all I truly need are OxyContin and Klonopin. But it has taken years to get down to just these two (after I wean myself off Prozac/fluoxetine).

Most doctors do not listen. And most have their favorite therapies. And most hate to prescribe their patients Oxy and Klonopin because they're potentially addictive and can induce tolerance.


Doctors need to wake the hell up to the above reality.

Now for some electrocution!

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13 March, 2008


The thing is...

The thing is...

Are you listening?!

Writing inebriated is a strange thing. Your thoughts seem so clear and, finally, unconfused that you want to crawl on top of whatever roof you're living under and proclaim the immutible truths of the universe so at least your neighbors can hear... Or the security guards in your building can...

Of course, then you have to jump a fence and hide, crouched on hot, black tar that sticks to the soles of your shoes, sometimes getting weirdly close to edges but not being afraid, laughing at the state of the world.

All you want to say is that every care you've ever had is not worth it.

And anyone that chases you is doubly ridiculous -- caring about the careless.


Before I had fibro I would get drunk and sit on the corner of my apartment building's rooftop, looking down at the cars on Embassy Row, wondering how I was there...

How did I end up in DC?

Cherche la femme and lose her...

...I would sit and drink an Anchor Steam, my legs hanging off to 10 stories down and simply wonder what moved all the people in all those cars to do what they did.

Certainly unhappiness... The scare of death?

I imagined they must be running here or there and not quite of their own volition...

I imagined myself the only one in touch with life and how to live it...

Of course wrong and stupid.

But all things are in drink and good because.

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Still getting used to OxyContin... Though maybe a bit less tired, overall, today. Then again, I usually don't feel like I have to totally crash until 8:00, on the nose. If I do go to sleep then, I wake at midnight and can't get back to sleep until 4:00 or 5:00, then sleep until about noon.

...While I remain useless, please enjoy No I In Threesome:

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12 March, 2008


I am so very tired...

Especially after going crazy in physical therapy. I am in pain, having a bit of a panic attack, and need some Klonopin and a nap.

Which is what's I'm going to take and what I'm going to do.

I should be accustomed to this side-effect (feeling logy) in a week or so.

In the meantime, this blog could be a bit boring, I'm afraid. But the excitement should return around Sunday.

In the meantime, I'll post what I can and try to make it interesting...

Hopefully I have interesting dreams while I sleep the clock around...

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11 March, 2008


I couldn’t post yesterday because my server was down. So here’s what happened yesterday:

I had to fill out new forms for my lawyers who only now are getting around to processing my change of address. ...I guess this is what happens when you hire a big firm and they switch your caseworker one billion times on you: Important things are shunted into the memory Hole. (Note to self: I’ve used “Memory Hole” too much lately.)

So I had to fill in a form to let my current caseworker know that she needs to check out my six new doctors -- my psychologist, my neuropsychologist, my GP, my pain management specialist, my psychiatrist and my physical therapist.

So the ball is rolling in Jesusland... But that ball feels a lot like the boulder Sisyphus rolls...

Also, I’ve been taking 30mg OxyContin daily, and have yet to adjust to its side-effects. namely, I get motion sickness from being in a car for two minutes and constantly feel tired.

This, too, shall pass.

Also (I’m wicked-awesome at transitions...), I’m finishing Dante’s Inferno today. It has failed to bring me back into the Catholic fold because the people he finds in hell who are punished harshly are the people he, personally, hates the most.

So this atheist, apparently, is only going to hell if Dante is my judge, and finds my character unbecoming...

It would seem I will end up with the Virtuous Pagans. In which case, the Citadel provides all the light I will need.

...Then again, I’ve had freaky sex (“freaky” in Dante’s view, includes oral and probably any position but missionary), so I suppose I could be cast about with the Sodomites. But, then, Dante put three of his favorite writers in with the Sodomites, and writes that their fate seems not-too harsh. ...And is the only person to ever suggest that these persons were Sodomites.

It seems to me that, before he took a break in writing the Inferno, Dante would have cast them in with the Virtuous Pagans, if not placed them in Purgatory, had he not wanted to talk to them so badly.

So my afterlife, according to Dante, should not be so bad... At least I’m not one of his hated popes. Then again, he judges everyone but the Florentines to be incredibly sinful people... But it should serve me well that I am not from any of the Italian places he names that are full of nothing but Grafters, etc.

Which brings me to this larger point: All religious people would place in Hell those they, personally, detest.

Leave it to divine judgment and shut the fuck up, people!

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09 March, 2008


I went skating today. The first pic is my left knee, the second is my right:

Note how the left is already so swollen my patella is almost hard to make out.

I went for a disaster torque (grind): I went down a mini-ramp, jumped off a three-foot-high launch, and I actually had the trick -- on a ledge five-and-a-half-ish feet in the air, balanced between the third and fourth wheel of my frame and on my tweaked left boot. Then... Well, something happened.

I don't think it sunk in that I actually had the grind. It was stupid of me to try it in the first place because it was my second time out in two years... But a bunch of grommets were blocking the fun box and I had grown sick of running into and then yelling at them.

So when I came to the end of the ledge I didn't know how to land -- forward, backward? What if I just let things sort themselves out and drop straight down onto my knee and bash the smaller ledge below?

...The latter is what I went with.

...So the above makes it a good time to talk about how the OxyContin is working (I started taking it today because I was a little excited). I've taken two pills today, 10mg each (and have found out that taking 10mg of OxyContin means taking only about 8mg to 9mg of oxycodone over a period of time), and things seem to be well. I take another at bedtime. I may not have to take as much oxycodone in the time-release preparation because it provides round-the-clock relief. I won't be building up a massive migraine in my sleep every night...

However, the lower dose of oxycodone means that my IBS is... er, causing problems... (I promise never to discuss IBS in any detail.) But my pain is still about a 6/10... Unless you count my damaged knee and how it feels...

...Well, then I guess my pain would be a 6/10 nevertheless. Fibro puts one in such a state of pain that, as I've told many doctors, I'm sure I could take a bullet in the gut and hardly give a shit. ...The positive spin is that I would actually be able to drive myself to the ER with one hand and hold in my intestines with the other.

So I suppose my point, then, is rather well illustrated: Whatever I did to my knee to make it balloon like it has did not increased my pain one iota. It's simply impossible to bend the fucker.

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08 March, 2008


My apologies for not posting in a while. I spent the past few days at my younger brother's and couldn't post because it would have been rude.

So now I'm very tired and about to nap, sitting here, upright.

But I felt the need to write that I have been prescribed OxyContin, and look forward to starting taking it because I believe it is likely to be the best way to manage my pain. I'm going to start taking Oxy Monday because I'm going to go to the local skate park tomorrow. My pain is that much more tolerable, and my life that much better, that I can resume the activity that, after writing and sex, gives my life purpose!

...It's important to note, here, that doctors will tell you that narcotics will turn you into a zombie who never will leave his/her couch.

More bullshit(which is all you should expect to hear when a doctor talks about narcotic/opiate analgesics). When you take someone's pain level down to a tolerable level, they can stop being a zombie, get off the couch and do what they will. Before treatment the person was in too much pain to be able to move much. You take away the pain, you take away the impetus behind the person's near-immobility.

...I'm going to be taking 10mg pills every eight hours, so the dosing is more convenient... Better than taking five Percocets every three hours and fifteen minutes, anyway.

I just hope me taking 10mg of OxyContin doesn't mean I'll only be getting 30mg of oxycodone per day. That would seem to be a step back in my treatment, since I currently take 50mg of oxycodone per day.

Of course, you'll be able to read all about how well things go this week. But I'm cautiously optimistic!

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05 March, 2008


My Internet connection is going to crap out at any second. This is my third try on this browser (sixth overall) to bring you The Go! Team: The Wrath of Marcie.


I'll write when I can be sure what I put up won't go down the Internet Memory Hole.

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04 March, 2008


I got a call today: My drug test came back quickly, and I'm clean... But for the oxycodone, of course.

Much rejoicing...

Dr ML&S will see me Friday, at which point I'll discuss upping my dose, and taking straight oxy instead of Percocet, which has Tylenol. Right now I take five pills a day, 10mg oxy, 325mg APAP (aka Tylenol) per pill. Fibromylagia is a disorder one has for one's entire life, incurable as of this writing (and I'm not holding my breath for one...).

So I need to be on oxycodone for the rest of my life. But here's the trick: Most doctors give you oxycodone or morphine or whatever in a preparation like Vicodin, Percocet, and on because they want to be able to catch you overdosing -- or at least catch you taking more than they had prescribed.

Here's how it's done: by prescribing oxycodone, morphine, etc pills that contain Tylenol/APAP. Four grams of Tylenol is an overdose. The whites of your eyes will turn yellow as my clean piss and you'll get liver damage for the rest of your life if you take more than that. And doctors definitely don't want you taking more than is prescribed.

So, daily I'm ingesting 1,625mg of APAP so my doctor can be sure that I won't take a megadose of oxy.

Why would I? I have a certain number of pills for a set number of days. If I take more one day I screw myself the next. And I think it's been established that I do not like pain, and so avoid it or, perhaps more accurately, elide it as much as is possible. I do so, now, by taking five Percs a day.

I would like to be prescribed oxycodone, nothing but, because APAP is worse for you than the oxy. In fact, taking APAP daily for the remainder of my life is bound to eventually compromise my liver.

Also, to purify my pills and take nothing but oxy I would only have to perform a simple cold-water extraction of it from pulverized Percs, five times daily. In fact, if I am to be prescribe nothing but Percocet, I plan on performing cold-water extractions of it to help my liver out.

(Google "cold-water extraction" and vicodin or percocet to know how this is done... But I can't recommend that everyone or even anyone do this because I don't want some fucker suing me because they are able to take an oxy overdose after performing extractions. And Tylenol does prevent that. But in this awful way: You'll die from a Tylenol overdose well before you'll die from having taken too much oxy.)

Of course, doctors will tell you that the APAP enhances the effects of oxy, so you have to take less of the narcotic itself. Pure bullshit. Narcotics come with APAP so doctors can easily know if you've tried to take too much of what you've been prescribed.

...And the "easy way" will land you in the emergency room, and you'll be lucky to live through your APAP overdose. Better you had OD-ed on oxy. Far easier to survive, and no permanent damage done to any of your organs, most likely.

(I do not endorse the taking of oxycodone by anyone but me. Is my ass covered now?)

The truth is that opiates/opioids are the safest drugs to take. If you take too much you'll fall asleep -- the only "negative" effect. However, if you're trying to kill yourself, I suppose it's a great way to go. You'll get high as Stalin was on power and syphilis -- unless you suffer from chronic pain and, therefore, can never get high off pain medication -- and die from respiratory depression.

But I have no idea how much oxy that takes. I would guess approximately one assload.

...And anecdotal evidence shows that heroin addicts live a damn long time. Their shit can be cut with strychnine and it's apparently safer than Tylenol.

...Was all the above simply a way to justify what will be my reasonable request for 30 more milligrams of oxy when I see Dr ML&S Friday, and to not have the oxy coupled with APAP? Why do I feel the need to justify it at all?

In any case, I hope I, at least, spread some pro-narc pro-propaganda...

I hope to write about my progress in physical therapy tomorrow... But if you've been following this blog, you know I often plan on writing about something and then get completely sidetracked.

Nothing like a good tangent... (And a good tangent, in my eyes, is any one that doesn't involve trigonometry.)

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03 March, 2008


I wrote a letter to Dr ML&S, delivered it this morning, and was taking another piss test this afternoon.

If this one shows up clean -- and I have every reason to believe it will -- he will continue to see me, and to prescribe Percocet.


I would transcribe the note for you, but I don't have it. I believe it's now part of my chart at Lummox Family Medical (too lazy to see if that's consistent nomenclature for where I go to see Dr 9 and ML&S).

But what had pissed off Dr ML&S most about my previous test is that he thought I lied to him. I was honest when I said I had ganked a morphine from I won't say who, but didn't tell him I smoked weed.

...I didn't because I don't. So the letter I wrote described to him why I didn't tell him THC would show up in my piss: it didn't occur to me that it would or even could.

I also made sure to let him know that he saved my life, literally, because I was seriously contemplating suicide before he wrote the Percocet prescription. I also let him know of my incredible improvement in physical therapy.

So he's a great guy for letting me take another test. This results of this one should come back to me in two days. Then, when all is well, I will see the doc on Friday, at which point we'll discuss my situation since I saw him last. I plan on asking for 20mg more of oxycodone -- and to ask for it straight up -- without the added Tylenol. Since I'm going to need oxy the rest of my life, the last thing I need is APAP eating away at my stomach and liver.

So all should be well!

...What a freaking relief...

[Pain: 5/5.

Anxiety: 7/10.

And if you're visiting this site after being redirected from Wordpress: Welcome! Hope you like the new digs!]

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I just installed a tool called Snap Shots that enhances links with visual previews of the destination site, interactive excerpts of Wikipedia articles, MySpace profiles, IMDb profiles and Amazon products, display inline videos, RSS, MP3s, photos, stock charts and more.

Sometimes Snap Shots will bring you the information you need, without your having to leave the site, while other times it lets you "look ahead," so you can decide if you want to follow a link or not.

If the snaps annoy you, just click the Options icon in the upper right corner of the Snap Shot and opt-out.

I hope this service is useful to everyone -- but please opt-out if it bugs you.

Also, please let me know in Comments if there are any services you think would further enhance this site, or if anything about the layout bugs you.

Thanks all!

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02 March, 2008


I used to have such a thirst for alcohol that I would get drunk on Thursdays and always be horribly hungover at work on Fridays because I had stayed up until the wee hours the night before because it took me quite a while to get drunk.

In my search for a way to ease my fibro I ended up on Mirapex, and about a month into taking mega-doses I no longer wanted to drink.

...Well, I wouldn't be shaking for 5:30 to come on Fridays, anyway.

Today I have swallowed about three liters of wine just to see if I can, in fact, get drunk. It would seem I cannot. ...And I'm not even weird on it, though it's matched with 50mg oxycodone (through Percocet) and 4mg Klonopin.

I didn't sign up for this... Apparently Mirapex changed my brain and did so, perhaps, for the rest of my life. I haven't taken the stuff for months, but still have no thirst for the drink. Last week when I was in such pain that all I wanted to do was die I couldn't even make myself swallow enough vodka to make a difference. Maybe there isn't an amount of vodka that would make a difference.

I simply slept well the night I drank vodka... And woke the next to find two fingers in the bottom of a fifth.

Strange thoughts on this strange day...

...If you think you have a problem with the bottle, ask your doc about Mirapex. I believe it's supposed to allow your brain to produce more dopamine... Or somehow make more dopamine available to your dope-loving brain. Either/or/and.

All I have now is a headache because it's been a while since I've taken a Percocet, and I'm going to have to take 50mg of Trazodone and a Sonata to get to sleep just so I can get the sleeping over with, it can be another day, and I can have more Percocet... I only get five a day and make myself stick to it.

...But what about Tylenol etc and liver damage (I take five Percs a day, 10mg oxycodone/325mg APAP)? Three-twenty-and-five multiplied by five is 1,625mg of Tylenol. Four grams is an overdose. And the wine must be taxing my liver like Paul did Jews before he had a seizure and founded christianity.

...I've been taking a multivitamin and a strong B-complex tab ever since I was put on legal dopes at eighteen years old, and I get a liver enzyme test at least once a year, and my largest internal organ is just fine. Pristine. Begging for more.

And now I have pared down my drug diet to three meds I know and love, which should save my delicious liver some trouble: I take only Prozac, Klonopin and Percocet. I need nothing else (well, except for Trazodone and Sonata so I can get to sleep)... In fact, if Prozac wasn't available in a generic formulation, I'd drop that too. But the drug reminds me of my college years, is relatively cheap, and so it stays.

...When my rationality and my sentimentality collide, the latter wins almost every time.

...I will forever keep a quilt that was my older brother's that has bled all its stuffing and a brain that spews dopamine like a busted fire hydrant... But I'm unable to splash in the middle of the road in the late-July of a humid Washington D.C.

I'm unable to get drunk.

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