Yes, I've changed my journal style...I'm going for something happier now, and something easier to read. The other one was, if you'll permit me to adopt my AVPM Draco Malfoy voice, "totally awesome," but it was a little...painful on the eyeballs. And this one has orange. I like orange. It's very happy.
Okay, no point to this but to remind the interwebs that I'm still alive. So hi, interwebs, I'm still alive. Yay!
I haven't been here in forever! *Looks around* Woa!
I've had an...interesting time these past weeks. The musical I was in turned out freakin' great, which it should have considering the extra-long everyday rehearsals, and the enormous orange wig that had to be secured with a pack and a half of bobby pins. Now I have time to stretch and train like an Olympic medalist to have a shot at getting into the Advanced Ballet class next year...whoosh! This had better work!
My stomach's been okay-ish for the most part. It still protests, just to keep me on my toes, but I can function (knock on wood!). It seems the side effects to one of the meds I'm taking actually might make the problem worse...so we'll have to play with dosage for a while. Sigh. But really, there isn't anything too bad to complain about.
Oh yes, and sitting alone in the middle of three couples is extraordinarily awkward, even when you're all watching Disney movies and have to belt out all the songs. But it was fun!
Mmff. Don't pay any attention to me. I'm...happy. Really. Not thrilled or anything, but I'm fine. Just feeling sorry for myself, in an eye-rollingly-cliched example of my age group. But I'll cheer up. It's kind of nice not to have to be rushing around everywhere, at least for a little while.
Now's the time to relax and read books and write and bake things that contain lots of sugar.
Sounds good to me. :)
I mean it.
Look. Okay. There's an "Open Mic" (you DO have to sign up ahead of time) in town for people my age. It's the first Friday of every month during the school year. And last year, I went to all but one and sang at half of them.
This year, however, has been a freaking series of unfortunate events book.
Why? Well, because of this absolutely positively hideous irritating irrational over-long self-destroying frustrating unfair inescapable inconvenient awful SICKNESS!
Three months ago, I had to cancel because I was sick. Two months ago, I didn't get to the sign-ups in time. Last month, the open mic was canceled for snow. And this month, this *exercises award-worthy self control to keep from swearing* month when I thought finally I'd be able to sing, when I'd be able to have ONE NIGHT when I got to show off and to be with my friends and to NOT THINK ABOUT ANYTHING BUT WHAT I WANT T
BECAUSE I'M SICK AGAIN!
I had to miss half my classes, which sucked, but as it was the first day of the second semester I wasn't TOO worried about it. But NOOO. And when I attempted to sleep of the nausea- which sort of worked- I managed somehow in the hour and a half I spent resting to give myself a swollen, scratchy throat, which completely destroyed any vestige of musical ability I had left.
I ALREADY WAS GOING TO HAVE TO BACK OUT T
Hot water and honey did absolutely nothing for either issue. Nor did a shower or covering my head with a towel and inhaling steam.
This is so...freaking...unfair.
I know I sound like a spoiled child, and compared to many I suppose I am, but considering the past SIX MONTHS I do believe I have a right to my immaturity.
At the risk of being clichéd, FML.
Bonjour mes amis!
Ahhh. I see you there, surprised at me. "Who's this chick?" you think, and then: "Ohhhhhh. Her. I thought she'd fallen off a cliff and been trampled by stampeding wildebeest."
On that note, I've finally succeeded in teaching myself the beginning to "Circle of Life" from The Lion King, and sing it at the top of my lungs (because you HAVE to sing it at the top of your lungs) whenever I can find the opportunity.
Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba!
Sithi uhm ingonyama
Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!
Sithi uhhmm ingonyama
Ingonyama nengw' enamabala
As for my stomach? Well. I'd thought we were getting along pretty well, thanks to some take-on-the-spot-immediate-relief pills I'd been issued...that is, until we thought to ask WHY there were only half of the ordered pills in the bottle.
My insurance company has refused to pay for them.
Yep. Just when I'd found something that might make this manageable, those...freamblating...people...sent out a letter informing me that they'd no longer pay for that medication. Oh, unless I got cancer and had to go through chemotherapy. I'm just not sick enough for them.
I feel very much like marching up to them and shoving my problems in their face, especially after yesterday. Why yesterday? Because, my dear reader, yesterday was awful.
Not only did I get as sick as I'd been over the summer, when this whole mess solidified, but I managed to (1) do so during school, which is a bad, uncomfortable, embarrassing place to fall ill; (2), miss more than half of the day, which means that I now have no knowledge of important subjects, and a week before midterms, too; and (3) miss a Star Wars party, which I had been looking forward to for a while (c'mon, it's Star Wars AND a social life ALL IN ONE! WOW!).
Managed to extract another medication from the briar patch, but it makes me terribly sleepy- one dose and I'm out for the next eight hours. NOT what I need on my schedule. And I'd have to take it three times a day, a half-hour before meals. Hm. Right. I'll eat while I'm sleeping.
Read any good books lately?
I have just, in the interest of finding other Felicity/Ben captioned comics and pictures, googled "Felicity Ben American Girl Captions."
The first link is to Fanfiction.net.
The summary to my Benicity fanfic, "Inevitable Predictability," is quoted beneath the link.
Let me repeat that.
MY FANFIC is QUOTED on the FIRST RESULT on GOOGLE!
I am in the happiest state of shock I've known since I got an 100 on my first Physics exam.
I can't even articulate properly.
Well, well, well.
What have we here.
I wish I could tell you that everything was fine, but unfortunately...okay, I can still TELL you that, but I'd be lying. And that would kind of be a jerky thing to do.
I'm trying out a couple of different things, now, to help me. Emotionally, not physically, because while the nausea and cramping is still there, I've got a month left to go on the trial run of the main med I'm currently on. Oh, and I'm switching doctors and GI specialists, because my current ones are, respectively, useless and disorganized. So that should delay everything for a while. Yay.
No, this is different. I've gone in for two rounds of biofeedback, with a very nice woman and a very comfortable chair, and it has calmed me down, but only for the duration of the time that I'm actually thinking about it. And it's 45 minutes away, so not practical for my schedule. That's gone, then.
I'm looking for someone to talk to. Someone uninvolved, someone whose reactions I won't have to worry about. I'm horrible at opening up to the friends I see every day; for one thing, I've never had something awful enough to need opening up before, and for another, it's always been my preference to deal with my problems on my own. Emotional problems, especially. They're a bit of a new experience for me these past months, especially as things get darker and colder (I HATE being cold, and I always seem to be so, no matter how many shirts I wear- even if I wear long underwear!) and this whole issue continues to be unsolved.
I'm looking for a nutritionist, because I want to know exactly what I can eat, when. I'm gaining weight around my middle, but more than that I'm seriously concerned about the food that I am eating; I know it's not healthy. White bread, mostly, and sometimes apples or a bit of vegetable. Before all this I had a pretty healthful diet; not to say that I denied myself popcorn or chocolate or cake, but for the main meals I would lean towards whole grains, fruits, things like broccoli. I know, I'm a freak, but I really like raw broccoli and raw spinach.
Now everything I eat becomes a war between it and my stomach, leaving me feeling bloated and awful. I don't have time for this. I need this to get better NOW. For my health, both kinds.
I'm so much more...fragile. I cry far more than I'm used to, and more than I should be. I look at everything that I can't do or eat and, while I know this is poisonous thinking, it discourages me. I should be looking ahead, realizing what I CAN do and be happy, but that's becoming increasingly difficult as time wears on.
The holidays are coming up soon. That will be a real challenge. All that lovely, warm, delicious comfort food that I can't eat. If I were losing the bit of weight that I've gained (oh yeah, that is another thing- I've never, ever, ever worried about my weight before) by this denial, I'd feel a smidgen better, but the opposite is true. Doesn't seem fair.
Doesn't seem right.
AAAANNNDDD SHEEEEEEE’SSS ALLLIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
My fanfiction is still embarrassingly un-updated, but I shall try to get past that. For I have NEWS!
Which, as we all know, are the best things in the world beside chocolate cake. Chocolate lava cake, piping hot with vanilla ice cream on the side. Mmmmm.
A friend of mine had the idea to do (wait for it) PRINCESS BRIDE for Halloween!*
Okay, okay, not THAT novel. But still. It's epic. He's the Dread Pirate Roberts (/Westley/Farm Boy/The Man In Black), and he found someone to be Inigo (Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die), and I'm Buttercup. (Buttercup doesn't really have an awesome quote or defining characteristic. But she's part of Princess Bride, and she's funny when she gets all dramatic. So there.)
Now, the problem is that I don't have a costume. And this isn't a matter of finding a random reddish dress and strutting around for a while. No. Because I cannot do any costume (if you'll pardon my French) half-assed. Really. I can't. That part of my brain was surgically removed at birth for a top-secret government project. It's a challenge to cope with sometimes, but I manage.
THAT means, then that when searches of Goodwill, Party City, and various other stores did not turn up either (a) the perfect dress (which I hadn't expected to find) or (b) a dress that could be reasonably modified to work, I needs must CREATE IT ALL FROM SCRATCH!
Let me repeat that.
CREATE IT ALL FROM SCRATCH!
Now, it's not as if I've never picked up a needle. I like to refashion clothing, costumes, T-shirts. But most of that is a simple job that can be carried out with a pair of scissors, a couple of safety pins, and maybe one or two small stitches here and there. The dress that Buttercup wears for the longest time and for her most important scenes, however, is a whole 'nother category.
Oh, it was fairly simple to begin with, and I've managed to simplify it further. You see, this Sunday I took an old bridesmaid dress I'd gotten from a thrift store, some extensive research, and two full-size bedsheets and basted together a "rough draft" of what the gown should look like. I'm quite proud of it, actually. I still have to figure out how to do the collar, but the rest of it turned out very nice.
Today, then, it's (hopefully) to the fabric store, and then a rather more careful measuring and sketching job than went into the first copy. This has to be finished by Friday- Thursday night, really. I also have to decide whether or not to buy a blonde wig, because my hair is short-ish and somewhere between brown and blonde, so it won't look awful, but on the other hand a large portion of the book is spent describing Buttercup so I figure I'd better get that right. But the only wigs that I can afford are cheap and fake-looking.
It's a perfectionist thing.
Anyway, I'm incredibly psyched and incredibly holy-iocane-powder-I've-only-got-four-da
*Until about a week ago, I was going to be a 1920's/1930's newspaper boy. That was an awesome costume, also, and luckily my brother thought it was cool and decided to agree to
tolerate my prodding and over-enthusiasm let me help him with it.
'Twould be nice to get better. Methinks this ailment has gone on too long. And every day, it seems, brings another of my mother's friends with a new theory on what exactly it is that I have. At this point I hardly care what drugs I have to take, as long as they work.
I would SO like something to work.