handful_ofdust (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
handful_ofdust) wrote2008-08-21 04:41 pm
handful_ofdust) wrote2008-08-21 04:41 pm
Brief Catch-Up
So...I guess I should probably mention that I'm going to be "at" the Rue Morgue Festival of Fear (for one panel). It's the "Literary Horror Round-table", and it's at 5:00 PM on Saturday the 23rd in Room #713B. I'll bring along copies of everything I've currently got to bring along. See you there, maybe.
Meanwhile, if I sound a bit depressed, it's frankly because I am. Though I'm finally, officially over the last of the seeg, I still haven't been able to write much of anything except bits and pieces of poetry (which I don't think I'll be posting here anymore, for professional reasons), while August is A) almost over and B) filling up fast. I've also just learned that Cal does have yeast, so we'll have to further restrict his diet in ways which control Candida--this necessitates adding a whole lot of various new bullshit to an already-difficult routine, plus having to soon go up to back o' beyond to spend money we don't have on supplements and drugs. On the one hand, the IBI does seem to be helping somewhat, but on the other, it's exacerbating the same behaviors we're trying to modify to a virtual fever-pitch; Jesus God, if I ever meet the people who composed the Little Einsteins theme, I'm going to punch them right in the face. And whatever: I'm fat, anhedonic and tired, boo fucking hoo, poor me. Much as I know the immediacy of what I'm feeling right now is most probably hormonal, it's pretty exhausting nonetheless.
What it all boils down to is that (not-so-)suddenly, I find myself permanently trapped in a jobless, anticreative, time-eating role as chief enabler and handler to a child whose future, personal charm aside, often seems rather grim. Mom tells me not to project, and I nod, smiling politely; I constantly strive to be less selfish, less self-obsessed. To let go of the fact that I don't get to shower most of the time, that my whole life is about an endless roundelay of quotidian chores done half-assedly at best, that I can't concentrate enough to enjoy things which might distract me from the rest of this crap. That I never see friends, that I know damn well I'm really boring to be with, and that if I tell people what I'm actually thinking, they'll (quite rightly) avoid me.
And: It makes me want to get on a treadmill and run 'til I puke. It makes me want to drink. It makes me want to walk out the door one afternoon while Cal's sleeping, and never come back. Etcetera.
Not that I'm going to do any of the above, obviously...
So. Feel free to ignore; I both expect nobody to actually care about this boil I seem periodically driven to lance here in semi-public, and genuinely believe nobody should care. Like I said to Steve the other night, I really have no excuse--Hell, Cal'll be Autistic the rest of his life, no matter how I choose to deal with it (or not). In the final analysis, no one has any control over anything I do but me. Everything else is just equally boring bullshit.
Meanwhile, if I sound a bit depressed, it's frankly because I am. Though I'm finally, officially over the last of the seeg, I still haven't been able to write much of anything except bits and pieces of poetry (which I don't think I'll be posting here anymore, for professional reasons), while August is A) almost over and B) filling up fast. I've also just learned that Cal does have yeast, so we'll have to further restrict his diet in ways which control Candida--this necessitates adding a whole lot of various new bullshit to an already-difficult routine, plus having to soon go up to back o' beyond to spend money we don't have on supplements and drugs. On the one hand, the IBI does seem to be helping somewhat, but on the other, it's exacerbating the same behaviors we're trying to modify to a virtual fever-pitch; Jesus God, if I ever meet the people who composed the Little Einsteins theme, I'm going to punch them right in the face. And whatever: I'm fat, anhedonic and tired, boo fucking hoo, poor me. Much as I know the immediacy of what I'm feeling right now is most probably hormonal, it's pretty exhausting nonetheless.
What it all boils down to is that (not-so-)suddenly, I find myself permanently trapped in a jobless, anticreative, time-eating role as chief enabler and handler to a child whose future, personal charm aside, often seems rather grim. Mom tells me not to project, and I nod, smiling politely; I constantly strive to be less selfish, less self-obsessed. To let go of the fact that I don't get to shower most of the time, that my whole life is about an endless roundelay of quotidian chores done half-assedly at best, that I can't concentrate enough to enjoy things which might distract me from the rest of this crap. That I never see friends, that I know damn well I'm really boring to be with, and that if I tell people what I'm actually thinking, they'll (quite rightly) avoid me.
And: It makes me want to get on a treadmill and run 'til I puke. It makes me want to drink. It makes me want to walk out the door one afternoon while Cal's sleeping, and never come back. Etcetera.
Not that I'm going to do any of the above, obviously...
So. Feel free to ignore; I both expect nobody to actually care about this boil I seem periodically driven to lance here in semi-public, and genuinely believe nobody should care. Like I said to Steve the other night, I really have no excuse--Hell, Cal'll be Autistic the rest of his life, no matter how I choose to deal with it (or not). In the final analysis, no one has any control over anything I do but me. Everything else is just equally boring bullshit.
no subject
Yes, Cal will be an autist for the rest of his life. But he will improve with time and treatment. You caught it early, and the prognosis is good, with early treatment.
I've been on meds now for about six weeks, and I'm feeling much better. I finally found a decent doctor, who's ordered up the right type of EEG for me. The one I just had was a joke. In fact, that doctor was big joke, a very big, bad joke.
Get to your doctor, get some help. You don't sound good.
And people do, emphasis here, do, care about you.
XXXXX
no subject
no subject
The advice about the doctor, while you may dislike having to make another trip to the doctor, is good advice. Don't put it off. I wasted far too much time 'putting it off', and now I'm having a hell of a time fighting my way out.
You sound like you have a lot of good people around you. Don't forget that. And take your friend's advice.