Have been having some sort of fun inventing fake names and email addresses, because I let myself get sucked in to one of those "free laptop" sites. I had to invent 10 ID's as I didn't want to send junk mail to my friends, so I came up with names like Melody Smith, Malady Williams (born in 1914), degenerating to Tyrannosaurus Smith and last of all, UpYerNose WithARubberHose. I was feeling quite smug until I found out I have to invent another 10 more! So I'll probably enlist all my spammers' IDs... Still if anyone wants to click on the link to the left, maybe they'll send me a picture of an Apple iBook before I die of old age!
This is all procrastination as I have bought a new sewing machine and am putting off trying to learn how to work the bloody thing. I grew up with my mother using one of those black cast-iron monsters made from material extracted from a neutron star. She had a black and sinister-looking lever that she pushed with her leg, to make it go. I did eventually teach myself to use a more modern machine, given me by the mother of a friend, and I was doing quite well until Sherman piddled on it and the insides seized up. I graduated to a cast-iron monster machine I picked up at a garage sale, until bits kept breaking off; I kept going by using bits from another one I picked up from a roadside rubbish collection. ("How poor are we???" asks BJ plaintively...) Of course, I have now run out of bits and these machines have gone to meet their Makers too.
So, armed with my tax refund, I bustled off to buy a new one and I have this minor spacecraft "entry level" thing which I'm too frightened to get out of the box. Apparently at the flick of a switch it embroiders the Sistine Chapel for you or something. NB: The only thing I know how to make is drapes for cat shows (all straight lines and nobody looks closely at all the mistakes!)...
It's only 2 weeks until the National Cat Show... One exciting thing about that is that one of my cats from last year won a best in group award, so this year he is featuring on the cover of the ACF Yearbook (read, of course, only by cat fanciers, but never mind). In a fit of self-promotional self-indulgence I have had the same picture printed on to a T-shirt. This way people will know I won something last year, even if my cats don't win anything this time! Totally wanky, but who cares! The show is in Tasmania, so we will probably all freeze to death.
Incidentally, if any of my 5 readers is going to Tasmania and develops a health problem, please email me and I'll tell you who not to see. A truly frightening individual we know from medical school is now a GP on the Apple Isle, and although he cannot be stopped by mere mortals such as myself, at least I can decrease the amount of carnage (he tried to refer a child to me when I was in Paeds, saying the kid had hurt her arm. I said: "What does the X-ray show?" and he said,"Can you x-ray 2-year-olds???" - just 1 incident of many). Get BJ to elaborate on the patient this guy gave adrenaline to... it's quite entertaining if you're not the doctor who could have been sued...
In other news, a career change may be in the offing. I am thinking about doing training in Paediatrics. When I told an old friend, she laughed like a hyaena. Those who know me well will know why...!
More news as it comes to hand with geological speed...
Tournee
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
And Another Thing...
More ranting about 300...:
An army of 300 men (and their fearless leader) walk off to war, each wearing: a leather nappy/speedos, a red cape, a sword, and toting a helmet and a spear. No camp (or heterosexual or other preference) followers, no pack mules, no nothing. They get to the "hot gates" aka Thermopylae (for gawd's sake!), and two days later, Leonidas happens to say: "Eat hearty, my men!"* OK, what were they eating/going to eat??? Seagulls? The enemy?? Each other???? Their codpieces?! Colour me idiotic...
And in other needless news/information, which Serenity character are you?
Your results:
You are Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)
Click here to take the "Which Serenity character am I?" quiz...
The odd thing is, Kaylee is the character with whom I have always identified, and who is the only thoroughly "nice" person on the whole ship... Roll on, that "delicacy and specialness" treatment... I'm waiting... any time now is good... (I have the day off tomorrow...)!
Yours after 2/3 of a bottle of Yellowglen...
Tournee du Chat Noir
And yes, we did kick some kitty arse last weekend - more info when I am sober enough to type in English!
* While chomping down an apple, which presumably he kept stuffed down the front of his speedos, which explained the peculiar attraction he held for his wife...
Oh, and, still waiting.... that "delicacy and specialness treatment"... all agog, I've blocked out 4 hours tomorrow.... any takers...?????
An army of 300 men (and their fearless leader) walk off to war, each wearing: a leather nappy/speedos, a red cape, a sword, and toting a helmet and a spear. No camp (or heterosexual or other preference) followers, no pack mules, no nothing. They get to the "hot gates" aka Thermopylae (for gawd's sake!), and two days later, Leonidas happens to say: "Eat hearty, my men!"* OK, what were they eating/going to eat??? Seagulls? The enemy?? Each other???? Their codpieces?! Colour me idiotic...
And in other needless news/information, which Serenity character are you?
Your results:
You are Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)
| You are good at fixing things. You are usually cheerful. You appreciate being treated with delicacy and specialness.  |
Click here to take the "Which Serenity character am I?" quiz...
The odd thing is, Kaylee is the character with whom I have always identified, and who is the only thoroughly "nice" person on the whole ship... Roll on, that "delicacy and specialness" treatment... I'm waiting... any time now is good... (I have the day off tomorrow...)!
Yours after 2/3 of a bottle of Yellowglen...
Tournee du Chat Noir
And yes, we did kick some kitty arse last weekend - more info when I am sober enough to type in English!
* While chomping down an apple, which presumably he kept stuffed down the front of his speedos, which explained the peculiar attraction he held for his wife...
Oh, and, still waiting.... that "delicacy and specialness treatment"... all agog, I've blocked out 4 hours tomorrow.... any takers...?????
Saturday, April 07, 2007
D'you like to watch...?
Here's another post nobody will read, because they've all got bored and gone to much more interesting pastures...
I think I might be what I have dubbed a "blog voyeur"... I have all of these grand intentions of writing vast tracts of penetrating observations, get some great ideas... and never follow through. It's almost as if, having prepared mentally to write, I don't need to any more. I'm not sure how useful this is, to be honest - imagine if that's how my brain forces me to work when I'm meant to be, say, writing an exam or something. But I am perfectly happy reading several blogs, where the same thing happens - I think of a comment, and then never put it on anyone's blog...
And another thing... I am currently in the career doldrums, so if anyone's got any bright ideas, do tell! I suspect I have a bit of a boredom threshold problem - once I know how to do something, that's it. The problem is, it's a bit inconvenient to get bored with a pretty high-paying, permanent government job with pretty great working hours and flexibility, etc! So for now, I surf the government job vacancies website looking for a job at the same level, but in a different area, that I can get bored with later on (Plan B is to go have a chat to the head of Paediatric training next Friday, but the lack of the green stuff is what worries me - not that I'm a money grubbing weasel, but we're paying off a shitload of debt)...
Things I have recently wanted to write about, but didn't:
Firstly, here's a short review of the movie "300":
1. Don't waste your money. It's basically a propaganda film for the Bushian way of life, as far as I can tell, ie fascism. The funny thing was, Xerxes' mob actually reminded me more of the US (cultural imperialism), and the Spartans reminded me of the Iraqis (small band of soldiers defending their homeland)(of course, there are also a lot of differences - I'm not saying they're the same in every way)... go figure!
2. It's very beautifully filmed. Every frame looks like a painting. Sadly, if the best thing that can be said of a movie is, "great special effects", or, "great cinematography", that almost invariably means that it's shite.
3. It is also wildly inaccurate. Check out the real story and you'll see what I mean. And, why the f*** couldn't they call the f**king place Thermopylae???!!!
4. As a medical professional, I fail to see how some deformities could have existed, even had they been generated by deliberate mutilation. The hunchback appeared to be toting an unborn foetus on his back, among other bizarre things.
5. David Wenham is one of the best actors of this century, but please, why did he have to speak in that weird-ass trying-not-to-fart accent?!
6. I could go on, but I might start frothing at the mouth. For a more detailed demolition of this piece, I suspect that Bronze John will be doing his bit pretty soon.
On the Decapitation of Saint Valentine (borrowed this one from Foilwoman):
I wanted to talk about love languages. I've been reading this book that basically says that different people show their love for each other in different ways - that in a marriage, each person in the couple might have a different "love language". This Dr Chapman simplifies it down to 5 main love languages, although I suspect that maybe sometimes people don't fit a category - that perhaps it's not quite as straightforward as that. But it's not a bad way of looking at how you conduct relationships.
The 5 love languages are: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Physical Affection and Giving and Receiving Gifts. The problem can be that if your partner doesn't communicate to you in your love language, you can feel unloved, even though they may be busting a gut in their own love language (eg the husband that does millions of odd jobs, when his wife actually would love for him to hug and kiss her more often). You can also be bi-lingual, in that 2 modes are of equal importance. And I think sometimes, particular modes can become more important - say, if you're not getting any of a particular style of affection.
I was worrying about this because I figured out that I am bi-lingual in Physical Affection, and in Giving and Receiving Gifts. Also pretty close behind them, is Quality Time. My problem is that I have always been taught, and have told myself, that it is Bad to be Materialistic. But I have realised that for me at least, gifts are not supposed to mean that - I take as much pleasure in being given a second-hand coat my sister has picked up at the Salvo's, as I would if someone had spent bucket-loads - it's the choice of gift for me, that's important. What I mean is, if it shows that someone has thought about what I like, and what suits me, and so on, and found something that could be worth nothing in monetary terms, but that gives me a great deal of pleasure to have. And I also like to give people gifts in that way. I will often see something and think a certain person will like this, so I get it for them. Or I make it for them, if my sewing machine's working; or, in the case of one of my best friends, I am working on breeding it for them!
I also like to be able to tell stories about gifts I have been given. My engagement ring was paid for by a penniless BJ, who worked for 2 weeks picking fruit so he could give it to me. This makes that diamond worth a million carats to me. More recently I did a whinge-fest about how I got him a wallet for our 9th wedding anniversary (because his old one kept vomiting all his money and credit cards all over the floor), and he hadn't got me anything (to be fair, he was pretty unwell, and we also had no money - but I didn't let the facts shut me up!)... Last week he went out and emptied said wallet to bring me back a beautiful ruby pendant and ring... a far far bigger present than I meant (I had suggested another bit of silver to hang about my person somewhere!), so now I can never complain again! Not that I am complaining, mind - it's just that BJ is about the most non-materialistic person you could meet. His primary love languages are probably Physical Touch and Acts of Service. He couldn't care less about his clothes, as long as he isn't pointed at in the street or sent home from work, and his only jewellery is his wedding ring (which to his credit, he hasn't lost once in 9.33 years of marriage!). The other thing I love is that if someone has given me something I wear, whenever I wear it, I think of them. This means that pretty much daily, BJ and several of my other best friends are constantly in my thoughts.
So, in my opinion, desiring or giving gifts isn't always about the materialism and commercialism of days like Valentine's day...
The Intimate Assassin:
This is probably a load of wank, but anyway... We recently watched the Serenity DVD again. In this, our intrepid band are being pursued by a softly spoken man who is almost loving in the way he interacts with his quarry, yet he is lethal and incredibly ruthless. I had this idea that what made him deadly was his empathy and his understanding of his enemy, and his apparent sorrow at what he had to do. And from that, that the most deadly things in our lives are the things we might love or feel we need the most - the drug or gambling addiction, the cigarettes; that cause our cancer; the smooth-talking but evil lover, the woman who demolishes your self-esteem but gives you great sex so you keep coming back; that so-sweet guy who is so so sorry after he's nearly strangled you. Or, the "best friend" who consistently puts you down to make themselves look good - hasn't everyone had one of these in primary school? I suppose that in general, maybe the Intimate Assassin might be your comfort zone - it's killing you, but the unknown might be worse. (It might also be better, but many may never find out).
Maybe this doesn't make any sense at all. But then I thought that song by Uncle Cracker was like that too - that line where he says "I'll swim through your veins like a fish in the sea" - to me, that was some form of intoxication, whether it be love or lust, or, perhaps, heroin.
I don't know if any of that really relates to the Assassin in Serenity. But I did feel his overwhelming empathy/love/sorrow at the same time as his overwhelming determination to do what he believed must be done.
Finally, on the mental health front:
Designer Stubble Man now has more of a thicket - I may not be able to see his face next time I go. After a bit of a tail spin a few weeks ago, he has changed me from escitalopram to fluvoxamine (in combination with reboxetine, which I was already taking). Much better, side-effect-wise, but I suspect in the last few days my brain has taken a bit of a downturn as one medication wears off and the other kicks in. Inconveniently, at night (when trying to get to sleep), I keep reliving and obsessing over recent traumatic experiences. But I have a sense that the actual sleep has started to improve a tiny bit, once I get to sleep. Which is good - I had cranked up the quetiapine to 75mg and had developed a fairly toxic brain-fade... I was even thinking of running for Parliament... but seriously, being forgetful and not nearly as mentally sharp as I am used to being; unless of course it is the depression, but time will tell...
And on the Cat Front:
Several of my babies kicked some feline arse last weekend, and tomorrow, hopefully, they might do it again! Even if they don't, the show is in a little country village, where there is a really good lolly shop, so it's a win-win situation!
More next millenium (by the way, I have had my hair dyed red and black in stripes, if anyone cares!),
Tournee du Chat Noir
I think I might be what I have dubbed a "blog voyeur"... I have all of these grand intentions of writing vast tracts of penetrating observations, get some great ideas... and never follow through. It's almost as if, having prepared mentally to write, I don't need to any more. I'm not sure how useful this is, to be honest - imagine if that's how my brain forces me to work when I'm meant to be, say, writing an exam or something. But I am perfectly happy reading several blogs, where the same thing happens - I think of a comment, and then never put it on anyone's blog...
And another thing... I am currently in the career doldrums, so if anyone's got any bright ideas, do tell! I suspect I have a bit of a boredom threshold problem - once I know how to do something, that's it. The problem is, it's a bit inconvenient to get bored with a pretty high-paying, permanent government job with pretty great working hours and flexibility, etc! So for now, I surf the government job vacancies website looking for a job at the same level, but in a different area, that I can get bored with later on (Plan B is to go have a chat to the head of Paediatric training next Friday, but the lack of the green stuff is what worries me - not that I'm a money grubbing weasel, but we're paying off a shitload of debt)...
Things I have recently wanted to write about, but didn't:
Firstly, here's a short review of the movie "300":
1. Don't waste your money. It's basically a propaganda film for the Bushian way of life, as far as I can tell, ie fascism. The funny thing was, Xerxes' mob actually reminded me more of the US (cultural imperialism), and the Spartans reminded me of the Iraqis (small band of soldiers defending their homeland)(of course, there are also a lot of differences - I'm not saying they're the same in every way)... go figure!
2. It's very beautifully filmed. Every frame looks like a painting. Sadly, if the best thing that can be said of a movie is, "great special effects", or, "great cinematography", that almost invariably means that it's shite.
3. It is also wildly inaccurate. Check out the real story and you'll see what I mean. And, why the f*** couldn't they call the f**king place Thermopylae???!!!
4. As a medical professional, I fail to see how some deformities could have existed, even had they been generated by deliberate mutilation. The hunchback appeared to be toting an unborn foetus on his back, among other bizarre things.
5. David Wenham is one of the best actors of this century, but please, why did he have to speak in that weird-ass trying-not-to-fart accent?!
6. I could go on, but I might start frothing at the mouth. For a more detailed demolition of this piece, I suspect that Bronze John will be doing his bit pretty soon.
On the Decapitation of Saint Valentine (borrowed this one from Foilwoman):
I wanted to talk about love languages. I've been reading this book that basically says that different people show their love for each other in different ways - that in a marriage, each person in the couple might have a different "love language". This Dr Chapman simplifies it down to 5 main love languages, although I suspect that maybe sometimes people don't fit a category - that perhaps it's not quite as straightforward as that. But it's not a bad way of looking at how you conduct relationships.
The 5 love languages are: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Physical Affection and Giving and Receiving Gifts. The problem can be that if your partner doesn't communicate to you in your love language, you can feel unloved, even though they may be busting a gut in their own love language (eg the husband that does millions of odd jobs, when his wife actually would love for him to hug and kiss her more often). You can also be bi-lingual, in that 2 modes are of equal importance. And I think sometimes, particular modes can become more important - say, if you're not getting any of a particular style of affection.
I was worrying about this because I figured out that I am bi-lingual in Physical Affection, and in Giving and Receiving Gifts. Also pretty close behind them, is Quality Time. My problem is that I have always been taught, and have told myself, that it is Bad to be Materialistic. But I have realised that for me at least, gifts are not supposed to mean that - I take as much pleasure in being given a second-hand coat my sister has picked up at the Salvo's, as I would if someone had spent bucket-loads - it's the choice of gift for me, that's important. What I mean is, if it shows that someone has thought about what I like, and what suits me, and so on, and found something that could be worth nothing in monetary terms, but that gives me a great deal of pleasure to have. And I also like to give people gifts in that way. I will often see something and think a certain person will like this, so I get it for them. Or I make it for them, if my sewing machine's working; or, in the case of one of my best friends, I am working on breeding it for them!
I also like to be able to tell stories about gifts I have been given. My engagement ring was paid for by a penniless BJ, who worked for 2 weeks picking fruit so he could give it to me. This makes that diamond worth a million carats to me. More recently I did a whinge-fest about how I got him a wallet for our 9th wedding anniversary (because his old one kept vomiting all his money and credit cards all over the floor), and he hadn't got me anything (to be fair, he was pretty unwell, and we also had no money - but I didn't let the facts shut me up!)... Last week he went out and emptied said wallet to bring me back a beautiful ruby pendant and ring... a far far bigger present than I meant (I had suggested another bit of silver to hang about my person somewhere!), so now I can never complain again! Not that I am complaining, mind - it's just that BJ is about the most non-materialistic person you could meet. His primary love languages are probably Physical Touch and Acts of Service. He couldn't care less about his clothes, as long as he isn't pointed at in the street or sent home from work, and his only jewellery is his wedding ring (which to his credit, he hasn't lost once in 9.33 years of marriage!). The other thing I love is that if someone has given me something I wear, whenever I wear it, I think of them. This means that pretty much daily, BJ and several of my other best friends are constantly in my thoughts.
So, in my opinion, desiring or giving gifts isn't always about the materialism and commercialism of days like Valentine's day...
The Intimate Assassin:
This is probably a load of wank, but anyway... We recently watched the Serenity DVD again. In this, our intrepid band are being pursued by a softly spoken man who is almost loving in the way he interacts with his quarry, yet he is lethal and incredibly ruthless. I had this idea that what made him deadly was his empathy and his understanding of his enemy, and his apparent sorrow at what he had to do. And from that, that the most deadly things in our lives are the things we might love or feel we need the most - the drug or gambling addiction, the cigarettes; that cause our cancer; the smooth-talking but evil lover, the woman who demolishes your self-esteem but gives you great sex so you keep coming back; that so-sweet guy who is so so sorry after he's nearly strangled you. Or, the "best friend" who consistently puts you down to make themselves look good - hasn't everyone had one of these in primary school? I suppose that in general, maybe the Intimate Assassin might be your comfort zone - it's killing you, but the unknown might be worse. (It might also be better, but many may never find out).
Maybe this doesn't make any sense at all. But then I thought that song by Uncle Cracker was like that too - that line where he says "I'll swim through your veins like a fish in the sea" - to me, that was some form of intoxication, whether it be love or lust, or, perhaps, heroin.
I don't know if any of that really relates to the Assassin in Serenity. But I did feel his overwhelming empathy/love/sorrow at the same time as his overwhelming determination to do what he believed must be done.
Finally, on the mental health front:
Designer Stubble Man now has more of a thicket - I may not be able to see his face next time I go. After a bit of a tail spin a few weeks ago, he has changed me from escitalopram to fluvoxamine (in combination with reboxetine, which I was already taking). Much better, side-effect-wise, but I suspect in the last few days my brain has taken a bit of a downturn as one medication wears off and the other kicks in. Inconveniently, at night (when trying to get to sleep), I keep reliving and obsessing over recent traumatic experiences. But I have a sense that the actual sleep has started to improve a tiny bit, once I get to sleep. Which is good - I had cranked up the quetiapine to 75mg and had developed a fairly toxic brain-fade... I was even thinking of running for Parliament... but seriously, being forgetful and not nearly as mentally sharp as I am used to being; unless of course it is the depression, but time will tell...
And on the Cat Front:
Several of my babies kicked some feline arse last weekend, and tomorrow, hopefully, they might do it again! Even if they don't, the show is in a little country village, where there is a really good lolly shop, so it's a win-win situation!
More next millenium (by the way, I have had my hair dyed red and black in stripes, if anyone cares!),
Tournee du Chat Noir
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Skint!
Well...
A lot of calming down has been done since my last posting, which is probably a Good Thing. I am now seeing a Shrink who sports Designer Stubble. I chose him a) because he had an appointment available before the next millenium; b) because he often treats other doctors; and c) because a Person Whom I Do Not Like, doesn't like him. Which I suppose is a recommendation in itself (I suspect a diagnosis of some kind of Personality Disorder was made, which would surprise no-one who knows this Person, but of course it would have pissed this Person off). He has put me on a second anti-depressant, which has made life interesting - hello sweat, bye-bye libido! Still not much progress on the sleep thingy, either, although it's more just garden-variety insomnia now, rather than the sound of primal drums... But anyway, I see him again next week, so we shall see... But I think the depression is still there; I am still very reluctant to return calls, reply to emails or socialise generally, apart from with BJ, and there is an even more than usual inability to "get organised" than I usually demonstrate.
In other news, the first Cat Show of the Season is this Sunday and in my usual style, I am completely unprepared (in fact I don't even know if they got my entry, as it was late!). My curtains (cat shows require your cat to sit in a cage surrounded by prissy girly frilly curtains to make them look nice) are all buried under the junk in my car, which now includes a $5 bike (to go with BJ's $500 one) I picked up from Crime Converters' the other week. And my sewing machines* are all broken, so I can't make new snazzy ones for the upcoming season, even though this year I am showing the best kitten I have ever bred (for those who have seen my catsite**, she is Moonlight Sonata's daughter), plus a few others I have been assured are "raaather niiiice". It is nice to know that my breeding programme is moving in the right direction, but it will be even nicer if the judges confirm this (even though their opinions can vary widely over the same cats).
Depressingly, I owe the vet about $1800, the feed store $500 and the dry cat food people $450, with no relief until BJ gets back to full time... Oh, and we owe the orthodontist $700 (for OTHER PEOPLE's teeth). Oh well, I can always put BJ on the game or something. I have had to go cold turkey on eBay (a horrifying prospect!). And of course nobody is buying any kittens at the moment! Somehow I have to come up with the readies to pay for my entries on Sunday, too, but we get paid tomorrow so that should be OK (we'll just starve later!). A few weeks ago we actually took our surplus roosters down to the feed store (who also buy and sell poultry), and exchanged them for a bag of chicken feed, which was not bad going, considering I would have given them away otherwise.
On the plus side, I'm getting cheaper to feed - very little appetite so I drink Up 'n' Go's all day; I appear to have lost 8-10 kg in the past 5 months or so. The Shrink wanted to put me on mirtazapine and I declined gracefully***, remembering all my patients who have put on 10-20kg on that delightful medication. It's a great antidepressant - it works very well, but unfortunately you then get a subsequent reactive depression when you realise you've put on so much weight you no longer fit through the doorway any more... At least at the moment I now have a BMI of less than 25, which does a bit for the ego. Even better would be a horde of wanna-be secret admirers or something (especially ones who'd like to anonymously pay the vet bill and then gracefully disappear!), but we can't have everything...
And we will have fun times ahead over the next few days, as I wean Twinkle from her kittens (she does a nice line in foghorn noises, and as she normally lives in the house and not the cattery, there's no escaping her!). At least she had 4 Siamese kittens, in solid points, which should be popular later on with pet buyers. Although that isn't why I breed, selling the odd pet kitten does help cover the cost of looking after everyone else. But most cat breeders are kidding themselves if they think they make money!
More chit-chat eventually...!
Tournee Du Chat Noir
PS: Does anyone want a nice Balinese or Oriental Longhair Cat? Have I got a deal for you...
(see pic!)
*Sherman the Cat piddled**** on my first sewing machine and it seized up inside, and the one I got at a garage sale worked OK for a while and then started breaking needles; I repaired it using bits from the one I picked up by the roadside, but I'm now running out of spare parts...
**URL available on personal application.
***I didn't actually say,"Are you fucking joking?!"
****He's a sweetheart, but he acts out sometimes under stress; when BJ was in hospital and I stayed next to him for 4 days straight, the house cats were Seriously Displeased, but they've settled down now...
A lot of calming down has been done since my last posting, which is probably a Good Thing. I am now seeing a Shrink who sports Designer Stubble. I chose him a) because he had an appointment available before the next millenium; b) because he often treats other doctors; and c) because a Person Whom I Do Not Like, doesn't like him. Which I suppose is a recommendation in itself (I suspect a diagnosis of some kind of Personality Disorder was made, which would surprise no-one who knows this Person, but of course it would have pissed this Person off). He has put me on a second anti-depressant, which has made life interesting - hello sweat, bye-bye libido! Still not much progress on the sleep thingy, either, although it's more just garden-variety insomnia now, rather than the sound of primal drums... But anyway, I see him again next week, so we shall see... But I think the depression is still there; I am still very reluctant to return calls, reply to emails or socialise generally, apart from with BJ, and there is an even more than usual inability to "get organised" than I usually demonstrate.
In other news, the first Cat Show of the Season is this Sunday and in my usual style, I am completely unprepared (in fact I don't even know if they got my entry, as it was late!). My curtains (cat shows require your cat to sit in a cage surrounded by prissy girly frilly curtains to make them look nice) are all buried under the junk in my car, which now includes a $5 bike (to go with BJ's $500 one) I picked up from Crime Converters' the other week. And my sewing machines* are all broken, so I can't make new snazzy ones for the upcoming season, even though this year I am showing the best kitten I have ever bred (for those who have seen my catsite**, she is Moonlight Sonata's daughter), plus a few others I have been assured are "raaather niiiice". It is nice to know that my breeding programme is moving in the right direction, but it will be even nicer if the judges confirm this (even though their opinions can vary widely over the same cats).
Depressingly, I owe the vet about $1800, the feed store $500 and the dry cat food people $450, with no relief until BJ gets back to full time... Oh, and we owe the orthodontist $700 (for OTHER PEOPLE's teeth). Oh well, I can always put BJ on the game or something. I have had to go cold turkey on eBay (a horrifying prospect!). And of course nobody is buying any kittens at the moment! Somehow I have to come up with the readies to pay for my entries on Sunday, too, but we get paid tomorrow so that should be OK (we'll just starve later!). A few weeks ago we actually took our surplus roosters down to the feed store (who also buy and sell poultry), and exchanged them for a bag of chicken feed, which was not bad going, considering I would have given them away otherwise.
On the plus side, I'm getting cheaper to feed - very little appetite so I drink Up 'n' Go's all day; I appear to have lost 8-10 kg in the past 5 months or so. The Shrink wanted to put me on mirtazapine and I declined gracefully***, remembering all my patients who have put on 10-20kg on that delightful medication. It's a great antidepressant - it works very well, but unfortunately you then get a subsequent reactive depression when you realise you've put on so much weight you no longer fit through the doorway any more... At least at the moment I now have a BMI of less than 25, which does a bit for the ego. Even better would be a horde of wanna-be secret admirers or something (especially ones who'd like to anonymously pay the vet bill and then gracefully disappear!), but we can't have everything...
And we will have fun times ahead over the next few days, as I wean Twinkle from her kittens (she does a nice line in foghorn noises, and as she normally lives in the house and not the cattery, there's no escaping her!). At least she had 4 Siamese kittens, in solid points, which should be popular later on with pet buyers. Although that isn't why I breed, selling the odd pet kitten does help cover the cost of looking after everyone else. But most cat breeders are kidding themselves if they think they make money!
More chit-chat eventually...!
Tournee Du Chat Noir
PS: Does anyone want a nice Balinese or Oriental Longhair Cat? Have I got a deal for you...
(see pic!)
*Sherman the Cat piddled**** on my first sewing machine and it seized up inside, and the one I got at a garage sale worked OK for a while and then started breaking needles; I repaired it using bits from the one I picked up by the roadside, but I'm now running out of spare parts...
**URL available on personal application.
***I didn't actually say,"Are you fucking joking?!"
****He's a sweetheart, but he acts out sometimes under stress; when BJ was in hospital and I stayed next to him for 4 days straight, the house cats were Seriously Displeased, but they've settled down now...
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Inappropriate Self-Disclosure
Hello everybody (what, about 4 people?!),
In the spirit of the above title, I thought I'd try this blogging thing... And blow me down if when I logged on (for the first time in months) I found all of these comments! So, thank you, everyone! (I do believe that if Fukitol were available in Australia, maybe BJ would have been OK!)
As some of you might know, there has been a lot going on. This was obviously the result of a buildup of issues, accumulated over the last 12 months, and possibly longer, combined with a mental illness that is, even in the best case scenario, frequently life-threatening. I've been finding that whenever I talk to a human being about any of this stuff, I turn into a basket case for at least the following 24 hours, so I am trying something different by putting it out here (where, I suppose, potentially quite a lot of human beings can read it if they feel like it, but they're not right here in the room with me so maybe it won't seem like it). The basket-case phenomenon is proving somewhat inconvenient, given that I have no more leave available from work, and we are on only 1 income at the moment, so it would be good if I actually was capable of functioning while dealing with all of this! It is probably all going to come out sounding ridiculous. I have never written diary-type stuff (although I have written short stories, novels, and somewhat fanciful research papers); I might have got into the diary thing if my sister hadn't given me a diary for Christmas the year I was 15, I think. I started writing things in it and a few days later she came over and said she'd read everything I'd written, and that was "just how it should be done"...!!! So after that I never wrote another word (maybe I should have written, "this is a violation of my rights of privacy, you snoop!!!").
Anyway. This is not the first time I've had to deal with/support my husband's bipolar affective disorder, but it was the first time he had become so unwell and hadn't felt able to tell me at the time. Maybe it was partly because it was such a slow process, maybe it was because he became suddenly so much worse over the last few weeks - I do know, also, that he was struggling with the whole idea of the partner-as-therapist thing. That is, that your partner is not your therapist. But, there is the whole "in-sickness-and-in-health" thing, that you each support the one you love. Certainly he has always been my greatest support during my episodes of major depression (yep, you got it, BJ's first law- there's never only one in the family!) and other illnesses. Still, I never thought of him as my doctor or therapist... But, as BJ said himself, when you're that unwell, you can't see the wood for the trees (we've been trying in vain to translate that expression, but it sounds good). Also, given the fairly crucial and fundamental crises around self-image and self-worth he was having about who he was/wanted to be, and what he was capable of - thoughts and feelings he has only now been able to crystallize properly - perhaps that was also why it was difficult to know that things had become as bad as they did, until he couldn't contain it all any more.
In any case, it is fairly humbling/upsetting to discover that you "weren't enough" to prevent your partner attempting suicide, even though with the retrospectacle it was probably an event waiting to happen. BJ has told me that it was probably inevitable, given the path he was slowly sliding down. But still, not a great thought. I can, perhaps, at least remind myself that on "that night" (we were each out at different friends' houses), I was asked to stay overnight but refused, because I had this overpowering urge to call BJ (there was no mobile phone coverage in that town); almost as if I felt a "disturbance in the Force" - probably just, as one does, subconsciously knowing that things were Not Right, and not some psychic connection(!). As I drove out of town, towards home and into mobile phone range, before I could call him he had called me - and told me what he'd just done. As he was telling me this, he was driving towards the Royal but believed he was beyond the point of no return, biochemically. So, I stayed on the line talking to him until he got there, and as he parked the car, and urged him onward to the triage desk, where he ended my call in order to talk to staff. He told me later that his plan had been to walk in there, and go sit down in the waiting room, to wait for events to take their course. So at least that didn't happen and he was seen immediately. I think I got there about 20 minutes later (it felt like the longest drive ever) - I may have scorched those dirt roads and blown out a few speed cameras; I didn't think my 18 year old car could go that fast (I was 60km from town when he first called). It may never go that fast again...!
By the time I got to the Royal, he was unconscious and intubated. This is all one hell of an experience when you're on the other side of the stethoscope... But I will say that not only are the ED staff at the Royal excellent at their job (resuscitating my husband without destroying any important parts), but their ICU staff were tremendously supportive and understanding. And, so was Dr Tesla, when he happened to appear in the ward the next day, to see someone else apparently (I accosted him and updated him on what had happened). With his keen clinical eye he noted that I had been awake for 36+ hours (the last 20 or so clutching BJ's hand in the ICU), and he arranged for me to have some medication (no, not Fukitol) to take, so that I could actually sleep in the hospital's residential wing, rather than lying on the bed feeling like I had taken speed (but with none of the positive effects, unfortunately - none of my housework got done!). Eventually, after about 36 hours, he was extubated (and I was able to let go of his hand!); and as he has told you, the next few hours/days were quite difficult.
But, I/we do believe that a corner has been turned. Perhaps the only way to confront these various demons was to plunge into the abyss, and then, somehow return with a new understanding. I don't know. But things are certainly a hell of a lot better now than they were before, even after his previous admission. And I am thanking all deities everywhere for the safe deliverance of someone who has always been the cornerstone of my existence. A future without BJ would be completely inconceivable. I usually present as reasonably sane and self-sufficient, but for me there would literally be no point in existing in a world without BJ. Of course, at the point he had reached, he believed that all who loved him would "get over it", if he passed. I'm here to say that nothing is further from the truth... Still, that is the way the depressed mind works; it's a pattern I've seen before, in others and even myself at times.
Anyway. The problem with one's brain generating its own speed-like analogues, is that after an event like this, it seems to keep doing it (for reasons best known to itself). Fairly inconvenient... Random episodes of rapid heartbeat and breathlessness don't do a lot for your reputation as the laid-back, cool, calm and collected methadone doctor; neither is it helpful to be sleepy, lie down in bed and then spend the next 8 hours with a hammer pounding in your ears from your palpitations. I now sympathise with my patient whose chronic anxiety became so bad that he tried to hang himself (I'm not about to do that, but I can relate to that feeling that it's never going to end). This is, I have been told, quite common after an event like this, and is known as an acute stress disorder. Even copious cats don't seem to make a difference. Some of this may be because I'm at home sleeping alone - this is usually not a problem if BJ is away or on night shift, but of course right now the reason for it is different. And of course even in the private sector, psychiatrist availability is rare and precious, so thus far there ain't much help in that direction (it is probably a conflict of interest to see BJ's psychiatrist).
So, what to do... It's not very constructive if this all gets in the way of being the best support possible to BJ... I am hoping that just by whining about it as I have, I might clarify my thoughts a little, and possibly get the feelings "out there" without the increased stress and anxiety I seem to experience when talking to real people (dunno if it's worked so far!). The social worker at Clearwater has told me that stress reactions like this are extremely common, and there are also all the attendant feelings that come along with a loved one's attempt at suicide - should have seen it coming, should have done X or Y to prevent it (I've got quite a list of these), shouldn't have said or done A or B (and these), why didn't he say something (why wasn't he able to say something to me?)...? Going through that laundry list can really crank all of this right up... and results in the end-thought being, God what a mess...!
Oh well. I've asked BJ if he can ask Dr T to make a few calls (he had previously offered to) and see if I can get in to see someone sooner, and we'll see. Because at the moment, my prime directive is to be the best help I can be, and make things as easy as possible, for BJ while he recovers from a truly horrific year. We really don't want this happening again... And I think it might help to focus on our trip to the snow we'd like to take this winter, and our plans to become slum landlords to get ahead (buying a cheapie investment property), and our plans to live and work overseas eventually. Also, to remember that we work to live, not live to work. And for BJ to remember that he is loved and valued, that he is "good enough" no matter what direction he takes. And, that he's gorgeous, smart, funny, interested in interesting things, and (TMI alert) fantastic in bed (taking a leaf out of Kira's blog here!)...
More blitherings later, I'm sure...
Tournee
In the spirit of the above title, I thought I'd try this blogging thing... And blow me down if when I logged on (for the first time in months) I found all of these comments! So, thank you, everyone! (I do believe that if Fukitol were available in Australia, maybe BJ would have been OK!)
As some of you might know, there has been a lot going on. This was obviously the result of a buildup of issues, accumulated over the last 12 months, and possibly longer, combined with a mental illness that is, even in the best case scenario, frequently life-threatening. I've been finding that whenever I talk to a human being about any of this stuff, I turn into a basket case for at least the following 24 hours, so I am trying something different by putting it out here (where, I suppose, potentially quite a lot of human beings can read it if they feel like it, but they're not right here in the room with me so maybe it won't seem like it). The basket-case phenomenon is proving somewhat inconvenient, given that I have no more leave available from work, and we are on only 1 income at the moment, so it would be good if I actually was capable of functioning while dealing with all of this! It is probably all going to come out sounding ridiculous. I have never written diary-type stuff (although I have written short stories, novels, and somewhat fanciful research papers); I might have got into the diary thing if my sister hadn't given me a diary for Christmas the year I was 15, I think. I started writing things in it and a few days later she came over and said she'd read everything I'd written, and that was "just how it should be done"...!!! So after that I never wrote another word (maybe I should have written, "this is a violation of my rights of privacy, you snoop!!!").
Anyway. This is not the first time I've had to deal with/support my husband's bipolar affective disorder, but it was the first time he had become so unwell and hadn't felt able to tell me at the time. Maybe it was partly because it was such a slow process, maybe it was because he became suddenly so much worse over the last few weeks - I do know, also, that he was struggling with the whole idea of the partner-as-therapist thing. That is, that your partner is not your therapist. But, there is the whole "in-sickness-and-in-health" thing, that you each support the one you love. Certainly he has always been my greatest support during my episodes of major depression (yep, you got it, BJ's first law- there's never only one in the family!) and other illnesses. Still, I never thought of him as my doctor or therapist... But, as BJ said himself, when you're that unwell, you can't see the wood for the trees (we've been trying in vain to translate that expression, but it sounds good). Also, given the fairly crucial and fundamental crises around self-image and self-worth he was having about who he was/wanted to be, and what he was capable of - thoughts and feelings he has only now been able to crystallize properly - perhaps that was also why it was difficult to know that things had become as bad as they did, until he couldn't contain it all any more.
In any case, it is fairly humbling/upsetting to discover that you "weren't enough" to prevent your partner attempting suicide, even though with the retrospectacle it was probably an event waiting to happen. BJ has told me that it was probably inevitable, given the path he was slowly sliding down. But still, not a great thought. I can, perhaps, at least remind myself that on "that night" (we were each out at different friends' houses), I was asked to stay overnight but refused, because I had this overpowering urge to call BJ (there was no mobile phone coverage in that town); almost as if I felt a "disturbance in the Force" - probably just, as one does, subconsciously knowing that things were Not Right, and not some psychic connection(!). As I drove out of town, towards home and into mobile phone range, before I could call him he had called me - and told me what he'd just done. As he was telling me this, he was driving towards the Royal but believed he was beyond the point of no return, biochemically. So, I stayed on the line talking to him until he got there, and as he parked the car, and urged him onward to the triage desk, where he ended my call in order to talk to staff. He told me later that his plan had been to walk in there, and go sit down in the waiting room, to wait for events to take their course. So at least that didn't happen and he was seen immediately. I think I got there about 20 minutes later (it felt like the longest drive ever) - I may have scorched those dirt roads and blown out a few speed cameras; I didn't think my 18 year old car could go that fast (I was 60km from town when he first called). It may never go that fast again...!
By the time I got to the Royal, he was unconscious and intubated. This is all one hell of an experience when you're on the other side of the stethoscope... But I will say that not only are the ED staff at the Royal excellent at their job (resuscitating my husband without destroying any important parts), but their ICU staff were tremendously supportive and understanding. And, so was Dr Tesla, when he happened to appear in the ward the next day, to see someone else apparently (I accosted him and updated him on what had happened). With his keen clinical eye he noted that I had been awake for 36+ hours (the last 20 or so clutching BJ's hand in the ICU), and he arranged for me to have some medication (no, not Fukitol) to take, so that I could actually sleep in the hospital's residential wing, rather than lying on the bed feeling like I had taken speed (but with none of the positive effects, unfortunately - none of my housework got done!). Eventually, after about 36 hours, he was extubated (and I was able to let go of his hand!); and as he has told you, the next few hours/days were quite difficult.
But, I/we do believe that a corner has been turned. Perhaps the only way to confront these various demons was to plunge into the abyss, and then, somehow return with a new understanding. I don't know. But things are certainly a hell of a lot better now than they were before, even after his previous admission. And I am thanking all deities everywhere for the safe deliverance of someone who has always been the cornerstone of my existence. A future without BJ would be completely inconceivable. I usually present as reasonably sane and self-sufficient, but for me there would literally be no point in existing in a world without BJ. Of course, at the point he had reached, he believed that all who loved him would "get over it", if he passed. I'm here to say that nothing is further from the truth... Still, that is the way the depressed mind works; it's a pattern I've seen before, in others and even myself at times.
Anyway. The problem with one's brain generating its own speed-like analogues, is that after an event like this, it seems to keep doing it (for reasons best known to itself). Fairly inconvenient... Random episodes of rapid heartbeat and breathlessness don't do a lot for your reputation as the laid-back, cool, calm and collected methadone doctor; neither is it helpful to be sleepy, lie down in bed and then spend the next 8 hours with a hammer pounding in your ears from your palpitations. I now sympathise with my patient whose chronic anxiety became so bad that he tried to hang himself (I'm not about to do that, but I can relate to that feeling that it's never going to end). This is, I have been told, quite common after an event like this, and is known as an acute stress disorder. Even copious cats don't seem to make a difference. Some of this may be because I'm at home sleeping alone - this is usually not a problem if BJ is away or on night shift, but of course right now the reason for it is different. And of course even in the private sector, psychiatrist availability is rare and precious, so thus far there ain't much help in that direction (it is probably a conflict of interest to see BJ's psychiatrist).
So, what to do... It's not very constructive if this all gets in the way of being the best support possible to BJ... I am hoping that just by whining about it as I have, I might clarify my thoughts a little, and possibly get the feelings "out there" without the increased stress and anxiety I seem to experience when talking to real people (dunno if it's worked so far!). The social worker at Clearwater has told me that stress reactions like this are extremely common, and there are also all the attendant feelings that come along with a loved one's attempt at suicide - should have seen it coming, should have done X or Y to prevent it (I've got quite a list of these), shouldn't have said or done A or B (and these), why didn't he say something (why wasn't he able to say something to me?)...? Going through that laundry list can really crank all of this right up... and results in the end-thought being, God what a mess...!
Oh well. I've asked BJ if he can ask Dr T to make a few calls (he had previously offered to) and see if I can get in to see someone sooner, and we'll see. Because at the moment, my prime directive is to be the best help I can be, and make things as easy as possible, for BJ while he recovers from a truly horrific year. We really don't want this happening again... And I think it might help to focus on our trip to the snow we'd like to take this winter, and our plans to become slum landlords to get ahead (buying a cheapie investment property), and our plans to live and work overseas eventually. Also, to remember that we work to live, not live to work. And for BJ to remember that he is loved and valued, that he is "good enough" no matter what direction he takes. And, that he's gorgeous, smart, funny, interested in interesting things, and (TMI alert) fantastic in bed (taking a leaf out of Kira's blog here!)...
More blitherings later, I'm sure...
Tournee
Monday, March 06, 2006
A Fluffy Bunny Post! (Or, More Therapy...?)
Although, given the expression on these 2 faces, I'm not sure what therapeutic effect I am aiming for! The left-hand one is called White Heat and below is his brother, KnightInWhiteSatin. They are both Foreign Whites and take very much after their father, Mini Me (whose real name is Arcturan Legend). Foreign Whites, despite being a breed apart in many ways, are actually genetically Siamese cats. I tend to think they are the pure-distilled-evil-version, where all the impurities have been distilled out and hence you are left with such a purely evil cat, that it is entirely white. This certainly holds true for their evil auntie Achtung, who has brought tears to the eyes of many a cat-show judge!
However, all is not lost! Look at this little darling:
It seems that once you add in that sweet, soft ol' longhair gene, they magically become all cute 'n' cuddly! (That's Gracie, by the way!) Only time will tell, if this is just an overcoat, or the hair is more than skin deep!
Actually, the first 2 kitties only look evil; it took a long time to take these pictures as I was being mobbed and there was a competition to see who could actually sleep around my neck. And there's the therapy: 10 minutes with these guys and you will be the most important and cuddled (and licked and snudged) person in the universe!
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Therapy
This is for Foilwoman:
...And so is this:
This is what everyone should do when life sucks... lounge with a posse of kittens! (Their names are: Misty, Miracle, Clive and LuckyToo).
...And so is this:
This is what everyone should do when life sucks... lounge with a posse of kittens! (Their names are: Misty, Miracle, Clive and LuckyToo).
Monday, October 24, 2005
Cherchez Les Chats
Those who know me won't have to of course... This is a test posting to see if this blog thingy works!
Tournee
Tournee
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