tabular_rasa: (Life is Hard!)
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I don't actually like sandwiches that much. I am one of those weirdos who likes to eat each individual item from the sandwich separately instead. On the rare occasions I do eat a sandwich the way it is meant to be eaten, I have to assemble it myself shortly before I eat it (meaning that if it's in a sack lunch, I pack each ingredient separately) so the bread doesn't become mushy and nasty from the mayo, mustard, lettuce, meat, etc.

Since I don't eat them that much, I don't really have a favorite sandwich. I tend to like hot sandwiches that aren't easy to pack in a lunchbox, like pulled pork, burgers, ruebens, cheesesteaks, or gyros if they count. I also generally like salad sandwiches like egg salad, tuna salad, and chicken salad. As for cold sandwiches, I like roast beef, salami, corned beef for meats, but I usually don't think much about the cheese and don't bother to add it if I make the sandwich myself. Bacon sandwiches (BLTs, bacon and fried egg sandwiches, etc) are good hot or cold. Basic turkey or ham (with or without cheese) sandwiches are fine but they're certainly nothing I particularly pine for; they're better if I can put a lot of extras on them like mustard and some vegetables to add some interest. Grilled cheese is good with soup and when I'm in the mood for it. However, I usually find grilled chicken to be too bland, even with a sauce, and I do not like peanut butter and jelly or fluffernuffers at all; I ate too many of them as a child and have been turned off forever.

In other news, I had fun at the '80s party in Kokora last night. I drove down with Shak and James and we met Rachel for a quick dinner at McDonalds beforehand, where we also ran into Dustin, Steffanie, Sherese, and Dustin's friend Yurie. The party was two hours all-you-can-drink (which is never worth it for me, lol; I paid Y3000 for three drinks!) but the music was good. I won Best Dressed Female and Best Dancer, woohoo! (And I got monetary prizes!). Afterward, Dustin, Steffanie, Shareese, Yurie, Brooke, and I got some food at an English pub and then went our separate ways; Steffanie and I stayed at Dustin's place overnight. I rode back this morning, leaving Shimonoseki at 10:45 and getting back to Hagi in the early afternoon.

Health-wise, while I was doing mostly okay at the party itself, things deteriorated after we left. It probably didn't help I had been bouncing around a lot and the club was so sweaty and there were people smoking. (Not many, but still). My coughs were really shallow, just these little jerks that didn't expel any phlegm but really irritated my rib or whatever. They would interrupt me when I was talking, and no matter what position was in I had to shift into sitting bolt upright and clutching my chest to attempt to make the phlegm dispel and disturb my ribs as much as possible. Once at Dustin's, the futon that was totally comfy and fine last time wasn't working for me at all; it was too hard and flat and dis-aligned my spine no matter how I tried to lie there so my rib was really aggravated. I lied there for a good 90 minutes before finally waking Dustin up and asking for some painkillers (the alcohol had worn off by then). He also suggested I use his bed, since it would have more give than the futon on the floor. It was really nice of him and I did end up getting some sleep. I continued the clutching-myself coughing the whole way back and since I've been home.

I really want/need to see a doctor about this rib-or-whatever thing. Now that the rib (or lung or muscle, etc) is involved (and frankly of more pressing importance) I don't think I need to go back to the other doctor, who I'm beginning to think was a bit dismissive in only giving me the five minutes of face time it takes to look down my throat. (You're not even going to listen to my chest, or ask if I have phlegm and what color it is?). However, I don't know what other clinic I need to go to (they're all divided by specialty) or where it is, and I would be unable to fill out the first time visitor form by myself-- and Ms. Nishimura decided to take a week-long vacation (without warning) and isn't around to help me. The Board of Education wasn't open today or I would have gone in to ask someone's help there, but I'm a little concerned about work tomorrow. I'll muscle through it-- I did once go to school three days with a burst appendix-- but, uck, I really just want this taken care of.
tabular_rasa: (Life is Hard!)
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I mean, I was born before the Internet existed, so I could easily say "the first 12 years of my life." We didn't get Internet at home until I was in 6th grade and it didn't really feel like a necessity until I was 16, when I got my own AOL account/screen name so I could receive emails that my mom didn't read through first and join the journaling and networking sites that get people addicted to the Internet in the first place.

Since then, I've grown steadily more addicted. When I moved to Japan, I didn't have Internet in my apartment for an entire month, and phone email alone was not cutting it. (It was basically texting, and having just moved to a new country I had far too much to say than I had the patience to text people). I was suffering from withdrawal in spite of having the phone and access to an Internet cafe I used a couple times.

I can do a long weekend away without needing to check my email, LJ, and Facebook, but as soon as we hit the week mark I start getting antsy. Contrarily, I find it more liberating to check all my stuff regularly and know everyone is fine than unplug and wonder if maybe they're not.

In other news, there is more complications on the Things Wrong With Amy front. Last night I started getting this stabbing pain just under the outside of my left breast. First thing I did after work today was take my bra off because the underwire aggravates it. Whenever I cough-- which is still all the time-- it hurts like crazy, and it hurting makes me curl up in pain and close my airway which makes me cough some more. I kind of clutch at myself, trying to hold everything steady while I cough. I've even been trying to hold my coughs in (is that healthy?) because it just hurts so much to let them out now.

. . . and it's too late in the day to see a doctor about it now )-: And I have to leave for the '80s party at 2:30 pm tomorrow in order to make it there on time. This may not get looked at until next Monday, which kind of scares me because 1) both my mom and Robert have posed the possibility of a fractured rib or a strained muscle (which apparently can happen when you cough violently for two weeks straight) and 2) it really fucking hurts. It's cope-with-able, especially if I take some painkillers, but I'm also just pretty good at coping with physical pain. (Remember the appendix thing?). I'm not sure how worried I should be.

Mood icon sums it up pretty well, actually; my pains are quite a bit like a dagger in my chest. Speaking of Romeo and Juliet, I had a really vivid dream last night that my high school freshman English class reunited to perform a modernized production of Romeo and Juliet-- and I was cast as a female Benvolio. Robert was coming to watch it, I got to see a lot of old faces I haven't seen since high school. (People I had practically forgotten about O.o). Mrs. Sheline was there, and still intimidating. But I was really excited about the play, actually, and quite disappointed when I woke up.

Still Sick

Jul. 6th, 2005 08:58 am
tabular_rasa: (Phwee?)
"I can't have discussions about it anymore, I just can't. When someone asks me if I've found Jesus, I say, 'Yeah, I saw him at a Nirvana concert a couple of years ago.' It's like, Jesus has got things to do, he's got a ten o'clock. He's not going to fix things for me, I have to fix things for myself, so I try and have a sense of humor about it and nobody finds my humor very amusing. We've just got to lighten up on the savior bit, folks. You know, 'Get off the cross; we need the wood.'" -Tori Amos

Mom and Tory all think I'm all better, and are mad I couldn't drive Tory to oboe today. Yet it takes so many drugs for me to GET to this "all-better" state that they keep seeing me in, where I'm actually awake and talking and eating. I have to take the heavy-duty sore throat medications AND benadryl AND tylenol or ibuprofen on top of that, and then I have to numb my entire mouth and rub baking soda in my wounds. I keep numbing my throat, on top of that, with popsicles and things, and then I can eat normal foods, almost, as long as they're mushy by the time they go down my throat. I get so exhausted.

This is just a repeat of everything I've said before.

I want so badly to see people some more, to see them again . . . it's been at least for a week for everybody, except Liz, and, even then, it's been several days. I'm so isolated. It's only online that I can talk to people, and even then, it's few and far-between, and no one keeps up with the journals anymore.

I had some thoughts this morning, before I took my medications.

I'm scared to write, scared in case it comes out all terribly drug-induced.

PS: I was thinking about using "Air on a G-String" by Bach for my music today, but I didn't . . . and it ended up being played on the radio just after I posted this entry, lol . . .
tabular_rasa: (Wherefore?)
Hello, everyone; I'm back again today.

This is really weird. I have sweat DRIPPING off me-- and, oddly, off my belly. It's rolling down my skin. It scared the hell out of me when it first happens, but it keeps going . . . and my heart rate just skyrocketed, too . . . this is kind of scary . . .

I'm going to force myself to eat a popcorn cake.

My days have gone like this: I wake up, exhausted, embroiled (is that a word? Did I even use it right? Lol . . . ) in sweat, and I roll out of bed to the couch. I sit there and shiver under a blanket for a few minutes. Then, Mom gives me some ice water (like half a glass of water with like five ice cubes-- it's the only way I can drink it, cold enough . . . ), and offers me something to eat. We ran out of watermelon and so I'm suffering a dearth of appetite again. I usually eat a Push-Up. Those things save my life. Then I lie on the couch for a long time, recovering, and then I finally go into the bathroom and take painkillers and ibuprofen, and sprinkle baking soda on my sore in my mouth, and spray myself with chloroseptic, a lot, and rinse out the front half of my mouth, so my new ailment, one of those inflamed taste buds, doesn't get irritated. Then, I'm social for a little bit, and Dad asks me, "Feeling better?" and I usually am, but I don't say it, because it jinxes it; it always does-- and it would be a lie, besides. By the time I'm done digesting my food I'm drained again and I crawl back into bed. Occasionally I forgo the eating and I'll shower or go online instead. Online's the only time I'm semi-functional because I can be completely gone in what I'm doing, not what I'm feeling, not just lying on the couch, "healing," or whatever. That's just plain painful and hurts like hell. Showering takes an hour because the warm (well, scalding ^_^) water feels so good, and it takes me so long to will myself to get out, and then to PHYSICALLY get out and dry off. I crawl into bed with wet hair and it prompts my fevers and breakages. I think I have been getting little mini fever cycles. I drool all over the pillows. It repeats, about once every two or three hours . . . I sleep longer than I am awake, usually . . . it's very sad . . .

I was just considering the bad portance tomorrow has for me. It's one of those story voodoo things. At least I can prevent suicide, I guess-- but, oh, how timely and how fitting that would be . . .

. . . I did say that I wanted to kill myself because of those. I hope dearly that it does not come to that, but, honestly, when I wake up and I feel like shit, I want to die. When I cannot breathe because of the soreness of my throat and the mucus of my nose . . . it's better to be awake, than asleep, but one must be asleep to enable one's self to be awake . . .

How ironic that would be . . .

The Nitty-Gritty Details of the Effects on my Body and Eating Habits That I'm Sure You Don't Want to Read So Don't Even Bother )

There's no real clear end in sight. I'm not going to wake up better, and I'm not doing a whole hell of a lot better than I was in the original afflictionatory (yeah, well, I KNOW that's not a word, lol . . . ) days.

Liz and Nate came up yesterday; Liz had vowed to bike up here sometime, and she did. So I attempted to stay awake for her and be entertaining, and, well, it was fun when I wasn't exhausted and had to crawl back into a hole and go to sleep, lol. They ate some of the chicken and stuff there was going to be a ton of if somebody didn't eat, and I actually ate some of the vegetables. I was proud of myself; I actually sat at the dinner table!

I'm still so sorry Nichole and Kristina couldn't come up for the fireworks, and I guess it probably seems unfair that Liz and Nate got to see them and if they were up then Nik and Xie could have come up no problem, too . . . but, God, I can't plan anything. I can't think. I just sort . . . exist, right now. I talk to people online when they speak to me. Other than that, it's pure, unadulterated uselessness.

I hate it.

Here's to hoping that I don't die tomorrow or something . . . the last few minutes kind of scared me, and it's not very goodly-portentious, tomorrow is not . . . but I am, after, a whiner and a drama queen . . . you know, not that the fact that my appendix f*cking exploded and I didn't "notice" for ten days, matters, or anything, lol . . .

When it hurts, it usually means something, for me.
tabular_rasa: (Windflowers)
I hate viruses.

I have always hated them, ever since I read Explorabook when I was little and it showed those picture of them, these dark little mushroomish peg-like things, attaching themselves in massive unfair numbers (even though they were small) to a cute little defenseless bacterium, one of those orange cute fuzzy ones, sucking out its force of life and injecting it with their spawn, their spawn of DEATH!!! . . . and I was like, "Dad, is that bacteria going to die?" and he's like, "Yeah, it's going to explode with their babies in a second. They basically turned it into a virus itself, a virus breeding ground." I felt so bad for the cute little orange bacterium, which had been hanging around pens and such like that all day in the rest of the Explorabook, and now it was going to have to die . . . and that is always why I have hated viruses . . .

. . . also, because THEY DON'T DIE WHEN YOU GIVE THEM DRUGS!!!


I have a fucking virus. Yeah, this isn't strep. It's a fucking, fucking, fucking damn virus, which means it WON'T FUCKING GO AWAY and I have to FUCKING LIVE WITH IT for another FUCKING LONG TIME, however the HELL LONG it takes it for it to just DIE!!!

. . . which should be a long time, considering my immune system is shot since all I've eaten since last Wednesday is a few random pieces of watermelon, like three popcorn cakes, and some mushrooms at dinner last night. They weighed me on the scale, and I weighed 118 pounds. THAT IS ALMOST TEN POUNDS LESS THAN WHAT I WEIGHED TWO WEEKS AGO AT MY PHYSICAL (and I hadn't been eating much that week, besides!)!!!!! I used to weigh 126 pounds, thereabout, and now it's only 118. I don't have an ounce of water in my body. There are no NUTRIENTS in my body. I have no VITAMINS in my body, and there is no way this open sore on the inside of my mouth is ever going to heal, and even if I can force something down my throat, it still stings in my mouth, too!!! I told Tory yesterday I thought my boobs were shrinking, and that my butt felt squishier than usual. I think it may actually be the case. I'm eating up my own body fat. Fun times . . .

The doctor was really mean, too. The nurse was young, like an intern or something, and she didn't swab my throat properly, so after twenty minutes this doctor lady comes in and redoes it and like freaking JAMS it down my throat so I gag and almost vomit all over her, even though I couldn't possibly have vomited since I had nothing in me. She said the initial swab came back negative but it wasn't done right so she had to double check. So the whole time (which took about twenty minutes, again, maybe even a half-hour), I was sitting in this hospital room, freezing (and I swear I still have a fever; the thermometer lies, or else my normal temperature is way off . . . I've never measured my temperature when I've felt normal, after all, lol . . . ), and telling myself that it had better be strep throat or else something else bacterial or else I was just going to die, go home and kill myself or allow myself to finish up the freaking course of starvation I had already gotten myself into.

So, naturally, I burst into tears when the doctor comes back in and tells me the test came back negative again. I was like, "Do you know what it is? Is there something I can do? Because, honestly, I cannot go on like this," . . . and it's true, I can't; I'm fucking miserable right now and I want to die.

So she gives me this nasty look, like I'm overreacting, which Mom did again to me in the car, yelling at me for looking like I've just been diagnosed with cancer than some viral throat complaint. The doctor told me to go buy some popsicles. Honest to God, that doesn't fool me. It's the same shit they told me when I got my tonsils out; believe me, I know. I had tonsilitis every year of my life until I was seven and finally got them taken out, and I've had strep at least eight times since then. It's a fucking lie, that whole ice-cream thing: Yeah, you get it, BUT YOU DON'T WANT TO EAT IT.

Seriously, I'd rather go through the whole burst-appendix thing. That was even pleasant, at times. After the blow-up, the most pain I got during the drainage process was a few bedsores, the occasional pressure in my abdomen that could be relieved by flatulence, and that pickline from hell, which wasn't even related to my actual ailment, either, lol . . .

So now I'm going to attempt their foolish remedies. At most, I'll at least get some liquid and sugar in me. Orange push-ups saved my life once . . .

I'm sorry to everyone (and, yeah, it really is EVERYONE, isn't it?) that I had to cancel plans with. I couldn't go to Shakescenes, I couldn't take Tory to Tae Kwon Do, I couldn't go shopping with Tiffany (and was Jessica going, too?), I couldn't have a movie night with Liz, I couldn't have Nichole and Kristina up today for the boat parade and fireworks, I couldn't do anything with Robert and Alice (I think I only disgusted Robert with my near-delirious and totally unchecked statements about the puddle of drool upon my pillow when he called, but I can barely even remember; I'm so tired and functionless right now), and I think my grandparents even all can't come up because I'm so sick and I might infect one of them, and it's one thing to battle EVIL VIRUSES OF DOOM as a ripe, young 18-year-old (even one who hasn't eaten in half a week), and quite another to as an elderly person.

Heh, anyone I haven't named want to make plans with me to back out of?
tabular_rasa: (Windflowers)
Wow, I feel weird and sick and trippy today.

Yesterday my throat hurt, and all my taste buds were messed up, too-- like I was explaining to Julia, cherries tasted like meat and salty, meaty salami tasted sweet, like fruit. My entire nose-mouth-throat area felt entirely numb and plasiticine. I was worried about driving up to the lake becuase I kept hallucinating and seeing kiwis (like as in the bird) in people's driveways and things . . .

So then I went to bed, hoping to cure what ailed me, by taking some Nyquil . . . it was in a new (well, I should say "unopened") package, but just after I took it, I looked down at the label and realized it said, "Expires by 10/01." So that was an interesting night: it was all black and white, and stimulated, and uncomfortable, like a weird black-and-white film being played triple-time in front of my eyes and I was unallowed to become anything comfortable. I woke up early and told Mom I was sick, but she didn't get the hint, and Tory had to call her later to say we wouldn't be coming into town to do the millions of things we had to do . . .

I slept in until 2:00; I was completely non-functional until then. I couldn't drink, because water made my throat close off with mucus and I would just spew it all back up, anyway . . . and so eventually Tory brought in some watermelon for me, and that was WONDERFUL, because it gave me liquids (I was SO THIRSTY!!!) but it WASN'T a liquid . . . so it was so great . . . it was like waking up from anethesia, honestly . . .

I now feel all wet and hot and sweaty; I think I must have had a fever that broke. It was weird, today, anyway . . . but I feel bad, because I had Shakescenes, and Tory had a belt ceremony, and Mom had a desert she wanted Tory to make for her in town . . .

Watermelon and marshmallows saved my life. Marshmallows actually didn't taste like anything sh*tty as I ate them . . . and now I can actually down popcorn cakes, too ^_^

Oh, in other (good) news, my roomate wrote back! She sounds really enthusiastic, which is nice . . . she's bringing an iron and an ironing board and a vacuum cleaner ^_^ and she says our room is nice and big, because she's down at the school now for some summer program and checked it out, lol ^_^

January 2015

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