March 24th, 2006

Capri - xanadumalion

Finally Friday!

And an attempt at a normal post...

Happy birthday to everyone whose birthdays I've missed!

Hello to new readers adrian76 and leonardpart6, and dear corrguineacht! :)

The usual. Exhaustion + nausea + a bit of brainfuckery. Have been having bouts of going to bed quite early.
Wrist hurts.

Operation Freefall!
Please sponsor kungfoogirl! She needs $600 by April 1 to do the jump. She's at $440. Please, please, please!
*checks* Ditto enderfem, who's at $285!

I am at $770, which means that I am jumping, but with panties. Unless I get more money. But right now, I'd rather you sponsor K-Foo and Enderfem first, or they won't be able to do the jump at all.

Sponsor KungFooGirl!
Sponsor EnderFem!
Sponsor me!

And many, many thanks to those of you that have already sponsored, and those of you that have already pimped...

Friday Memeage!
Burgundy twinset and jeans; happy bunny panties and red-and-black-striped "troublemaker" socks. My hair is not clipped back - I'm wearing a headband. Weeeird.

I just finished The Engineer Reconditioned by Neal Asher and Nightlife by Rob Thurman. The latter is a first novel, and quite fun! The former is a short story collection, and my love for Neal Asher is well-documented. (Previously-documented side note - everyone I have sex with also reads Asher. Which bodes well for australian_joe's chances. Craftsman, d'you read him, or do I need to get you a copy of Gridlinked or The Skinner?)

I've just started City of Saints and Madmen by Jeff Vandermeer, whose writing style on Veniss Underground - and the three pages of this that I read over breakfast - reminds me of nothing more than Francesca Lia Block's Estasia. Yes, that's a good thing.

Elayna is Reading
Dunk, by David Lubar. She just finished Jerry Spinelli's Space Station Seventh Grade.

The third extremely kid-centric weekend in a row!
Friday: Tibetan sand mandala workshop for kids. Kids age 10-15, so it'll be more interesting than last year's table that random three-year-olds could mess with.
Saturday: Chemistry of Toys workshop at Fernbank, then straight back to the Carlos for the closing ceremonies of the sand mandala and procession to Lullwater Park. Then - sleepover party! Yes. Four giggly girls. All night.
Sunday: Beethoven "in Blue Jeans" concert... "Beethoven" will talk about his works in between the orchestra playing them. Elayna digs Beethoven.

  • Current Mood
    awake awake
Book Love - by RoseFox

Reasons to study neurology #583

When I'm medicated, I'm a bit verbally fucked. I lose words, lose trains of thought. Frankly, there are times I sound like an idiot, especially in the first two to four hours after taking my meds.

But I can write just fine.

No pause, no search for words. Just flowing.

Clearly, the writerbrain is a completely different part of the brain from the verbal.

It frustrates me that the books I want are med school textbooks (DocOrion did repeatedly say that he could drop me into a third-year neurology clerkship seamlessly, based on my current level of knowledge and research) and are therefore ludicrously expensive.

Yes, I want to go back to school.

No, I don't yet have a degree - I have a couple of years of night school, is what I have. And you can't test out of getting your bachelor's degree. So in order to get to the level of education that I'm already up to, I'd need years of spending lots of money to be bored off my ass with stuff I already know.



Money sucks.

He also tried repeatedly to talk me into med school. "As long as I don't have to see any patients," I said. Research, I could do. I'd like to do research.

Yes, this has been on my mind for a while.
  • Current Mood
    frustrated frustrated

Phasers on random

Mini-blasts from my state of mind...

Movers that drive the truck for you: ~$3,000
Moving trucks you have to drive: ~$1,000, free mileage (Budget and Penske), 5 days

Amount Woman's Day pays for essays: $2,000 (articles? Unknown, but "competitive")
Amount Bitch pays for articles: $100
Will look up others later...

Percent done on the primer: 70

Time left til I can go home and take my nap: 45 minutes

Wrist pain: Moderate
Medication taken for same today: 1 Celebrex, 2 Tylenol
Days overdue orthopod is on giving me MRI results: 2

Days until most important event of 2006 so far: 4
Number of things in statis til about a week after that (estimate): 5 kajillion

Thing not in numerical format: My breasts are noticably larger. *looks down* I hope that this is weight gain and not just a premenstrual thing. *looks down again* Perkier, too. Yep. That's nice.
  • Current Mood
    irritated impatient

Out of Order

(I wrote this a year and a half ago, on a cold day in Boston, curled up on volta's couch before he woke up. I posted it then, but only filtered - I was still in the center of my fear, weightwise. Now that the weight loss has stabilized and reversed, now that I'm not as desperately afraid of my body slipping further out of control, I'll post this openly.)

She is breaking.

Every day a little more. Every day a chunk of skin, of flesh.

Every day something more that she can't do.

She has lost the skin on her right hand, and is afraid to pick anything up. Striated muscle glistens at her. Won't she get infected somehow? Won't it hurt - a glass or a pen against her hand, without the skin to cushion it?

Don't be ridiculous, her friend says. There's nothing wrong with your hand.

I can't bend my fingers, she whispers.

Then you're stiff from cold. You don't have to be so dramatic about things.

I can see my bones.

She can. Through muscle, tendon, ligament.

Her lower arm is next. So many bits of her working together just to move her arm! Radius, ulna. So... graceful.

Everything is so graceful when you strip it down to bone.

She is afraid. This is unnatural. Things are falling away. There is so much that she is losing, so many things that she cannot do.

Her legs. Her belly. Tibia, fibula, femur. Uterus.

Ther uterus does not fall flaking from her body, as the hunks of skin and fatty tissue have. It fades. Day by day, it fades. She watches it, hands hovering above it, not daring to touch it for fear that it will absorb what's left of her hands.

Her hands are all bone now. Her arms. Her legs are starting to lose their muscle. Somehow, she keeps moving.

Her other organs are fading. She is patchwork and insubstantial.

She can still see her face. It's thinning. Fading. Near-translucent.

The process is fascinating. She can't stop watching herself, watching the meat fall away. Chunks of her back are gone. Vertebrae shine delicate and pristine through what's left.

You're losing weight, her friend says.

I told you what's happening, she says. I'm breaking apart. Things are falling away.

Are you still talking about chunks of your skin?

Skin, muscle, organs, she says dreamily.

Her friend looks at her warily. Your skin is there, she insists quietly. But I am worried about your muscles.

And viscera.

All of it. You're too thin.

My bones, though. Don't you see? My bones are so beautiful.

She goes home, looks in the mirror. Almost all gone now.

She is no longer afraid.
  • Current Mood
    calm calm