Some Updates for the latest DSM

today in Nut Class we learned about phobias and other neuroses. here are some little-known ones i think are pretty important in our current world:

palmalivophobia: fear of clean dishes.

zoorophobia: fear of U2.

sucrofun-ophobia: fear of Fun Dipps or Pixie stix.

disenfranchosis: intense sweating, palpitations and skin rash when confronted with GOP politics. may also include diarrhea and welfare.

generalized affixitosis syndrome: sexual arousal brought on by Scotch Tape and other popular adhesives.

perpetual residual unspecified bettycrockeriasis (PRUB): trauma induced by intense wanting (and never having received) an Easy Bake Oven as a child.

hydrofelaromitism: preoccuaption with sniffing wet cats. common in veteranarians.

granular groin syndrome: possessing a constant sand-wad in yr bathing suit.

cleaval aerosuspention disorder: wearers of push-up bra's.

frigid syrupeanutitus: trauma induced by intense wanting (and never having received) a Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine as a child.

snuffleuffophobia: fear of large, hairy quasi-mastodon creature on popular children's television show.

rectovisual verbatim-adnauseam syndrome: disorder in which the individual, in addition to observing posteriors of others, is compelled to repeatedly report his/her findings on the subject in question, i.e. "Did you see the ass on her??" [see also boobovisual-]

-----> related disorders: see rampant violence-response commentosis satiation: subject (often female) grows tired of her recto-/boobovisual verbatim adnauseam partner and reacts, quite often in the public arena, by pouring a drink on him, bitch-slapping him, or simply cowering in the obscurity of self-loathing and inadequacy.
often these victims will later employ kickassicistic menengrageme tactics. the key to
rehabilitation is empowerment and often lookimagoddess-hooyeh tribalism with others
of similar gender, or the "I Rock, You Rock, We Rock" school of transactional analysis. recovery is variable but is almost certain!! :)

see? if only these things were in the DSM, psychiatric professionals would have a lot less work to do!

ok, time to snort some lines.

turn out dee light

interesting what a dedicated blogger i've become in the past 48 or so hours...i guess it's nerves. huh. i always consider the fact that i could simply type shit out for myself and print it out, hard copy, but that really isn't as much fun. this is gratuitous, this is my little corner of the world, yo (la tengo). i remember this story we read in 3rd grade or so about this poor little inner-city kid who decides to make a "corner" for himself his family's apartment. i remember he had a little step-stool thing, and a plant, and he even got a fish. it was a sweet story. sometimes i miss elementary school so, so much....and i guess this is why people decide to have kids. why relive it when you can live it vicariously, having already had the experience under your belt? who among us doesn't wish we could go back and tell the bullies, "you know, i don't really give a shit what you think of my [fill in blank], because in 15 years it's not going to matter."

in 15 years. in 20 years. 20 years ago i was in third grade. we had just moved into our new house. we could afford things. my father managed to buy a different car every year. my father is in ohio with 2 children who are 22 and 26(?) years younger than me. he always liked kids, never teenagers, never teenage girls. this way he'll be in a home before my half-sis turns 14, so all she will know is that he loved her.

i really don't complain like this all the time. this is my catharsis-time, my personal automated therapy. *scratches head*

it's fucking 4:30am. i have terrible beach boys songs stuck in my head from the princeton radio station. "be here in the morning, be here in the evening...." *shudder* they must've been on some pretty good dope out there. granted they also played some really obscure rolling stones that i'd never heard, it was really bluesy, i loved it. also enjoyed the kinks that the dude played too. i like college radio-- it seems like the dj's usually just sit there and enjoy the sound of their own voices, or admire their brilliant taste in music, or just cough a lot. i should really go to bed. well, i should have a cigarette and go to bed.

theo update: (pictures a little dotted line moving slowly across the country like in cartoons): he called from denver about 4 hours ago...i guess he'll get to chicago tomorrow afternoonish. i can't believe he is doing this, still. i thought the 5-hr plane ride was bad...geez...

meanwhile i've been decorating my dresser. i only got 2 out of 5 drawers done, not to mention the top and sides. i have to buy a lot more mod podge, or some kind of spray-finish. the top one is painted eggplant (shock!) with a scarab jewel on it and some bendy wire things...and the second is a collage of b&w pics with a gray-green background and black border. it actually looks pretty good...i guess i just got in the mood. it helped a lot with things.

well, got some poems together for tomorrow. hope i can stay for a little while. i'm talking to myself. i'm sleep-typing. i need a puff, need to feed that monkey up my ass.

my mother is now in the hospital, overnight. theo is still on his way, as far as i know. these events are enough to make a non-bipolar have some pretty vicious mood swings, no?

there's not much else, just moods, emotions as follows:

hopefulness, exhaustion, anticipation, rampant horniness, shattered disappointment, zombie-like apathy, annoyance. (this is just the morning.) then, resentment, fear, pity, self-pity, brief elation, self-pity, brief elation, exhileration. and more of the same. totally that germanic rollercoaster thing at Busch Gardens, i tell you. after having drank several beers from the local, adjoining brewery. (i might as well start a brochure for the place...)

elation, despair, elation, despair, despair, longing, yearning, numb, numb, passion, guilt, numb!

at least the numbness allows for relaxation and some daydreaming, which may or may not lead to the hope/elation again. i think i'll put down "Naked Lunch" this evening and leaf thru a Spin magazine. (this is the first magazine i have purchased in about 8 years.)

worlds go "boom"

he left yesterday, for here. this still seems very surreal. (then again, i am a self-designated surrealist..) the numb, physical, gray world is about to be crashed into by the one inside the cathodes. i hope i'm all i'm cracked up to be...ha!!

i don't even know what to think or how to think anymore. lack of sleep does that, i guess. i'm trying to prepare for this visit though, or at least look prepared. i got a manicure and even got my eyebrows waxed. as always i got yelled at by the manicurist for picking my cuticles. its so weird and unnatural to have people "service" me this way. it gives me that prize-pig feeling.

anyway, in all this anticipation, everything is so amazingly mundane. my mother's chief problem now is her stomach; i hope she got a little sleep and isn't dehydrated. i wonder if she'll go to her massage today. her nose is healing well-- the scrapes are virtually gone. oh, and she got her wheelchair finally..!

tomorrow i'm bringing in my poems to show to dan; maybe i'll be able to join his writing group/team/enclave/whatever they call themselves. meanwhile his extremely tiny and blond girlfriend asked me if i was d.j.'s "girlfriend" on monday. i was a bit infuriated and said "no, where'd you get this idea?" and she said he'd been telling ppl thus. i felt like calling him but i realized that's exactly what he wants me to do. god, leave me the f. alone! that place is like high school sometimes. other times its like a geriatric care facility, all of us milling around in a medicated stupor. anyway, it would be wicked to meet some other bp writers and work with them. if i'm good enough, that is.

well, if i had one wish, it would be to be stable, stable...can't go wrong there...


our love is no other
than me alone
for me all day...

--Live, "All Over You"

Blog Name Changed to "Breadcrumbs, Boulders and Bitching."

warning: may contain gratuitous bitterness, bad language, peanuts, corn nuts, lice, soybeans, masturbation, and the agony of defeat.

suddenly my veins are rivers of shit. suddenly its 3:25am. suddenly i am feeling way to sorry for myself.

gradually i realize i'm tired. gradually i understand i have pms.

progressively i notice i have no money. ever. always. eternally. forever and forever, amein.

instantaneously i am developing a headache.

morosely i realize that i am writing to myself and always will. the headache moves to the back of my head, smacks me upside the head, tells me that that's not true, dipshit.

annoyed, i recall previous phonecall with fuckstick from the past. out for my best interest...? dear friend? yeah, ok. i'd rather have a stranger give me some advice. could it be possible that someone would want to travel more than 5 minutes (on foot) to see me? why, it must definitely be suspect and desperate. eat my ass. i wish he would just leave me the hell alone.

noting my bitterness, self-destructive urges, pain, selfish thoughts, immaturity. moving on.

remembering i bought a copy of "Naked Lunch." recalling the drawing i did today (its posted on www.thexis.deviantart.com , shameless promotional plug, yeah yeah yeah, moving on).

watching the blue parakeet eat seeds.

feeling like the scene in "the wall" where pink shaves his entire body.

i'm not worthy. i'm not worthy. bang head with fist. recall lyrics from weezer's "hashpipe."

i'm super-subliminal. woooooo.

at least i can say that i'm not stupid, even if i am just a you-know-what.

i can't believe how many people i've alienated.

it's not always my fault.


i'm a creep. i'm too bitter. i make myself sick, and i'll make you sick too.

thank god its friday.

Unbreakable

she fell today. broke her nose. it's all my fault. ok, it's not all my fault, but i was a total clod in the face of adversity. i panicked a bit before i knew what to do.

i finally got myself together and brought the car around, of course...some nice guy who looked like frank zappa helped me get her into the car. i took her to the ER and stayed even though she told me to go home.

she's ok now, sleeping i think. i know i didn't do a good enough job (she told me it was satisfactory but that i wasn't all there at first). i hate myself for not being able to hoist her up over my head, for not knowing what to do and saying, "what should i do???" instead of mobilizing forces. i hate myself for letting her fall in the first place (she told me to wait inside while she crossed the street, i should've known better).

i hate myself for letting her be in pain. most of all i hate having to WATCH her be in pain and know that this is going to go on for years and years. i feel i am sentenced to this, and that i am selfish for wanting to have my own life and feel good and flourish on my own.

what the hell?? who invented this shit anyway, these diseases? do people in less developed countries get MS? or lou gerhig's?? what IS this? i know the smart thing to do is calling the MS society or whatnot and getting support for caregivers...and i will do this...but i am not cut out to be a caregiver! (and right now, i shall panic!)
well, i worked in a human services field, but i was allowed to go HOME everyday and take care of ME, sort of. i came here to live with her because i was sick of getting beaten up by someone who refused to let me leave them gracefully. this was supposed to be a refuge. i am so selfish. all i can think of is myself, and why is this happening to ME?

the thing is i know she's in pain, i hear about the pain, i feel the pain, i can't stand her crying, it makes me want to scream and beat my head in and punch my face. she was howling today when she fell, which i think is what made me freeze. i just can't move when she cries. it almost makes me angry, it made me want to yell at the passersby, "SEE? DO YOU SEE WHY I CAN'T HANDLE THIS? DO YOU SEE THAT SHE'S NEVER GOING TO GET BETTER? DO YOU SEE THAT I AM GOING TO BE BURIED RIGHT ALONG WITH HER?????????"

people were stopping all along the street, young guys in white t-shirts, just staring. the cops drove on by. i keep replaying it over and over in my mind. she fell 2 other times, once tripping over my shoes and bruising her arm. i can't take this goddamn tragedy, there is no one else she can turn to. no aunts and uncles bringing dinner and flowers, no grandparents, no brothers or sisters to hang out with her while i go out back and eat dirt and weeds. waaah.

then there's good old phill. (if he sees this, too bad.) he's her part-time savior, her punch-in time-clock jesus. when he's here she's walking on air, and when she feels shitty he's always there to be soothing and calm and calm and soothing. but he gets to go HOME, take a break, never make a commitment. not that its his responsibility....after 5 years...but his loyalties remain rather shady and false. i'm sick of being manipulated into thinking that he will care for her someday, that he will get his thumb out of his ass and do what he says he's going to do. especially since i'm such a dangerous, harmful, crazy fuck who he needs to protect her from. right???? wouldn't that be reason enough??

shit shit shit shit shit shit. i feel so immature but i don't care. whoever you are reading this shlock, be glad for your health, both mental and physical, cuz if it goes, that's IT. and both often go at the same time. i want to do something crazy. i want to hop in our car, drive until the sun comes up. drive until i see rattlesnakes. drive with loud music on that makes me cry and let my hair blow out the window until it's a huge knot, and then i'll hack it off and bleach it, and look like madonna in the video for "open your heart." (all i need is a bustier with steel points on the boob part....then i could work at a third-rate peep show and get some cash for gas, smokes, a few burgers, the treasures i will find for when i finally reach the west coast, for the only person who understands and cares and knows.)

selfish, selfish. i would run away when she needs me the most. i'm too boring and scared to take off anyway. i've never wanted to just start running, physically sprinting, so badly. ok, maybe the time when i caught my high school boyfriend drooling all over his ex...i ran all through the hallways of the school, i felt like a track star. "stars of track and field you are beautiful people." what i would give, man! high school! lockers! a father to handle this mess and be strong for her! friends to whisk me away into diners.

her crying echoes in me, sounds like old ladies at funerals, sounds like newborn baby sobs, like raped children. i'm in the desert now. i'm pulling over on the completely flat landscape to kick the sand around with my combat boots, have a smoke, look at the cacti, look for scorpions and snakes.

there will have to be a sandstorm i can get lost in. perhaps like the ones in "dune." i won't be able to see my hand in front of me. i will be part of a sad country-western video, wearing a white slip and walking barefoot in the sand. i will be taken away in handcuffs and shown to my final nuthouse, where i will live the rest of my life.

cowboy boots, i am uma thurman hitching a ride in "even cowgirls get the blues." i am able to enjoy alcohol and pot and drink lots of vodka every night and smoke a fatty. i lie under the stars, i live in canyons and nobody is even sure if i am real or a legend. i eat peyote and see the inner-workings of the universe and grow long armpit hair. i visit my dear one at school. duck into a class when no one's looking, thinking i'm just some bedraggled girl. i laugh and learn with him and meet all his friends and heal him and me and us. kiss the sand away from his eyes. dart around like a lizard, not imposing. i would stay as long as i could, slipping out to bleed away the pain as needed until its no longer needed. then i would be an artist again, or start writing, and maybe shave my armpits.

at least there's daydreaming. at least there's ancient civilizations, the unknown societies, the books i haven't read yet and want to. there's his shining face and spirit-vessel, can't wait to have my eyes sandblasted by white-hot stars when i see them.

for now, i guess i'll just hang out. i'll get better at this care-taker stuff. won't i? either that or i will not allow phill's skinny ass to sneak on by this time. this is not the end!! this is not MY end, this will not be MY Final Exit! i will breathe until i can't. i will hate the disease, not her. i will take my post by her bedside until i am given clearance to go. i will love her the best i can, in my convoluted little mind.

barium, donuts and hay

i haven't turned on the pc in a week or so. sorry if i owe you an email or something. i haven't even checked it yet. i'm not dead though.

listening to "69 Love Songs," Magnetic Fields. i keep hearing the Smiths in absolutely everything i listen to these days...i'm probably not that far-off...i'd like to think i have a good catalog-brain for non-dominant music kinda stuff.

you can tell i haven't written in a while, hunh. actually i've been painting a lot, and having meaningful conversations a lot. i'm about as graceful as an ant-eater but i still can't get enough of it. chasing the mounds, colonies of words from other with my long anchovy tongue. i suck at talking. i've worked on making my voice better, the cigarettes helped, but it's more duncan hines than creme brulee. i hardly care, i'd rather sing until the last molecule of partially hydrogenated vegetable oil or whatever leeches away, stripped electrical wire, beyond more mixed metaphors until i'm this fire-creature that doesn't even consider...doesn't even.... *sweat* i'm not even sure if this belongs in a weblog, ye rapscallions. quip!

anyway. i'm going to look at crafty stuff in the park tomorrow with my barely-ambulatory mother. i can't wait until she gets the dang wheelchair...we've been waiting on the insurance company for months now. how can people look at a request for a wheelchair by a doctor for a patient and say, "naaahhhhhhh.....this ain't worded right." what???

yeah, so. i haven't done much else lately...i had a CAT scan on my stomach/pelvis today, speaking of insurance companies. piece o' cake! the worst part was drinking my "Berry Smoothie" barium. i drank 2 bottles of it and the lady there greeting me with another one. i felt like saying, "you drink it." but i did. i feel like i weigh a lot more...and boy, did it give me mad gas.
the test itself involved lying horizontal inside a large white donut. the table moved me in and out of the donut. i could see red stuff (jelly??) moving around inside the donut and then the donut spoke to me, telling me when to breathe and when not to. it was a male donut voice(which totally didn't fit the scenario at all..) and i could see my reflection in the glass above, my hands above my head, hair fanned out, supplicating, eyeing the little light that meant "radiation is on."

my mother was there, she had another MRI to add to her portfolio. we went out to a nice lunch it this neighborhood italian place, which was cool. i got this chicken with artichokes and asparagus in a champagne sauce....god, it sure beats barium.

i later managed to dodge a haunted hayride. i don't understand these sorts of things anymore, and i'm not sure i ever did. HAY? who wants to be in a bunch of hay? it's moldly, it smells, it's full of bugs, and there are fake zombies brandishing plastic axes, and vampires trying to grab your ass or something, and the boys are all trying to look unfazed, and the girls are either screaming and screaming, or they are brushing hay out of their hay, or swatting the ass-grabbing vampires...

truthfully i'd rather sit by myself these days. i can't believe i used to be such a party animal. (i did. not gross, but pretty wild. comes with the territory i guess...*licks chamelion skin*)

mundane, mundane. it's ok.

i'm off to the war
but you can be sure
i will know you're
what i'm fighting for