moiread: (hugz • sarah s.)
• I got food poisoning last week. It was brutal. I threw up so much I got hemorrhage around my eyes and cheeks and pulled several muscles. I'm still not all better but I'm getting there!

• I'm finding ways to get additional sessions, kids, and funding for the program I work in, which is good for the kids and good for my wallet. Making $360 a month from that job instead of $100 is good, especially since ODSP takes half. I will probably also pick up private tutoring work, because (so far, at least) I can't find anything else locally that meets my needs/restrictions. Also ODSP has started reimbursing me for the cost of some more of my medical supplies plus the cost of taxis to appointments, which is another $300 a month, roughly, so I should be okay. (The summers are always the hardest because I have no extra income.)

• I started a new treatment for my feet. It involves SCIENCE! Basically they blast my plantar fascia with short bursts of a sonic shockwave, and these repeated microtraumas both break up scar tissue and force my blood to heal the area. I tend to look at non-standard physio treatments that have had inconclusive clinical results with a very jaundiced eye, but at this point I'd tried everything else anybody could suggest (apart from cortisone injections, which have a 50-50 chance of either improving the problem or making it worse, so no thank you to that) so I figured, what the hell. My parents were willing to pay for it, since nobody would cover it, and actually it seems to be helping. I started the treatment on my worst foot only so that I could observe the results objectively by comparing the two, and after three treatments, my worse foot is now usually on par with my less-worse foot and sometimes better. If this continues, I'll add do another run of it but on both feet. I'm not convinced that this treatment will make anything all better, or how long the effect will last, but I figure that even a small improvement is worth it. If I choose to escalate further after the shockwave treatment, the next steps are blood doping (cool!) and surgery (less cool!).

• I am now sleeping with a dorsiflexion boot, a CPAP machine, a bite guard, and sometimes wrist braces. I feel like I'm slowly turning into Darth Vader with boobs.

• We're going on a family camping trip this weekend. I leave Thursday. It was originally supposed to be for my birthday, but it got co-opted by my mom, re-worked to suit her fancy, and then postponed because of her work schedule, so at this point I'm expecting it to be less of a birthday gift to me and more of a complete shitshow starring my crazy parents who hate each other. But I have books, good hiking boots, a solid sense of direction, and feet that are doing a bit better, so I am totally not above fucking off by myself during the day. We'll see how it goes.

• Unlike the complete birthday fail above, [livejournal.com profile] timprov sent me a framed print of "Tulips and Snow Peas" because it is my favourite and he is wonderful. He picked this rich royal purple for the mat and it looks so, so gorgeous, seriously. I am going to take a picture and post it once I have a chance to get it up above my dining table where it unquestionably belongs. :D :D
moiread: (facepalm • famke j.)
...of my brother and I as kids. He's the one with the mullet and the Batman jammies. I'm the one who is painfully obvious. I don't know who that is between us. Still: D'aww! So ickle and ridiculous!



I find it kind of hilarious that you could look at this picture where I'm probably, what, seven years old, and look at me now and think, "Oh, sure, that makes complete sense. Short hair, guitar, bright colours, same colours. Giant dork. Got it!" And yet if this photo had been taken even a few years later, you would not be able to say that. Heh. (I discovered Anne Rice when I was nine and by ten I was trying to become a winsome sad goth with a mythology obsession, pagan leanings, and hair so long it could trail behind me on the floor. I got pretty close before my really angry teens hit and I edged sideways into punk.)

OM NOM NOM

Jun. 24th, 2012 03:58 pm
moiread: (sushi • stock.)
Today for Father's Day (dad was camping last weekend, so we postponed by a week) I bought my dad four pounds of ground kangaroo butt and we turned part of it into burgers. My Australian friends were TOTALLY RIGHT! Kangaroo is DELICIOUS even when dulled by too much beef. (Kangaroo is so lean that I felt we needed to mix it with beef or pork just to keep the burgers moist, but I think next time we will not let my mother dictate the ratio*. I'd originally planned 2:1 in favour of the kangaroo and it seems I was on the right track, so we'll go with that next time instead of the 1:1 we wound up doing for lunch today.)

We got the kangaroo from Bearbrook Farm about an hour outside the city. They sell elk, deer, bison, llama, duck, turkey, goose, peacock, lamb, regular pork, wild boar, ostrich, emu, kangaroo, alligator, salmon, and frogs' legs, most of which they raise on their farm and some of which they acquire from elsewhere and resell. They bring their wares to farmers' markets all across the Ottawa valley. Mostly they keep prepared stuff like sausages or pre-made burgers or kebabs at the booths because those are easier to transport and sell, but I just emailed them to say what I wanted and let them know which market I'd be at on which day, and they gave me the price and had it ready and waiting for me when I got to the booth. (They were also really excited to see me. Apparently being really enthused about their product offerings produces mutual feeling!)

I hope to eat my way through their entire farm eventually, and am pleased to be able to cross kangaroo off my "Eat One of Everything That Won't Kill Me and Maybe Even A Few Things That Might" list.

Next up: Fried alligator at Fat Tuesday's downtown, just to see if it's too fishy for me. My understanding is that the taste of alligator varies widely depending on how it was raised/farmed, because it will taste largely like whatever its primary diet was. It seems to go between the fish and chicken ends of the spectrum and is very fatty. But a good friend had the alligator at Fat Tuesday's and recommended it, and I trust his judgment, so try it we shall. Am bringing my brother and father in tow, I think!

I also want to buy emu sausages as soon as I get my next paycheque and fry them up for the weekend gamers. I am so poor right now that I had only a dollar-fifty to spare in my bank account after the kangaroo and Interac fee, so I could do naught but stare forlornly at the emu sausages in their cooler as I waited for the debit machine to do its thing. Next time, emu! Next time. I'll get you yet.

Oh and my brother wants llama steaks for his birthday in October, because I took him to Mochica twice and now he feels the same way about llama as I do.

Basically the point of this post is to let you know that food is awesome and that everybody's gifts for the next year are going to be made of meat. You're welcome! :D

* For the record, my mother's issue is not so much about game meat in particular, but rather that she thinks anything that isn't bone-dry overcooked chicken or pork has too much flavour. I have never quite managed to let go of my childhood theory that she's actually an alien whose true food source is paper products, which is why she hoards them. She only pretends to eat human food in a largely unsuccessful attempt to keep up appearances. This theory probably makes me a bad person but it also explains basically everything!
moiread: (CAT  • sleeping.)
#1: My mother's hairdresser is moving and has been shopping around for somebody to cat-sit for a few weeks in case her temporary in-between accommodations cannot also accommodate her cat. When my mother originally told me about this possibility awhile back, I tentatively said I could be the person the cat goes to during that time, if the cat is friendly and well-behaved, and I was being paid to do it, and all the food/litter was provided in advance. You know. Reasonable requirements.

Only my mom is my mom, which means she didn't think to tell me that it was definitely happening, and I was definitely the person the cat was going to, and it would start tomorrow. Until today, that is, when she said, "Oh, and tomorrow night we have to go pick up the cat."

She thought it was weird when I looked confused and asked, "What cat?"

Yeah.

I don't even know the cat's name.

So alright then. Guess I have to spend tonight cleaning and go buy a shelf tomorrow? (The shelf is to go about an inch above Eve's tank, so that there can still be air flow but the cat can't sit on top of the tank and terrorize the snake inside.)

#2: I have been helping my dad renovate my parents' basement. Again. This time we're just focusing on the main big room, which we sectioned off and built last time. The room is being converted into a rec room slash bedroom for my brother, who will live in it for the next year. (Or two, I suspect, but don't tell him that.) After that it'll become a rec room slash guest bedroom.

It's been nice to spend more quality time with my dad, and to work on a project that I can see actual physical progress on from hour to hour. I have needed a concrete project for some time now. (I had picked one up in the form of redoing [livejournal.com profile] soirenoir's web stuff, but then my dad was all, "BASEMENT. HELP. NOW. PLEASE. I ONLY HAVE A WEEK IN WHICH TO GET THIS DONE." But I'm glad to know that once my parents leave on Wednesday for their upcoming trip, I will have another concrete project to turn to.)

It's mostly done, but finishing it requires that my brother make decisions about what he wants his future apartment to look like, at least in basic terms, because he wants to start buying and decorating with the future space in mind, and yet he also wants it to look coordinated with the basement room for however long he lives down there. My brother is allergic to decisions, so I'm glad that he has the next three weeks of my parents' cross-country road trip in which to ruminate over the ones in front of him.

Apparently picking between three neutral paint colours is, like, super hard. Or something.

#3: Still no word back yet about the results of the second EEG. Tomorrow I start calling.

#4: I AM GOING TO FARTHING PARTY IN SEPTEMBER. I am so excited! I have made some arrangements with Tim and Mris, and negotiated with my budget, and made arrangements for somebody to cover me on the two days of work I'll be missing. Universe willing, nothing will implode between then and now. I sorely need a week in Montreal with gentle people. You have no idea.

#5: LJ seems so quiet lately, and not just because of the DDoS downtime. I feel as though everyone is migrating to other places, and I... don't much like it. I miss having my friends all in one place. I don't want to have to follow Dreamwidth blogs and Twitter and personal domain name blogs and Wordpress and Google Plus and Facebook and Tumblr. Some of those I just refuse to follow at all on the principle that I have only so much attention span to go around. And Facebook, at least, is fucking scary and does not deserve my patronage.

If you have moved somewhere, I suppose you're not likely to see this, but if you do see it, could you tell me where you have gone so I can decide if I have it in me to add that place to the list of things I have to go check or not? For some of you, I know where you've gone, but for others I have no clue.

Bonus thing: Speaking of paint! I have chosen paint colours for my own bedroom and bathroom. The former is going to be a bright apple green, and the latter is going to be either a rich magenta or a soft purple, depending on what fabric I can find for the shower curtain. I AM EXCITED! Alas, getting it done has to wait until sometime in September, when both cash and volunteer manpower will be more available. ;)
moiread: (facepalm • cate b.)
Ha. "Invisible Disability Bingo Card". Reminds me of "Stupid Shit People Say to Me".

Seriously, if I hear one more person wishing they could "do what [I] do" and "stay in bed all day", I might start throwing things. I haven't been to work in almost three weeks now. Is anyone actually stupid enough to think that I'm just lazing around because it's fun and that it feels good, instead of that I'm lying there because I'm mind-breakingly exhausted and in pain, wishing I could be at work and trying not to freak out that I'm going to lose my job?

Anyway. A health update has been requested of me, so here it is:

I am managing. I am not well -- I'm still dizzy enough all the time that just bending down to take food out of the fridge makes my vision swim, and I had to lie down on the floor for fifteen minutes after trying to put away a few cans of soup in a high cupboard -- but I'm within the spectrum of stuff I have coping strategies for. I have the walker with the seat on it, so I can sit in that while I take things out of the fridge and fix basic no-cooking meals on the counter. The way my heart pounds frantically over something as simple as going from bedroom to kitchen to get a glass of water kind of freaks me out, but since I'm fairly certain it's not actually going to explode anytime soon, I'm not that worried about it. It's just... disconcerting.

My parents have been over to help out -- I made a grocery list of everything I'd need for a week of "no cooking more complicated than sticking something in the microwave for five minutes because using the stove is probably unwise just now" and my mom did a grocery run for me, while my dad unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher and took out my recycling and stuff. They are behaving very well so far, which means I can just be plain old grateful for the help, and I am. I've asked my mom to stop in here on her way home from work tomorrow so I can have somebody in the apartment when I attempt to shower tomorrow, since there's a good chance it'll go badly. Not so badly that I expect I'll fall over and crack my head open, but I'd like someone on the other side of the door just in case, and preferably not my father or brother, who would not cope well with having to rescue a naked, bloody, unconscious me from the floor. I'm not sure I would cope well with having my mother do it, but hey, necessity wins.

So things suck, but I have help, and apart from being incredibly bored and frustrated as all hell, I'm basically fine.

....I can't believe I just typed that. Wow. I really do have some fucked up definitions of words. Quoth my dad: "Sweetheart, you have a weird definition of the word 'bad'." Because I had said this wasn't overly so. I mean, yes, I know other people have it way worse than me. Hell, I am friends with someone who has, in fact, dealt with severe non-stop vertigo 24/7 for years, who can probably look at my situation -- hanging onto things, falling over in the shower, using the walls around my apartment to make sure I know which way is up when the room spins, not being able to bend down or reach up too high because it makes the world tilt, depending on the walker, etc -- and laugh. But still. My perspective is a little fucked up. So okay, maybe I'm not "fine", but I SAID I WAS COPING. That's like the same thing, right?

Pop quiz!

Sep. 5th, 2010 02:48 pm
moiread: (GLEE • antidepressants.)
Let's say you're in someone else's home. One of the residents of that home is in their bedroom. Their bedroom door is closed. You know that the resident is not feeling well, and they expressed earlier that they were going to go lie down. They have not since re-emerged.

You discover that you want access to something in their room. It is not an emergency, and it is not something that must be done right then. Do you knock or would you leave it until later (when either it becomes something that now must be done right away, or you see they have re-emerged)?

If you knock, and the answer you get back is "Yes?", do you open the door? Or do you ask if you can open the door? Or do you say what you need to say to the closed door?

If you open the door (or, alternately, if you requested to open the door and were given an affirmative), do you come in? If yes, how far? Or do you ask if you can come in?

If you do come in, or you are given an affirmative to come in when you prompted for permission, how far do you come in? A few feet? Or do you feel that being given the affirmative means you have permission to go wherever you need to in the room? (Assume that, unlike the person who spoke to them through the closed door, you have not yet expressed why you want access to the room.)

If, when you opened the door, you found that the person was in bed and had, by all signs, been asleep until you knocked, would you reaction change? Would you still proceed as before, since they have actively consented to your presence and you respect their assertions of their own wants and needs, or would you apologize and say you'll come back later because you know they weren't feeling well and what you wanted is not at all urgent?

For some of you, I know the answers to these questions already, but I'd like you to answer anyway!

(If you're wondering what real-life scenario might have prompted this quiz, it is almost certainly exactly what you're thinking. Only worse.)
moiread: (mischief/bite lip • kate n.)
This morning my parents had a fight in my apartment and I wound up in the unfortunate position of mediator. To make up for the stress and frustration of that nonsense, I decided to have a lazy, decadent day.

Instead of getting things accomplished, I took off all my clothes, jumped into bed, had a three-hour nap, woke up, lounged in bed reading (GGK's latest, "Under Heaven") while I ate chocolate (some pear, some passion fruit, all very dark and good-quality), then got up and reheated the mango chicken curry (with big chunks of fresh mango) that I made at 2am last night, then I steamed some brussel sprouts and ate them slathered in butter and lemon pepper, and after that I went back to reading. Now I am taking a break from reading so that I can eat ice cream in bed while I watch various shows about attractive conmen. And I still refuse to put clothes on.

So there.

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