Hives

So ... let's talk about hives.

I don't want to talk about them, and I'd prefer that they didn't exist; BUT I have them.  In fact, I've had them for about two months now.  I've been on steroids to combat them (the steroids work only while I'm on them, after which point, the hives come back).  I've been prescribed super-dose antihistamines to combat the itching (put a pin in that - we'll come back to that).  I was prescribed hyper-steroid cream to rub on the itchy bits (it doesn't work).  And my lovely daughter made me a skin panacea of coconut oil and other things to condition my skin (which made my skin obnoxiously soft, but which also attracts every mosquito in the tri-state area).

Nothing seems to work.  When the steroid treatment is over, the hives come back.

So let's talk about what causes hives ...

I believe the initial problem was fucking pesticides.  Human-made chemicals to kill bugs, which also (unfortunately) have terrible side effects.

Again, BUT ...

Here are other things which either cause hives (or exacerbate them):

• Stress (well, shit.  Obviously, I have that one covered.)
• Anxiety (see above)
• Heat (the temperature here has been at or above 100 degrees for like a month)
• Changes in temperature (are you fucking kidding me?!  If I go outside, and then I go inside where the air conditioning is on, there is like a 30 degree change in temperature!!)
• Gardening (Yep, one of my only favorite hobbies - it turns out that I am probably allergic to everything, including insect bites of every kind.)
• Pollen (Fuck me.  I live in Nebraska!!)
• Hot baths (I can't NOT take hot baths.  It's sometimes the only thing that holds me together after a long day.)
• Menopause (google told me this, and I will fucking kill someone if that's the cause.)
• Food (Seriously?!)

So, yeah.  I'm fucked, I guess.  Doomed to have hives for the rest of my life, because I eat food, go outside, and have a life which isn't ideal.

Now the "pin" from the antihistamines.  

I ate the first dose (prescribed) and they didn't really work.  So when I went back the second time, my doctor gave me a double dose of the same thing.  I never read the Drug Indications on the paper the pharmacist gives me, because I'm paranoid that I will get those side effects.  As it turns out, I should have read them.  

My youngest child came in my room two nights in a row, because I was choking.  (As per the "indicators" one of the allergic reactions is swelling of the sinus cavity and throat, which can lead to death.)  Also, I had two of the scariest dreams of my life - I was dying in both of them - and I was a total mood-swinging bitch.  (Indication of the medicine include changes in thought or mood  - totally fucking weird, as a "side effect".)

So ... the drug I was taking so that I wouldn't scratch my skin off in the middle of the night was actually trying to kill me.  It almost DID kill me, and had I not read that stupid piece of paper from the pharmacy, which I (accidentally) didn't throw away, I wouldn't have known to stop taking it.

And now?  I still have the hives.  I can't get a tan, because being in the sun (sweating) makes them worse.  I look like a fucking leper, but I guess that's okay, since I have no sex life and no one really cares what I look like anyway.   

Wouldn't it be nice to have summer be a time of rest, sun, relaxation, and calm?

Not this year.

Some People Take Up Too Much Oxygen

                                                             

I just read an opinion article in the New York Times (I know, I need to stop reading the NYT) about exercise.  The article pulled me in with the title:  “Exercise for the Immediate Satisfaction”.  Since I already agree, and I know that I should work out every day, I started reading the article.

Here’s how it started:  “I was going to skip my daily swim the other morning.  I had already walked three miles with a friend and taken my dog to the park for his exercise.  I was really tired, my back was sore, I had a column to write and lots to do around the house…”

More words ensued, but what a bunch of bullshit.  Who the fuck has that much free time?  And who wouldn’t think that walking three miles, walking the dog, and working at your house all day isn’t enough exercise? 

Some days, I’m too depressed to even get off my ass and walk on the treadmill for 20 minutes, so I understand that exercise is essential, but this guy is a piece of work.  Is the whole purpose of the article to inspire people, or to just make everyone who doesn’t plan purposeful movements for the entirety of their waking lives feel like shit?

So, yeah.  Thanks, columnist man.  Now I actually don’t want to work out, because I just feel doomed to be pudgy and weak. 

I need a life coach or something.  Preferably someone who likes to be lazy and drink cocktails. 

Flo & Things

Why can't I listen to the music I want to listen to in my own house?

When I want to listen to Florence & The Machine or The Smiths or (insert "sad" band here), I get shit from the two a-motional people in my house.  They don't like emotions, and (in fact) they are upset by my blasting Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" in my room.  (Notice that I said MY room, so I should be able to do whatever the fuck I want.)

Music is therapy.

Music is cathartic.

Music is memory.

Music is love (and hate and apathy and dissent and confusion and every other emotion which exists).

Let me breathe in the chords, and just leave me alone. If I like music that makes other people sad, isn't that their problem?  I listen to everyone else's music, so why shouldn't I be granted the license to listen to whatever the fuck I want?!  I am fucking old, so I should get to listen to whatever I want, whenever I want.

As Bill Withers said, "it's a lovely day", and I should be able to spend every day however I want - listening to whatever I want, whenever I want - regardless of what all these a-motionless whiners in my house want.

Music is the center.

Having Children Raised by Wolves

The "wolves" in the title are the various social media outlets preying on people.  All this omnipresent mental garbage in the world today doesn't just affect young people, but I my concern is not with the socially retarded adults of the world - just with my own family unit.

If I have to walk into a room one more time and see a bunch of young people NOT talking to each other because they have their phones jammed in their faces, I'm going to fucking freak out.

I love my children.  FULL STOP.   (Getting telegraphic up in here ...)

But ... (there's always a "but" isn't there?) ... they treat each other like shit.  They are generally acceptable in social situations (because of proper training, I assume), but they are mean, vindictive, dismissive and belittling to each other.  Perhaps this behavior is some sort of byproduct of Social Media Disease?  Like, instead of having genital flare-ups, they have verbal vomit that spews when they are forced to interact?

I am a  peacekeeper by nature.  I don't like dissention, especially when it occurs at the dinner table (living room, kitchen, hallway, car ...), and I can't bear to think that they actually (like, for REAL) don't like each other.

I assume it's a phase.  I assume they will grow up to like each other.  I assume they will hug it out later on in life and have cocktails.  But it would be REALLY great if they could get that shit over with right now and let me enjoy them, together, rather than mediating every single interaction (I wouldn't call any of their interactions "conversations")  in which they engage.

Can't a girl just get some fucking peace?!

Reading is Fundamental(ly Horrible, Apparently)

My child has to read a book this summer for Honors English.  It's about bunnies, which kind of sucks, but she has to read it regardless of the content - it's an assignment.

All she does is FUCKING COMPLAIN about it every day.

I am reading it with her, because I've never read it before, and I thought we could have some solidarity, but every time I ask her to read a bit of the book, she rolls her eyes at me and bitches about having to read a book.

She told me the other day that I don't mind reading, because I get paid to read.  Yeah right.  There are probably thousands of English teachers out there who don't read the books they assign, or they read those books once and then teach them absent-mindedly for the next 10 years.

I do NOT get paid to read.  And I am at a loss as to how a person could think that reading is a punishment.. I get that not all books are ground-breaking, mind-expanding, change-your-life sort of books, but for god's sake ... read anyway.

Indian Food & High School

                                                                                                       

                I just took my kids out to eat at The Jaipur in Rockbrook Village.  We had outstanding food and above average conversation (considering it was me and two teenagers who barely talk to each other on the daily).  When we left, there was a band setting up to play; weirdly enough, it was a band I’ve seen before, most notably when I was like a junior in high school.  I think it was the homecoming dance or something, but this band played in the parking lot of my high school 20-some years ago.  Reggae, ska, 70s funk – you know the kind of band I’m talking about – the kind where everyone dances the whole time.

                Here’s what was different:  I am now roughly 145 years old.  The people trekking in chairs to watch the band tonight were mostly very old and gray (and they probably go see every band that plays there on Friday nights, because they have nothing better to do every weekend), and this time I couldn’t stay to watch and dance.  I totally would have stayed, except I had these two teenagers with me.  And even THEN, I would have asked my kids to stay for a while and listen, except I had already made a promise to drive all the way back to the distant suburbs so that the youngest could go see a movie.  Oh, and I didn’t just have to pick up her friend, I had to drive to an even further ‘burb in order to drop them off, get out of the car, and sign them in to see an R-rated movie.

                Here’s the thing:  I don’t mind driving my kids around and doing the parental duties, but I find it infuriating that whenever I find something that might pique my interest, my needs are secondary to everyone else’s.  Tonight, there was really no question of staying or not staying, because I’d already offered to drive the kids to a movie on the other side of another town. 

                Why?  Because I have no social life, so it’s not crazy for my kids to think that I should just buy them expensive Indian food (because, after all, that’s what I wanted for dinner…) and then to take them back to the house so they can do whatever makes THEM happy.

                Tonight, I saw the guy who was the lead singer back in my high school days, and I walked up and talked to him for like 15 minutes, while the kids hung back, but what I REALLY wanted to do was just kick off my shoes and dance for a couple of hours with some familiar music and a guy who remembered my high school homecoming, even if I don’t really know him. 

                I’m whining, I suppose.  I shouldn’t want anything.  When a person has kids, they should succumb to the Christ-like attitude that individuality and independence of movement doesn’t mean anything after one has children, but the whole post-dinner situation made me sort of angry.  I have entirely forgotten how to be selfish, but my kids have it down to an art.  I guess I’m just jealous of their freedom.  If they don’t want to do something (for the most part) they don’t do it.  If I don’t want to do something, I do it anyway, because I have (somehow) convinced myself that’s what good parents do. 

                I need someone to help me be the parent I should be AND the parent my kids want to be like.  I am failing in this capacity, I think.  Selfishness can definitely be a virtue, and I need to practice it.

The Ocean

Do you remember the coast?  The primordial sound of waves hitting the sand and the deafening silence of the ocean?  Even if you haven't been to the ocean (god help you), there is a primal urge in humankind to seek out the ocean and its heartbeat.  I haven't been there in two years, and I can feel the tug happening every, single day.

I just got a call from a student I haven't heard from in 12 years.  12 YEARS!!  He just called me out of the blue and shot the shit for a half hour.  He wanted me to meet him in California to hang out with some mutual friends from back in the day.  My gut says YES and my brain says "that's the week you start school again".  Stupid.  I can't wait for the time in my life when I can do whatever I want, whenever I want.  Is that ever a time in people's lives??

I want to go to the Oregon Coast right now.  I want to pack up my Venza and hit the road with a trunk-full of shit and just GO.  I want to get the fuck out of here, but (if I go) I will pack all that debt on my credit card, because I'm poor as shit.  Maybe I should just live as though I'm going to die in a car accident tomorrow.  That way, I can do what I want and not worry about all the bullshit repercussions involved in actually doing something I want.

I may have to call in some favors with the extended family, but I think they like me enough to let me in for a day or two; and then I can just sleep on the beach for a few days.  I won't mind the sand crabs (or whatever) up my ass.  I just NEED to get the fuck out of Dodge for a while.  this place is bleak and oppressive, and I want to breathe different air and see different faces.  I want to ignore everyone and not talk to a single human being for a few days.  (I sound like Holden Caulfield with his pathetic quest for the west and being a hermit...)

Please.

White People Problems

I was just reading about the White Supremicist movement in America, and frankly, I don't get these people.  They want to say that black (brown, yellow, "other") people are causing all the problems in America, a premise which is fundamentally flawed.  Any time a group of people starts blaming OTHER people for their problems, all they're really saying is that they're sick of looking at themselves in the mirror.  It's much easier to external a problem than to simply accept things as they are.  No way in hell are all the problems in America attributable to non-white people.  This whole "patriotism" card is wearing really thin, because PATRIOTISM requires incorporation of a variety of people, all inhabiting a country to which we all contribute.  Period.

The fucking idiot the other day who murdered a bunch of people in a historically black church is the problem, not the black people in the church.  As I have said before, if you have that much hate in your heart, turn the gun on yourself FIRST and avoid imposing your own racism and stupidity on other people.

I don't know, maybe I'm an anomaly, but I think we should dislike people based on their personalities and not the color of their skin.  Some people are shitty, and that's just that way life goes, but maybe we ought to wait until we know people to past judgment on them.  And then maybe, just MAYBE, we ought not MURDER them just because we don't like them.  There are like 300+ million people in America - find some other people to hang out with...  Don't be a dick.

Reading What You Write

I just spent like an hour reading over snippets of things I have written in the past year or so - hole-punching sheets of paper and putting them in a binder, where they will undoubtedly just sit and gather dust.

There is probably some sense to be made of all the words I have puked out on my blog(s) in the past, but I can't find it.  Sometimes I make beautiful sense, but more often I am just writing words about things.

I'd like to be a writer, yet I don't want to write.  The process is painful and wrenching and thankless (for me, at least).  I wonder what it's like to have people read what you write and take it as their own.  I wonder what it's like to have a coherent story to tell, and then to invite other people into that story so they can incorporate it personally and change it, as necessary.

Words are so vastly important, and yet so empty, sometimes.  So many words, and so little action.  So many discussions and debates and arguments and even just asides which are said and then disappear into the abyss.

Will they all come back someday?  Will all my words and meanings and linguistic implications matter to anyone, ever?  Has every word I've ever said just been lost, floating out into the void, impacting exactly no one, including myself?

There is no prophet if no one cares to listen.  There is no conversation if only one person is speaking.  There is no dialogue in a party of one, just sounds converging on each other and then breaking apart on the beach of life.

Hollering into the void is just a noisy echo, eventually.

Apathy

I'm not writing/posting like I should, because I have too many thoughts in my head and not enough patience to write them down.  Or, maybe I have NO real thoughts in my head, which is why I can't sit down to write anything.  Either way, I'm slacking.

So here are some random thoughts which have been brewing in my head recently:

• I currently have hives covering my whole body.  What caused them?  Probably spraying pesticides at my house.  What exacerbated them?  Probably stress and anxiety.  (Google it - it's a thing...)
• I watched Wild the other day (Reese Witherspoon, etc) and I should go hike the Pacific Coast Trail, even though I would most likely drop dead somewhere along the trail.
• I also watched Interstellar, and the future looks pretty fucking bleak, so I'm not holding out for something better anytime soon.  
• Just read the paper on any given day and watch that axiom happening.
• My husband is literally killing me with his passive-aggressiveness (and his face, in general), so when I die, someone acknowledge that it was a murder of sorts via dangerously high blood pressure, anxiety, depression, and/or actual poison (who knows?).
• I need to read more.
• I need to make some friends, because I hear they help a person from becoming wildly insane and deeply depressed.  (I'm going to actually leave my house periodically to be social in order for this one to happen, which is unlikely.)
• Social functions (even when I really like the people involved) cause me stress.  Why?  Small talk, I think.  If all my favorite topics (religion, politics, social issues) are off the table because of "political correctness", I literally have nothing to talk about.  
• The Fourth of July is yet another in the line of consumer-driven holidays which piss me off, because I am expected to spend money for my children to (literally) light on fire.
• I am very sad that more people than ever take photographs of events in their lives, but no one prints them out anymore.  I really love having physical photos of people I love and events which were fun - preferably hanging on my walls.  
• Sidenote:  social media is going to be the downfall of this upcoming generation, if they're not careful.  Vine, specifically, is a 6-second ride through hell.  
• I  have recently learned NEVER to buy bottled water, because they end up EVERYwhere in my house,, and no one thinks to recycle.  
• Watership Down might be the WORST summer reading choice for incoming freshmen English students that I've ever experienced.  Why are we trying to make young people hate reading?!
• Summer + Road Work = Road Rage.
• Summer + Tiki torches & wine = Peacefulness.
• Oh, and rain storms are the best of nature.  Next time, I might go outside and take a shower in one - shampoo and all.