I’m totally frazzled.  Today I had to run some errands, including a trip up to SFU, a trip out to UBC, and groceries.  Okay, that was everything.  Groceries took about half an hour in the store, and each university was less than twenty minutes out of the car.  Guess how long it took me to do all three things - and keep in mind that my mathematical mind is AWESOME and I picked the most direct route based on hypoteneuses and traffic flow patterns.

Did you guess?

Ready?

FOUR AND A HALF HOURS.  I SHIT YOU NOT.

One hour of stops buffered by over THREE hours of driving.  Actually, there was probably only about an hour and a half of driving but another close to two hours of SITTING IN TRAFFIC.  While people do the stupidest shit like not turn on their left hand turn signal UNTIL THEY REACH THE INTERSECTION.  Or go forty when there’s NO ONE in front of them.

And let me say this: I’m not a wimpy driver.  I’m totally good with driving in the right-most lane, braving the busses.  I can change lanes.  I’m assertive and alert and look way ahead to see what traffic’s going to do.  But holy fuck, you just cannot get away from the hordes and hordes of cars!  Why do so many people have to live here?

FUCK OFF ALREADY, VANCOUVER IS MINE!

People who live in Vancouver: check out this link!  Watch the video!  The blog entry it’s part of has something to do with some Americans doing something American… voting or some such nonsense… but the far more important part is the revelation about the true zombie nature of those RELENTLESS, RELENTLESS pandhandlers!

see the awful truth here

Well, the visit to the neurologist has come and gone. And, as predicted, no questions were answered. The doctor said quite frankly he does not know what is wrong with me, though he agrees it has a “neurological flavour.” (And I’m all, was he licking me and I didn’t notice?) All the clinical findings were normal, which means, if I understand it, that my peripheral nervous system is firing as god intended. Pin pricks feel like pin pricks and not like, say, fluffy bunnies, or Jell-O Pudding Pops. My right cheek experiences soft cotton swabs being brushed over it the same way as my left. And some mild shocking with electrodes produced entirely acceptable conductance response curves (which probably have a name but I don’t know it). So much for the fanfare.

So now I have a bunch of tests to do - many involving electrical shocks, one that has to be done after a night with no sleep, one for half my body weight in blood, and one bigass MRI of my brain and entire spine. Which I can either wait several months for, or pay to have it done privately, for many thousands of dollars. Turns out the private MRI clinics charge by the cubic centimetre (or something), because it costs one grand for just your brain, another for the cervical section of your spine, another for the thoracic section, another again for the lumbar section, and you get the idea. My neurologist is clearly a man who likes to cover all the bases because it’s my whole spine or nothing - which I guess means I wait, because I don’t know about you, but I don’t have four or five thousand bucks lying around.

Plus, at the private clinics, it seems just plain old radiologists interpret the scan - and who wants one of those? If I wait to get it at St Paul’s, I can get a neuro-radiologist! Clearly superior! I’m only sort of joking.

Husband is thrilled that the findings yesterday were normal, because, as he puts it, it’s better to have a mysterious ailment and no answers than cancer that will kill you in one year. I suppose I must agree… but I have this rather enormous and thoroughly neurotic fear that I’m perfectly healthy but somatizing like a bastard, and therefore can only blame my own craziness for my problems. Neurological symptoms are the grand high poobah of stereotypical manifestations of craziness in people who convert their emotional problems into physical symptoms. Not that I have emotional problems… or do I?!

So I have this dread of all the upcoming tests. If they’re all normal, does that mean I’m crazy? Or, if not crazy, maybe victim to some dread condition that can’t be treated or cured? But if they do find something, what if it’s a terrible something? It’s kind of stupid to wish for a disease but I think I’m more scared of being crazy than being sick.

But based on this entry, I’m probably already there.

I am currently in the midst of my worst attack of nerves since the big one four months ago.  If I rated that one an 8 out of 10 for intensity of discomfort, I’d say right now I’m at a solid 5.  It’s been coming on for about four days, but as recently as last night it was easily ignorable.  Not so much today!  I mean, it could be worse… but it could be a lot better too. Looks like I may get my wish of being symptomatic when I see the neurologist after all!  (Don’t you love a silver lining?)

Having gone through a significant attack once before, when I realized the attack was progressing, I prepared: I showered last night, which I am so grateful for because I hate to be unwashed, but there’s no way I’d subject myself to thousands of little water drops running over my skin today.  If this lasts I may try a bath instead of shower when I can’t put off bathing any longer - maybe still water will be tolerable?

Also, I spread a smooth, silky sheet over the couch so I can lie on it undressed and not sweat onto the sofa itself, while also protecting myself from the slightly fuzzy couch fabric, which is really irritating now.   I have movies programmed on the satellite.  I have no appetite because I’m sick so there are no worries about cooking.  The laundry will have to wait - there’s no way to fold clothes without getting brushed by them.

And now I just wait to see how long it lasts, and if it gets worse.

This will shock and surprise long time readers: I’m sick again!  I have a rumbly yet barking cough, and every once in a while I catch myself having to really work at inhaling.  Bronchitis?  Humbug!  Tired, achy, and, as always when I get sick, my nerves are going squirrely.  Recently I described the sensation of my zany nerves as the physiological equivalent of fingernails-on-a-chalkboard, and I think that’s pretty accurate.  Not pain exactly, but pretty damn excruciating.  I just want to flop into bed and hold very still for the next few days, but alas that is not to be!

Today a fellow student is coming over so we can tape each other doing a mock therapy session for our applications to a practicum program.  I need to get all dressed and made up for the video, which makes me tired just imagining!  I’m also having to prepare for my week in Chilliwack, which entails laundry, packing, and cooking for the week.

On the plus side, I got another vegan cookbook, which has the excellent title “VEGANOMICON”, as well as a warning not to read it backwards at the stroke of midnight.

Not much is happening around here these days.  I just got home from another week in Chilliwack.  Now I’m puttering around cleaning up while watching Law and Order, and thinking about the groceries I’ll go pick up after.  The house is nice and clean after last weekend’s spring clean-style blitz, and I’m enjoying the ease of the work.  I’m also enjoying being home, which is so nice after a few days away!

So my appointment with the neurologist is next Wednesday.  I can’t come a moment too soon because I’ve been reading about MS online and have convinced myself I fit the criteria.  I’m hoping for a disconfirming fatherly pat on the head by Dr Neurologist, who will say, Don’t be fooling, this isn’t MS.  Or lupus.  Or whatever.

I tell you, getting central nervous symptoms is really weird.  For example, tonight, I have my nerve patches in the inner sides of my middle and ring finger.  The fingers are cut right down the middle on this - only the inner half is sensitive and painful, along with a stripe on my skin running up my arms to the shoulders.  Probably the C7 nerve.  Crazy, eh?

Have you seen this yet?  Go see it!  Shit, man!

This was an absolutely mind blowing movie (now I’ve just gone and ruined it for some of you, who will have overly-hyped up expectations.  Or is that possible?  This is a great movie!).  It’s a slow boil, reaching a crazy intense ending.  It was like being slapped in the face with an angry electric eel.  Husband didn’t like it as much as I did basically because of the eel - he said he left the movie feeling yucky and bad inside.  So did I, but I’m more masochistic than he is.  There is no denying this movie!  Daniel Day Lewis is masterful.  The story is interesting and psychologically complex.  And I think it’s better than No Country for Old Men, which is a damn fine movie.

So there.  Go see this fill-um.

I do the billing for Husband’s work.  This means that every day, around 6pm, we go through the following routine:

Husband walks in the door.  I get excited, get up off the couch where I am reading, and dash over for hugs.

Husband: Hi!

Blogo: Hi!

Smooching.  Much joy.  I proudly announce what we’re having for dinner and Husband dutifully looks thrilled about it.

Husband: And here’s my day sheet!  Check out how many people I saw - I made a bag of money today!

I inspect the daysheet.  It is five miles long.  I mentally calculate how long it will take me to do the data entry, and part of me dies inside.  

Blogo (in a flat voice): Oh good.

I used to be a data entry clerk for a couple years, and let me tell you, in case you’ve never done it, IT SUCKS.  It sucks so hard you wouldn’t believe it.  It sucks so hard I have a lingering wrist injury that, when it flares up, prevents me from doing all kinds of things that normal people do like holding a can of soup in one hand.  So just imagine the crazy conflict of emotions I have when I see that daysheet - I’m all, “Oh look, we get to keep eating” but also “PLEASE JESUS SAVE ME FROM THE DATA ENTRY!”

To make it better, I play little games with myself.  I say, I’ll see how fast I can do it.  If I can enter all this data before the end of Law and Order, I win!  Win what, you ask?  Well, nothing.  This particular game is kind of lame, but strangely, it motivates me.  I also play, I Won’t Check The Total Until It’s All Entered, which kind of makes me giddy.  Imagine - the suspense!  The anticipation!  The almost unbearable tension!

I also get over-involved in the minutia of the work.  When a bill is refused because of something like a transposed number, I feel personally offended and get really mad.  When the person who provides Husband with some of the information on the day sheet gets it wrong, I indulge in elaborate fantasies about phoning their wife to say I know about an affair.  When Husband’s penmanship is a little dodgy, I contemplate divorce.  Wouldn’t you?  Clearly, he is fucking with me!

You know how they say, You laugh or you cry?  This is one of those situations.

I told you it was pathetic.

Today I woke up fresh and ready to go at 7am.  But for some stupid reason, I laid back down in bed and kind of dozed off and didn’t get up until 10.  Now I have that horrible loogy feeling you get from oversleeping.  I have no motivation to do anything.  I also wasted three hours that could have been spent doing the housework that so badly needs to be done.

Amusing side note: last night Husband and I had a little… chat about how it’s not cool for him to let the dishes pile up for three days when I’m gone, or to walk by the garbage bag full of organic material at the front door for the same amount of time, leaving it for me when I get home.  This… is the kind of thing that justifiable homicide defenses are made of.