suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2pV31Ha:
stupid spine is still stupid, but I’ve had a breakthrough: the NP I see for pain management has finally read my chart and learned that I have scoliosis and kyphosis. well done, sparky; it only took you a year. 

I wish I were kidding. 

on the plus side, I was given prescriptions for anti-inflammatory pills & topical, in which I am investing but little hope.

I also got to shatter a friend’s hopes – apparently, they thought scoliosis would just stop hurting at some point? “why are you still in pain?” “because my spine … is further out of whack than it was a year ago?” happily, they didn’t jump in with the victim blaming in the form of “well, would it be this bad if you’d treated it when you were young?” which I’ve totally gotten before. like what is the point of that question other than to make me feel shitty about myself? treatment was just BARELY recommended because the curve was close to the limit and I was a teen with shitty self-esteem who didn’t want the brace to make my life worse.

ANYWAY. 

trying not to let my stupid spine run my life, but it’s been consuming more than its fair share of spoons of late, and I’ve got shit I need to get done. the state of my floors is execrable.
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2prESqJ:
Sitting in the meeting room with my boss, waiting for a conference call to start, and got into the most nerd-tastic discussion of what we’re each looking forward to at PHX Comicon, how best to display Funkos, and the rising cost of good lightsabers.

LOVE. THIS. PLACE.
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2q986LT:
flamethrowing-hurdy-gurdy:

molluscagonewild:

lavellington:

everything-isconnected:

mysticalcatamount:

gaycloak:

69shadesofgray:

indie band name generator:

your favourite fruit + the last reason you took painkillers

GRAPE PERIOD PAIN

OMG

Watermelon Headache

wtf lol

pomegranate period 

Avocado Hangover

Blueberry Cramps

Wild Strawberry Psychosoma XD 

Strawberry Scoliosis ~
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2oPOsn9:
it’s been a bad couple weeks on the pain front. my three bad spots are getting progressively worse, and my normal go-tos of stretching, heat & massage are just not working, nor is ibuprofen. my goofballs do make a dent, but only a full one, and I just can’t risk starting to go through my prescription as prescribed – the reason I’m more or less self-managed despite using a controlled substance is the pain used to be worse when I went to bed, so I’d pop half a goofball & drop right off, so I was going through a nominally 30-day prescription in 90 days or more. oh, and, y'know, not doing any typical drug-seeking bullshit type things.

it just sucks because my stupid pain makes doing pleasurable things agonizing, and if I ignore the pain to keep playing my bass or whatever, that just means the next day will be worse.

I started doing more PT exercises yesterday, and today I am basically fighting back tears the entire time. everything hurts so fucking much.

I’m tired of the constant pain. may I please have a titanium spine?
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2ndiuQE:
There’s been a temporary but gigantic upheaval of my sweetie’s schedule this week, and while I know it’s crazy-difficult for him to get up at 2:30 in the morning, it’s hard on me, too. Routine is my comfort and there is none of that, this week. I’m exhausted, anxious and out of sorts, trying to keep reminding myself that there are only 2 more nights like this and then we can start the good schedule. It’s not helping a whole lot.
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2nbzesi:
Friends are in New Orleans, my old stomping ground, sort of.

Why indeed? Money, mostly, but also because my New Orleans is long, long gone – was long gone before Katrina, even, lost to development and neglect and gentrification. My New Orleans floats in a haze of heat and alcohol and all-day strolls around the Quarter or the Garden District, spending my hard-earned pennies on trinkets from the French Market, or a muffaletta without the meat, or Campari anywhere I could find it in a town awash with hurricanes and Dixie beer. 

My New Orleans is Skinny Puppy on the Too Dark Park tour, in an old movie palace off Canal, fireworks in the pit projecting shadows of the moshers on the sculpted plaster ceiling. It’s standing gothily outside Anne Rice’s house, hoping she’d come out and say Hi, contenting ourselves with petting her dogs. [Since this pre-dated the internet, we had to find it based solely on descriptions in The Witching Hour, and were pretty pleased with ourselves when we did.] 

My New Orleans is cramming my CRX full of friends and caravanning down to UNO with a friend in his CRX likewise crammed, to see the Cure on the Wish tour. 

My New Orleans is dimly-lit goth clubs, grubby occult stores, a random dive bar with Bauhaus on the jukebox, a cafe where I took my sweetie that one time he visited me in the swamp. It’s where I went after finals every semester – my reward – dragging my bestie, probably less than $20 in my pocket, not enough to get the CD version of 1979-1983 and lunch. 

My New Orleans was Bloodletting come to life - we got the ways and means, to New Orleans, going down by the river where it’s warm and green. We’ll have a drink, and walk around - we got a lot to think about, oh, yeah.

It’s a hallowed place, full of mostly fun times, sometimes with too much alcohol, always with a selection of my beloved friends, who have since dispersed to the far reaches of the globe or departed this vale of tears.

I haven’t been back in ages, and I’m not sure I can go back, now. It would be too … different. Wrong. Maybe one day I can go back, if I can make it be a new place in my head, not my old place.

But maybe … maybe it’s best it stays frozen in amber. 
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2nbx9wj:
for some reason, this spring’s feels have been basically near-constant anxiety, isolation and inability to focus, and it sucks a lot. I haven’t designed a new button set in months, and every time I try to sit down and create, I end up staring at photoshop, trying a couple designs, then deleting them in frustration. even music is no comfort; I haven’t had the time or spoons to play my bass often or long, and as for the music I listen to at work … I’ve made half a dozen playlists of upbeat, happy music, and can’t listen to any of them for more than a few songs – but gods help me if I change to a playlist with anything close to moody music, because crying at work sucks. I have not ruled out changes to my stupid Hashimoto’s as the root of the problem, and am in the midst of trying to schedule an appointment with my endocrinologist, but in the meantime it feels like life is one big long UUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH.

or to put it another way:

story time!

Mar. 8th, 2017 09:55 pm
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2mZUvoT:
Friends are in New Orleans, my old stomping ground, sort of.

Why indeed? Money, mostly, but also because my New Orleans is long, long gone – was long gone before Katrina, even, lost to development and neglect and gentrification. My New Orleans floats in a haze of heat and alcohol and all-day strolls around the Quarter or the Garden District, spending my hard-earned pennies on trinkets from the French Market, or a muffaletta without the meat, or Campari anywhere I could find it in a town awash with hurricanes and Dixie beer. 

My New Orleans is Skinny Puppy on the Too Dark Park tour, in an old movie palace off Canal, fireworks in the pit projecting shadows of the moshers on the sculpted plaster ceiling. It’s standing gothily outside Anne Rice’s house, hoping she’d come out and say Hi, contenting ourselves with petting her dogs. [Since this pre-dated the internet, we had to find it based solely on descriptions in The Witching Hour, and were pretty pleased with ourselves when we did.] 

My New Orleans is cramming my CRX full of friends and caravanning down to UNO with a friend in his CRX likewise crammed, to see the Cure on the Wish tour. 

My New Orleans is dimly-lit goth clubs, grubby occult stores, a random dive bar with Bauhaus on the jukebox, a cafe where I took my sweetie that one time he visited me in the swamp. It’s where I went after finals every semester – my reward – dragging my bestie, probably less than $20 in my pocket, not enough to get the CD version of 1979-1983 and lunch. 

My New Orleans was Bloodletting come to life - we got the ways and means, to New Orleans, going down by the river where it’s warm and green. We’ll have a drink, and walk around - we got a lot to think about, oh, yeah.

It’s a hallowed place, full of mostly fun times, sometimes with too much alcohol, always with a selection of my beloved friends, who have since dispersed to the far reaches of the globe or departed this vale of tears.

I haven’t been back in ages, and I’m not sure I can go back, now. It would be too … different. Wrong. Maybe one day I can go back, if I can make it be a new place in my head, not my old place.

But maybe … maybe it’s best it stays frozen in amber. 
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2mbVO0U:
for some reason, this spring’s feels have been basically near-constant anxiety, isolation and inability to focus, and it sucks a lot. I haven’t designed a new button set in months, and every time I try to sit down and create, I end up staring at photoshop, trying a couple designs, then deleting them in frustration. even music is no comfort; I haven’t had the time or spoons to play my bass often or long, and as for the music I listen to at work … I’ve made half a dozen playlists of upbeat, happy music, and can’t listen to any of them for more than a few songs – but gods help me if I change to a playlist with anything close to moody music, because crying at work sucks. I have not ruled out changes to my stupid Hashimoto’s as the root of the problem, and am in the midst of trying to schedule an appointment with my endocrinologist, but in the meantime it feels like life is one big long UUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH.

or to put it another way:
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2kDvWIM:
quietpinetrees:

“On burning worlds he longed for chill wind and soft rain. From his lamentations, aliens assumed he was in love with someone named September.”
-QuietPineTrees
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2kRC0iH:
Feeling pretty alone lately. FB is a joke and barely tolerable; I flip through once or twice a day & don’t feel like interacting with anyone, because when I do, it’s like screaming into the void. Well, I’d rather scream into *this* void, which has far more intelligent discourse.

I just wish some of my friends were here.
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2gIhSz8:
ok so … if you get a business email intended for someone else, do you just go “Oh, not for me. delete” ?

Or do you go “I must ring up the sender and explain to them in Tones Most Bitchy how this does not belong to us, and how rude they are to send this to us” ?

Because if your answer is the second one, you can fuck right off.
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2huakO3:
today is hard. work is hard, and complex, and I don’t have nearly the spoons or mental bandwidth to deal, and THEN, in an attempt to perk myself up, I put on the Holiday Hits station on Google Play Music, which more or less immediately played a song by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, based on Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, which NEVER FAILS TO MAKE ME CRY so I’m trying to get to the bathroom before I turn in to a blubbering mess and ARGH
suriel: (Default)
via http://ift.tt/2fD5jm8:
There is some sort of construction happening nearby, but what it sounds like is jet engines spooling and I am having airshow flashbacks.

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