Reaction

So, instead of reading my novel so much lately I've been reading Rayne's blog. It makes me feel better because Rayne is one of those 'artistic types' like me, but also a list-making hard worker obsessed with keeping her habitat clean. And we both have pet rats. Then throw in the similar illnesses and resulting life situation and voila! A kindred spirit. So yeah, it makes me feel not so alone and depressed. Not to mention he blogs are highly entertaining.

So then get this: today, for some reason, my ulcerative colitis is giving me hell (Rayne has Crohn's disease, which is practically the same thing). This makes no sense and I'll tell ya why. About a week ago I got a test done and my doctor said I had a lot of bad bacteria in me and asked if I was, ahem, having soft stools. I said I wasn't, which seemed to confuse him. He put me on some special antibiotics that don't have to be filtered by my liver (because my poor liver can't handle antibiotics anymore) and I'm almost done with the course. So it makes no sense that I would be having symptoms now.

I can only conclude that this is all Rayne's fault and that her Crohn's vibes are wafting over my way through the sacred protal of Blogger. Not to mention we live in the same town.

A message to Rayne: I swear I'm not stalking you. I just have nothing better to do than comment on your blogs from three years ago and ask you about handicap accomidations in Nebraska's zoos.

My Apologies

I apologize for the insane post last night. My sleeping pill started kicking in before I was ready and, instead of putting it off until the next day, like a normal person, I stayed up and let my video continue uploading. Which, obviously, it didn't do in enough time for me to write a coherant blog. So, again, I apologize.

Here again, in order, is the three-part blog:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Yes, I know I look jaundiced and sick but that's because I am. I know I also look very young. Most people say I look around 15. Well, I'm actually going to be 21 on July 9th. My 17-year-old sister is the old-looking one. ;)

The Vlog

Okay, so here's my 3-part blog. It's a tour of my room. Oh golly, I'm trying this on Ambien. I think I'm officially drunk. That doesn't even make sense.

Okay, here's Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.

I hope ya'll enjoy. You have no idea how many stupid, drunken mistakes I made writing this blog. What was I thinking? Well, it's the pillows for me now.
...
...
......
*feels like she's speaking to a large crowd* Part 2 is bring slow and will be reposted tomorrow. Please stay tuned.

Ooo...I can fill the fabrics rolling under the keyepand.

"Peas are my favorite," right Rayne?

Yuptime to gooihjtytyhutyhjlknfgetaupawm` df/

thats poetry.

The Chronicles of Becca: The Liver, the Notebook and the Prilosec

Today my liver started to really hurt for the first time in a week or so. I mean, I always feel it (how could I not when it's gotten huge and hard?). Then came the even greater aversion to food than usual. And the more extreme tiredness. And finally came the chills. It's June in Nebraska and I sat outside in winter socks, sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie. In direct sunlight. Lin the rat sat with me for awhile (she gets grouchy if she doesn't get outdoor time with me at least twice a week). Later Oscar the cat came to see me.

Oh, and then later came the shortness of breath. There just isn't room enough for all my organs anymore what with my huge liver and huge cysts on my ovaries.

But even feeling crappy like that do you know what I did? I cleaned two rat cages. I have no idea what I was thinking. Probably some nonsense about being bored and about the boys' litter box overflowing. Anyway, now I'm paying for it. I thought about taking some codine, but I don't know if that interferes with my sleep med. And I need my sleeping pills. Now I'm thinking Tylenol, but that means getting out of bed and walking all the way to the kitchen, which would defeat the purpose of Not Feeling Pain.

So I lay in bed and finished watching The Notebook. Now I don't know if it's because I had really high expectations for it or what, but I didn't think it was all that great. Supposedly even guys cry at this movie, but I didn't get teary eyed even once. And I get teary eyed watching Elf, okay? The only part that was even the least bit touching for me was the last half hour of the film. Maybe after Bella and Edward everything else just seems lukewarm or something (see books by Stephanie Meyer).

One thing I did do today: I made a vlog. Actually three vlogs since the battery on my camera kept running out. I uploaded them to YouTube, but now internets TV is doing maintenance, so I can't access them. Please stand by.

I do have photos from yesterday's photo shoot, though! Check it out.

I also made one of those cool Simpsons things. I think it's a pretty good likeness.

OMG...I just realized. I feel heartburn. Which means I haven't taken my Prilosec. Which means I forgot to put it in my pill case. I did! Wow...It's a miracle I've been able to eat at all. Amazing.

Rambling at 1 AM

So I've been reading some of Rayne's blogs and I've been inspired to post some more here. I post most religiously on my MySpace, but sometimes I don't post all my journals there because, well, too many people would read them and might say nasty things. It's happened before.

I feel bad about what I wrote on June 8th. Today I think I've learned to appreciate my friends more for who they are and all the fun things I can do with them. And I do have things in common with them. We just don't always like the same music or movies.

Anyway, I took some narcotics come 4 AM this morning. Who ovulates for 4 days? I mean honestly. But, my ovaries were killing me. And after 12 hours without narcotics I was in a lot of pain (I can remember to refill my other medications, but not the kind that actually makes people woozy and forgetful. Thank God for 24-hour Walgreens).

I woke up around 7:30 to the sound of a text message from Gina. She wanted to know if she needed to drive us to work or not. I was planning to drive if I wasn't drugged. Not only was it way past my turn to drive, but I wanted to. I missed driving to work and listening to my music on the way. I gave it as long as I could, but I eventually had to tell Gina she had to drive. I was still pretty woozy from narcotics. I was really frustrated, though. Stupid body.

Turns out it was pouring rain, so it was a good thing Gina drove anyway. I had fun at work (babysitting for St. Mark's Northwest two services), but by the time I was done I was about to collapse, as usual. Plus, all the rain had triggered a migraine. Gina and James were going on a little trip to Beatrice and asked if I wanted to come. Darn my stupid body! I was too tired to go. I mean, how often do I get the chance to leave town for anything other than medical tests? Grrr...

At home I couldn't fall into bed just yet. My sister and I had a photo shoot outside (photos to come) so that Dad would have some recent photos of us. It was our last-minute Father's Day present idea. After that I slept for about 4 hours and woke up with my migraine even worse. I took my medication and puttered around online. Eventually I felt better and I went with mom to Target just to get up and do something. Mom took me around to look at some of the craft things, asking if I saw anything I wanted that would keep me occupied. It was really sweet, but I feel like I've spent more than enough of our money this month already on books and sweatpants. Plus, I think I'm going get myself back into writing The Master Painter. And I've only read 3/4 of a novel so far this month. I am so behind on my 6-novels-a-month quota. So all in all, I think I should keep occupied.

I'm also proud to announce that I'll be returning to art class. It's going to do me a world of good, I just know it. My sister has agreed to let me come to her Wednesday class. That way she can drive me when I'm drugged or too tired to be a safe driver.

After Target, mom dropped me off so I could hang out with Gina and we watched a cool show about rats. I've never seen rats boiled alive, skinned, chopped up and deep fried for Chinese food before. That was great... :S But the interview with Debbie Doucommon and the dumbo PEWs were worth it. My ovaries have been twinging all day, but it was worth it to get out and do something.

Gina had some good hanging-out ideas, so maybe I'll get out a little more this week. And she offered to stay with me for part of my time in Omaha. I'm going to be getting my evaluation for a liver transplant the 23rd-25th. It's all sorts of weird tests to see where I should go on the list. And of course they want to know how much I smoke, drink and how many illegal drugs I take...yeah right. As if I even went to high school. My mom has to leave every night to go to rehersal for The Music Man at Pinewood Bowl (she's the music director), but if I'm not up to all those car rides then I'll stay in a hotel.

Now I'm home, and just as I predicted, I'm awake and it's one in the morning. And the baby rats are wrestling and squeaking so loud I doubt I'd be able to sleep much anyway. Sometimes I question my charity in taking Cupcake in...

Golly, I'm babbling and not making any sense. I'm gonna shut up now.

P.S. Here's how I spent my morning. Gina is the one doing the video. I'm the girl with the hat on. No, you don't need to watch the whole video.

True Love

Does everyone in the world feel like they’re trying to reach some higher purpose? Or is it just me? Does everyone kneel on the floors of their lives, picking up puzzle pieces, never pausing from the hope (that is almost surety) that they will all fit together?

I’ve always been honest, almost to a fault. I would say that my strongest trait is honesty. I am honest with others, but I am blatantly honest with myself. I’m naturally a reflective person and I make myself answer my toughest questions. But I digress…

What I’m trying to get at is that I think I understand what I want most to experience in this word. What I’m striving for.

I want to find true love.

All spiritual endeavors aside, of course. All of the simple beauty I see in the world, all of the rich experiences, now appear to me to be wrapped up in the package of true love. But I’ve never experienced true love. For a real person, anyway…

The simple life of comfortable hours in bed, kisses, the smell of soap, eat breakfast whenever the hell we get around to it and walking in the creation of God or city. The blue jeans and tapping feet, the telling of secrets and the appreciation of quirks. The adventure, the emotions. Am I describing a honeymoon?

I want it all so much. Sometimes I feel like my growth as a person has halted and I can’t go any further until something happens. I kinda feel like that now. I want the thing that happens to be true love. But I’ve talked to God and put it all in His hands because I don’t believe that I can have true love without God’s help. Duh.

I just want something to happen. Every day is the same, with the same limitations. I feel like a prisoner in my body. My desire to do something keeping hitting this brick wall once I realize I can’t physically do it. And so I lose interest or lust after it. And I shy away from getting too involved with any one thing (guess that’s what church does to ya after awhile). Groups on the internet and what not just don’t work for me. My interests, my life, are too multi-faceted for me to into any one thing.

Maybe I just need to start writing again or something. But I still want true love. Gosh, so I sound like a Disney
princess when I say that?

Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking of my dream with the curly-haired guy. He loved me. I remember the way his hair felt on my skin, the way he smelled, the way his lips felt on my fingers and the feel of his arm around me. Most of all I remember the way he looked at me.

Sleeping with boys

4 AM

My insomnia has been really bad lately. Can’t take anymore sleeping pills or else I won’t be able to work this morning. I tried working with sleeping pills in my system last Sunday. It didn’t work out so great.
Lately it’s been hard for me to spend much time in public or with my friends. I find conversation exhausting for one thing, especially since most of my friends have little in common with me. Thus, I always come across as pessimistic, grouchy and sarcastic. At least, I think I do. I’m not my happy-go-lucky self, anyway.
Secondly, it hurts too much. When I’m out in public I am watching exactly what I can’t have: close friends or a boyfriend (or both) who kind of understand me and want to have fun the way I want to have fun. It’s so selfish. Why can’t I just appreciate the loyal friends that I have? I should have realized that nothing is ever like the movies I watch or the novels I read. Maybe afterwards, looking back, my social life seems good. But I can never seem to appreciate things in the moment.

Watching boys is so hard. I’m just so starved in this sickly seclusion. I want some kind of male friend, romantic or not, who gets me, at least a little. Who will stand by me. And I have great guy friends who will stick by me. All two of them. But they don’t really know me. I think they’ve tried to understand, but I’m somehow beyond their ken.

It all hurts so much.

And I feel selfish at the same time. Isn’t what I have good enough? Isn’t God good enough?

In bed tonight (or rather, last night) after an evening of dinner, a movie and Barnes and Noble with James and Gina, I thought of the boyfriend from the dream I had last week. I can still feel what it felt like to have his soft hair on my face, to feel his fingers around mine, staunching that weird wound I had.

My insomnia is such that I’m very sleepy, but I fall only part way asleep (if at all). In my dreams I’m still a half-asleep zombie. In my dream I was in the wet grass; it was flooding with water. I dragged my tired body through the spongy puddles to the road. Despite my tiredness, I forced myself to stand up and run through the rain. I leaped into each black puddle I could, hoping to splash up some sense of meaning, of joy. I found part of an abandoned school and slept there for a time. I got up and the 24-hour neon fast food counter inside blinked at me. I recognized the boy working. Why must I be incapacitated by sleepiness when I could be talking with him? I looked a mess and my mouth was hanging open. I stumbled around for awhile before falling asleep on the stairs next to a black boy who was trying to kiss me.

I think I must be the most pathetic person alive. It’s hard knowing that nothing will change as long as I’m too sick for anything new.