By the Way

Oh, I forgot to tell you! You can read me here now.

Easy in my harness

Right now, the EMU is quiet. There are no epileptic children squawking, as there often are. It makes this place feel like a pet store full of myna birds and guinea pigs rather than a specialized care unit in one of the more prestigious hospitals on the Eastern Seaboard. When it is quiet like this, and no one is fussing with my electrodes or checking my pulse, and all I can hear are the sounds of minutes passing by I think I might mistake whatever I am feeling for something close to contented.

It is, in some ways, a relief to be literally glued to one spot for a time, at least for me-- at least for now. For all the discomforts of the wires, and the tedium, and the terrible food they bring me (or forget to bring me...), I can sort of make peace with being stuck here. I have to be here, for a predetermined length of time, for a predetermined reason, and that is that, There is no anguish on my part whatsoever over what I should be doing, and if it is the right thing to be doing at all. It is easier to stifle longing for various elsewheres when I cannot even walk across the hall. Of course I cannot be at Knox right now, I am glued here. I am glued here until Monday, and so why bother longing at all?

It is, of course, not so easy to settle into my surroundings when I am at home. There I am also trapped, in a lot of ways (some some of them literal, some of them less so), but for no good reason. When I am able-bodied and un-glued, I do not think I should be content to sit in Maryland, biding my time until somebody signs my permission slip. Just as the wild animal who knows he is injured will allow himself to be handled and caged, and the one who is well will bite and pace when he is restrained, so too do I, I suppose (Now I apologize for that metaphor, I really do, but it was apt, you see. You understand. Don't make fun).

All of this is not to say that I do not want to be at Knox right now, because of course I do.I just have momentarily sorted out "something I want" from "something I should have", and so the turmoil of being trapped has died down. It's nice. When you give up the struggle, it is quiet. The myna birds of the EMU will teach you that.

**Post originally written 3/27/2010. There is sadly very spotty internet in the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit, so it was not published at the time.

Ain't no tuition for having no ambition, and ain't no loans for sittin' at home

Listening to rap makes me write papers faster. Who knew?

Bananas are the worms of the fruit kingdom

Ah, springtime. The air is warming, the breezes are slight and welcome, the cherry blossoms are emerging, the lawns are slowly greening, and the occasional rain is perking up the tired shrubberies and encouraging tiny crocuses to burst forth from the thawing soil.

Do you know what else the gentle, sweet-smelling rains of spring are doing?


FLOODING OUT THE MOTHERFUCKING WORMS.

Now, don't get me wrong, I totally dig the nature scene. What I lack in actual wilderness skills, I attempt to make up for in enthusiasm. I will watch (and enjoy) a two-hour PBS program about the world's largest crocodiles, killer bees, sloths, or the mating habits of invertebrates of the sea. In fact, a good portion of my winter break was spent learning about the snakehead fish, or Channidae (well, that and Freemasons...). My leisure reading currently includes "The Life of Prairies and Plains", and the stupidest excuse of a state I've ever lived in (Maryland) is only redeemed by its state parks and woodland creatures. I hang nineteenth century biological prints of beetles and snakes in my dorm room. I know what Michigan's state flower is (trillium), where to find it (low-lying, in shady to partial sun areas of woodlands), and why I shouldn't pick it (it's pretty rare 'n' stuff). My favorite books as a child were "The Root Children" and later "Where the Red Fern Grows". What I saying here, and I think you've picked up on it by now, is that I am by no means ANTI-nature.

Here's where the beetles an bugsies come in. I'm kind of...not totally okay with all of them, PARTICULARLY worms. Oh gosh, I shudder to think of them, actually. In the days when I walked the one and a half blocks to Willow Elementary, I came close to hyperventilating on many a rainy morning in April. Worms are just...icky. They're all squishy, and squiggly, and...ew. I'm grossing myself out here just thinking about it.

Actually, the real reason I'm grossing myself out is that the means by which I evaluate a bug's relative ickiness is by evaluating its hypothetical mouthfeel.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Krissy. Um. So like, you imagine...so wait, WTF?"
And I know what you mean! But see, I don't actually ever EAT bugs. I don't WANT to. And I don't imagine how they would TASTE. I just, you know, contemplate their texture and chewiness. So, not actually weird at all. If a bug seems like it would be squishy or slimy (I don't like melted cheese, Portabello mushrooms, pudding, or bananas for a reason, people), then chances are I am either grossed out by or afraid of it. If a bug seems like it'd be crunchy or at least kind of firm, then no problem (I'm a fan of the exoskeleton, apparently)!

In conclusion, I can't wait for it to be May.

Get to Know Your Serotonin Representatives

There comes a time in every girl's life when she asks herself: "How well do I really know my circulatory and nervous systems?"

This usually occurs after an episode of syncope, as it did for me, and it led me to physician after physician seeking answers. this is because, as it turned out, I didn't really know my circulatory or nervous systems at all. Here I had been, thinking that my fainting spells were "out of character" for them, when really it was them finally manifesting their underlying character. It had been there all along.

With every new pronouncement of pathology that gets filed away in my ever-expanding medical record, I get to experience that strange collision of frustration ,worry, fear, bafflement, optimism and doubt that is the moment of diagnosis.

And so, upon reflection, things really aren't so bad after all.

...But Sometimes They Ask About Other Things.

Other things being: Are you alive? Are you still in college? Have you told the folks about the convulsions, Krissy?

Unconventional Usage of SSRI-class Medications for Experimantal Treatment

I have not been unconscious in a while. The pills are keeping me upright but making me sad.