Head Over Heels

Once upon a time, there was a young dairy maiden.

This young dairy maiden had it in her head that she had to be as close to perfect as was possible for any young dairy maiden to be.

She would get up before the sun and before the rooster could even coo, and the young dairy maiden would milk all of the cows -- and then she would take the milk and separate out the cream to churn butter.

Because there's nothing more perfect than fresh-churned butter, the young dairy maiden thought.

Once the young dairy maiden had turned all of the cream into butter, she took her fresh churned creation into the kitchen, and she baked and baked and baked and baked all day from scratch.

Then our young dairy maiden scrubbed up and made herself look as fresh and young as any young dairy maiden could look; she even put on her prettiest Sunday best dress.

Content with her level of near-perfection, our young dairy maiden took her baked-from-scratch goods and fresh churned butter to the market.

The young dairy maiden was positive of the fact that since she took such effort to get up early and milk the cows and churn the butter and bake from scratch and put on her prettiest dress, that her baked-from-scratch goods and churned butter would sell better than the other dairy maidens' creations.

But alas, the common man didn't care that the young dairy maiden woke up early and how many cows she milked, and the common man certainly didn't care that our fresh young dairy maiden had even washed and scrubbed the cow stench off herself and put on her best Sunday dress.

All the common man cared about was which of the baked-from-scratch goods and fresh churned butter were cheapest.

Our young dairy maiden went back to her farm at the end of the day and decided that there wasn't a reason to push herself so hard to be perfect.

The End.

(Yes, this was a metaphor for how I LEFT MY HOUSE TODAY WITHOUT MAKEUP ON TWICE. Which has never actually happened before. And it's a I-took-a-nap-and-now-I'm-in-a-silly-story-mood-and-wanted-to-see-how-many-times-I-could-use-the-term-"dairy maiden"-in-one-blog.)

:)

I've been plagued lately by a rash of both neck and headaches.

I know, the term "neck ache" sounds odd. Long story short: I was in a bad accident a long time ago and there was some nerve damage, which according to the doctor, will never fully heal. Which means, now and then I get really awful neck aches. Like, paralyzed-from-pain neck aches.

Every day since Monday the 19th I've either had a bad headache or neck ache. Only three of those days have been migraine days. I can basically still function through all that crap, as long as it's not a migraine. I mean, I can take lots of Aleve, Tylenol or Advil and over time that (mostly) gets rid of the pain, but migraines are tricky. I had one last Tuesday (you know, INAUGURATION DAY) and because I work at a newspaper and all, I can't call out sick on Inauguration Day. I'm pretty sure I popped WAY MORE THAN THE DOCTOR RECOMMENDS of Tylenol and Excedrin that day. But I got through it.

This weekend my neck went crazy. Two nights in a row I wasn't able to sleep without my cold compress gel pack. I've noticed over the years that headaches often bring on my neck pain. If I have very bad headaches or they last for a while, more often than not it aggravates my neck.

It's really frustrating. Because I'm not "sick" per-se. But I hurt. And I get really moody when it gets bad like this. Because if you poke an animal in pain, IT WILL BITE YOU, and when I feel like this, it's like being around people makes me want to bite them. Figuratively speaking.

I haven't exactly pinpointed why it's been so bad for so long. I have theories. The most logical theory is that it's a combination of a lot of stuff. Like:

Stress. I'm stressed out over a lot right now. Life. Work. Money. I'm terrified that everytime I get in my car I'm going to get a huge ticket, because IT'S VERY ILLEGAL right now, what with missing a side mirror and having a sticker that expired in October.

Winter. I'm pretty sure I have a touch of cabin fever right now. But it's too cold to go outside. And I fall everytime I go outside. And I can't drive very far, or in the light, because of the whole police-ticket-fine thing.

Falling down a lot. I've probably gone done went and pulled something in my back/neck region. What with all the slipping and falling I've been doing.

And, well. I'm not going to dwell on this or anything, but I'd just like to point out: This will be my fifth Valentine's in a row alone. Just saying. At first it was really nice, and I enjoyed being alone. And then it was like I was free, and that was great. Last year it was a little annoying, but I was like, "It's cool, whatever?" But now I'm really just kind of pissed off over it. And I know that's silly. But still. FIVE YEARS is kind of pathetic. Just saying.

And I haven't done a painting in a really long time.

But you know what? I STILL HAVE MY CHRISTMAS TREE UP AND I LIGHT IT EVERY DAY. So there.

My friend, John, has a band called lovelesslust, in which he is the sole writer, performer, and he does all of the recording and mixing himself. He's very talented. His myspace is http://www.myspace.com/lovelesslustmusic and his official web site is www.lovelesslust.com.

The music video for his song "Futile System" is on the official Nine Inch Nails web site under the fan section, and what's more -- it's currently the featured video in that section.

It can only stay the featured video as long as it continues to have the highest rating, so please ... create an account on the NIN site and rate his video!

Here's the link to the video section, lovelesslust's is the top video:
click here to rate the video on the NIN site

Please help out my friend!

I was unintentionally awake at 5:30 this morning. And at 5:30 this morning it was not snowing out.

I fell back asleep and woke up at 11:30 and it looked like there was at least half a foot of snow outside.

At 3:30 or so, a plow truck went by and plowed the snow so high up that it was (I kid you not) as tall as my car. After calling the plow a colorful word (it rhymes with sockmucker), I decided that I did NOT want to wake up 3 hours early tomorrow just to dig out my car, so I went out and shoveled out my car.

Boy, that was fun.

After it was sufficiently shoveled out, I went back upstairs, stripped and sprawled out on the couch, letting every muscle in my body twitch uncontrollably. After about 45 minutes of this, I could hear all of my neighbors trying to get out of the driveway with their cars (which proves to be difficult when there's a foot of snow on the ground).

I figured they were all doing this so our plow guy could come and do the driveway, so I put my snowy clothes back on and headed downstairs to park on the street.

However, the first step off the stairs I took, I hit a patch of ice, went sliding about a foot, grabbed on to a pole, whipped around the pole and came to a screeching halt on my right knee.

I winced in pain for about a minute, and then stood up. Took one more step and slid on the ice again. This time I wound up in the splits. Which, surprisingly, didn't hurt as bad as landing on my knee the first time around.

So, I moved my car next to the next door neighbor's driveway (it was the only place left on the street), and went back upstairs to twitch for a while more. When it was 8:30 and the plow guy STILL HADN'T COME TO PLOW THE DRIVEWAY, I realized he wasn't going to come until tomorrow, so I put on my snow gear again and tromped back down stairs, again, and slipped, again (but didn't fall!), and got to my car, and said that colorful-rhyming-with-sockmucker word again.

Because the next door neighbor's plow guy PLOWED MY CAR IN ON THE STREET. Seriously, snow spilling up over the hood of my car. And I was parked about two inches from the car behind me.

Determined NOT to shovel any more snow today, I pulled my car forward and backward and forward and backward inch by inch, until there was enough room for me to gun it over the plow-made snowbank in front of my car.

Stupid. Plows.

Yesterday I woke up and reached over to grab my BlackJack to check the weather. So there I was, cocooned in blankets and pillows in my warm, comfy bed, and on my phone it said that just outside my window it was -15 degrees. Without the wind chill.

And then I just groaned. The past few days I've literally covered every inch of skin, except for that part of cheek between my sunglasses and the top of my scarf. It's about an inch of cheek, since I've taken to wrapping my scarf full around my head.

And that inch of cheek? It gets cold. Really cold. Because it's been cold out. Really cold out.

So a little while ago I took my trash out, and checked my mail, and I started my car for a while because it's not good to leave it off for so long in this cold. And while slipping on the ice about 7 times putzing around outside, a thought wandered into my head. "It feels warm out."

That thought scared me, because when I got back inside and checked weather.com, it said it was only 16 degrees outside.

16 degrees feels warm? Groan.

P.S. For the good news of the week: Kit's pregnant again! I'm going to be an auntie again! And I'm so happy about it. SO. Happy. I'm pretty much so excited about this baby that I could burst. She asked me to fly out there after she has the baby. As in, right after ... in the first week. So that I can help her take care of him it (I would put money on it that the baby will be a boy), and Hannah. That should be fun (really). I'm so excited for her!

Oooooo boy.

So, today: I hit a telephone pole.

With my car.

And the telephone pole ate my driver's side mirror.

Oooooo boy.

So I was moving my car from the back parking lot to the side parking lot, because I don't like walking far to get to my car in the dark. I was turning from the parking lot into the left lane of a one-way street. There was another vehicle in the right lane, so I was concentrating on making a sharp turn so that my car didn't venture into the right lane at all and hit the other vehicle.

Once I turned the car enough to know it was safe from the other vehicle, I stopped paying attention to it and took in the rest of my surroundings.

And then I yelled, "TELEPHONE POLE!"

... and swerved just enough to not crash my car into it head-on, but just graze the side of it. And then I heard a "CRACK!" and looked over to see that the phone pole had knocked my driver's side mirror clear off my car.

At this point is when I started yelling, "SERIOUSLY? REALLY? SEEEEEEERRRIOUSLY?!!!!" over and over and over again.

There was a car too close behind me for me to put on my brakes and stop, so I just kept going, and parked my car in the side lot. Then I got out, walked all the way around the block, and dug my mirror out of a snow bank.

Then I stomped all the way back around the block, and I stomped up the SJ steps, and I stomped through the newsroom, and I got to my desk and yelled "I HIT A TELEPHONE POLE AND IT ATE MY MIRROR." And then threw the mirror down on my desk.

How I managed to hit a telephone pole that was lodged in a snowbank, knock off my mirror into said snowbank, and NOT get my car stuck in said snowbank ... I haven't a clue.

My brain was definitely not ready to not be on vacation anymore.

Today wasn't a bad day, per-se. As in, nothing bad happened. It felt good to be back in the office and see the people I'm used to seeing every day. But my day wasn't a good day, either. Because my brain was Not. Working.

Normally when I type, I say the words in my head as I'm typing them. Earlier today I was trying to type an e-mail that -- in my head -- said, "We renewed our subscription back in November." But when I typed it, came out as, "We reviewed our subscription back in February."

I didn't actually spell anything wrong, just entire wrong words flowed from my fingers.

And even worse: Writing a headline. It usually takes me less than 30 seconds to write a headline --  a good one at that. Today? Half. An. Hour. I literally sat and stared at my screen for half an hour trying to write a headline that had a verb in it.

Towards the end of the day, I actually put my head down on my desk and started moaning.

And then I came home, ate dinner quickly, then collapsed on the couch and started reading a book, and within 15 minutes was unconscious asleep. For. The. Next. Four. Hours.

I had an appointment this morning to get my hair changed. I had around 7-ish inches taken off (believe it or not, when my hair was wet it went down to my bum), and I also had it dyed. Because I was tired of having red hair. This is how it looks now:

Somewhere in between the waking up early and the meetings and the managerial stuff and paying bills and making sure my car works and, etc., etc., etc., I always seem to forget one key thing: I'm really good at what I do.

I guess when I'm at work I go on autopilot. When I design things it just comes naturally and I don't think twice about it. But then, when I stop and take a breather, and then get back to design on my own terms or I do a painting after a really long hiatus, it hits me like a ton of bricks.


I forgot about a freelance job that I had to do this week. Totally flew out of my brain, until I woke up this morning and thought, "Was I supposed to have something done by Friday? I think I was. What was I supposed to have finished? Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." So then after talking to John, who I was doing this logo for, I was reminded that I promised to have a logo done for an event in Los Angeles. It's going to be an event at a club where two independent films will be shown, and two bands who did the music for the films will also perform. And John's band is one of those bands.

So I put on my iPod and went to town. I'd like to take a moment to say that I listened to Justin Timberlake's entire "FutureSex/LoveSounds" album while making the logo. Twice. Which is particularly humorous since John's band, lovelesslust, is rock/electronica, and the other band, The Haven ... well I don't know what they are. Emo/rock, I believe. I could be wrong though. But I always seem to design better when listening to Justin Timberlake (I. DON'T. KNOW. WHY.), so I'm just chuckling at the irony right now.

The irony being, that I made a really, really, really, really, r e a l l y good logo for the event. I mean, it's among the best of my logo work.

On another note, anyone who knows me well, knows that I've been wrestling with some very big things in my life lately. And those people who know me well, also know that I've been changing my mind about those things almost by the hour. I've been really confused lately, about everything, and my confusion just seems to be making things worse for me. It's sort of like there's this film over my eyes, and if I could just claw it off, I could see what's right in front of me and what to do. But the film won't budge. And so I'm confused, because I can't see well.

Well, after talking with Kit for a couple of hours tonight, I think I have, finally, made one solid decision in my life. And it was so easy, because there's only one thing that I know for sure I definitely want in my life, above everything else, and while everything else in my life is mucky ... that's the one thing I know I'll never budge on. She helped me decide to start getting my life on track for that. The greatest thing about this is that the decision I made doesn't require me to make any big life changes at the moment: No changes to where I live or where I work or what I do from day-to-day. All it does is help get me on track -- it gives me a goal.

It's like a huge weight was just taken off my shoulders. And THAT is a wonderful feeling.

But not always quite as good as realizing, out of the blue, that you're actually talented. And by "you" I mean "me". :)

Click the photo :)

Click the photo to see my art gallery.

Copyright Christine M.C.

I went to Shaw's last night and spent $120 on groceries. Which, even though it was an inflated price ... for the amount of stuff I got it wasn't half-horrible. I had on my list to get coffee, because I only had one flavor in the house. I need to have more than one flavor -- something fruity and something warm and fuzzy. I already had warm and fuzzy (Pumpkin Spice), so I was on a mission for fruity, but then I saw it:

Gingerbread Cookie.

And that was it.

I was done for.

And it is amazing. It's right up there with having a religious experience. It's like, Speaking In Tongues flavored coffee. (There should REALLY be a Speaking In Tongues flavor of coffee. And it should be laced with LSD. Just a thought. I bet it would just fly off the shelves, literally.)

Note: This entry was originally posted on Thursday, September 15, 2005.

Early this morning, around 8:30, I was dreaming and I was hearing these very terrifying gurgling sounds in my dream. They woke me up. So I laid in bed for a few minutes, realize it was only a dream...until, blurrrrp, blurp blurrrrrrrrp. I heard them again.

So I pulled my ass out of bed (I only went to bed at about 4:30 a.m., count em, four hours of sleep) to my bathroom to see my toilet lid doing a little jig. So I opened it up to find my toilet bowl NEAR CAPACITY full of black disgusting smelling water. Same thing was happening in my bathroom sink and tub.

So this is when I start freaking out, I scrambled to turn off the water mane, not realizing that it wouldn't stop a fucking thing, and while I was doing that my toilet overflowed WITH RAW SEWAGE, onto my leg. At this point I jumped up becuse it was really flowing and put towels in the doorway so at least the shit, literally, would stay in the bathroom.

So I tried calling my landlord and he wasn't there. So I paged him, twice. I also called my mom and she came over, I cried on my mommies shoulder..YES I DID, and yelled and cried and asked her to fix it cause I didn't know what the fuck to do.

John (my landlord) ended up calling me back and I started crying on the phone with him. I think that freaked him out more than the fact that I had a river of sewage in my bathroom.

I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS SHORT OF SHIT AFTER FOUR HOURS OF SLEEP, WITH NO COFFEE OR ALCOHOL IN MY SYSTEM.

I should mention that Ash Street was totally flooded when this was going on, seriously...it was like the Androscoggin River on my fucking street, which is why the fucking raw sewage WAS IN MY BATHROOM.

Finally it stopped downpouring after about 10 or 15 minutes and the street cleared out, meaning shit stopped overflowing into my bathroom. THANK GOD.

So for the next hour and a half my mom and I scrubbed my bathroom wearing damn near nuke protection gear. My landlord's father came over (my landlord is only a couple years older than I am) and checked things out. All of the first floor apartments had the same problem I did, and the sewage leaked into the basement.

Since then, I've thourghly scrubbed every inch of my body and done laundry. It was so fucking disgusting. I've seen a lot of disturbing things in my life BUT THAT BEAT ALL. Oh, it was just so putrid.

FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT LEWISTON SEWER SYSTEM. Fuck you Lewiston Public Works.

Note: This entry was originally posted on Thursday, April 27, 2006:

Since October, there have been three distinct times when my legs have completely failed to work.

October: My apartment was really cold, and so when I went to bed..my feet were cold. So, I sat down Indian-style (with my feet tucked under my knees), and then laid down like that. Being that I'm apparently flexible, it didn't hurt at all. It actually made my back feel spectactular. Two-ish hours later, my heater woke me up making loud noises (I had left the control door open and it was banging), so I got up to go close it and fell right back down the minute I tried to get up. Apparently, sleeping the way I was had cut off circulation to my legs...they were massively asleep. I couldn't get them to work right for at least half an hour and had to pull myself by my arms across the floor to make the heater shut up.

Sometime between December and March: I was sitting at the computer, once again Indian-style for quite a long time, and then got up to do something and yep...fell back down. It wasn't nearly as bad that time...I was able to stand up after a few minutes and hobble over to the kitchen counter.

Last night, at 1 a.m.: Bruce called, and I had been asleep for about two hours. Apparently, when I first fall asleep I go straight into a deep sleep, because whenever he calls at 1 a.m. I'm super out of it. This time, I woke up falling to the floor. From what he told me, and what I sort of remember...when the phone rang I tried getting up out of bed (still sleeping...I used to sleep walk a lot...maybe in my sleep I thought it was my house phone and not my cell?), and either from the chemical that is released when you first fall asleep (to relax muscles), or maybe I was sleeping on a nerve...my legs were totally useless. I went crashing down while at the same time hitting the answer button on my cell phone and yelling "Jesus fucking God dammit..." and then pulled myself onto my bed (because my legs still weren't working). After about 30 seconds I realized that I had answered my phone already and then said "What the fuck, yo?"

I've got defective legs...but I have the feeling I'm not going to get my money back.

I'm going to go continue watching Benny & Joon now, because...I think it's my favorite Johnny Depp movie, ever.

Note: This entry was originally posted on Tuesday, December 26, 2006.

Tonight I was sitting on the couch watching one of the "Rocky" movies. I've never seen any of the "Rocky" movies before, so I don't know which one it was.

There was a knock on my door, and being that I'm freakishly short, I can't reach the peep hole so I usually just ask who it is. The following is word-for-word what happened. Trust me, I couldn't make this up:

Me: Who is it?
Them: (a moment of silence for their shock of someone asking who it is) Umm, Elders So-and-so and So-and-so

The voice sounded a lot like my friend Jacob. Jacob and I always joke. All we EVER do is joke, so him coming to the door and saying he were God himself (herself) wouldn't really be something out-of-the-ordinary, or unexpected. So, to preserve the joke I said:

Me: No, really. Who is it?
Them: Missionaries (said with chuckle in disbelief) from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints
Me: (while taking the chair from next to the door to stand on to look out the peep hole) pain in my ass...
Me: (after seeing two cute young guys in suits with nametags) Oh ... you were serious. Well, um. I'm not interested. Thanks!

Then I put my chair back next to the door and put my laundry into the dryer (it had just finished washing). They stood at my door for a couple minutes waiting for me to open it, but um ... I've spent 75% of my day laying around and 25% cleaning. I haven't showered and I'm in a scary state. The Donald himself couldn't have paid me to open up that door, even IF I did want to have a couple of cute Elders from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints try to get me to believe in Christ and the powers of polygamy.

After a few minutes of them waiting and looking for their pamphlets, they said "Well, um, thank you!" to which I replied "You're welcome!"

And then they tromped upstairs to try to convert my neighbors. And I can't, for the life of me, stop laughing.

Note: This entry was originally posted on Tuesday, January 09, 2007.

I can't stand e-mails, or bulletins, or whatever like this:

Why do we sleep in church,
but when the ceremony is over we suddenly wake up?
Why is it so hard to talk about God,
but so easy to talk about sex?
Why are we so bored when we look at a Christian magazine,
but find it easy to read Playboy?
Why is it so easy to ignore a Godly myspace message,
Yet we repost the nasty ones?
Why are churches getting smaller,
But bars and clubs are growing?
Think about it, are you going to repost this?
Are you going to ignore it, cause you think you'll get laughed at?
Just remember God is always watching you.
The Lord said: "If you deny me in front of your friends, I will deny you in front of my father".
Repost this as "Mature Eyes Only."
90% of you won't repost this

 

First of all, I believe in God and will say that in front of anyone, anywhere, anytime. HOWEVER, believing in God does NOT make someone Christian and I can't stand it when people associate people who believe in God with people who are Christian.
I am not Christian. However, I am a good person and I do believe in God. I'm sick of hearing all kinds of crap because I don't believe in Jesus, but you know what? Everyone is entitled to their own belief, whatever it may be. My belief is this:

- God exists.
- God is not a man, nor a woman. God is God.
- God is good.
- God is forgiving.
- God is understanding.
- Praying can be done next to your bed, on your knees, with your hands clasped; or on a drive in the woods; or laying in the grass; or anywhere else where you feel completely in tune with everything around you, and are happy and thankful. Praying can be as simple as a kind thought.
- Sex is not evil, nor is sex before marriage evil. Sex is human.
- I think life is meant to be a learning experience, not a repenting experience.
- No one should be persecuted for what they believe. Ever.
- There is no heaven, there is no hell.
- There is an afterlife.
- Going to church DOES NOT make you a good person.
- NOT going to church DOES NOT make you a bad person.
- Judgement is wrong.

I enjoy talking to people of different belief systems about God. But I do not enjoy having a singular belief shoved down my throat. In my humble opinion, spirituality should be a beautiful thing, not something you drudgingly do every Sunday just because it's something you've done all your life.

You were given free will and a mind capable of forming your own opinions, so use it. And don't impede on others' right to form their own opinions.

RANT OVER!

Note: This entry was originally posted on Tuesday, January 23, 2007.

The furnice fizzled out. Again. For the umpteenmillionth day in a row. I have to go downstairs just about every day to turn it back on ... sometimes more than once a day.

I didn't really feel like going down into one of THE creepiest basements by far I've ever seen, at 10 p.m., to turn on the big scary "it's going to eat me" furnice. NO DESIRE. But, I had to, seeing as how I would have eventually frozen to death if I chose not to turn the heater back on.

So in my twisted mind, I thought my worries of being swallowed whole by my furnice may be put at ease if I didn't go down alone, and since Cara was at work ... I decided to take my cat with me. It made sense at the time, okay?

So I picked her up and put her over my shoulder ... like you'd hold a kid. She loves it, I do it all the time. Then I opened the door and her interest was perked because I always freak out when she goes near the door, but this time I was not only letting her ... I was karting her out there with me.

However, the minute I started to unlock the basement door ... she tensed. No claws, but it felt like she was trying to scramble up to the top of my head ... as if it were safer there. As we were going down the dark, creepy stairs she was frozen in place, and managed to stay that way until we got to the furnice.

The second I turned it on every claw on her body was plunged into mine. Specifically, my shoulder. And back. And the longer it took me to get back upstairs, lock the basement door, and get back into my apartment ... the deeper her claws went into my flesh.

From now on I think I'm going to brave the big bad furnice and creepy basement alone. My skin will be much happier, even if I do encounter a ghost, or rabid squirrel, or something.

Note: This entry was originally posted on Saturday, February 10, 2007.

Me: And you know what? Instead of wasting 20 minutes like you did, I just went to the helped menu and typed "signature."
Nick: Thanks for making me feel worthless.
Me: Anytime

Me: I don't think I can come into work today.
Boss: What's wrong?
Me: I was trampeled by a herd of elephants in my sleep.

Corey: Mark wants to know if he can exchange the last item with one about those screaming monkeys?
Me: Tell Mr. Inch-and-a-half that it's fine

Corey: I think I can smell the air freshener on us.
Pete: Yeah, I can smell something weird.
Me: Dammit, I'm man scented.

Note: This entry was originally posted on Wednesday, February 21, 2007.

I spent 20 minutes or so last night tearing apart my bedroom looking for my pjs. I couldn't find them anywhere. I looked under my blankets, under the bed, on my chair ... couldn't find them anywhere.

I even went into the bathroom and looked under my towel that's hanging on a hook ... not there either.

I went back to my room and just stood in the middle of it looking around trying to figure out where I could have put them, until I had an epiphany and realized where they were:

On me.

And the other day? I caught myself putting chips in the fridge. So, if that's not proof enough that I needed a vacation, I don't know what is.

 

Note: This entry was originally posted on Sunday, March 11, 2007.

Well, today was quite the day. I made an appointment yesterday to get my newest tattoo done today. I brought my design to the shop and eveyrthing. I was really looking forward to it, and you know what? I had to cancel my appointment. You know why? Because I couldn't fucking walk and had to go to the hospital.

 

I woke up this morning and could barely get to the bathroom, I was in excrutiating pain and couldn't go a few steps without breaking into tears. I could hardly even breathe without it hurting like hell. It was horrible, so, I called my mom and had her take me to the hospital.

I ended up waiting for a while (big shocker there), but finally they called me into the exam room. I was in a wheelchair and my mom was pushing it, when it came time to turn the wheelchair into the exam room she didn't do too well with it and crashed me into the doorway. Looking back, it was actually quite hilarious, but at the time it just triggered searing, excruitating pain and I burst into tears immediately. I was crying so hard that she had to tell the doctor what the symptoms were.

And then the doc asked me if I had a problem with pooping or peeing my pants and mid-tears I burst out laughing. I think I made him feel bad because he said I was the first person to laugh at him for asking that question (it was actually a valid question, people with spinal injuries can't always stop themselves from pooing their pants ... luckily, I've yet to poo my pants).

As it turns out, I tore some of my lumbar (lowback) muscles and ligaments, and I'm not allowed to do pretty much anything for a week. He gave me a prescription for pain killers and muscle relaxers.

Here's the result of me taking the pain killers and muscle relaxers:

My mom thought it'd be funny to take a picture of my passed out on the chair with the heating pad after taking my drugs. I think I bear and eerie resemblance to Christ.

Point is, for the next week I'm not allowed to do anything but laydown on drugs in a chair with a heating pad. That's it.

Dude, I'm gonna get so bored.

AND! I wasn't even able to get my fucking tattoo! I have to wait even longer, and that's what pisses me off the most. Blah! Oh well, at least I have stuff that makes it almost bearable to walk from my living room to my bathroom.