Dear Roger: Isnt That A Shot In The Ass?

My butt hurts. Its not for any fun or particularly pervy reason, but its because I have had to start getting huge shots in the ass of B-12. I got this little bit of surprise called into me when I was headed back home from my appointment with my new PTSD counselor,(yes, its been kinda a rough month or so), and I had to voluntarily turn around and walk back to my doctors office knowing I was going to be getting a big ole shot that was going to feel like I was getting kicked in the ass by a Kentucky mule!
I did it, and I actually tried to talk the nurse into putting it in my arm, but she squeezed my arm and laughed at me saying that I didn't have enough muscle mass left in my arm for that, and in fact, I almost didn't have enough ass for the shot! I have to go back every single day this week for the same type of shot, then I have to go back once a week for a few months depending on what my blood work shows after they start me on the oral medication.
I don't have a diagnoses or know what is going on yet, my doctor was more worried about getting some kind of treatment started and getting me into counseling for my,"Profound depression." Hell, who wouldn't be bummed out if they weren't writing and were getting poked full of holes?!
Yeah, my stress level has been high and yeah, I have a habit of being brutally honest about what keeps me lingering on this particular plane of existence, and that tends to weird the medical types completely out, but I tried telling them I have at least 10 more years I have to stick around! My life is not,"Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy" but I do have a few things that bring me peace and happiness, so I indulge in those when I can, I do my best to stay healthy and I am cooperating with these damn shots that are supposed to make me want to eat and that will hopefully help me get my iron levels to the point that I would at least interest a vampire.
Thanksgiving was okay, I cooked for the kids and we had a nice ham along with the fixings. My new pup, "Benny" enjoyed his first little bits of ham and rewarded me for sharing by actually using his piddle pads instead of the floor or whichever child annoyed him. Hes a very cool little pup and I am completely wrapped around his little paw. He surprised us all tonight by going and bumping the front door with his paw, and then running back and looking at me like,"Hey, dumbass!" I took him out and he did his business right away,so he seems to have copied Spencer only hes too short to reach the bells as of yet.
The dog seems to be picking up on things quicker than my oldest son, I've had to print out an application for a military school to get the point across to him that I am tired of the attitude, so hopefully he will grasp it quickly after reading all the rules and regulations of that situation. I think 5 months of military discipline in an academy setting that doesn't allow outside technology might be a real wake up call to him, I know it would be a shock to the system.

Dear Roger: Treading the Shy Waters

I am a lifelong music fan as are my children. Music is the one constant in our lives that we would choose over every other form of entertainment if we had to pick one to be left as our sole choice. We listen to it, play it and even write it and my eldest son and daughter sing it.
My eldest son has been trying to get me and my daughter to listen to new and different music in order to get us to stop mourning the loss of our favorite band. Some of it just annoys me and I often just walk away from him saying that either one of the guys is coming out with a new solo song or ill just listen to my old concert recordings, but he keeps trying because he thinks we are stuck in a rut.
I came to a realization the other day when he was playing a song for me I actually did sort of like the other day, other than the name of the band so I could find the song again, I didn't want to know anything about them. I didn't want to know their names or what they looked like and I didn't even want to know if they toured or not. I just don't want to get invested in another band emotionally ever again. I don't want to have my heart broken when they dissolve or have a hard time. I don't want to give a damn enough about them to drain my bank account so they can fund their side projects or tour. I don't want to see a recording of them performing in some bar somewhere and have my heart ache because the pain in their eyes and voice just rips my soul. I don't want to know their backstories or their families or how we have these weird little connections. I don't want my daughter to cry because she is worried about them being sad and so thin they look like they don't get enough to eat.
We have that, in spades and I just don't have it in me to go through it with anyone else and neither does my daughter. We are painfully loyal to our broken little band and its bits and pieces that are scattered about and those other fans out there reading this know what I am talking about. You try and move on, but then just when you think you are doing well, you get a little rip in your hoodie or you break your coffee cup and it feels like the world is ending. There are more than a few of us out here still wandering around and we know what it really means to be,"Lost".
I will listen to some of these new bands off and on, but the flavors just arent as sweet, the sounds not as rich and I have no idea who the players are, so I guess Im just going to sit on that porch and wait.

Dear Roger: Second Verse, Same As The First

Well, I finally let the kids nagging wear me down and I went to see a doctor. I went to a new one because I prefer a doctor that actually will talk to me instead of at me, but DAMN! I didn't expect a doctor that would take a bite out of my ass and then give me a talking to like she was twice my age instead of half of it. By the time I managed to escape I was shy about half a gallon of blood and had another damn MRI scheduled to be followed with all kinds of other unpleasant tests and then a follow up appointment all happening within a couple weeks instead of a couple of months like I am used to! I didn't even get to try to use the excuse of no transportation or poor scheduling, they had the appointments scheduled on my days off and transport arranged if I needed it.
Im not looking forward to go starting up all this crap again, but  guess I have to figure something out about why some of the things have gotten worse and why I am not writing. My vision has gone to hell. When I had my eyes checked, the optometrist said that while my eyes looked healthy, my left eye was profoundly weaker than my right, and my vision had significantly weakened since my last appointment. That is seriously NO BUENO for a writer. The left side weakness goes along with my left hand not being as strong and the fact that I limp a bit on my left side. But I get right sided cluster migraines, so that actually makes sense.
They are doing the MRI looking for changes and growth or any weirdness since the last studies and then depending on what that shows, they will proceed with the rest of the bullshit that I hate so much and dread. For someone with as many tattoos as I have you would think I would be okay with needles, but when they are going into your spine and your nerves and then have electrical impulses shot through them, well...that just kinda takes the suck fest to a whole nuther level.
It would be nice to find out why I cant gain weight and why I have no appetite or desire to write or why my tinnitus is out of control lately, but I don't expect Ill get any answers any better than I got the last go round. They give me the,'Well, we THINK it might be... or it could be..." and then they throw a ton a pills at me and tell me to come back over and over for more tests until I snap and decide life is tolerable as it was.  The reason I am going now is because I haven't been writing or eating and I cant see for shit and  that's not a good thing, its had my son worried, so I went for him, and to get him off my case and because I cant really tell an 8 from a 0 anymore or a period from a comma unless I have my screen blown up to grandma level.
I have new glasses coming in a week or so and that should help. I'm trying to get out a little to see if I can find some motivation to get me writing, but so far nada.
We got a new pup and he seems to be the one thing that keeps me busy and makes me laugh.
Benny is quite a character and for some reason he took to me and as I write this hes doing his level best to get between the keyboard and my lap so he can shove my computer off my lap. Hes already spoiled rotten and he spends most of his awake time stuffed in my jacket getting carried around like an extra kid.
Its not too cold up here yet so I have been enjoying getting out and walking around in the rain some, but there are days I long for a car so I could just get in it and drive to the coast or somewhere out of the city for just an hour or two to see if I could find my muse...its been so damn long since I have escaped.

Dear Roger: Chapter Two?

This past week fucking sucked. There is really no other classy way to put it, I sat and just dreaded what I knew was coming like a paralyzed deer watching the approach of a semi-trucks headlights. I couldnt do anything to stop it, I was powerless, the second or third best, not worth the effort, the secret that shall always remain so, and I just sat here and mourned the slow immolation of what was left of my heart. I soothed some of the pain by acquiring a puppy.
I guess I am at that age. I haven't had close physical contact,(read:SEX) in so damn long that I find myself perusing Craigslist personal ads with half a thought towards insanity.
The kids had wanted a smaller dog they could actually play with without getting bowled over or flattened completely, and the choice came between a Pug or Boston terrier and since I have always wanted a Boston, that is what we ended up with. Benny is almost exactly like having an infant. Hes up most of the night raising hell, demanding of being fed immediately and he will jump in your face and go for whatever you are eating if you don't make with the food for him fast enough. Hes completely and totally adorable and probably thinks he cant walk due to all the time he spends in peoples arms, but hes just what I needed. I don't really have time to sit around and be bummed out in the morning when I have him in his crate yelling at me to let him out and feed him as well as hurry up and take him right out to potty, all the while trying to get Spencers needs met as he follows me through the house like a giant shadow, whining and tangling himself around my legs and getting in the way of my coffee, while Benny wiggles and tries his best to either launch himself at my throat in an attempt to help me drink my coffee, or knock it down the front of my shirt in the hopes it will speed me up. Its pure insanity in the mornings now, but im not complaining, I don't have much time to sit around and feel sorry for myself or miss what I will never have again,
Work is going good and its also helping to keep me busy as hell. I find it to be a blessing and a curse. I love that it gets me out of the house and forces me to interact with people on a daily basis, I hate that it forces me to interact with people that I would rather not know existed. It has provided some interesting opportunities to observe some examples of pure psychopathy in action, the effects of long term alcoholism, and various other forms of mental illness and cultures that I would not have observed in other ways. I figure that if nothing else, I have some material for my writing when my muse finally comes back.
I hope that is soon, I actually bought a real typewriter yesterday and it was delivered last night. Its a real beauty that I still cant believe I got so cheap! Its a 1920's Royal and its in museum quality condition, with no cracks rust or missing pieces at all and it functions perfectly! Its from a local shop and even has the original dust cover from the shop. It is gorgeous and I am thrilled to have it to work with, I saw a few exactly like it but not in NEAR as good as condition as mine going for nearly $700 on Ebay, so I guess for once in my life I got a hell of a deal.
Its all about distractions and keeping busy from now on, and just never looking back. Ive always been good at giving advice to people about this kind of thing, so now I have to try it on my own, and its the hardest damn thing I have ever done.

Dear Roger: Monkey's Getting Bullied

The signs have been increasing over the past few weeks, the offhand comment about not wanting to go to school from a child who used to pop up every morning like a spring, literally vibrating and eager for the bus to arrive. The change in wardrobe from her typical flashy, punky style or her fancy dresses to a more subdued almost bland, pre-middle school camouflage of plain t-shirts, jeans and tennis shoes. Her temper has been shorter and I've gotten reports of her being in trouble for shoving another child or yelling at another child, and when I ask about it, she tells me that either they shoved her first or had been picking at her calling her,"Weird" and "Freak" among other things or they had try to take her Jackson on days when the kids are allowed to bring lovies for some reading event.
Today was such a day. She thought it was pj day so she had worn a pair of leggings along with her boots and a very funky cool long sleeved t-shirt that you couldn't even tell was a pj top unless someone told you, and of course she took Jackson. I was at work around 930 when I got a call from her begging me to come get her. She said it was because her clothes were wrong, but I should have known it was more, her voice sounded tense and upset, and I could hear the principal rushing her in the background. I was swamped at work and it was pouring rain so I told her she would be fine in what she had on, that it was raining too hard to walk to the school to get her and then walk home. It bothered me to do it, but I did.
When she got home in the afternoon, I got the whole story, it wasn't just her clothes that were the problem. They had a substitute who essentially allowed the little pack of girls who harass her, to have free reign in the classroom, and when my daughter left the room to use the bathroom, one of the more hateful of the girls kidnapped Jackson and was swinging him around by his tail and calling my daughter names when she got back and demanded his return. Apparently the hysterics and threats were pretty ugly and dire.
She doesn't understand why they hate her, and yes, they tell her they "hate her". They tell her she is a,"Freak" and "Weird" and all kinds of things and I really cant figure out why she has become a target unless its the whole Gifted thing and that she stands out from the crowd. I told her that she is weird. We are all weird in this family and we relish our weirdness. Where they are plain and boring and easily forgettable, she obviously sticks in their minds enough to bother them and that makes her interesting and uncommon and someone who is headed places better than them.  I try to be supportive, but it is wearing on her. She told me today, "They said no one wants to play with me or be my friend and they told "B" not to play with me either or they wouldn't play with her."
I told her about what it was like for me growing up and that I was bullied and ostracized and while there were reasons for some of it,(I usually was dirty, smelled like cigarette smoke or a dirty house and I was a horribly arrogant smart ass), she doesn't have those reasons  except for maybe the smart ass thing, and that it is survivable and sometimes those people grow up and years later look back at how horrible they were to you, and then they become better people and apologize and raise their children to be better people.I told her to consider that maybe she was being tested and that her suffering was part of her path to becoming a good person and helping them to become better people in the end.
Its not easy to tell her that stuff, the old me wants to teach her some really stealthy ju jitsu moves that will have those little shits crying on the ground without and mark on them and no idea what happened except for the smile on my daughters face, but then again, I am trying really hard to be a better person so my kid will win out in the end, but I swear by all that is holy, if that candy ass of a principal does not get this crap in hand by this next week, we will be having a talk and he will not like what I am going to be telling him.