ProfessorTomoe

Out of all the maladies, I've never had an ingrown hair. How do you fix one? Tweezers?

That was my case in kindergarten (big difference, I know, just wait for it). I'd been encouraged to read from as long as I can remember. My parents told me I could read when I was three and read the newspaper when I was four. Introduce Problem: the Houston Independent School District and the Texas school system rules. There was no way that they were going to let me skip over kindergarten, which was basically a half-day day care with drawing crayons and Manila paper. I'd been born too late to start first grade when I needed to (school starts in Aug/Sept here, and I was born in November). So, one day, I find myself pulled out of kindergarten, day care, and everything I'd known, and tossed over to a tiny private school (SoHo Private School & Day Care) in the city of South Houston. (Yes, there is a city called "South Houston." It's between Pasadena and regular Houston.) After some wacky hijinx (another story), I got called over to a couple of teachers who were watching the kiddiewinkies watch their morning cartoons. One of them handed me a newspaper, pointed to a section, and said, "Read that." Her jaw dropped when I read it. She said thanks and sent me back to the cartoon gang. I don't know how much longer it was before I was ushered into a small, one-room, private first grade (fully accredited) with a bunch of about a dozen or slightly more kids looking at me strangely. I was told I would report there from every morning from then on, and that Mrs. Binford would be my first grade teacher. It was a proper first grade, too—I actually learned math, more advanced grammar, and other things way beyond what I would have "learned" from kindergarten. The following year I transferred to a 2nd grade class at South Shaver Elementary school in the Pasadena independent School District. That's how my parents got me around the problem of being born 3 months too late to start first grade. Learning-wise, I consider it a boost. Developmental-wise, I consider it a bit of a drawback. I was a year younger than everyone else in my classes, so I didn't pick up on social cues until it was too late. I was therefore dubbed the school nerd, starting around 4th grade and running up until my senior year of high school (although not as bad as high school started—I'd switched school paths and went to a "rival" high school from those who picked on me). My advice: have kids between February and July. They won't have to put up with the crap I did in exchange for the accelerated learning.

4:40 a.m. CDT 20170830. I woke up freezing cold. No socks and no blanket may have contributed, but I usually sleep that way and I don't have problems. All the light blankets are in the wash, so it's a big towel for me. BTW, this was after sleeping with my face pointed into the sofa. The sore on my right ear isn't growing, but it's getting to be unbearable to sleep on. I'm calling my primary care doctor tomorrow and setting up an appointment, which will be followed by a reference to yet another specialist (a dermatologist). I can't handle the constant pain any more, even with hydrocodone. Drinking some of the last of my Teavana Oolong jasmine tea. Gotta find a better source. Preferably for jasmine tea that has the jasmine flowers *in* the mix.

I'm good at those. Tested out of a whole semester of them at UT-Austin. Just as a diversion (and because I'm nosy tonight), what did you test out of if you went to college/university? I tested out of Math, Chemistry, and something for the life of me I can't remember (English? History? Must have been one of the two). I also tested out of a semester of Music Theory, something the professor said he hardly ever did. I only got the gumption to try after tying for 1st place in the UIL State Music Theory test earlier that year. If it weren't for my scales, I would have outright won (and tested out of a full semester). Insert your answer here.

What corner are you in? My sister's in the southeast corner, in League City.

6:15 p.m. CDT 20170829. My psychiatrist has yet to call me back. Dear God. Even my psychiatrist is depressing me. I'm frozen in a depressed pile of uselessness at the moment. I'm in hell, and it has frozen over on top of me.

And now the news comes from my sister, via Facebook: They've got to get her and themselves out of the southeastern corner of Houston (the part that's getting 49.88" of rain) across the entire flooded city in order to reach dry land on the opposite side just to make it to Austin for the funeral. I don't see how they'll do it unless Hobby Airport (which is also on the southeast side of Houston) dries up enough to fly everyone out. The mind boggles. I wish I could just stick to cat pictures (and not have them barf behind me without warning).

10:33 a.m. CDT 20170829. I finally resolved my "10-day check-in" call with the pain management people, one day late. Urrgh. When I called Monday, they asked me something I couldn't understand, I said, "What?", and then they asked me what percentage of relief I received. I told them 10-15%. They said someone would call back. That was at lunch. Put every other thing on hold so I can catch the nurse when she calls back. No call back. I call at 4:30 p.m.—closed. I just called them back at about 10am and explained what happened. They asked me again how much relief I got. I answer again. They ask when I would like to come in to see a nurse practitioner about it. WTF? That's all I waited for yesterday? That's what I put everything else on hold for yesterday? Yup. /* insert look that could kill here */ I told her that I have an appointment with the doctor on September 6th and said I didn't need two appointments. We ended the call on an "are you sure?" note. Move on to what was supposed to be step two yesterday: contact my psychiatrist about my antidepressants and the lack of antidepressanting they're doing. I get very lucky—the receptionist is in. I explain the problem. She says she'll pull my chart and give it to my doctor so that he can contact me after lunch. Now all that remains is for Mrs. Prof to pick up the "magic mouthwash" that I called in a refill for on Friday. The pharmacist didn't get approval for it until midday yesterday.

Oh, she's not having real trouble, per se. She just doesn't like to do it. She claims to have forgotten it last night. Grr. And to add extra Grr to my morning, one of the cats barfed on the carpet that keeps the chair at my music computer from rolling around. I didn't see the barf when I sat down. I didn't see it when I stood up and stepped in it with a socked-foot, either. Squish. Few messier things in a household without small children.

Mrs. Prof and I are starting to wonder if it'll be possible to hold the burial this week. Even if they get my grandmother's body up there, would there be room to stay anywhere? The hotels have got to be full of evacuees by now.

Oh, remember the cat tree? The one which Baker uses the top shelf and Loudmouth uses the middle? Exhibit A for the defense.

Requests have been made. I merely fulfill them. BTW, the "PeeDar" device did show some odd areas where Loudmouth had gone. He's also still having the bed pee problem, but I'm trying to make sure that Mrs. Prof doesn't go to bed without giving Loudmouth the Elavil half-pill. She hates giving it to him, and I can't give it to him thanks to my back {grumblewharrgarble}.

I just checked in with my sister about two hours ago and asked if everyone was still okay down there. I got a terse, "Yes. Thanks," in response. I guess that means no one's bailing out their living rooms yet.

Mrs. Prof says the cats were fighting last night ... until they ran out of energy ... Tuckered out. Pardon the stacked laundry on the left. BTW, the thing that looks like a gun rack on the right is actually a cat tree. Loudmouth's ear looks like it's sticking up through the curved center bed of the tree. Baker's the only one of them that uses the top rack.

I just posted the following on Facebook as I sit here, alone, watching CNN's coverage of the Hurricane Harvey: This is a cruel, cruel storm.

It's appreciated, that's for sure. Unfortunately, my 10-day check-in call tomorrow is not going to be very good for the doctor. I've still got the same burning line of pain along my right back/hip/side/foot line, and my left foot stone bruise pain hasn't improved. I still need to check my lower left back—it hasn't got much exercise due to my depression, so I don't know if it's improved or not. You see, you've gotta remember that there were a ton of problems listed in the CT myelogram. There's no way he could have hit everything at once, even if he said it was an easy operation, IMHO. Either that, or there's going to be surgery to follow (he did mention that). It's complicated beyond belief, and when you mix in my steady-state depression plus my new depression over my grandmother, you've got really long division to deal with.

What do you give to the man who takes everything? Seriously, I'm on the maximum doses for as many of my antidepressants as I'm aware. I'm on 10mg of Abilify, with a max dose there of 15 mg. That's the only one I'm aware of that I can increase. What else can I do when my antidepressants aren't getting the job done? Looks like I get to call my psychiatrist in addition to my pain management doctor and (perhaps) my regular doctor tomorrow. This sucks beyond belief.

As always, I thank you for the support. I'm getting to the point where I may need to call my psychiatrist and ask for an increased dosage of something temporarily. I've texted and messaged my sister for info on the funeral, now that Harvey is mostly a rain event. Even the schedule is a potential problem now, because Mrs. Prof has a non-reschedulable event on Friday. I can't stand all of this pressure building up over going down there.

It's close to 1am, and the cats are finally getting into the mood to play. Loudmouth has his favorite toy (a fabric-covered spring) and loves to bat it around. Baker is getting jealous, but is apparently trying to get into the play aspect (I think) instead of trying to bully Loudmouth. Either that, or Loudmouth is learning to ignore Baker. I'm honestly not sure, because it's impossible to keep eyes on them all the time. They move too damned fast.

Guinness is to an Imperial stout as Coors Light is to Guinness. Especially when you factor in the "milk" portion of the equation. An Imperial milk stout adds lactose sugar in strange and wondrous ways to create a fantastic brew. I don't know of any that would be available in your area, but one of the more famous in these parts is one called "The Temptress" from Lakewood Brewing Company, and that's not even their best - just their most available. Check out Beer Advocate to see if there's an Imperial milk stout in your area. You will be surprised—pleasantly, I hope.

Never experienced that. Mine hit me as I'm approaching a kitchen counter or something similar. It's like my legs start to buckle out from under me.

You ever have an Imperial milk stout?

It's looking like Thursday or Friday for the funeral now, if the weather clears up that quickly. I'm familiar with their plots, and they're near an area that floods. Not saying the cemetery has ever flooded, but with historic levels of rain predicted, you can throw all other predictions and history out the window. One thing that I'm not sure how to handle is that the service is being held in the Ben Hur Shrine Hall down in Austin. My grandfather was a Shriner and my grandmother (and great-grandmother) a member of the Order of the Eastern Star, so it's not breaking any rules. It's just that I'm not so sure my father made a proper choice when picking the venue. None of the others' services were held at a Shrine Hall, for cryin' out loud, but which is better—that, or a funeral home like theirs were? It's a shame that it's a closed casket ceremony. She supposedly deteriorated so badly in her last days that any attempt to make her up would apparently be useless. I've also been told that my father is spending something like $15,000 on the funeral. That perplexes me, especially since he's a Shriner himself. What's the charge for—transportation? Dodging hurricanes? (BTW, I am not a Mason, nor am I a Shriner. Long story I don't intend to get into.) The whole thing is depressing me to the point where my meds aren't working. If they are working, I sure as hell can't tell. All I want to do is sleep. I've done some computer work, but nothing productive. Mainly trying to figure out how to use competitors to Google's guetzli JPEG compressor, like MozJPEG, and wondering why someone won't write a front-end that handles all of them. Even my pains are coming back, especially the left foot stone bruise. I'm sick to death of all of it. This post even negates the need for my most recent planned blog post. And the gut punches just keep on coming.