Current condition: Slightly ill, slightly tired, overall well.
General thoughts on the universe: Meh.
Best news of the day: One of my favourite girls at work is currently on methadone and told me today that she is no longer working - she is trying to get her act together and is considering going into rehab. This thrills me to no end - I know that her odds of staying clean are slim, and that addiction is cyclical in nature, but having the willpower to consider ending that cycle...Huge.
This girl is nineteen - she is one of the youngest women to use our centre. People are quick to note how a traumatic street life can age people, but the reverse is also true. When you are living day-to-day and in the throws of addiction or violence, you don't meet your developmental milestones in the way that regular children and young adults do; you can remain stuck, a time capsule of your former self. To me, this girl is barely thirteen - she is negotiating life the way that your average middle schooler would, and trying to make the best of it. You don't become a heroin addicted sex trade worker overnight - the average age of entry into the sex trade is fourteen, and I think perhaps she was ahead of the curb. I am amazed by her optimism and strength - I hope things work out. She could have an amazing life.
Peace out world, I am going to eat some yogurt.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Friday
A Week's Worth of Monologues: Friday
Last night, I awoke to a distinct stabby pain, located just behind my left cheekbone. As it was approximately 4am and there was little else to do, I replenished my water bottle and went back to sleep.
Sleep is the answer to most conundrums...and that philosophy goes a long way to explaining why I'm no longer in university.
Unfortunately, there are some problems so big that even sleep cannot solve them. The next morning the headache was still there, and I was still saddened by its presence. I have been experiencing migraines and other tension-related headaches since the age of twelve - as such, I have developed a specialized two-stage approach in dealing with pain explosions located within one’s skull. This headache warranted a stage one intervention, called ‘Suck It Up, Buttercup.’ When stage one fails, I would resort to stage two: ‘Long for Death, Weep in Fetal Position.’
According to stage one philosophy, I went in to work.
A coworker was concerned. She stated, tactfully, that I looked like a giant bucket of cow shit. I responded that my head hurt, and she awwed sympathetically. I wondered aloud if it would turn into a migraine - many otherwise benign headaches will have me vomiting and begging for death’s sweet release by mid-afternoon. But it doesn’t feel like one of those headaches, it feels different…
…I wonder if it’s my brain-tumor?
(My optometrist sent me to a neurologist following a weird eye exam last month in which my pupils were different sizes, and since I have yet to have my neurology appointment, I remain convinced that I have a sizable brain tumor by the name of Steve…Hi, Steve!)
My coworker looked skeptical, but I remain convinced. By the end of the day, the pain was still present, and in general I was feeling like I’d been trodden upon by a herd of hefty goats. That evening, my headachiness turned into overall achiness, and I made an informed decision to skip my Saturday of (old) work and stay home and type instead.
…I hate life. I hate headaches, and brain tumors, and the achiness in my wrists and fingers and knees and back…I hate whininess, too, which does not help me not hate my self loathing self. And with that vortex of angst, I shall leave you, dear nonexistent readers…Good Night.
Last night, I awoke to a distinct stabby pain, located just behind my left cheekbone. As it was approximately 4am and there was little else to do, I replenished my water bottle and went back to sleep.
Sleep is the answer to most conundrums...and that philosophy goes a long way to explaining why I'm no longer in university.
Unfortunately, there are some problems so big that even sleep cannot solve them. The next morning the headache was still there, and I was still saddened by its presence. I have been experiencing migraines and other tension-related headaches since the age of twelve - as such, I have developed a specialized two-stage approach in dealing with pain explosions located within one’s skull. This headache warranted a stage one intervention, called ‘Suck It Up, Buttercup.’ When stage one fails, I would resort to stage two: ‘Long for Death, Weep in Fetal Position.’
According to stage one philosophy, I went in to work.
A coworker was concerned. She stated, tactfully, that I looked like a giant bucket of cow shit. I responded that my head hurt, and she awwed sympathetically. I wondered aloud if it would turn into a migraine - many otherwise benign headaches will have me vomiting and begging for death’s sweet release by mid-afternoon. But it doesn’t feel like one of those headaches, it feels different…
…I wonder if it’s my brain-tumor?
(My optometrist sent me to a neurologist following a weird eye exam last month in which my pupils were different sizes, and since I have yet to have my neurology appointment, I remain convinced that I have a sizable brain tumor by the name of Steve…Hi, Steve!)
My coworker looked skeptical, but I remain convinced. By the end of the day, the pain was still present, and in general I was feeling like I’d been trodden upon by a herd of hefty goats. That evening, my headachiness turned into overall achiness, and I made an informed decision to skip my Saturday of (old) work and stay home and type instead.
…I hate life. I hate headaches, and brain tumors, and the achiness in my wrists and fingers and knees and back…I hate whininess, too, which does not help me not hate my self loathing self. And with that vortex of angst, I shall leave you, dear nonexistent readers…Good Night.
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