It has been a whole month and half since I’ve sat here and blogged, and to tell you the truth, I really haven’t missed it much. The boys are doing well. Footlong turned 8, loves second grade, and was a police officer for Halloween. 6-inch receives speech therapy once a week, and while he still isn’t speaking verbally his non-verbal communicational skills have improved by leaps and bounds. We’re looking to get him into a sensory therapist, and he is on the waiting list to see a development at the University Hospital. For Halloween he was a baby biker dude and was supposed to wear a red do-rag to complete the costume, but we are at the phase where he will allow NOTHING on his head.
As for me all of the changes in my psychiatric medications had me close to a nervous breakdown. I had been self-medicating with anti-anxiety and even started drinking vodka martinis to help calm myself down. I realized I was in a bad place and I saw my PCP who urged me to find another psychiatrist. He is wonderful, and with me sporting my heels I’m about an taller than he is. He was flabbergasted at some of the stuff the old psychiatrist had me on. He halved the Wellbutrin (I knew I was taking too much!), took me off of Zoloft because in high doses (250mg here!) can cause anxiety. I weaning off Zoloft and started on a low dose of Paxil which seems to work better with chronic anxiety. My night-night medication stayed the same, and he gave a script for Ativan to take daily until my system “finally comes together [his worlds not mine]. Nice guy.
The Jackson 4 has never celebrated Thanksgiving with a traditional turkey and stuffing meal. No sir. Every year I pull out my two Bon Apetit cookbooks and one Gourmet magazine and write down a bunch of choices. From thousands of pages we whittled the choices down to about 80 or so. We agreed easily enough on the app, wanted to try lamp chops for the protein since we’ve never had lamb, I chose the starch, and J chose the veggie. Dessert was unanimous: Pumpkin praline tiramisu.
I’m so glad to have made some friends here. The first is Cha from Australia I believe (Cch@hotmail.au) with a handy dandy number of 22.214.171.124. Her endearing message to me: Ur a pig. Not funny. Get off MWOP. U suck.” Thanks for taking the time to write in, Cha. Now piss off.
My new friend seems equally as lovely. Her name is Coco and writes to us from Coco16733@hotmail.com and an ID of 126.96.36.199. Carmen your such a fucking hypocrite. You think you are the queen of mwop and all you are is a fat attention seeker. Go take care of your kids or better yet clean your pigsty house. You make me sick and you are the laughing stock of mwop. What in the fuck are we, Coco? Thirteen year old girls You wanna come and pull my hair before I dig my fingers in your eyes? Sheesh.
I am the very first one will stand honestly and proudly and talk about my mistakes, problems, shortcomings, etc. I choose to rag on Jennifer not to be mean but total incredulity and in hopes that the bitch will get her shit together. I don’t care what all of you think of me. I invited folks to join me for Thanksgiving if they didn’t have any family or were lonely. Got downvoted there (boo fucking hoo). I made mention how to help survivors of Super Typhoon Hiyuan by texting numbers and each text worth $10. Got pissed on that one too. I offered some comforting words to a fellow MWOPer going through a miscarriage—even got downvoted there. . Some of you bitches just need to grow up and put on your big girl panties. I don’t have to hide behind an email name or vote someone down just because I can remain anonymous. That’s all I imagine: a pen full of yellow bellied chickens. Speaking of chicken I need to pull dinner out of the freezer.