.psa.

Jul. 22nd, 2017 02:28 pm
yuuo: (So I'm breaking the habit tonight)
My anti-depressant is supposed to be working, but the last two days, I've been so depressed that I'm forming suicidal ideation again.

For anyone going through this but doesn't like to talk on phones, text 741741. It's a Crisis Line, same as the phone ones, but you'll get talked through with text messages, instead of talking out loud. Good for a lot of reasons. Some of us have phone anxiety, and not everyone's in a position to be able to use an out loud voice at the moment they need the help.
yuuo: (It's amazing to me)
I don't talk too terribly much about my gender identity- I'm not exactly secretive about it, but I prefer to not talk too much, because I don't need it getting back to my mother and having another argument about GLBT issues that she knows dickall about because she's one of those Christians that make anyone sane hate them all forever without discrimination burn that mother fucking institution down to prevent more like her.

Just to give you an idea of what her stance on those issues is.

But, as it is mentioned in my profile, I'm pretty laid back about my gender identity. I consider myself Third Gender, in that I am both female and male, depending basically upon where my head is. My hormones don't play a role in that, either- I have an IUD that completely flattens everything and keeps them stable.

But, despite being third gender, I am so apathetic about my pronouns that I'll answer to whatever, including 'hey you' if you're nice about it. I tend towards female pronouns because I'm female-bodied and was assigned female at birth. I am super lazy about my pronouns, because- and I stress that this is for me personally, and not my opinion of those for whom it is the opposite -I don't find it a reason to get bitchy. For me, my pronouns aren't a reason to get up into a snit over, because they're not important to me.

Again, I stress that this is for me only. Of course pronouns can be super important, if they're important to the person wanting certain ones used! And I respect that, and will never tell them they're getting up in a tizz about 'nothing' when to them, it isn't nothing.

But for me, in my life, it is nothing.

So you know, keep calling me whatever you wish, I'm cool with it.

Now, that all out of the way, because I'm just sure that if I hadn't, someone would have thrown a cock and bull shitfit at me, and I'm sure there's someone who still would, but I really don't give a fuck about them at that point.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh, right.

Because I've always been comfortable with my female body, or mostly, anyway- my complaints with the icky bleeding thing aside (shut up, I find it icky, that is not ingrained misogyny, that's me hating blood) -I so rarely get body dysphoria. So very rarely. I get a little weird during sex, because that's when my male brain really kicks into gear, but usually, I'm okay with handling my clit or using a fake dick and my fingers to satisfy the need to, you know, thrust.

Right now? No. Oh no.

My libido is rockin' with its tits out, but it wants a penis. Specifically for me to have one. (I am vagina-sexual- cocks don't come near me unless it's fake.) I'm like. "Body. You don't know what it feels like to grab penis and feel it because it's attached to you. You don't. Stop trying to figure out why you can't."

And this makes masturbation very uncomfortable. When your body desperately wants you to be able to grab a piece of external plumbing and go to town, and all you can do is rub at a tiny little nub between a pair of labia lips, it is extremely disorienting, and it makes my reactions to the stimulation weak.

But my libido is driving me crazy and I keep squirming because hot damn, does my body want to orgasm.

Come on, body. Stop this. STOP THIS. STOP THIS THIS INSTANT.

Sigh.

To my fellow vagina-bearing, penis-wanting people, I am feeling that pain something awful right now. Fist bump for surviving without going completely nuts yet.

...

Er.

Maybe not the best wording there.
yuuo: (Here's to us here's to love)
Wife's double-mastectomy went well. Surgeon said he got everything that looked abnormal out of her breast and lymph nodes. (I'd hope he got it all out of her breasts, he took those completely off.) What he took out looked like scar tissue to him, so it's possible she's 100% NED. (Note: NED, not cured. There is no cure for Stage IV breast cancer.) NED meants she's got a decent chance at being one of those tiny outliers who live decades beyond diagnosis. She's already made it past the average three years, and is running strong.

The surgery to remove her ovaries was also successful- they did those at the same time.

She is home, and kinda fading in and out regularly from pain and painkillers. (Hydrocodone/Ibuprofen is a magical thing, and also, if you have issues with Acetaminophen for whatever reason, like my wife, whose cancer had metastasized to her liver, demand this stuff. It's one of the only opiates that's stronger than Tramadol that doesn't come only with Tylenol in it.) But at this exact second, she's up and coherent and on her laptop.

Photographer friend, is who is the first father I became friends with and therefore is very important to us, is leaving today, and it saddens me. Wife's parents leave in a few more days, and Wife's best friend/heart sister is showing up right after that, so I have help with Wife's drains and general care at least until she's at a point where I can do it by myself without having a meltdown. I love my wife, will do anything for her, but uh. I'm not a natural caretaker. I'm not a white mage. I'm the defender. I will fight to the death for her, but medical care is a bit beyond me, at least for long term. So family and friends are all in town to help and I'm so grateful for it.

I'm getting excited to be roleplaying on IJ again. I've been getting some with Wife, but that's on hold until she's fully coherent on a regular basis and can tag without feeling wonky. But, my own heart-sister is joining in, and I'll be playing with her in the meantime. ^_^ Happy me is happy.

I've been kinda plugging away at Hephaestus in the meantime, and Prometheus will be picked back up once I know what's going on in the parts those two overlap at the end. I have a chapter in there to finish now, but it's smushy fluff, and while I love smushy fluff, I have trouble writing it. I'm that writer who likes to rip up your heart and use it for lawn mulch with little reprieve. Suffer my pen. Mwaha.

Cats are doing fine, all told. Loki got his annual and his three year rabies on Wednesday, and Wife went in for surgery on Thursday, so he is more riled than the others. Lots of new people, constantly invading their space (we had some other friends over last night for weekly gaming session), one of them ended up taking a dump on the floor out of stress protest, and we think it might've been Loki, but we're not sure. Thankfully, it was Carolyn who was here to clean it up, and I was at the hospital, so I didn't have to deal with that. :p I'm such a nice person (I would've done it if it'd been me to discover it. I'm not terrible to my cats.)

Although, speaking of taking care of the cats, I need to clean their box. Will do that when I'm done here.

On the mental health front, my doctor put me on clonazapam for my anxiety, since the Ativan had just stopped working and the hydroxyzine was only good for low grade treatment. It puts me to sleep, but it calms my mind in the process. The Ativan put me to sleep, but I was still wound up tighter than a spring when I'd wake up.

I also got my Fetzima upped, because not only is it an anti-depressant, being an SNRI instead of an SSRI, it helps with anxiety... and energy levels. So in about a week, I should start seeing an end to my hypersomnia, at least the level it's been at. It's caffeine pills in the meantime so I can be up when Wife needs me.

And now, I run to do that cat box. Have a good day, friends.
yuuo: (Don't leave me like this)
So I had been in what I thought was a bought of hypomania. Not a natural one, it turned out, as when I started coming down from caffeine exposure, I am back to sleeping all the time, and being unable to focus and get shit done.

I am so sick of this fatigue.
yuuo: (Blood blood blood)
It is hailing. The weather has me down. I am wide awake after a good sleep on a good couch that was good for my back, but Wife is asleep and so drugged that I couldn't even let her know that I might need help with the cats if the weather goes really shitty before she fell right back to sleep on me. And I just called her friends out on something that they do that bothers me, and now I'm scared for the repercussions. I don't have the goddamn energy to deal with their whining.

(Long story short: They flirt aggressively with her, and I don't think they even realize they do. One was so bad that even Wife felt uncomfortable from it, and this woman would come onto my Facebook wall to talk about taking Wife to bed. Platonically, but hello, her wife is right here? That's her bed you're talking about? Not okay?????? But her other friends like to throw kissing emojis at her, and while I trust Wife, I don't feel comfortable with people I don't even know getting that cozy with my wife. I appreciate their love and support for her, I really do, and I don't mind hugs and love and hearts and such. But the kissing, even in pretend, makes me really unhappy. Like, do they not understand boundaries?????????? That's someone's wife you're doing that with???? I wouldn't even mind if they caveated it with a "tell your wife to give you a kiss, because I think you deserve one!" or something to that effect. That firmly acknowledges healthy boundaries, while still wishing the love on Wife that she deserves. Why is this apparently a novelty to them???????)

I just foresee this shit coming from a mile away, and Wife is asleep, so now I have to lie in this bed I just made by myself, but if I didn't establish this boundary, there was going to be problems down the line that might alienate Wife's friends, and they really do give her so much love and support, I don't want her to lose that, or resent me for being the cause of it.

But, no energy for their bitching about how Dark Schneider-y I'm being. Fuck them.

And in all of it, not only do I get to face this alone, I also have nothing to focus on that doesn't give me anxiety through the roof, if it can distract me any from this source of anxiety.

/sinks into a black hole of depression
yuuo: (Can somebody help me?)
So I got a call from United Health Care, who are partnered with Nebraska state Medicaid, to follow up on their services, make sure I'm getting what I'm needing from them, and help them figure out where the gaps are and how to fix them, which, I think, is fucking fantastic.

What's odd is that she was confirming my diagnoses, and mentioned that she had bipolar on her record. Which... was news to me. I asked her what my psychiatrist had on record, and she confirmed schizoaffective and anxiety, which... is also odd. My formal evaluation testing came up with those diagnoses, but the doctor went in and did some futzing with the diagnoses so that while the anxiety/panic disorder was correct, I had schizophrenia and possible depression.

I have no idea where the bipolar came in.

And, of course, I can't get into my patient portal for that provider without calling the office for a new link to register with (weird set up, but at least it's with the same portal system as my PCP, so I can switch between the two providers with one login) to see what the fresh hell is up with that.

It is also just now occurring to me that my therapist might've submitted the bipolar diagnosis, since she is licensed to make such calls. Which means I'm super happy that she's volunteering to come with me to my next appointment with my doctor.

My wife wanted to go with me originally to help me remember all the complaints I've had, because not only do I have such a shitty memory that I lose track, I get a bit anxious just seeing the doctor and get afraid that I'm not 'perfect enough' if I'm not responding to his treatments well.

But. Well. We got a letter in the mail on Saturday.

My wife's bilateral mastectomy is the sixth.

Which.

Is when my appointment is.

And I can't reschedule, because I'll run out of my meds before I can get in again, and they won't refill without an office visit anymore. Thankfully, when this came to light at therapy on Monday, my therapist was wonderful and volunteered to come with me, since she has been taking notes on my various concerns and I haven't been, and again, the anxiety and shitty memory. I used to have a decent one, then my disorder got out of control, and the meds I was put on for it fried what was left of my memory neurons.
yuuo: (I won't let you fall apart)
So I may or may not have snuck away with a Ritalin, and boy, am I awake and working and productive and focused enough to actually do those things.

I fucking miss having my own Ritalin. I really do.

Now, back to writing. I just sold a kid to a human trafficker. Must keep up the good work.
yuuo: (You knew the deal- no one gives a damn)
Today is one of those days.

Lately, I've been happily existing on about six hours or so of sleep a day, all in the afternoon, which is the nastiest part of the day weather-wise anyway, so why the fuck would I want to be awake and active then anyway, right?

Then I made the mistake of sleeping in my own bed, and yesterday, my sleep was such shit that I slept almost 20 hours. This isn't a crash from the slight hypomania I was riding, because after I napped a few hours on the couch, I felt so much better than I had after longer-than-healthy 'rest' in my bed.

I'm going to be trapped on the couch forever.

But, as usual, my wife got tired overnight, because she is a normal person with normal circadian rhythms. So I'm alone right now.

We were folding laundry a little bit ago, and she was boggling that she's now a size eight.

I am a size twenty-four.

I was fine with it coming up, because I'm super happy for her and proud of her that she lost all that weight- she was a sixteen this time last year. But, she made the mistake of acting guilty and trying to assure me that she loved me despite my size, and how she wishes I could be that little, too.

I wish she'd just left that alone. Because now all I can hear is my doctor's disapproving voice, telling me to stop drinking soda, stop eating dairy (to be fair, I suppose, I'm mildly lactose intolerant), start eating healthy, I need to start exercising, this weight isn't good for me.

Well no fucking shit.

The last time I lost weight, it was because I'd simply stopped taking in any calories that weren't a few sodas a day. That's all I existed on. My depression had manifested over those two months as a lack of desire for food, and a lack of energy to cook on the rare occasion that I was hungry.

Then I saw that I'd lost about thirty pounds in a month and was super happy, so I decided to continue that the healthy way. I started eating health, as much as I could on our budget, which made me miserable because I hate healthy food and I always feel hungry after a 'normal' meal of it. I exercised for a minimum of an hour every day, first thing in the morning. I thought that'd make me more alert, lose more weight, make me happier. After all, that's all the things that good diet and exercise are supposed to do, right?

Whoever tells you that exercise wakes you up, that it's fun, that it helps you lose weight, that good food is like medicine? They're fucking liars.

I gained every pound I'd lost back and then some. I felt more miserable because exercise actually brings my mood down. I was tired more often.

So now I'm worked up because my choices are apparently A) be doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, but miserable because I'm gaining weight and hate what I'm eating, or B) stop eating entirely and lose weight and still feel hungry, but at least it's not because food is making me miserable.

Fantastic options.

Then my wife informs me that she's tired and wants to go to bed.

I slept twenty hours. I am not tired. I will not be going to bed any time soon.

So now I'm alone, with nothing to do that doesn't just make me more depressed. I can't work up the energy to write, I don't like the book I'm reading, I don't have access to my art program on this laptop, and I cant go to the desktop to work on something there, because my desktop's power source is dying. The fan is whining in pain. I risk setting my computer on fire if I go on it. And this laptop is so ancient and slow and dying, that I am writing about three lines ahead of what shows on my screen, because it's lagging, and that's in all browsers, so don't anyone fucking tell me to switch to Chrome. My Firefox works no worse than Chrome on this piece of shit, and Firefox has all my logins and my extensions that I need to switch between roleplay accounts easily.

And that's another thing.

The only thing my brain is willing to hide behind is roleplay, because it's both creative and interactive, but lately, I have had to beg, fight, and cry for every minute of it I've gotten, and I'm starting to think that nobody fucking cares about me anymore. People don't talk to me, nobody's missed me on Facebook, where I haven't been in a few days. I don't think anyone's even noticed I'm not interacting there.

I'm alone, bored, and miserable. And fat.

I should just go take my medicine and an Ambien and sleep for the next twenty-four hours again.

But I can't do that, because I have therapy at two today, and there's stuff to do around the house, since we found out at the last damn minute that my wife's surgeons scheduled her surgery for next fucking Thursday. When we were expecting not until four to six weeks. I have my next psychiatric appointment... next fucking Thursday. And I can't get out of that, because I will run out of my medicines if I do, and my psychiatrist's office won't do refills without an appointment.

Which means I have to get up early to take my wife to the hospital, wait around for a few hours until they get off their asses and actually take her into the OR, sit around for several more hours, hoping and praying that she doesn't die on the table while they remove half her chest, then wait with her in recovery, then make sure she's sleeping well enough that I can skip off to my pdoc's appointment, all while dealing with my mother-in-law (who has been a right pain in the ass and doing nothing but hurting my wife), my heart-father, and a few days later, my heart-sister-in-law crashing on my couches.

Which is the only place I can go with my laptop, and again, desktop is dying, so now I won't have anywhere to go at all.

I can't help but think I would be better off just committing myself and asking to stay a month until all this goes away. It's either that, or I may be tempted to drive my car off a goddamn bridge.

This is the way my brain works. This is what depression looks like. This is what anxiety looks like. This is what mental illness looks like.

My advice? Avoid it if you can.
yuuo: (Finally it's the barrel of a gun)
America is not beautiful.

We may have the spacious skies, and the amber waves of grain. We have the purple mountains and the fruited plains. And we stretch the width of our continent, from sea to shining sea, something many countries don't.

But we are not beautiful.

I used to believe we were. I don't anymore. America is ugly. If there was ever a thing such as sin, the word encompasses America. She is evil, with the blood of millions of innocents on her hands, and all she does is wave around her smoking gun in arrogance as she lines up her sights on the next innocent life she wants to take.

Tonight, I heard about a seventeen year old girl in Virginia who was murdered. A Muslim girl kidnapped from in front of a mosque.

Castile's murderer walked.

Cosby avoided conviction due to a mistrial.

Kendra Marie Adams was murdered and left in a building still under construction.

Pulse was only a year ago.

Islamophobia.

Racism.

Sexism.

Transphobia.

Homophobia.

Over and over, the creed of intolerance and hate flow, flow from the right, flow over those of us who just want to survive, over the small handful of the communities with the social standing to fight back for us. Gun laws are loosened. Pastors preach hellfire and brimstone against those lesser than themselves. Parents torture their children with conversion 'therapy'.

This is America.

America is white.

America is male.

America is cisgendered.

America is straight.

And America is Christian.

Justice and Liberty have no place at America's table. Equality and human dignity are slaughtered and served with a glass of merlot. Decency and tolerance are scoffed and tossed out to die of exposure to the elements. America ignores their cries, ignores the lives that are extinguished like candles with them.

America is ugly.

And no god sheds its grace on it.
yuuo: (This is my family)
We are not alone. We are more common than AIDS/HIV. We are more common than multiple sclerosis.


Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd
Peter Green of Fleetwood Mac
Mary Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln's wife


These are but three people in the long and rich history of humankind who have suffered from schizophrenia. Best known might be John Nash, famous mathematician whose story was told in A Beautiful Mind.

But not all of our experiences are like what is shown with John. Some of us are a bit more sedate. Some of us are violent, though very few. Some of us hear voices, but see no source for them. Still others see, but not hear. Both are terrifying.

We are not alone. We can be obscure, but we can also be very famous. Don't push us into the shadows.
yuuo: (I want to tell them lies)
Making this public, despite not being about mental health, because I want to reach a wider audience.

I am looking to commission a couple art pieces! One is of an OC that I'm not 100% sure what he looks like yet, and I'd like help pulling his face into focus. I can do any style of art for that one, simple headshot with no background and minimal coloring is all I need. I am poor, so be nice when recommending someone. More details available upon request.

Second, this is the more complicated one, and I know I will have to save up and shell out big for it. I want anime-style art for [community profile] pandorasuniverse. I want Roy & Ed centric art. (No shipping, Roy adopts Ed as his son in this series, there is literally nothing in the way of Roy/Ed here.) I have a general type of image in mind- see the following image of Homura and Madoka.

I'll find my place in the diary of Jane

Lyrical inspiration is "How did you get here, and when did it start? An innocent child with a thorn in his heart." (World So Cold by 12 Stones)

Their relationship can be summed up by this passage from Fire Of Prometheus (not finished).

Read more... )

Anyone have any suggestions? I'm wanting to talk pricing options.
yuuo: (Happy hurts sometimes)
Happy to report that I'm almost off the Zoloft. I got a partial prescription of 50 mg pills, with instructions to take them for one week, then cut them in half and take those another week, then I'm done. Huzzah!

Risperdal dosage has been cut in half. I suspect we might stop it entirely next time.

Still on only 40 mg of Fetzima. Would be happier with more, and we discussed waiting until next time to mess with my anxiety medicines. My anxiety has been through the roof lately. I'm scared to leave the house sometimes. But the doctor didn't want to fuck around with too many medicines all at once, so I'm to just hold on and hope for the best in the meantime.

Mental health medicine roulette sucks, but what is, is. At least I'm getting off the Zoloft and the Risperdal. One thing at a time.
yuuo: (Don't leave me like this)
Yeah, yeah, I know, I said I'd do something for Schizophrenia Awareness Week last month. Medicine changes and stress and plain old fashioned depression stopped that. I'll get to it some time. I can't promise when.

That said, I've got a pdoc (abbreviation for psychiatrist) appointment in about an hour and I'm not looking forward to it. I'm hoping he'll take me off the Risperdal entirely, leaving just the Latuda. I want to start getting off the Zoloft, too. But I'm scared we're going to maintain status quo, and that's not good enough. The progress is too slow. I want an increase in the Fetzima, a decrease in the Zoloft, and a cessation of the Risperdal.

I guess we'll see what the doc wants to do.

I miss Ritalin. This tired all the time nonsense is bullshit.
yuuo: (We were strangers on a crazy adventure)
Because I have to get this done before I start on awareness week stuff. I fell behind.

So we live in Lincoln, NE- )

So that was the zoo! And I rounded of all that walking and such with vigorous exercise the next morning because my muscles were stiff and sore and needed to be worked loose again. I was damn proud of myself.
yuuo: (Can somebody help me?)
We'll start the week this year with a poem from my wife, describing the experiences I've related to her over the years. (This is in part to buy me time to do actual posts I've been promising. Good grief, at least I only have a week and not an entire month like breast cancer.)


Sounds Of Silver
By [personal profile] kuchenhexe

Isolation in a crowd is loneliest of all
Amid all the voices, whispers rise and fall
People press around you, faceless in a haze
If there's a method in a madness, then method's surely crazed.

Perhaps if you're a half step in a world where rain falls up,
You see what should yet never did sip from comprehension's cup.
Sad but true, far more are blinded, fully turned away,
Cloaked and draped in silver fog, dissolving in the gray.

From the cacophony jangle of a tumultuous crowd,
To the low insidious whispers when the silence is so loud,
Colors can be lovely, the silver fog can seem to be melody divine
But even Sirens are serene as you sink that final time.

As you hear the sound of silver, there's an echo of distress,
Schizophrenia is a burden, and its struggle gives no rest.
Because if you'll open up your eyes and listen close,
The sound of silver is repeating the call of the SOS's note.

Hear us, help us, don't forget us, tossed carelessly aside.
Put quality of life within our reach and bridge the fog's divide.
We're not the misconceptions that Hollywood likes to hear,
Money and tickets hand over fist preying on social fears.

Fund research to find new drugs to help us stabilize,
So we might leave the land of fog and have productive lives.
In this sound of silver, hear our cry, the SOS distress.
Don't sweep us under and forget us, we try our very best.

.oh hey.

May. 12th, 2017 01:50 pm
yuuo: (Putting the 'fun' in dysfunctional)
I'm thirty-three today, nerds.

Happy Friday from this bitch:

I look rockin'

.ow.

May. 6th, 2017 10:43 am
yuuo: (The pain is tearing up my soul)
Oh lord, yeah, I'm paying for yesterday.

(There will be a post about the zoo, I promise. After I go loosen up my poor sore muscles in the warm pool and my local gym. And have a chance to wake up. God, I want sleep.)
yuuo: (You either die a hero)
I found this post of mine on Facebook while going back, looking for pictures I'd uploaded from my phone so I could save them on my computer so I can delete them on the phone to free up memory and that was an unnecessarily long sentence.

Anyway.

Context is that there was a post asking about general cat craziness, I... think. I can't remember fully, but basically, someone ended up saying "I'm not schizophrenic, but my cat sure is!" in a context that suggested that the word schizophrenic was being used to describe a normal behavior of a 'crazy cat'. (We cat owners get that one.)

I chose not to reply to the person, as it was a stranger who replied on a post that a mutual friend had liked, so it ended up on my feed. I was very tempted to reply with "How do you know your cat has schizophrenia? /actual person with actual schizophrenia"

I was very tempted.

But, since I didn't have the spoons to deal with a whiny mcbutthurt that someone took offense at having their illness used in a derogatory way, I didn't say anything there. But I sure as hell went to my own wall and posted the following:

You know, I fully believe that cats can be neuro-atypical or have intellectual disabilities or mental illnesses. They're living creatures with brains. By definition, they can have such things.

I say George [middle child cat] is autistic because we can take his behavior and what 'parenting' tactics we use that he responds to, and take that information to an actual parent of an actual human autistic child and get confirmation. Autistic might not be the right word. But until we have expanded health care for cats, we'll never know any other word.

I say my youngest has ADHD because his behavior very closely mimics a young child with ADHD. I know this because I grew up with a child with ADHD.

However, I highly doubt that when you say "I'm not schizophrenic, but my cat sure is!" that you know what that even fucking means. Especially given the context. You are using the illness the same way people misuse OCD and bipolar. Unless you can accurately say that your animal's behavior differs from normal for its species in the way that you are claiming, you have no business comparing a probably normal animal to a person with schizophrenia.

Please, people, stop using schizophrenia to mean just plain ol' craziness. Those of us with the disorder can use it that way, because it is our word to use. We can give close friends permission to use it in context of talking with us, as again, that is our word to use.

But it most definitely is not yours, so leave it alone.


There's your dose of internet rage for the day. (I'll post about the zoo trip soon.)

.wee!.

May. 5th, 2017 08:05 am
yuuo: (We have a bond that nothing can change)
So my wife and I got in to Council Bluffs, IA yesterday afternoon from Lincoln, NE. Not a long trip, so one might wonder why we'd make it, especially to stay at a hotel there.

Because we're going to the zoo, bitches.

Today, we go to the Henry Doorly Zoo to enjoy a day of an indoor rainforest, big cats, swamps, and aquariums. And a sundry of other zoo-things. We decided, since our birthdays are close together, to give each other a birthday gift of a night in a hotel near the zoo so we don't have to get up at stupid-o-clock just to make it to the zoo before the super hot part of the day.

I am still up super early (for me), but I don't have to rush out the door right after waking up this early, either. I can luxuriously wake up, get a continental breakfast in, maybe do a little writing, then change, pack up, and head on out.

Have a happy Friday, everyone!
yuuo: (Finally it's the barrel of a gun)
I was just laying down for sleep. The wife was already asleep. I wasn't quite drifting off.

Then I heard something bang against the wall we share with our neighbor, and her shriek in a very loud, aggressive, and angry voice "GO TO SLEEP!!"

She has a little girl and otherwise lives alone.

I am now terrified for that child. I'm staying awake for bit longer to listen for more trouble. If I hear anything suspicious, I'm calling 911.
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