-Mobile continuation from Xanga blog PinkyGuerrero
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-Personal blog for Janika Banks.
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Sunday, January 11, 2015

there is no spoon

My last post was my 100th post on this blog.

I dreamed last night that we (my immediate and extended family on my side) were tourists on another planet, and one of the cool things to see was a gigantic 25 story building in the middle of a very strange and beautiful 'jungle' of wispy alien stuff. Every level in the building was a whole mini town, with lots of shops and things to do, places to eat, medical stuff, etc. We had to go up to the top on a very slow elevator that took a couple of hours, something about pressurizing. The top floor was awesome, but since we weren't used to such a different pressure, we couldn't stay long. When we reached our time limit, our chests would get tight and it would feel like we couldn't breathe or our hearts would explode.

Well, burrito ran off... We fanned out, I texted out that I found her and that I'd meet everyone at a lower level, so they went on ahead. Except my sister. As I was headed back across the 'town', I saw her go into one of the medical places. I knew she'd be ok there, so I kept going. My chest started getting really tight, and I tried to call out and couldn't, which didn't matter because the town curfew was on and the place looked empty. I just kept walking, not sure if burrito could take much more, either.

Made it to the elevator. They said since I'd gone over time that I would have to ride down way slower and stop an hour at each level till I got to level 3, so I spent the rest of my dream in a great big elevator going really really slow with nothing to do.

I wish I could press my head against my laptop and transfer all the neat stuff I saw in my dream. In some ways it was like any kind of tourism, but in other ways it was so alien and cool everywhere I turned, all different from anything we've seen on this earth. If I tried to describe everything I've seen in my dreams through my life that I've never seen on a TV or in a movie, I'd never be able to stop writing. I have no idea how so much new stuff shows up in my head, and I usually remember most of it.

I'm sure walking all over two hospitals the other day had a lot to do with this dream, as does having a holter monitor on again this weekend, but other than that, whatever the time limits were about had more to do with the alien planet than anything going on here when I'm awake. I think me calling out across the curfewed town is my twitter app crash on my phone. It's been weird not being able to tweet whenever I want.

Five more hours until I can rip these electrode tabs off. It's a 48 hour monitor, which I'm way too familiar with (7-day is another side kick I haven't seen in awhile, thank goodness), and, you guessed it, I'm one of those lucky people who get a big fat hive under each tab, and even after the tabs come off, my skin pouts for several more days, huffing redly around like it's never been so offended in its life, violently itching through everything I do. Every teensy little nerve that doesn't like something, like a sticky tab touching it, gets a megaphone and extra batteries and caricatures itself into this huge screaming lightning bolt that overrides everything else, and I can't dull it or turn it off, thanks to a 'pain syndrome' on top of Aspergers. And it's very competitive. You wouldn't think something that tiny could be so bossy, like it had a sharp pin poking it or something. Each little nerve under those tabs is doing its best to force me to peel those off. Every touch from something else seems to magnify it 200x, until I'm such a crab I could tear other people's eyeballs out just for looking at me. I had enough xanax and benadryl last night to put Scott to sleep for two days, but noooo, not me. I can't stop looking at the clock.

I keep a bottle of solarcaine in the house year round for stuff like this. Part of my brain has a giant screen up vividly imagining slathering that on, trying to get those 5 tiny little nerves to believe it and calm down. I think about the daily lives of tiny cells a lot. Every cell is like a tiny little office building with lots of stuff going on inside, buncha paperwork and filing, in and out stacks, production, sales, equipment. Five of those tiny little office buildings have been trying to convince me for two days that it's life or death imperative that I remove these tabs AT ONCE, and they're trying to get the rest of my body to join in the fuss with nerve zaps flying around my torso, and my nerve central (the ol' brain) keeps pissily yelling back for them to settle down, for crying out loud, it's not like this is shingles or something, good grief.

A doctor once told me many years ago that I'll probably outlive everyone just because I can feel everything that offends my body, and I stop doing it. So at this moment, I'm pissily outliving someone I've never met while the extra nerve activity is pissily powering the Matrix. You're welcome.

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