Last Thursday I meant to write about my trip to therapy but I got distracted by the insanity of Le Clown’s blogroll contest. I now have to go to rehab for WP addiction. (It was fun though Le Clown, it really was.)

Anywho, I did take pictures of my trip to therapy last week. Again, it was with my crappy Nokia 5230 (it’s not THAT crappy). I had a lovely ride. It was a gorgeous day–one of those days where you feel the Houston heat and humidity suffocating you. “Asphyxiate on this, suckas!” says the southern Sun. You know, like the living in a sweaty armpit metaphor I used a while back? Yeah, it was one of those armpit living days.

I was all ready for therapy, ready to bitch and moan. But I ended up taking the bus late. I arrived at Wheeler station (near downtown) and realized, I wasn’t going to make it on time.

Wheeler Station. You can see downtown in the background.  (c)paz/mmm

Some people carry umbrellas ’cause it’s so damn hot.  Someone should’ve told him it’s a stupid idea to carry a BLACK umbrella since black absorbs more heat, but I wasn’t the asshole to do it.

Once I got to Wheeler Station, I arrived at the MetroRail train heading downtown towards the downtown transit center. I hopped in the northbound train.

The lady in the striped dress helped me out when I nearly got crushed by the sliding doors. Had I not been in my wheelchair, I could’ve been sawed in half (not really, but the image is striking, isn’t it?).

Once I arrived at the downtown transit center and REALLY did get hit by the sliding door, I ran into the lady with the dress again. I also ran into another lady with a baby in a stroller. I wanted to take a picture but was too shy. I also didn’t want attitude; lady looked like she had attitude and might of said something like, “Da hell ya takin’ a pict-sha of my babey fo’?!”

So I just let his sleeping, curly-haired cuteness be.

I had to cross Main Street to get to the transit center and as I did that, I noticed there were cops arresting this dude off on the right parking lot. So I quickly took out my phone and thought to myself, “this is blog material, must take photo now before the cops see”. I think they still noticed I was taking a picture of them.

But get this, lady in the striped dress runs next to me saying, “Girl, you can’t be tweetin’ and crossin’ the street at the same time! Come on now!” I was about to say that I was actually takin’ a picture of the cops and that I don’t even have a Twitter account or internet on my phone to begin with. But I just nodded at her. She did save my life earlier.

The cops noticed I was taking a picture anyway. Damn! Oh wells… Can you see the three feet high perspective I got going on?

As I waited for my last bus (yes, I take a bus, a train and another bus), I called the university psychology research and services clinic to tell them I’d be running “about fifteen minutes late”. Ha! They should know I’m terrible and guesstimating time.

Yeah, I really fucked up on this one. I was trying to be covert about my picture taking, but the lady saw me anyway. That’s why my hand came out in the picture. Fuck!

And here’s where I make my social commentary. The majority of the people that take the bus in the area where I live are 1) latino, 2) black, 3) asian. I wonder why? *cough*

When you get to the university, you only see black folks on the bus because the university is near a historically black part of town called Third Ward (my dad thought it was Third World; he can’t understand English that well). It’s a poor area. But I love it in many ways.

I live in the far southwest side though, so I don’t get much of Third Ward anymore. I did when I was living at the university, but now that I’m back with my old folks, I don’t. Well, I do when I go to therapy now. And downtown, near the oil towers, it is a little different. You see a lot of nurses and businessmen–mainly white–and a grand ethic mix is only off to the side.

It’s funny how little certain things have changed. Third Ward is still poor and black. Downtown oil towers are still run by old, rich men.

This is the part where half a dozen pigeons begged me to feed them. I was ready to take AMAZING, head-exploding photos (because that’s what I do), but my damn phone ran out of battery juice. So I was left picture-less and the pigeons where left hungry.

Turns out I got to therapy 40 minutes late! Forty minutes for a fifty minute session! That’s nearly an hour-and-a-half bus ride. Needless to say, we had to reschedule for tomorrow. I won’t be late this time! I’ll tell you though, I used up those ten minutes like never before. It’s a good thing I’ve been hyped, ’cause I was able to bitch and moan a mile a minute.

I didn’t completely loose my trip to the uni though. I went to the student center and signed up in line at the academic records to get my transcript for the DACA application (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) I’m filling out for immigration. They withheld it because I still owe the Debt Collector Mafia two thousand dollars. 😦 Fuck you bill collectors! Let me get my transcripts!

So I zipped my little ass over to the law clinic–where I’m getting free legal advice (YEAH! YEAH!)–and I asked about the lawyer. I schedule for today. So after this, I shall be getting ready to go see the lawyer. Wish me luck.

Ooooh, and who’s the lovely lady you ask? It’s none other than the magnificent Ringmistress (aka Sara Draws) over at Laments and Lullabies. It’s her birthday today and I dedicate these photos to her. 😉

These less-than-mediocre photos are for you lovely lady! Happy barfday! (don’t barf too much now)

Mouse love

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I was looking up blogs on mental health related topics and BPD and I came across this:

Broken Light: A Photography Collective, a WordPress blog of “photographers living with, or affected by, mental illness; supporting each other one photograph at a time.”

Mental photographers!

How saweet is that?

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May is mental health awareness month, so I submitted two photos I took of Eloise’s sister when I was in Florida back in December-January. Why would I do that? Validation? Sharing? Release? Caring? Impulsive? Maybe? No? Why? Ah, it doesn’t matter.

I’m kind of regretting doing that though. Why? Insecure? Self-doubt? Ah, it doesn’t matter.

I’m not a photographer! I’m an amateur everything. But I did grow up around photography all my life because of my dad (although he had to leave the photography for many years to to work as a janitor and other random dead-end, low wage jobs after we migrated to the States).

But I was so excited to have found such a blog!

Then I decided to add a “photography” page on my Shenanigans collection. Here.

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What the hell am I doing?

Oh, I’ll tell you what I’ma do. I’m going to add some of my photo restorations on my new photography page and maybe someone will have a photo for me to restore? Maybe? (Well, I already know about yours Jill ;))

Mouse needs money to pay more shit to the Department of Homeland Security before I.C.E.–that’s Immigration Customs Enforcement for you Brits and Aussies–arrests her. Mouse also needs money to pay the Bill Collector Mafia before they show up at her door with two shotguns. I no longer suspect they’ll be breaking my neck. That would be too easy. That may be a good thing as I’ve said before, but then again, it would mean no more mouse sketches for you.

It sucks that money makes this society go, but it is what it is. And P and Mouse don’t like to beg, so here’s our way of begging.

Mouse’s credentials:

  • Bachelor of Arts in Communications – Media Production, minors in English and Interdisciplinary Art
  • Shitload of hours retouching photographs since the tender age of ten.
  • Portfolio available upon request; some samples will be placed in the “photography” page of this here blog. However, because of the semi-anonymous nature of this blog, I cannot show you my personal portfolio website because it is currently stored under a borrowed domain name owned by my university, but I do assure you all work that I share with you is mine.
  • View sample of work here.

Commissions/Contract work for further discussion can be emailed to: melancholicallymanic@gmail.com

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I don’t do business with those that abuse workers! I’m more business savvy, more paranoid and less naive now that some old Colombian fucker tried to rob me of my work in Orlando. (Don’t think I don’t know who/where you are arsehole.) Thanks to that fucker, I have standard procedures for doing business now.

Nothing will be completed/handed in without a prior signed contract, deposit, payment arrangement (such as PayPal), etc. I like to be fair and reasonably ethical, therefore I will treat your photos as I would treat my own. *Prices will only be discussed once serious contact has been made, like “ET phone home” serious*

I, mouse, would love to work for/with you. (Don’t mind her dirty mouth, she’s a hard worker.)

Think about it.

*Le mouse squeal*

Art is my salvation.

May 2, 2012

Today has been a nerve wrecking day. I woke up at six in the morning. I don’t know why I’m still bothering taking that Ambien. I will quit soon, I tell myself. But I’m not sleeping.

I woke up, got a banana, mashed it up with almonds and a Kashi cerial and that was my breakfast. Took my new set of 10mg fluoxetine and two 100mg of tegretol, my B12 and Calcium1200+D600 IU. I got down on the floor and organized some paperwork while listening to Garbage. I’ve been having that song “Stupid Girl” in my head all week. I swear, I’d never thought about it that way, but it’s such a “borderline girl” song. It should be called “Stupid Borderline Girl”. ha. It was one of my teenage girl anthems and I swear it always will be, especially now that I call it my “Stupid Borderline Girl” anthem.

Anyway, I reviewed some of the immigration paperwork I had stacked up. It looks like I’ll be seeing the lawyers again on Friday. YAY! I have the money this time. It’s $420 that has to be paid to the “U.S. Department of Homeland Security” for the I-130 form for petition of relative. My brother paid me that amount for helping with the wedding videos and with his IRS files. I’ll explain more of what that immigration form is later. There’s just too much shit to explain in one sitting. Immigration laws are so ugh, how do you say, always changing and indefinitely unpredictable? Illogical? Aggressive, inward or outward? Difficult to read? They’re worse than a borderline! Actually, I shouldn’t even compare and insult my fellow borderlines. ANY borderline would be more reasonable than these outrageous laws!

****

I eventually got the stacks in order and then pulled out my appointment slip for today. I was scheduled for a 1pm appointment with endocrinology. I eventually went back to sleep until ten. At that time I was going to the living room and my dad called me. His photography “studio” is in a den area right between my room, the kitchen and the living room. So I have to get through there regardless. It sucks when you don’t know clients are over and your hair is a mess and you’re still in pajamas and get called over to do a business deal of all things.

See, I’ve restored photographs since I was a kid. It’s something I learned to do back in the day before Photoshop was so prominent. So you mainly used airbrushes then and all sorts of cool oil and oil pencil techniques. I love Photoshop though. Anyway, my dad calls me over while I’m still squinting from the light and trying to prop myself awake.

Two men introduced themselves and handed me an old damaged photograph. “How much will you do this for?”

“I’ll have to assess the damage and I’ll give you a quote in a minute.” Fuck! I need to go brush my teeth first.

I brushed my teeth, went out to take Luna to pee and then got back in. “This will cost you $130.00” I explained the level of damage and why I’d charged that much. I actually undervalue my work but I don’t know why people that know my dad seem to think I’m overprising it. These men didn’t though. I’m just complaining from past experiences and the fact that I’m a terrible sales person. And my dad sweetens up clients too much! It gets on my nerves. Well, that was eventually over with!  I gots me a fifty buck deposit so that means I’ll have money to pay for my own appointment today! Woohoo!

I made one of the men sign a contract, thanked them. I then excused myself and went to shower and get ready for my doc appointment.

****

The traffic was hell. What was even more hellish was the community hospital’s parking garage. Seven floors and not one damn spot available! Besides, my mom took me today (she hardly ever does) and I have little patience for her low patience.  Well, people fuckin’ honked from behind and from in front. WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE!? We’re all in this together, can’t you see!? Baghaghagh.

Eventually, we were in. And it was crowded! I mean CROWDEDEDEDED. It’s a good thing I control my social anxiety more now. It was like a New York subway station on a Yankies game day.

I eventually got called, two hours later. And when the doc–really sweet girl–told me about the possible reactions I might’ve had with my first biphosphonate infusion last year for my Osteogenesis Imperfecta and what they can do to improve my vitamin D deficiency and my osteoperosis, she looked at the computer chart and then back at me and said, “How’s your chest feeling? You’re being followed by cardiology too, right? I see your aorta is dilated!”

WHAT THA FUCK!? Dear god/universe, why don’t you send Zeus again! Please!? Three months ago when he threw his lightning bolt at our house, he missed me.

“No, I’m not being followed by cardiology. I thought my heart was fine.”

“Oh, you’re not being followed? That’s strange.” She looked back at her computer chart, “Oh, hehe, yes… Oh, I’m so sorry. My mistake, your heart is perfectly fine!” She patted me on the knee, “Sorry about that.”

I felt like I’d just gotten me a Dr. Hibbert moment from the Simpsons, when he gives Homer the worst possible diagnosis only to realize his mistake and just does his signature chuckle. “Oh I’m just teasing, oh hoo hoo. heheh hoo hoo.” Yeah.

simpsons-julius-hibbert-edit

Dr. Julius Hibbert

Then she asked if she could examine my bones. (She just wanted to cop a feel on me guys.)

After feeling up my arms and legs and back, she asked me to lift my shirt and started feeling up on my chest. She asked about the malformed, protruding sternum, “And this one’s from birth?”

“Yes it was a prenatal fracture that never healed properly.”

“Is it more pronounced now? As your bone grew, I’m sure it got more pronounced.”

“Yes, yeah it is. When I was a kid, it was hardly noticeable.” Great, now I feel self conscious.

It went well overall though. And I’ll be getting a call from them about some new treatment that might be available for osteoporosis but that may also be helpful in improving my risk of fractures caused by the Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI).

****

I got home and not long after popping my shoes off and lazing down to listen to a little more Garbage, I got a call… from… MR. BILL COLLECTOR!

Remember that awful letter I’d gotten from the university? (Click here if you don’t) Well, yep, they’d wanted to know what I’d planned on doing about paying that money I owe. (If any of you have dealt with this and have any advice, please do give me some. Also, if you’ve heard of the Bill Collector Mafia asking for me in Blogland, tell them I’m not here!) He was really good at not being too pushy though. And I didn’t have a panic attack. Now I just have to figure out what the fuck to do about this.

Moral of my post?

I want to do something artsy fartsy now.

“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” ~ Pablo Picasso

I found this too and absolutely loved it:

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addendum: You know what really pisses me off? I mean, irks me. It’s seeing all those fuckin’ McDonalds bags everywhere at every hospital. Why do most hospitals (I don’t know how it is overseas) seem to have a McDonalds in the cafeteria?Really? Really, you’re going to capitalize on people’s health? It’s a fuckin’ hospital! Let the drug and insurance companies do that since they’re experts at it! This HOSPITAL should be promoting HEALTH, not food that really WILL dilate your aorta!

addendum 2: Oh god. oh god. There are two things that have me getting nervous. OH OH OH GOD. MY FIRST APPOINTMENT WITH NEW DR. MALE THERAPIST IS TOMORROW!  And the Bell’s Palsy was getting better but these last few days, NO, NO NO. I’LL MENTION IT LATER. IT’S TOO MUCH.

My hunch was right!

I do have a fan, an Australian fan!

I figured out who it is too. And who knows, there may be more than one. There may be a dozen Aussie fans clicking away at my nonsense. There may be little Aussie fans multiplying out of that one fan–kind’a like Bruce Campbell’s character multiplies in that scene in The Army of Darkness with the mirror that shatters on the ground, leaving reflections of himself everywhere and all those tiny Bruce Campbell–tinier than me–reflections pop up out of the mirror every-which-way trying to kill him, only I don’t want to get killed by demented Aussie fan(s) or the demented reflections that came out of that one fan. I just want to be read by the Aussie fans (demented or not) as much as I love Australia.

(By the way, if you haven’t seen Army of Darkness, think Gullivers Travels when he gets caught by the little people in Lilliput and Blefuscu, only in a comical horror-adventure film–not nearly as good as it’s predecessors Evil Dead I and II–instead and everyone seems to be on some sort of psychotropic drug in some other strange, magical and medieval land. Coincidentally Lilliput is where Australia should be.)

Alright. Alright.

I don’t think I have a point to make tonight, if I ever did have one any other night and today is lacking, then I apologize in advance.

But I will say this, I think this blog’s been a good thing. It’s helped me write again, and writing again means I keep my mind full of less demons. Pretty and little as they may be, they are vicious and I’ve been telling them to vacate for nearly fifteen years and though sometimes they do scurry out, I somehow keep finding them back in there in my mouse hole, in my skull lounging about. And when they see me eying them deliberately, they scatter about like roaches but screech louder and more consistently than cicadas. They just don’t die entirely.

They started coming by again sometime in mid December soon after I’d opened up this blog, so it’s good I’m writing, right?

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I went to Texas Children’s Hospital today because I’m participating in a longitudinal study on Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI). I’m not getting paid shit for it so my dad kept asking if I was going to get reimbursed for gas. I told him yes even though I’m not so sure. It’s all in the name of good science. I’m glad. Too bad that after dropping me off at Children’s, my dad broke down twice, once in the freeway I-59 which is congested as hell. I could just picture him there on the side of one of the busiest highways in Houston in the midday sun standing off to the farthest, rightmost lane while hundreds of cars swoosh inches away from him each minute.

Something would’ve been nice, like a consolation prize at least. I spend my good half of the day there at Children’s and at the end of it, when I did the pulmonary function test, the nurse screamed “go go go, push, push all that air out, go go go, push!” like I was lifting weights or giving birth or something. I asked if I was getting a prize, a scratch-and-sniff sticker at least and all she did was laugh.

I figure, instead, I’ll give a prize to my Aussie fan–the one getting me big headed, or bigger headed since my head-to-body ratio is low, something like 1:3 or 1:4 (Totsymae can attest to that).

Anyway, I’m gonna give this Aussie fan her present even though she, I mean she or he didn’t reveal themselves to me: it was what I had asked for remember? Ahem, don’t worry Aussie fan, I won’t reveal you just yet! I don’t want the other Aussies to get jealous ’cause I found you and liked you before I’d found out.

Turns out THE beautiful Aussie (whom I’m not disclosing just yet clickhereifyouwanttoseesomethinandsomethingelse) had awarded me one of those sweet awards going around.

The thing is, although I’m extremely, extremely flattered and excited and what-have-you, I’m still dealing with a lot and cannot fully accept to do the whole deciding and passing on. And I’m not that versatile am I? I mean, I just keep blogging about myself. Blegh. Also, I’m barely catching up on my favorite reads, so I’ll be slow at this if ever.

Besides, I’m a strange, indecisive girl and I don’t usually follow instructions well.

So here’s what I’ma gonna do.

Aussie fan, you get to choose something you like and I’m going to draw it for you! It has to be just one thing, like for example, I’d have a Nintendo controller for myself. Then, depending on what thing you choose, I’ll add another thing.

It may not be good, but it’s just for you.

Think about it and email me or post it here.

It’s my own personal challenge too. It may take a while because it takes me forever and a day and a half to get things done. In fact, I rarely finish what I start. I probably have over half a dozen half finished posts on here and a list full of shenanigans to put in my shenanigans page. (I uploaded old sketches there by the way.)

Anyway, blogging and writing and mental health…. 

PAZ December 2011 through April 2012

Me the last four months or so
copyright PAZ 2012

Today I’d be looking like She-Hulk instead of this.

Me broken arm

And this is me smiling at the blogosphere people who’ve made good suggestions, said thoughtful things, inspired me at one point or another and just plain read my nonsensical rambling. Here’s to the one’s that have made me smile, chuckle, giggle and laugh and spill my coffee like dear Dotty Headbanger. And, the mental health bloggers I’ve found are so addicting. I can really relate to you guys; it’s comforting to know.

It’s good to have a voice.

So here’s my consolation prize to yous guys who are not THE Aussie.

A little sketch.

Me smiling at yous

See. I’m SMILING. I’m smiling at YOU.

My arm actually hurt after doing those sketches, so you better like them!

You better, even though Id’a liked to sketch them better.

Really, not to make an excuse for my poor skill but I’m shaky as hell lately, like more than usual shaky, which sucks balls, old, hairy balls. I know, excuse my language guys but that’s how I speak sometimes and that’s how much it sucks. Anyway, I told the psychiatrist about this yesterday when I had my appointment but, egh. I may write about that later.

To be honest, I’m raging today. I’ve been raging for several days now, but the rage escalated today. I’m not really, really raging. But I’m fuckin‘ raging. I’ve been raging all day. Almost everything everyone says pisses me off. And I feel bad about it so I have to put myself in time out.

I helped my mom out with an application today (finally she does it) and I was raging. It was so bad, that rage, I even wanted to flip that computer keyboard over her right then and there.

The heat, that hellish salty and breathy heat I was talking about snuck by for a couple of hours while we were stuck in traffic, then I got home to a swarm of flies and mosquitos because we’re not turning on the air conditioning just yet to save up. I don’t mind that. What I mind is the damn flies and mosquito invasion.

There had to be another massacre today, too many mosquito and fly bodies to count.

My dad leaves the doors wide open and I have that sweet blood they like. So I’m raging and I rage some more from the three dozen mosquito bites I got on my legs, my arms, my shoulders and back and face and eyelids and forehead and foot (that one really itches) and I even got some up my thighs and butt.

Man I’m raging. I want to smash things so I better go lie down..

I drew a little to placate the rage but then raged some more.

Anyway, this one is for you guys. Not the rage, the smile.