It seems like there ought be an infusion center that would administer the drugs prescribed, without the drama.

No one's going to administer these doses of dilaudid to me outside of a hospital setting. So ER it is.

I mean, she honestly walked out on me in the middle of the conversation. After assuring me that the attending was on *her* side, not mine. It was a whole series of people unfamiliar with me, but, yeah, the idea that I scrape it out as long as I can handle it which isn't much (I left the house three times last week), and drag myself into the ER at the last possible moment, and that it happens so often that I don't present as a wreck all the time...wow. That's just inconceivable.

No way she'd consider the life I had before the headaches and compare that to the "life" I have now and see if there's been any impact. No way she'd check my files to see if her bright idea of prescription PO dilaudid has been tried and ditched beforehand. No reason that being treated in the ER in a way my doctors could have been treating me at home all this time hasn't already been thought of--no, she's the first one to have that light bulb go off.

I told her--I do what I have to do so I can work to pay the bills, including insurance, so my migraine doctor can continue to tweak my daily meds and research avenues of treatments. I'm still waiting for word on the next clinic he's trying to get me into.

Speaking of which, no, Scrappy. I don't think so. What is she rebounding from? My migraine specialist had me cut down the Stadol (i ended up off entirely, so I now no longer have a home breakthrough alternative, which sucks, but it doesn't work on this prophylactic regimen anymore), and I'm not supposed to be taking enough of anything else to be rebounding--the dilaudid should be spaced sufficiently to take care of that. But I can mention it on my next visit.

Every time I have to seriously clean (like today, because the parents are coming for dinner), I want to put on "Housework" from Free to Be, You and Me, and chant right along with Carol Channing.

Do it!

It is incredibly gorgeous outside. But I want to watch TV! I did do my load of laundry and went and bought a new jacket on sale. Oh, but I should have gotten stockings while I was out, since we're getting into that transitional time between tights weather and bare-leg weather. Ah well.

Man, I've just been doing something really stupid--reading the comments on Trayvon Martin articles. Not specifically about this case, but I love that in almost every situation where someone complains that their voice is being ignored/challenged because they're white, it's really happening because everyone else has decided they're an idiot. They do indeed happen to be white, but there are usually plenty of white people *not* having their throats jumped down on the same page.

The complainers never seem to pause and wonder precisely "why them?". They figure that "white" is the distinguishing factor, but it shouldn't be, because it's a post-racial society, when actually, they're the ones that pulled out race as a justification for their treatment, when they should indeed be taking it personally.

Unrelatedly, I like full justified text. It soothes me, as long as there are no rivers.

Also, congratulations to Taylor! (Some of those congratulations go to sarameg.)

Justified text is an invention of the devil.

Just got back from my long run -- and after a week of worry, the weather was gorgeous -- to watch the taped LA Marathon from the comfort of my sofa. No spoilers!

I prefer justified text, as long as it's properly hyphenated. I have on occasion decided not to buy certain print books because they have ragged-right text and/or are missing hyphenation. It's unprofessional. Learn how to use InDesign people, it's your freaking job.

My plan for this afternoon was grading quizzes. I ended up taking a nap instead. Still not really awake at all, but I need to finish grading.

Does anyone know anything about the Bem Sex Role Inventory? Is it significantly outdated? Are there more current versions of same floating around that I could read up on?

I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to guide what I think was a queen honeybee out one of my front windows this morning - she was absolutely determined to bump against the windowpanes and plow into cobwebs rather than follow the fresh air to the open part.

I wanna get in the line where I choke the shit out of ita's fuckwad of an ER doctor.

I have leftover rage from the bad haircut. I had an appointment at a devacurl salon yesterday to fix my awful haircut, but they canceled as I was on my way to the salon. I'm leaving for vacation friday, and so I just took my ramping up annoyance back to Rudy's and gave them an earful about the bad haircut.

I asked the woman who was assigned to my irritated self if she knew how to cut curly hair.

"What do you mean?"

I mean, "have you been trained to cut curly hair?"

She said, "well let's wash it and talk about what you need."

"No," I said, fucking seething." "You don't know how to cut curly hair. Because you don't WASH curly hair. You don't cut it wet."

"Well, that's a choice."

She was looking at me like I was a moron, and I was looking at her in exactly the same way. But I have twenty years of being a scary motherfucker over her, so I went for the jugular.

"Yes. You can choose to cut it incorrectly, because you don't know any better, and were not trained to cut anything but straight white-girl hair, or, you can cut it correctly, and charge $120 for a cut, like the curly hair specialist."

With that she admitted that she didn't know how to cut it dry, so I said to wet it down, and I gave her super specific instructions. She did exactly what I told her to do, so I gave her twenty bucks even though the salon wasn't charging me for the cut.

It looks ok.