Chicken Hickeys

 

“ An inefficient virus kills its host. A clever virus stays with it. ”   James Lovelock

An inefficient virus kills its host. A clever virus stays with it.
James Lovelock
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/virus.html#rhDztREt7sHsuDaR.99

My Chicken Hickey has returned.

For the third time in my life now, I've had a shingles outbreak. For those who don't know what that means, basically when you get chicken pox as a kid your immune system defeats it in most places. Occasionally, they miss a spot or two and the virus goes dormant. These dormant places are next to nerves.

When you are stressed, the virus (known as zoster) sees your immune system is taxed and it wakes back up, angering the nerve and causing stripey lesions on your skin, oddly on only one side of the body. Its the same virus as chicken pox, from your initial infection as a child, but it behaves very differently and takes weeks to go away again. Unlike chicken pox, which resolves in under a week.

Some people are lucky enough to get it on their chest or even their arms. The really fucked people get it on their face and around their eyes.  Mine appears on my neck in true moderately fucked fashion. Not the best place, but at least I can still see.

It fools you by acting like its a zit. You try to pop it, nothing comes out. You think, wow thats odd.  It then gets angry and red. You think, wow I must have pissed that zit off by trying to pop it too soon. My bad Mr. Zit, I'll let to your brew a little longer, no need to get so angry. When the redness doesn't go down, you think wow my neck skin sure is sensitive. You put neosporin on it and go to bed thinking it will be gone in the morning. Wake up, its still there but theres obviously nothing in it. Shit. Ok more neosporin and vow not to touch it or pick at it that day. Wake up on day three. Its bigger. You put some make up over it and think what. the. hell It's a good thing I'm not dating.  Day four rolls by and its now long and red and really raised. Its brought a friend with it today. The friend is a red flag. You finally remember, oh yeah I'm carrying Zoster. Wee fucking wee. I can stop saying wow now.

Then the bastard starts to itch. If  you are really lucky, it will give you horrendous nerve pain in your jaw and teeth like it did the second time I had it. You can't scratch it, cause well, its your fucking neck and the skin there is like rice paper and we aren't trying to make the spot bigger by raking our flesh off.

The best you can do is stand in the shower with your neck up to the nozzle and let 130deg water hit it for an hour to kill the itch. How do kids do this chicken pox shit?? I can't imagine my whole body feeling like that. I can however, remember my mother screaming at me frantically to stop scratching while my sister and I sat in the bathtub. Hey sis,  you know how you say you're too young to remember all the fun stuff we did together as kids? Well thats the kind of things you missed.


Far worse things are to come however. See, the first few days the thing looks like a zit. Hell it even fools me at first as I just illustrated. The subsequent days it looks like a bad evil zit to the general public. The kind people will notice and feel sorry for you, but not say anything about. Or maybe they think you picked at it like some meth addict. Who knows. The point is they try to ignore it.  After all acne is sad, and you are to be pitied at this point..

Thing is when we hit about 7 days in, it will look like a hickey. I'll know when I've arrived at that point because the comments will start. Generally they are people I know or kinda know and they get a free science lession about the life cycle of chicken pox. But the bad comments always come from people I don't know...

 The first time I had shingles. I was a cashier at Petsmart. I helped hundreds of people a day and the looks I was getting were quite spectacular. I was about 20 years old, pretty, and in a menial job so it was plausible that I'd come to work like that. This guy made a joke about my hickey and what a fun night I must have had. (which is ironic because I'm pretty certain the volatile relationship with my then boyfriend is what triggered it) Har har. I told him it wasn't a hickey it was just acne from hell. (I didn't know at the time what shingles was and still had bad skin back then). He laughed and basically called me a liar. I insisted. He laughed harder. I insisted again. He laughed.


There's no real moral to that story except that some guys are jerks who will laugh at you.

The second time I had shingles, It was just after my split from Kev and my stress levels from moving repeatedly and dealing with a freaked out diarhea dog and a screaming-destroy-the-carpet-lost-your-deposit-cat were sky high.  Thus It got much larger and eventually looked like a bonafide "rash" and only one person commented on it, and not to my face. This time I was preemptive however and told everyone that I had a thing. It was going to grow. It wasn't contagious, and no I didn't make out with an overzealous teenager.  He was able to explain on my behalf to the commenter.

This time remains to be seen. I take peace in the fact that its really uncommon to have this more than three times tops. But then again it was uncommon for me to have it as a young adult anyway, so perhaps I'm just a freak of nature.

 Either way, I like talking about my odd bits, chronic dormant viruses and all.

But if I have to defend myself as "not having a hickey" at 31 years old. I may have to smack a' bitch. Or at least rub my neck on them.

That is all.

Eureka

"Some times I feel like a motherless child"

I had never heard of this song until today. Turns out its an old "negro spiritual" as wikipedia so puts it. I felt an instant feeling when I heard it. It was a gentle pointing and a "that's it!, That's how I feel". A eureka moment.

I've struggled to explain my relationship (or lack thereof) with my mother, both to others and in my own head. I've long tried to find a simple statement to sum up my experience, that neither exaggerates or downplays it. Because the truth is, no one wants to sit through a bunch of stories with me coming off as trying to make my case as the heroine and she the villain. I'm not trying to do that.

The hardest part is, for me at least. Is my sister seems to both have had a very different experience than I did, and the parts we share, she doesn't seem as sensitive to. I've had her say "so?" when I describe something my mother did that stabbed me to the core. I truly believe she perceives things differently, and I do not fault her or feel she is insensitive. Perhaps I'm over sensitive and that's the root of the whole damn issue. At the same time I wish for once she could understand why I'm so traumatized.

Very few people witnessed the things that occurred (or didn't to be more exact). My sister, whos perceptions don't match mine. My Father, who, when he did catch glimpses of the crap that was going on, reacted quite strongly to the situation. And lastly, my Best friend growing up...Andrea and to a lesser extent, her mother. Whom, while mostly dealt with the situation second hand, made it very clear to me that she understood something abnormal was going on.

Andrea was great for witnessing my experiences and confirming their deviance from norm. I think part of my issue as an adult is not having her anymore to validate what happened. Its basically my word against my mothers.

 For a long time I actually made peace with what had happened. I understood she was a product of a messed up upbringing and she was mentally ill. Its not her fault.  But something still nagged at me. The fact of the matter is that she would hide her real behavior from every person who was around.  This is the main reason I am so upset, even as an adult. To me, you only do this sort of thing if you know that you are doing something you shouldn't be.

Whether that's just another manifestation of her mental illness, or just crappy judgement, or demons from the past, or shitty upbringing, or trauma I don't know. No matter what its from, its sad on so many levels. I think though, what makes me sad about it, is the inability she has to own it. Which also can be a delusion caused by mental illness.

According to her, she was a stellar parent, anything I remember is fabricated.

Anyone who has read this blog for any length of time knows I hate hate hate liars. I'm certainly not one of them. I am honest to a fault, the blunt kind of honest that makes people hate you in droves. Honesty takes on a clinical diagnosic feel for me. It's defining.  As I type this I can't help but wonder if my mother is the reason why I am so deeply affected when I meet a new liar. It could be baggage from childhood I suppose....

 Her delusions, nonsensical "logic", and lack of patterns pretty much make her function like an unintentional liar. She was random and unpredictable, and I thrive on routine and logic. No matter how much I tried to placate her, nothing seemed to work. She'd change the rules constantly and be mad when you didn't read her mind. It felt like I was being fucked with. If you want privilage A you have to do chore B. Then next week that no longer applied and when you asked for an explanation none was given.

I was punished constantly for things that didn't make any sense. It wasn't the punishment, but the delusional reasoning behind things. I would be told I couldn't go somewhere because a car was going to veer off the road and kill me. Then an hour later she told me I could go anyway (wtf???).  You were told you couldn't do this or that because god or a spirit had told her something bad was going to happen if you did. I remember being confused by this logic as I didn't feel she loved me. Thus why do you care if something bad happens to me? It felt more like a way to control and micromanage me, and in all honesty, It might have been.

Nothing was ever without a criticism and encouragement was non existent. When she wasn't being negative, nonsensical, or critical she ignored me as much as possible. I remember asking her on several distinct occasions, as a young child... why she had children if she didn't want them. Take a second and let that sink in. A young child voicing that they feel unwanted and the following reaction...

Her reply would always be "I did want kids"  matter of factly. As if she was answering a math question. She'd answer without breaking eye contact with the TV.  At which point she'd wave me away and continue watching television. When I would be even more direct, asking why she didn't want to talk to us or play with us, her reply would be "I do that all the time" with another tv induced wave away. The answer always baffled me because It would take weeks or months of being ignored to get up the courage to ask the question to begin with. As an adult I don't see how the child asking that to begin with wasn't heartbreaking and a ginormous red flag that something was wrong. Let alone something that could be blown off so you don't miss Oprah.


The disinterest really got bad at about 7 years old and was pretty sudden. I was like a discarded toy that had lost its novelty. It only grew as time went on. As did the paranoia and negativity. I have zero memories of being comforted when I was upset, and was either ignored or told to knock off the crying. I cried a lot as a child, I had so many things to be upset about and no anchor to ground me. The emotional absence left everything cold.



I'll only indulge in one story, but I think Its worth sharing. We were at my Aunts house and my mother was telling my aunt about something her sister had done or not done to/for her. I forget what it was exactly but I remember thinking she was being awful nasty about it considering what the  transgression was.

At some point my mother burst into tears (something I had never seen before) and began sobbing something along the lines of "I just want my sister to love me".  My aunt, also probably shocked at seeing whats normally a stone cold statue cry, just sat there.

I felt compelled to do something to make her feel better, even though I couldn't really empathize with what she was experiencing. I went over and stood next to her. She ignored me. I put my hand on her arm. She ignored me. I tried to hug her (which I must have learned on tv) and I realized a few seconds in that I was indeed  hugging a statue. There was no reciprocation.

Then suddenly... She threw me off her roughly and  loudly screamed "get off me!". I stood there for a moment, watching her continue to sob, doing the child version of shaking my head in disbelief, and then I went back to my toys in the living room. The look on my aunts face was total shock.

That story pretty much sums up my relationship with my mother. Negative and easily pissed off over trivial things and rejecting anything resembling closeness or love from their child. All peppered with lots and lots of ignoring and disinterest. The only thing that makes that story different than the norm was she showed her behavior in front of another adult. Which rarely occurred. Part of me is angry that these adults didn't do anything, but at the same time, as an outsider I probably wouldn't have felt one incident was intervention worthy either

I suppose it teaches us all to pay better attention, and to question things when we see them.


Its late, and that's all I can transcribe for now. Goodnight.

Pants on fire

"i have one major problem with the internet. Its full of liars"

As usual, my rants usually consist of contempt for liars and this is no exception.

I always say what I think, with little sugar on it, if any. I don't speak about things I don't know about. Thus even if I can't remember my exact words. I can guess them quite acurately.

I may be blunt. Rude even. But at least I'm true to one thing. The truth.

Too bad they taste like tomatoes

I have a love/hate with tomatoes

Love the grow em' hate to eat em. Wont eat them to be exact. I think raw tomatoes taste horrible and I have consumed absolutely ZERO of the hundreds of lbs I've grown over the years. Yes I know its wierd, but I am ok with that. I like to grow shit.

Living off the land is a long held hippie-like dream of mine but being raised on red meat and potatoes seems to have wired my brain in antithesis of that ideal...

I've pulled literally hundreds of tomatoes off this plant. Thats alot of happy rats and torti

Heres one harvest and my female betta watching from her spacious 5 gallons of "fish prison"..

Defacing Government Property...

Taken to a whole new level.

Katie did it.

 

One of the most interesting things about starting a new garden in a new area is seeing all the new wildlife that arrives. I don't mean birds and squirrels, but the insects. I enjoy new species of plants and bugs the same as I would seeing a new species of bird or mammal. Some may find this odd, but in my opinion, it makes my life more interesting, because I can enjoy all of nature, not just the cute and fluffy things.

When you first start a new garden, its pretty sterile. Nothing really visits it, especially if your neighborhood is bland as far as biodiversity. Most people keep ornamental plants that are over bred, and then spray them with chemicals, because god forbid they have to look at a spider once in a while.

After the "sterile" period, the "pest" period begins. This is when the news gets out that you have opened the salad bar, and they appear in droves in the tenor of Homestyle Buffet. Typically the aphids appear first, and they did in fact, but I hadn't planted anything weak and sissified (aka roses and hibiscus)  so they came and went very fast and didn't do any damage. The locusts have also come and gone for the most part. Those that stick around are great Chili toys, being both fast and tasty. Or so he lets on.

July has been the month of the katydid, with more than I've ever seen in my entire life, including this big guy. Who was stuck to the window screen by a leg, necessitating I rescue him. He thanked me by pausing to clean his antennae while he sat on my hand, and allowing me to watch him do so.

The real interesting ones were these awesome green horned caterpillars that appeared in decent numbers on my red Guara plant. There were four big ones today but one was not very gentlemanly and didn't want to be picked up. So he kept vomiting his dinner on me to make me go away.  Like any bad romance his tactic eventually worked so I had only these three guys to hang out with:

The Three (non vomit-y) Caballeros

I liked the variation in pattern. They were hard to photograph because they wouldn't sit still. A little googling tells me they are the larva of the Spinx moth, likely Hyles lineata the white lined sphinx moth. It's a huge moth that can hover like a hummingbird. I've seen them a couple times, and their size is a bit intimidating. I'd like to see one again, and they pollinate some uber rare native California plant, so I'll be letting these green dudes live.

They seem tame and docile until you get them too close to each other. When personal space disapears, they do like any civilized society would naturally do and try to beat each other up, using their heads like hammers and biting the invader on the back.

I kick your ass yo.

 So all in all, a nice, bug boxing filled evening.

Wordless Wednesday. Sir Smallness