Cranky Fibro Girl

Harnessing the healing power of snark

Secrets

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A couple of days ago my husband and I were sitting on the couch catching up on this week’s episode of NCIS. The Director of NCIS, played by Lauren Holly, was talking to Special Agent Gibbs, played by Mark Harmon, about a case they were working on involving a man who was engaged to multiple women at the same time. She was talking about how even if you are in a relationship with someone, you may not really know them. They might be keeping secrets from you.

“I don’t have any secrets from you,” I told my husband.

“I know!” he replied. Due to some quirk in my own personal makeup, I can neither lie nor keep secrets. It’s like any kind of secret information is a foreign body in my system, and I must vomit it up and out as soon as possible in order to keep my system running smoothly.

“What about you?” I asked him. “Do you have any secrets?”

“Nope,” he said, and we went back to watching the show.

In the next scene Dr. “Ducky” Mallard is talking to Agent Gibbs about the corpse he is examining. “I got a hunch and I decided to trim his (the corpse’s) nose hair,” said Dr. Mallard.

At this my husband pauses the show (all hail the awesomeness of TIVO!), leaps up off the couch, and says, “Oh yeah, I do have a secret from you.”*

Oh, dear sweet Lord In Heaven, I thought to myself, completely panicked. What the hell kind of secret does “nose hair” remind you of?!

“Um, that’s okay, dude,” I said, backing away from him. “You can just go ahead and keep that particular secret to yourself.”

*It turned out all right, though. For some reason I still don’t completely understand, that just reminded him that he’d brought me back a present from Mexico.

Even Though I’m Sad

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I could not help but be cheered up just a little bit by the news that Florida’s Turkey Testicle Festival will be allowed to keep its name.

First, such a thing as a “testicle festival” actually exists? AWESOME!

Second, “testicle festival” is such a great rhyme.

And third, according to this article, “… more than 12 other cities…host annual events with the name ‘testicle’.”

How could that not make me feel at least a little better?

Sometimes Friendships End

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And that really sucks.

It’s a lot like breaking up.

On the Five Stages Of Grief scale, I’m alternating between “I Hate Your F*^&*@# Guts!” (deleting them from my phone, looking for some possession of theirs I can destroy) and, “Why Don’t You Want Me As A Friend Anymore?” (Much. Crying.)

It’s good to have other friends now, friends who read the emails I write them and say, “It sounds like you’re in the dark place. Please call me when you’re in the dark place. You don’t have to go there by yourself.”

It’s also good to have a coach, who teaches me tools to help me through my various life experiences.

It’s not so good to be a coach though, because then I just pound myself with so many “shoulds”. “You should be over this by now.” “You shouldn’t be so upset.” “You should’ve known better.”

So it’s good to have a coach who will step in and take the tools away from me temporarily. “I feel like I gave you a shovel, and instead of just having some fun digging around you tore up your whole yard,” she said to me. Actually it was more like she gave me a shovel and I used it to beat myself into the ground.

Now I’m on “Self-Help Restriction”. “You’re grounded from using any tools until the next time we talk,” was her verdict.

Good call.

I can’t wait for this week to be over.

Thank You

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Thank you so much to everyone who has been checking in with me and making sure that I’m OK.

I am OK. The doctor said it was either a wart or some other benign thing, so except for the soreness from the needles and the scraping, I’m feeling pretty good physically.

Although I do have to wonder-who the hell gets a wart on the top of their head?

I feel like someone who failed out of Wicked Witch Training School.

Wicked Witch Instructor: How many times do I have to tell you? Warts go on the end of your nose, not on the top of your head! No one can see your scary looking wart if it is covered up by your pointy black hat. No broomstick for you!

Parting (Head) Shots

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Good communication between you and your health professional is essential.

(At the dermatologist’s office.)

Nurse: So you’re here because you have something on your head.

Me: Yes.

Nurse: Is it giving you any problems?

Me: No. It’s just WEIRD!

Good communication between you and your spouse is also essential.

(Describing my doctor’s visit to my husband.)

Me: Since we changed insurance, the dermatologist is not covered. So I had to pay for it myself.

My husband: So how much was it?

Me: $212.00

My husband: What?!

Me: It was worth it for the peace of mind.

My husband: Well yeah-it was a PIECE OF YOUR MIND!

The Big Head

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When my brother and I get together, the topic of conversation often turns to a discussion of our big heads. I don’t mean that metaphorically (although I have certainly been guilty of that many times). I mean it literally; as in, hats never fit me; when my chiropractor is working on me she often remarks, “Wow, your head is really heavy!”; and in the wedding picture of me and my husband dancing our first dance cheek to cheek, my head appears to be approximately 85 times the size of his.

I would REALLY like to tell you that having a very large heads corresponds to some kind of exceptional quality, like extra brains or heightened critical thinking skills. And I suppose I could. But I know that I would just be completely making that up, and I don’t like to just pull things out of my ass like that when it’s something someone could actually (factually) check.

However I did discover one unexpected advantage to having a big head today. If for some reason, like for example, your dermatologist is about to scrape what is either a wart or a benign Something-With-A-Really-Complicated-Medical-Name off the top of your scalp, and you have to get injected with anesthetic directly into your head? It’s really not so bad. Nothing like getting multiple shots in the ass.

So there you go. Big head? Big needle? No problem.

Keeping Me Humble

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Recently I have been having some really great sessions with my coach, where we are clearing out a lot of old “stuff” in my life and making room for new stuff to come in. I’ve been pretty excited about all the progress I’m making, and so one night I described in grand detail to my husband how I’ve reached this fabulous new mental and emotional place from which to launch the next phase of my life.

Ha.

Apparently what really happened was that cleaning out all of that inner, mental space means that now I just have more time and energy to spend obsessing about the fact that there is something growing on the top of my head. This means that we have been having a lot of conversations like this:

My husband: “So, what do you want to do for dinner?”

Me (hysterically): “I DON’T WANT TO HAVE A HEAD MOLE!”

I also got my permanent crown last week, which means that when I’m not freaking out over the Foreign Body Protruding From My Scalp I’m walking around the house announcing things like, “My fake tooth feels so shiny and smooth!”

Not surprisingly, things around here are going a little more slowly (I have a head mole!) than I had anticipated (And a fake tooth!) as I figure out a new strategy (My fake tooth, it is so smooth!) for dealing with this new level (Now all my other teeth feel so sharp and pointy!) of crazy-ass, monkey-mind chatter (Maybe I’m part wolf!)

Seriously, my mind? One scary place.

Can This Day Get Any Better?

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I recently installed this new program called Hit Tail on my blog, a new search tool to help you identify keywords people use to find you and your website.

So I checked it today, and guess what I found? One of the ways that people are finding me is by entering the phrase “ostrich vomit” into their search engines.

How cool is that?!

I can only assume that this is due to the many posts where I profess my extreme love for Mike Rowe and “Dirty Jobs”. At least, I certainly hope that is the case. Otherwise, I may have some issues I need to look into.

It’s Things Like This That Give The South A Bad Name

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Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

I recently had a conversation with one of my friends, discussing the time about fifteen years ago when she came down to North Carolina to visit her boyfriend’s family.

My friend: “You know, I really don’t like lima beans.”

Me: “Ew! Me either.”

My friend: “And they didn’t just give me a spoonful or two. They served me an entire DISH of those things.”

Me: “Ugh!”

My friend: “But I was a good sport, and I ate it to be polite.”

Me: “Good for you.”

My friend: “But I had to draw the line at squirrel.”

Me: “What?!”

Me: “WHAT?! They tried to make you eat SQUIRREL?!”

My friend: “Yep.”

Me: “Please, oh please, tell me that at least your boyfriend thought that was weird.”

My friend: “Nope. He didn’t say a thing.”

Me: “On behalf of the entire South, I am truly sorry, and I deeply apologize.”

Friday: Open Trackback Alliance

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OTA

It’s that time once again, to invite you to share any posts you’d like to highlight in the blogosphere. If you have a post you’d like others to read, just send a trackback from your post to this post on my site, and a link to your article will show up below.

My article is called Missed Communication, and describes a time when my mother and I had to buy something to bury my grandmother in. But from the conversation this was causing us to have in the middle of the store, we were expecting to be arrested at any moment.