Worst weekend I ever had

A lot of things have happened since my posting in May. The first was that I ended up in the hospital which was a lot of craziness. I ended up there on a day I was just minding my business at Saltgrass after going to the apartment complex to find that the person I was supposed to sign my lease with wasn't available. I started drinking a lovely frozen magarita which I now have to say was my last... ever... because I felt this curious sensation in my chest. A fluttering started there or to more accurately describe how I felt, I felt as if a fish were flopping around in my chest. Now this had happened before and briefly on occasion. It would last for ten seconds and then it would stop and I would go on my merry way.

This lasted a minute and then longer and then it kept going so I went to the hospital via a fun little vehicle with lights on the top. I was admitted to the hospital and my pulse was in the ridiculously high range. It would jump to 160 and I think I saw 187 and I freaked out. When the doctor told me what was going on (finally) I learned I was in atrial fibrilation. That means the top chambers of my heart were fluttering rather than actually pumping blood properly. As a result, i was put on blood thinners and moved to ICU. I was also started on other medications that were beta blockers. Now, for someone my age, beta blockers are not what you would try first. I know this because I read extensively while I was in the hospital. I love my laptop. I want to marry him. (Yes my macbook is most decidedly a he since he is my knight in shining armor.) Now this all started on a Friday and they kept trying the same drugs until SUNDAY. (Even my stepmother who is a RN said this was stupid.)

Now during this time I had been stuck for IV more times than I could count and they kept blowing out the veins with the loads and loads of liquids (that weren't working) they kept pouring in me. The nurses had such a hard time finding my veins. They had such a ridiculous time finding my veins that my stepmother was ready to say, "Give me some gloves so I can do your job." Later that day, that vein started to get irritated too so they decided to have someone come in and give me a central line. The thought of having someone tunnel up under my collarbone to find a vein scares the shit out of me, but I was hoping that it would be some relief from the burning sensation now in the back of my hand. Unfortunately, the guy was across town and running late and now I was in so much pain that I wanted to punch someone in the face. If I hadn't felt weak as a kitten I might have. (I still have no idea how this childbirth thing is going to work for me.) He gets there at eleven at night and finally I get a central line put in. I couldn't believe I would ever be relieved to have someone insert a tube into my superior vena cava.

The next day, Sunday, the doctor decided to switch things up a little and take me off everything except the blood thinners and saline. He decided to try a pill to get me back on sinus rhythm. I took my medicine and I went to sleep for the five millionth time ever. I think all I did on that weekend was sleep and surf on the net. When I woke up a nurse walked back in the room and looked at the monitor and told me I was back on rhythm. I was never so happy in all my life. That night I was moved out of the ICU and into another room across the hall. Somewhere my inhaler got tossed away. I know this because my mother went back to the room in the ICU to look for it and the room had been cleaned in the fifteen minutes we had been gone. They wouldn't order another one because it hadn't been listed by the doctor after I had been moved. So, I was no longer in afib, but if I had an asthma attack I could just wheeze myself to death because the doctor had neglected to put an inhaler on his orders?

I'm thinking of a finger right now and it's definitely not a thumbs up.

The next day the doctors checked up on me and I was supposed to be released. It took ALL day to get this stuff together and my asthma was starting to kick my ass. Finally, (and I swear to you I am a quiet person around people I don't know, but I turn into another person when I'm completely fed up) I told the nurse who was supposed to be getting my paperwork together that I am having issues with my asthma and that she needed to finish the shit up so I could go home and breathe.

Needless to say, I haven't signed a lease at my apartment so I lost my deposit, but I don't care right now as long as I can take the money I'm not spending on rent to pay medical bills. $600 a month would have taken another $300 out of my budget not including utilities. I had lots of undue stress in May and the summer has done me some good. I just hope I'm ready to go back to school, both teaching and learning.

Dude where's my muse and other ramblings.

I've been trying to write more lately, but it seems that I'm pretty tapped out right now. Someone turned off the light and now I seem to be fumbling in the dark for something.

I love to write and actually it was my second love next to pottery when I was in high school. It firmly comes in first now, but right now I feel very much like the jilted lover. I think my muse has decided to take a hike for a while and she won't come back no matter how many roses or how much candy I offer her. I think she's upset that Mr. Wii is now in my life though I'm trying to convince her that he's just a friend.

And now for something completely different.

For those of you who don't know, I love writing fiction and for the most part, it has usually been IR fiction. Actually, I was writing IR fiction before the masses had access to the webternets. I was a solitary writer trying to do what I loved best. (Also I was tired of the hackdom that was the YA market at the time and as we know, a teenager can always do much better than anyone else.) I wrote IR fiction because then because I was writing the person I wanted to be and also I wrote the kind of people I'm attracted to.

I haven't shown my family my writing because they're crazy. I love them, but they're nutjobtastic. The other reason I haven't shown them much of what I write is because I'm a little self-conscious about it. They already make enough noise about who I date claiming that I hate black men. I hate black men about as much as I hate ice cream, which is to say not at all. I have come to the conclusion, having grown up in suburbia, that you are attracted to those who are attracted to you. I can count on one hand the number of black men remotely close to my age who have asked me out (in a fashion to which I would respond) and that number is two, dos, deux, due, zwei, ni. No I'm not kidding.

So as a result of my lack of dates with black men I get asked, "Why do you hate black men?" My first response is to look at them like they have a giant parallel universe inducing insect on their back. (I watch entirely too much Doctor Who) My second response is to ask, "Why do black men ignore me?" The responses I get are varied and they usually involve phrases like, "You're too nerdy," or, "You need to dumb it down a little," or, which is just as good, "You need to lower your standards." I do it for love, being who I am and I'm not going to bottle it up for anyone.

I guess what I'm getting at is that life is too short to wait for that one person who fits in that tiny little box of everything that I wanted. I'm an amazing person and yes, I'm still looking for an amazing person who may be any color of the rainbow even *gasp* black. My box is a little bigger than it was when I was a teenager with relatively few things that I'm asking for. I want someone who will respect me, someone who likes books and someone who understands my twisted sense of humor, someone who has no girls named Hallie Tosis in his life. Pretty much everything else is on the preferred but not required list so he doesn't have to look like Cillian, Will or Takeshi anymore *sighs dolefully* doesn't have to be at least a six footer (but he still has to be taller than me as long as I'm not wearing heels. Hey, I'm five nine but there's something to be said about feeling small).