I’m afraid to blog these days because it seems my health gets worse as each post is published! This time, it’s my right arm that’s fucked.
Crashing at Greg’s with Charli, he was at work and I was feeding Charli her lunch when I started having stabbing pains in my right arm. The pain varied from aches to stabbies to tinglies as about a half-hour passed, when Greg came home for lunch. The pain was persistent and constant, so we decided to go to the hospital to get it checked out.
Most people hate waiting in the Accident & Emergency part of a hospital. Those people are stupid! When you are rushed through because the Triage Nurse (that whore!) says as she passes front-desk reception to the gossipy menopausal hag that you are a CAT X (Category X – I don’t remember what I was), I don’t think about those life-enriching sit-downs that remind me I am alive and healthy — I think, “Z0MG, I’m going to die!!!1”
Long story short, I was tested for: hypoglycaemia, pregnancy (LOL), long-term neck trauma. I was prodded, squeezed, wore the stupid gown, was poked and told to urinate, but I still found the process quite fun.
Fortunately, I am not hypoglycaemic or pregnant. Oh yeah, E-high-five!
Unfortunately, the x-ray of the neck showed no bones out of alignment, so I’ll have to get me one of those fandangled CT scans. It’ll be a cinch, though I do get claustrophobic a fair bit worse when I am alone.
The doctor believes that I have nerve-damage and possibly muscular neuralgia caused by long-term neck trauma… wouldn’t be surprised if I was dropped on my head repeatedly when I was born, to be honest. That’d explain a lot.
SO! I’m hopped up on narcotic painkiller Endone (Oxycodone – Opioid – OH E-HIGH-FIVE!). I’m on anti-epileptic but proven aide for muscular neuralgia, Tegretol (Carbamazepine). I’m on Zoloft (Anti-depressant). I’m on The Pill. I’ve been told to rub anti-inflammatory gel on my arm, so I smell like manky Vietnamese fish-shop as well. Ehhhhh. I feel heavily medicated and buzzed on life. It feels like I’m running in tight little circles, surrounded by nothing but cuddles. That’s right – cuddles.
Can you tell I’ve just topped up on the Endone and Tegretol? KE. KE.
What else has happened since I last blogged? Hmm.
Well, the Zoloft’s really working a treat; I’m handwriting a lot of journal entries again, thus the recent abscence. I’m finding this fire re-igniting the creativity in me. I’ve missed scrawling (KEKE) furiously on receipts and pamphlets for fear of the memory disappearing as quickly as it came… that was my perception of passion, and it’s good to have that back… even if I do look like a lunatic when I’m being all passion-y. Damn that passion. Did you ever see the soapie Passions? That sucked scrote.
Greg had his movie premiere a couple weeks ago. Tristan Pemberton produced Single White Farmer, and stars Barry Otto as the Single White Farmer, and Greg as the real estate agent. I have to say, it was a spectacular short film, and Greg got the real estate agent look down pat… revolting, tacky and skeezy. Not to mention creepy, since I was sitting right next to him. Ech. ANYWAY: To see and speak (albeit briefly!) with and of a legend of Australian film in the same room as me, Barry was incredibly open to chat about most anything — seeing him, my boyfriend, and all the hard work that went into getting this short film made, it sort of saddened me in how little help Australian film people actually get from other Australians. It was a bit pathetic, but yes — overall, a wonderfully awesome premiere. It should be on SBS in the next few months, for anyone interested.
Greg’s other short film, Dak Dak, was shown at Art On The Rocks last month. A couple technical glitches throughout the 12 short films, some really awesome and really horrible short films, and Greg’s was final. It was produced and directed by Adam Webb. That was the weekend I was lost my mind, so I wasn’t really feeling the arty-vibe, but I was incredibly proud of Greg and his film, nonetheless.
To be continued… I feel like I’ve just been shot in the arse with bear tranquiliser. Ehh.