I tried looking up Urgent Cares, with my mind on taking myself to one. Alas I can't without a complicated bus ride. And the mere mention of it made Doc flip out. "What are you planning for me?" Stomp stomp stomp, door slam.
Okay, part of being a care giver is giving care. He's mad because I made him stay home last night in the wind storm because the power flicked on and off a couple of times, and I knew, candles or not, I would flip right the fuck out if the power went out at night and I was alone here. It was scary. The tree beating against the house, things blowing into the house. Stuff from the back yard skittering around. I was in no place for that. When I went out right before sunset, I looked to the top of the street. We are the third house down. At the top of the street, across the street, is a house. In the back of that house is a very large conifer. I could not see that conifer. All I could see was brown. All the cats got dry shampooed when they came in. They were all brown.
BTW if you haven't tried the "dry shampoo" stuff, I recommend it. It comes in a spray bottle, so it is wet, but the technique is dry. We spray it on paper towels and then rub the kitties down with it. They aren't fond of the fruity smell all over them, but hey, they are dust and pollen free. You still have to do a proper bath for dander removal, but this is great for cats who love to roll in loose dirt.
Oh, now I get Doc's problem. He hadn't done his taxes yet. He went to go searching for a form. Then he had no instructions, so I had to look them up. All the while, I wasn't speaking to him because he was being a big ol' jerk. We missed the earned income tax credit by $350. If we had a kid, we would have it in the bag. Just like, if we had a kid, I would already have SNAP and Medicaid benefits. Starting to take this personally. People who are mentally ill who choose not to pass on their defective genes should be rewarded, not penalized. But we only had to pay $150, which Doc was prepared for. He's been socking away money wherever he can.
Regarding my rib: we had a heated discussion about wrapping it with an ace bandage. He was in the doctor's office with me the last time this happened, when the doctor said that they don't wrap ribs anymore because it promotes shallow breathing and encourages walking pneumonia. The thing to do is to breathe as deeply as you can. That's where the Vicodin comes into play. You have to stop the pain. You also have to take down the swelling, which is done with Naproxen, only at a what I suspect is a higher dose than the OTC Naproxen that Doc got for me at the pharmacy. I completely ignored the dosing instructions because I have no Vicodin, and took 600 mg, instead of 200. It took the pain from a 7-10 to a 5-7.
Sniffing, coughing, sighing (I sigh a LOT, I've found), sneezing and leaning back on it take the pain back to a 10. I try to avoid all of these activities.
While Doc was out getting his tax form, I vacuumed (it had been FOUR days since the last time), and cleaned off the glass coffee table. When Doc came home and saw what I had done, I got a ten minute lecture on how dumb I was and how I never ever do the right thing. I'm feeling pretty special tonight.
I made him promise that if he comes home in the morning and I'm passed out somewhere in the house, that he NOT, under any circumstances, take me to one of the local hospitals. All of them have had me under psych holds at one time or another and I can't get fair treatment at any of them. No matter why I go in there, they run expensive tests because I am well insured and then tell me I have conversion syndrome (it's all in my head) and send me away with no diagnosis or help. I made him promise to wake me up somehow and take me to the rich people's Urgent Care. They treat me well. Just in case I get up in the morning and have my morning coughing fit before the Naproxen kicks in and I pass out from the pain.
I'm going to have to sleep on my stomach tonight, like I did with my nap today. The good news is that stomach sleeping is way comfortable on my bed. I has no sagging spots or anything. It was great this morning for my nap.
Apparently I had already set up a Soundcloud account and then forgot completely about it. I had several new pieces up, two with listens, the rest ignored. I'm in the process of retagging them so they will be more visible in the searches I want them in. I also added the one I love that no one else does, "Your Daughter is a Slut." It got three listens last night. I just re-promoted it with a line from half-way through it.
I've been reading articles from marketing companies about how things go viral. And one thing I've learned, no one really knows. They all claim to, but no one really knows why one cat video takes off and another is ignored. Or why one kickstarter goes through the roof and others fail miserably. It's all luck. The mood of the internet that day and the availability of the thing to go viral. I have little or no chance at going viral with anything I do because my audience on social media is limited to about 1,200 people. And on the platforms that allow sharing of media, my material is NEVER shared. It makes getting "discovered" hard, nearly, so far, impossible. To about 95% of the people I connect with on social media, I am invisible. It is damn frustrating.
This particular platform (livejournal) is completely different. This is a soul searching place. This isn't a shallow place like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I don't really consider this social media anymore so much as I do a place to come and speak with dear friends. I don't have dear friends on other platforms (not counting Kelli on Facebook).
What I don't get about Twitter is, why follow me if you aren't going to "star" or "retweet" anything I say. Or even comment on it. What's the point. If I don't entertain you enough to either mark it to remember it or share it with your followers, go the fuck away. I have stuffed animals that I have more quality interaction with. There's one account that is always showcasing "artists who art through their mental illnesses". Through photography, poetry or music. They follow me. Have they ever inquired about my art/poetry/photography, made through my mental illness? Nope. There's one guy who posts countless pictures from various sources, not always great pictures. Has he ever chosen one of mine? Nope. There's another guy who is a serial retweeter, who never retweets anything I say.
Okay. I'm in pain and I'm whining. I need to go barely smoke a cigarette. Then decide if I'm going to work tonight. One of the pictures I'm using on Soundcloud has a great background I spent a lot of time on and then covered mostly with a really ugly font choice and an even uglier effect on the text.
Through some sort of sorcery last night, I was able to get my specialty fonts installed using Font Expert's myriad of tools. It took an hour and I'm still not sure exactly how I got it to work, but I did. And I save all PSD files now, so I can change each part of a project separate from the other parts.
Oh! CSI:Cyber is on tonight. I have a drinking game for that show. Anytime someone says, "Hack(ed), Black Hat, White Hat, Deep Web," - DRINK