I've given up on communicating with Doc for the rest of the weekend. I'll be going to bed when this is done, and he will be in bed when I get up tomorrow. So I won't have to talk to him until I wake him up, and then he won't notice that I'm not talking to him. Then he will go to work. And I will be able to get the house clean. Except the kitchen. He's got paper towels all over the kitchen and I'm not touching them. Not a one. I will clean up everything in the kitchen but that. And he won't even notice. It will look just fine to him. He's cut back on his Xanax to almost none a day, instead of making an appointment with my doctor. He is making me crazy-er. He says now that I pause too long in between my sentences for him to pay attention when I am talking. So the brief second that I take to get my words into a sentence before I say them is too long for him? FUCK HIM.
I swear to god. Being a dick about my cognitive deficits, which I am working really hard on reducing in every way that I consciously can, is listed NO-where as being helpful. Yelling at me, or sighing at me, or mocking me (especially that) does not make my mind work better. It flusters me and makes everything worse. Why does he do it? Constantly. Every time I talk to him. Why? And I have been very good at starting at the beginning of stories, he just never listens to the first line of anything I say, so he always misses it and ends up yelling at me halfway through what I'm saying that I need to start at the beginning, even though that is what I did. And he always insists that I didn't. And I have to give in because I'm the one that is crazy.
Or today, when I told him I was going outside to smoke so I could cool down when I came in. And he told me a shower would do that. I told him, not in my experience. It was great when I got out of the shower and was wet in the cold air, but by the time I had my clothes on, I was sweating again. And he starts yelling shut up and no you don't. And I told him to shut up and asked him what the fuck made him think he knew what my experience was? He had never been inside my body, what the fuck did he know? And there was no reason for him to be like that. No reason at all. It's not even shower day.
He finally stopped making me scrub my teeth every night. I kept telling him that every time I did, one of my teeth would break. He told me, no it didn't. So I started bringing out the pieces of tooth to show him. And he stopped insisting. Which is nice because I had almost completely lost my ability to chew. It's touch and go, now. Nothing chewy or crunchy. And I keep cutting my tongue open on the remaining shards. But I won't get the rest pulled. Not as long as I have a top and bottom molar that meet to keep my lips from being smooshed together.
Argh. I'm done for the night. Tomorrow I will wade through new and old pictures and video footage and maybe make some more, and make some graphics and find some free music. The music has to be just right. It will make or break the video. So I will give myself plenty of time to surf the site I use.
I also wanted to Photoshop a photo of my kitchen floor with Smurfs all over it, so everyone can see what I can see. I'll do that when I'm done with the video tomorrow.
A little meme I made the other day for no particular reason.