Sexuality Happens

By the time you’re reading this, I’m probably going under the knife. Or maybe I’m lying all doped up in recovery.

Regardless, I’m having my tonsils (and possibly adenoids, depending on how bad they look) removed today.  I have a few posts scheduled to go up, but probably won’t be posting every day as I usually do until I start feeling a little better.

If you’d like to send me amusing jokes, pictures to cheer me up, etc, please send them to EssinEm at gmail dot com.  Also, you can follow me on twitter (www.twitter.com/EssinEm) to see how my recovery is going.

If you want to send me something, the wishlists are on the side bar. Or ice cream/sorbet/sherbet would also be extremely welcome. Perhaps pudding as well. I’m only partially kidding. Do they have ice cream delivery service?

Regardless, I’m not falling off the face of the planet. Just going under for a good cause, and hopefully when I’ve healed, the sleep apnea they’ve been causing will be gone, I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep, and breath play will be back on the list again.

Auf Wiedersehen (for a few days possibly…on the otherhand, maybe I’ll be just find and blogging in no time!),

Essin’ Em

I’m alive. I’ve just been having a crazy couple of days with work, knee pain, Q borrowing my computer, etc.

However, while you’re waiting for my next oh so brilliant post (yeah yeah, I know I’m not sexual Einstein), I’d like to direct you to the site ButYouDontLookSick.com.  I discovered this about a year or two ago, but have really been delving in as of late. I’d especially like you to read the Spoon story/theory.  

I’ve been having people I care about or talk to a lot read it as of late, because explaining my life in spoons is much easier.  Between my knee/hip/joint pain, migraines, and now this total exhaustion (caused by the sleep apnea which is caused by my ridiculously swollen tonsils…for which I finally can see an ENT on the 27th, I just don’t know how I’m paying for it), I only have a small amount of spoons, and trying to decide what to use them for is always hard. I highly highly suggest reading this concept in general, but especially if you have friends or loved ones with chronic pain, illness, etc.

Back to your regularly scheduled program tomorrow!

-Essin’ Em

As many of you know, I’ve been fighting many of my own health care battles, from injuring my ankle last summer (and losing my job over it) which put me thousands of dollars in debt, to being rejected by not one, not two, but now SEVEN insurance companies, to needing total knee replacements in both knees so that I can walk up and down stairs, only to be told that I need to wait 10-15 years because the doctors feel I’m too young (not that I can afford them anyways).

We all have our health care stories. Often bad, but sometimes good.

In light of all the discussion going on about health care, Bill Campbell has decided to share many of these stories…from Americans and from those in countries with Universal Healthcare. If you’d like to share your story, the information is below.

-Essin’ Em

This month I’m trying to dedicate my blog, Tome of the Unknown Writer, to health care stories from America and countries with universal health care. Since we’re going to be inundated with propaganda from all sides, I thought it could be enlightening just to hear from regular people how they feel about our health care system. So, I’m looking for stories about their experiences, their views on health care, what they’d like to see happen in the future, stuff like that. Then I’ll be posting each story as I get them. I don’t care if they’re pro or con. I only care that they’re honest. 

If you could possibly contribute and/or spread the word or know someone who would be interested and pass it along, it would be greatly appreciated. 

Health Care Stories: International

Health Care Stories: America

If you’re looking for sex, this post is not about it. Sorry.

Everyone once and a while, I check in with an update on my health, since it’s so screwy, and sometimes people ask. If you don’t care, don’t read. End of story. Rude comments WILL be deleted. Sorry, I don’t have time for ass-hattery right now.

Let’s see. I had/might still have tonsilitis.  It’s ridiculous. If I open my mouth in front of a mirror, *I* can see my tonsils, no light or pokey stick needed.  I believe the doctor at the clinic’s exact words upon examining me were “oh my, your poor tonsils!” She was actually fairly sure I had mono, but the test was negative. I was sent home with antibiotics, steroids to reduce inflammation, a lidocaine gargle that numbs my entire mouth and throat, instructions to take tylenol every 4 hours, and the order to not be active for 7-10 days. Lovely.

The steroids, although they may be helping out my tonsils, are cause severe muscle pain in my thigh and hips.  My orthopedist said this is normal.  The second day I was on the steroids, Q and I went to see a movie after dinner. I could barely walk out of the movie theatre, she had to drive my car to her house. Despite a painkiller, I lay in her bed, wincing every time I moved for four hours.  Finally, she convinced me to take another, and I was finally able to sleep. She was so kind, so caring, so concerned.  I hated her having to see me like that, but it is what it is.

I saw my knee doctor again. Got another prescription for percocet. Oh boy. Not allowed to take more muscle relaxers because it might mess with my central nervous system more. Off the Celebrex (I’ve been living on samples; a one month prescription is over $140), trying Limbrel instead for the arthritis. Supposed to see a hip specialist – they’re concerned that the arthritis is moving to my hips. Otherwise, I don’t really have any options other than the cadaver bone surgery, or waiting a few years (10-15) for the total knee replacements I need. I’ve decided when I get a wheelchair, it’ll have a leopard print cover, and spinny-wheel thingies. Until then, I need to invest in a better quality cane.

My TMJ triggers my migraines. Stress triggers my migraines. Stress triggers TMJ. All in all, I’ve had a lot of migraines lately.  Massage therapy helps, but I can’t afford it out of pocket, and my deal to trade F for massage as I do her marketing had kind of fallen through the crevices as I’ve fallen out of her life.

My allergies are actually ok. Hurry for OTC allergy meds, because I can’t afford Allegra. Heartburn too – can’t afford Nexium, but Pepcid and Prilosec are pretty snazzy.

I need money. I need good insurance. I need a whole different body, but this is what I’m stuck with. None of it is my fault; I didn’t do something against doctor’s orders, I didn’t drive drunk, I didn’t take a lot of illegal drugs that are some how messing me up. It’s just how I am. And I’m pissed. 

But what are my options?

So that’s my health update, for the few of you that have been asking.

-Essin’ Em

This job is sucking my soul away.

I find myself being highly emotional, tearing up all the time. My sex drive has greatly diminished. I walked into my favorite cupcake shop the other day, stood in line for 5 or 6 minutes, and then decided I didn’t want a cupcake. I’m rarely using my hot tub, something I used to love. I didn’t go to the after party for my last roller derby bout, and have considered taking a break from the league, even though I’ve been involved in derby for almost three years. I’m actually sleeping…as in if I don’t make plans to actually do things with people, I spend my time in bed, trying to sleep in between working.

I apologize if my posts haven’t been as exciting and fun and all of that lately, but as many (now a total of 7) of my friends have pointed out to be that I am depressed, or that my mental health isn’t up to snuff.

As much as I hate to admit it, to myself and to them, they’re right. I haven’t felt this all over icky since I went through an intense bout of depression in college.  I don’t know the solution; I KNOW it’s caused by my job situation, my money situation, and my mother.  My job is literally my own personal hell.  The only thing that I can think of that would make it worse would be the same job out in the sun where I got burned. I’m working for minimum wage in a corporate, ageist, sexist, able-ist environment doing everything that hurts my knees and that I hate, and having to fight to even get more than 20 hours per week, which still won’t pay my rent.  I’m in debt.  Thousands of dollars of credit card debt, having never once carried a balance on ANY of my cards until last October…

So while I can’t pay for therapy, I don’t think it would even help that much. I KNOW I feel like a failure, I KNOW I have trouble talking to people about my issues, I KNOW it’s my current life situation. Other than continuing to try and apply for jobs, and hyper-schedule myself so I don’t let myself wallow in depression, I’m not sure what to do.  But I apologize in advance for my lack of exciting posts.  I still have a couple of great ones to write about Q (she let me cut her clothes off the other day! And she topped me…well!), and will get those up.  But otherwise, I can’t promise anything spicy.

As a side note, Q has been an amazing friend through this.  Often times, people I’m having sex with and not dating don’t understand the whole friendship thing…and she does.  Which I really appreciate – she’s been a great support to lean on. I even kind of sort of almost cried in front of her…a few times, which for me is a big sign of trust.

So I made it through the week of the anniversary of Columbine and my father’s death…now, just to get a job that doesn’t make me feel like I’m getting a Dementor’s Kiss.

-Essin’ Em

Lucky you.  I learn these lessons, and then I post and write about them so that YOU don’t have to go through them.

Remember post break-up with J, last year?  I created a set of relationship rules for myself.  Long story short, don’t date younger people, don’t date college students, don’t date people without their own place, don’t date people without a job, don’t date people who live more than an hour away. I created these rules in response to many of the issues that broke apart our relationship, oh way back in 2007 (sounds crazy when I say that now).

However, I’ve already broken these rules.  L is a college student, F is a smoker.  L doesn’t have a job, F just started her own company and is struggling with the finances of it in this economy.  L lives with 3 other people — she is rarely alone. F has her own place now, but her last place was eating her soul.

And while these things certainly bothered me to some extent (I still hold that my BV was smoking related), they are things I dealt with because I cared about these people.  While at times frustrating, they were not deal breakers, and they didn’t cause our dating/relationships/partnerships/what have you to fail, as they did with J.

Ergo, I have come to this conclusion.  I cannot make a set of rules per se.  Ok, that’s a dirty lie. I can still have a basic set of rules, but I have to be willing to be flexible about them.  Instead, I’ve learned that I need to focus less on the other person, and on my needs. Yes, this means I need to be less counter dependent…which, since I refusing to be less caring and helpful regarding my friends, means that I need to be ok asking for things.

What do I want? I don’t want kids. I don’t really want to co-habit.  I don’t want to get married.  However, I don’t really want just a fuck buddy either (those are fine, but this is more of what I’m looking for in a long-er term situation).  I want someone to date, to have fun with, who I can cry with, have sex with, become fluid bonded with, who wants to go on spontaneous road trips, and likes to cook breakfast with me.

Here is a list of what I would like in a relationship like thing:

*Someone with a sex drive at least 3/4 of mine. I like to have sex, a lot. And for long periods of time. The first month F and I were together, we had sex 5-6 times a week, for hours at a time. And then that slowed down, but my sex drive didn’t. Can has wants sex0rs?

*Someone who will bring me soup when I’m sick. To be perfectly honest and needy, there is nothing I want more when I’m sick than Olive Garden minestrone (my second knee surgery, I went through six quarts in a week) or miso soup. However, I’m not picky.  Just soup.

*Someone who my cat(s) like. And who likes my cat(s). Because that is a deal-breaker.  They don’t have to be the pied piper of the feline variety, but my cat(s) are my kids.  End. Of. Story.

*Someone who gets, or is at least willing to try and understand my disability. No, I cannot walk up 3 flights of stairs. Some days, I can’t even make three or four stairs.  Someone who understands when I’m having a bad knee day. Someone who doesn’t think I’m making it up. Someone who gets that I’m bad enough to have an open narcotics prescription and doesn’t tell me to take advil when my knees hurt.  Someone that will visit me after my next surgery.

*Someone that gets my nerdy side as well as my kinky side, and my queer side. I’m not willing to pretend to be society’s idea of “cool” when I am not. At all. I embrace my nerdiness.  They should as well.

*Not a morning person. God, I hate that.  People should not wake up at 7am or 8am on the weekends. Just saying.

*They should be around my silliness level. If I want to dance in public (not at a club), it shouldn’t embarrass them. If I teach a strap on class wearing a harness and dildo, it shouldn’t be an issue. If I sing “I Touch Myself” at karaoke and fake an orgasm on stage, I’d rather they laugh than cover their eyes.

*I should trust them enough to be able to cry in front of them.  Other than my two best friends, I’ve met four people in my life that I can *actually* cry in front of instead of walking away, or changing the subject.  As I have a lot of trouble with this, it’s actually quite important.

*Someone that “gets” that I am a sex blogger, and write about sexuality, sex, reviewing sex toys, etc. I’m not stopping my blog for anyone.

*Someone who is attracted to me.  Not to my blog, my career, the fact I’m a BBW (god, I HATE that term), etc. Someone who thinks *I* am interesting and beautiful as a person. Not Essin’ Em. I don’t know if this makes sense to anyone else, but it’s important to me.

*Someone who is kinky, or at least willing to experiment. And if they’re not so into it, they’re ok with me going to play parties and play with others.

*Someone who communicates. Brings up issues, and is willing to talk. Not just in the bedroom, but in general.

*Someone who reads. Or at least understands why I read and am book obsessed.

That’s it for now.  Dear readers, especially those who have been following me for a while, what am I missing?  What else do I *need*?

-Essin’ Em

Warning: I’m going to talk about vaginas, gynos, body fluids, etc. If you can’t handle it, go away.

Hello. I’m Essin’ Em, a tired and weary sex blogger who is getting paid tons of money to bring you this PSA about…

Ok, that’s a dirty lie. I’ve decided, solely out of the goodness of my heart, to bring you this PSA. Which for some people, could be viewed as a Pussy Service Announcement, or as a Penis Service Announcement.

I went to Planned Parenthood the other week for my bi-annual (I’m told in San Fransisco, they tell the gay boys to do it every 3 months, but I can only afford every 6 months, and am low risk…so…yeah) STI testing. Oooh. Fun. I know.

This was actually an amazing visit.  Their staff (keep in mind I was in a Denver suburb…a fairly conservative suburb) was incredibly knowledgeable about queer things (they even brought up toys as a possible carrier for STIs, and then were really interested when I explained about sterilizable toys, and phthalates, etc). We had a good talk about our shared anger on companies (like Organon) not testing their birth control (like Implanton and the Patch) on “over weight women” and how stupid it was, since half of american women of child-bearing age are “over weight,” etc. I felt completely at home.

As usual, I got the full panel, and you’ll be glad to know that I am still STI free. Hurray! However, while I was on the nice little exam table, my feet spread apart in the stirrups, and with the doctor telling me that I had a nice cervix (seriously, every gyno I’ve seen has told me that. Apparently, my cervix is super sexy), I decided to take the plunge. I mean, I’d already told them that my main sex partner had other sex partners, that I was queer, that I used sex toys, etc. What was there to lose?

“So, um, I have a question. We have fairly rough sex/long sex sessions in general, and I’m usually spending the next day or two healing. However, I’ve been taking a really long time to heal. Like, as in, it still hurts. We use a lot of lube, and the soreness is fine, I just don’t know why it’s taking so long to heal.” She first did the “are you SURE you’re using enough lube” schtick, and once I assured her, she decided to take another look. In fact, my poor cunt’s PH was off, and after a look under the microscope, she realized that in fact…I had BV. (That’s Bacterial Vaginosis).

Yeah. Ugh. It’s not an STI – some non-sexually active people get it.  70% of pregnant women get it.  About half the people (XX bodied) who have it get a fishy like smell with it – that’s where that stereotype about women smelling like fish comes from. I was lucky…I actually didn’t have many of the symptoms…just the pain in the small vaginal tears (from sex) caused by the super acidic PH.  No fishy smell for me, luckily.

I am finished my antibiotics.  It’s “only” seven days…but seven days you can’t drink ANYTHING.  Even a sip or two of wine will make you throw up for hours.  So I waited till after my birthday party to start it (w/ doctor’s permission).  In the time I was on them, I took a friend for an abortion, Athena died, I got in a big fight with the fam, etc. I needed a drink, but of course, I didn’t drink. Now my vagina is all happy and healthy again :)

However, let me point out that I had none of the “traditional” symptoms. No odd colored discharge, no fishy smell, no itching or burning…just prolonged soreness from sex…minute tears that wouldn’t heal. Had I not brought it up, and asked, I would have never known. I could have let it get worse, I could have passed it on, etc.  My pills were $6 (without insurance) – well worth it for my vaginal health.

So know your body. If something feels different, if your period is usually regular and is suddenly sporadic, if sex (including masturbation) doesn’t feel as good anymore, if you’re lubricating way more than usual, you name it — talk to someone. Gynos are not just for STIs, birth control and open sores.  Find a good one – ask friends, call around, find one you can talk to.  Hell, I talked to my old physical therapist about using my knee e-stim unit as a kink item (how to do it safely). You’d be surprised at what your doc might be ok with.  But get yourself checked out.  Your body had earned that.  Know what is “normal” for YOU (not for anyone), and if that “normal” changes at all, get someone with a medical (I’m including Chinese/Alternative/Herbal medicine in this, if that’s your style) background to take a closer look.

And so concludes your PSA.

-Essin’ Em

(As a side note, I have a curriculum I’ve written for medical professionals on how to make their practice more LGBTQ inclusive.  If you or anyone you know would have use of this, or would like me to come present to them, please let me know)

Athena died yesterday.

Athena was one of my two babies, my kitties. I adopted her summer of 2007 in Philly, and she fit right in, becoming the alpha cat in my household.

She’s been feeling a little off the last few weeks, so I took her to the vet today. He told me she had a heart murmur of 4 out of 6, and that she needed tests. He told me we could do it there, or take her to an animal hospital, which might be easier, since she’d probably need to stay overnight.

I took her to the ER, and they took her back. After a sex of x-rays, they told me her heart was abnormally large, and it looked like she might have heart disease. She also had a lot of fluid built up in and around her lungs, which was why she had trouble breathing. They couldn’t put a catheter into her because she had such low blood pressure, but they finally got it up, and were able to get it in.

Once they drained her lungs, they put her in the oxygen cage to help her breathe, but all of this was stressing her out, so they took her out to let her calm down. She panicked, and the doctor came out to ask me what I wanted to do if she went into cardiac arrest. I wanted to see her first, but as we were talking, her heart stopped, and they started CPR. They let me back to see her, and to say goodbye. After 5 or so minutes of them trying, I told them to just let her go, and to euthanize her, so that she wouldn’t be in anymore pain. I couldn’t stop crying her, telling her I loved her, and how sorry I was. She died at 4pm, just 3 hours after I’d brought her to the vet.

For those of you who don’t know me so well, my cats are my kids. They mean everything to me. Losing Athena is one of the hardest things I’ve gone through in my life. She had only been in my life a year and a half, but she meant the world to me. A sweet cat, always in your lap, looking to be petted, always curling up into bed with me. I already miss her terribly, even though it hasn’t completely hit yet. It was so sudden, and I didn’t really have time to process this and say goodbye.

I miss my baby girl. I feel like a hole has been ripped into me. Not just into my heart, but into me. I feel guilty too – I wasn’t home last night, because I stayed due to the snow. I wasn’t home for her last night alive. And I should have taken her to the vet sooner, but I couldn’t afford it (and now, I owe slightly less than $800 from the ER visit…all on my credit card). I feel like a horrible mother. And I told Kinsey when I left with her that I’d be bringing his sister right back. And now she’s gone forever – he keeps looking for her around the apartment, and it keeps re-breaking my heart.

I keep thinking that I’m out of tears, that I’m done crying. I almost threw up earlier, I was sobbing so hard. I miss my baby. It hurts. It hurts so much. And it hurt even more that there as nothing more I could do to save her.

I know she’s out of pain. But she was only two and a half. I wasn’t even close to prepared for something like this to happen. I am stunned. Shocked. Floored. And I am ripped in half. She was my family, and now she is no longer with me. No more head butts, wake up meows, glares during sex, cuddles, nothing. My baby is gone.

And so is part of me.

I may be MIA for a while, as I try to deal with this deveastating loss. If you’d like to help with her vet bills (or my rent for next month, or both), please donate to the box on the right column. Otherwise, yeah. I got nothing. I just hurt so fucking much.

-Essin’ Em

The other day, I was lying in bed with F, her arms around me, as we drifted off to sleep.  And I was struck with a startling realization.

I didn’t want to have sex.

Ok, so I know for most people that this seems pretty run of the mill, mundane, average, etc.  But I almost ALWAYS want to have sex. I’m like a sex bot.  In fact, the only time I didn’t want to have sex was during all the Topomax drama last fall when I didn’t want to read about/write about/think about/talk about or have sex. So you can see why I was a little nervous.

In fact, in the past month, I think I’ve masturbated on my own maybe once?  As compared to 5-7 times a week that is my usual.  And yet F and I aren’t having sex nearly as often as we did the first month we were..well, whatever we are.

Part of me is worried about LBD. I’ve never been in a relationship with someone who lived in the same city for more than a month, and so I’ve never experienced anything even close to it.  I’m having to figure out how to build this relationship and friendship and all that around something more than sex (which is what is was primarily the entire first month). It’s hard.  I’m having to rethink things, which is fine, but now my body seems like it’s betraying me.  I want to masturbate, but I don’t remember to do it (WHAT?!!?!?!?), and when I do, I find it to be a little boring.

I wonder if this has to do with the depression of not having a job for 2+ months now (or now having a job that causes severe pain, and some nights doesn’t even pay enough for the gas it took to get there). I wonder if it has to do with being sick, getting better, being sick, getting better, and now I’m sick again. I’m sure it has to do with lots of things.

But I *am* sex. I have my degree in it, I write about it, I (usually) work in/around it somehow. So to not have this giant sex drive, this “hi, please fuck me now, kthnxby” attitude is scary. It’s a readjustment as to who I am, how I present myself, how I interact.

I said something to F, about not wanting sex. She laughed. I don’t know if she understood how scary it was to me to not feel like myself…but I think if I explained it, she would understand.

Things change. Humans change. Relationships change. We change. I change.

A few days later, my sex drive is back.  Thank the deities. I want to masturbate, and I want F to fuck me. But we haven’t had sex in more than a week.  I’m kind of sad about that.

I know things change. I’d just like to change in a way that kept my sex drive around, and that when it IS around, that I can have lots of sex…ok?

-Essin’ Em

I’ve gotten very used to being sick.  Throughout my life, if there was something odd and strange going around.  This sounds like hyperbole – it’s not.  In HS, I got whooping cough.  5 people in my entire school got it…I was the youngest person in the school, the closest to my whooping couch vaccination, and yet, I got it. I’ve had pneumonia twice (despite having had the vaccine).  In college, I used to get at least one sinus infection a month.  I was running out of antibiotics I wasn’t allergic to and that were effective, so I stopped taking them for anything less than bronchitis (which I had two or three times a year).

Before I moved to Germany, I went and saw an immunologist.  Apparently, I have an immune system disorder where now only am I really susceptible to things in general, but where vaccinations that are meant to last several years, or even longer, tend to dissipate in my system after one.  So I got revaccinated. For everything. Ever. From tetnus to pneumonia, menegitis to whooping cough…everything.

And I saw an ENT.  Apparently, due to all my illnesses, my cheek sinuses had closed off.  Also, I was hit on the bridge of my nose with a boomerang at Temple when I was three – after some CT scans, he found that it had caused a deviated septum, which therefore caused many of my sinus infections.  Three days after I moved back from Germany, I had sinus surgery.

I hadn’t been as sick since then.  As long as I kept up on my shots, and post-surgery, I was doing ok.  Then when I moved to Philly, I started getting sick more often again, and for longer periods of time. I blamed the pollution. But now, I’m back in Denver, and I’ve been sick three times since July 1st.  Not just like little colds, but like can’t breathe, can’t sleep, sleep all the time with nyquil, call out of work, want to curl up and die sick.  So maybe it’s just my past catching up to me.

I’ve gotten used to being sick, and being sick alone.  In college, I end up in the ER one night – they thought I had appendicitis and were going to operate.  I was alone in the ER, and I called my mother, who lived 70 miles away.  She told me she was going to go see a play, and then go to bed, and that I should call her with the results in the morning.  One year, I was throwing up for 3 days at the end of the semester, but she wouldn’t come down to get me.  She told me I needed to move out on my own, and then drive home once I stopped vomiting. When I had pneumonia, I went to the hospital alone for x-rays.  In Philly, I had on person come to the ER with me once (total of eight ER visits).  When I hurt myself with L, she came to the ER with me because she just couldn’t imagine not doing it.  I explained that I was fine, and was used to going by myself (side note, my mother lives 20 minutes away from the ER I was at…but didn’t come), and she as aghast.

I’m used to being sick alone too.  I lived alone for much of college, and my roommates were not friendly in Southampton, PA. In Philly, I lived alone.  I moved back here, and the first time I was sick, I was silly and called my mother. “I feel awful,” I said in between coughs. “I’d really like someone to bring me soup.” “Well, it’s not going to be me” was her response.  On Saturday (I’m sick again), she called to tell me she was home from visiting my sister.  ”I’m sick.  Would you like to meet somewhere with soup for dinner?” “I just drove this morning – I’m not going anywhere again to day.”

All I want right now is for someone to bring me soup.  I lied.  What I really want is for F to come over, with soup in hand (preferably Olive Garden minestrone, cause that is so my comfort food when sick), make a pot of tea for us, and lie in bed with me, holding me….maybe watching a movie, or just lying there.  That is what I want most right now.

But I’m so used to doing it on my own, and taking care of other people (there is a reason most of my friends and residents in college called me Mom), that I have trouble asking for help.  She was busy Saturday, when I wanted soup and to be held the most.  I called her and left a message “If you have time on your way to your friends house, and could drop off soup, I’d love you forever.”  That’s the closest I can get to asking.  Sometimes I have to ask – when I had my spinal tap last year, I needed to have someone drive me home, because the doctor’s office required it.  I had to have L drive me from mini-golf to the ER because I thought my right ankle was broken, and I didn’t want to call an ambulance.  But other wise, I do it on my own.  I go to the doctor, urgent care, the hospital alone.  I sit at home, typing this, instead of calling someone to ask a favor of them, because I’m counter dependent, and used to doing it on my own.

So I’ll say it here, where no one will feel obligated to do anything, because 99% of you don’t know me in real life, or if you do, you don’t live near by; I want vegetarian soup, and tea, and to be held, and to watch a funny movie, and for someone to stroke my hair as they tuck me into bed.

There. I’ve asked.