I just got a letter from the Social Work department at A&M. I began to panic. I began to think that maybe they were rethinking my position in the program. I know what I’d said to my advisor through my journal about being bipolar was confidential, but that didn’t keep me from thinking that maybe she said something about it. I carefully opened the envelope. All it said was that I should have a good rest of the summer and that they’re looking forward to my participation in Social Work programs and classes. I’ve really got to stop jumping the gun.

I was told by “Val” at the Mental Health Center that GSK required that I apply for Medicaid before they would send me my next shipment of medication. I searched the site for a program that I would qualify for. The only thing that was remotely close to something I could apply for was the Low Income Families program. That was a long shot, but I filled out the application online. In the end, it said I wasn’t eligible. I was too old. If I had been pregnant, though, then it would have been a sure thing. Well, I called GSK this morning to let them know. Guess what they said? They didn’t want me to apply for Medicaid in the first place. They knew I wouldn’t qualify. Val made the whole thing up. Ugh. And this is the same woman who is supposed to take care of my Effexor and Geodon prescriptions. I used to like her when she was a receptionist, but now as an “advocate” she’s just a huge pain.

I have an appointment tomorrow with the lovely people at the Social Security office about my SSI claim. I had to change my appointment time yesterday and I got to speak to the kindest person in the world. I called and said that I needed to change my appointment. I gave the date and time of my current appointment, but the person needed to know who my appointment was with. I looked on the sheet. There was no name. I told the person this. She kept pestering me to tell her who my appointment was with, and I kept telling her that there was no name. Finally she looked the whole thing up and switched me to that person. The person gave me her name, but I was so close to having a panic attack (phones are evil) that I have no clue what she said. I just know my appointment will be at 3:30 instead of 2:30. Hopefully, I can make that appointment.

I’m nervous about the appointment. I have to take bank statements with me to prove that I’m not to “rich” to receive SSI benefits. I don’t think I have too much in my accounts, but I don’t know. I’m scared that they’ll deny me if I have just 1 cent too much. It’s weird to think that you can be physically or emotionally disabled, but you may not get accepted into a program because you have too much money…even when you don’t have much money at all.

On Saturday, I get to meet Natasha, or, as I refer to her, Tasha. I’m rather excited about it. I’ve never met anyone from online before, so this is kind of a anxiety-inducing thing. I’m happy, but I’m anxious. I hope it goes well. We get along so well online, but I tend to be a bit more shy and awkward offline than I am online. I just hope everything goes well.

Oh, and right now I’m debating with a guy/girl called “Testament” over whether God would love an axe murderer more than a good non-Christian. Apparently, God loves axe murderers more because they’ve accepted Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. That just seems wrong to me.

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Today, I had an appointment with my pdoc. I always seem to leave there feeling more relieved than I feel when I leave Gulshan. Today, I left with that feeling about my appointment, but not about my medicines. My Effexor dose has been decreased to 37.5 mg, while my Lithium was increased to 3 times a day and my Geodon was increased to 2 80 mg capsules at bedtime. I have to call Val to get my patient assistance programs switched for the Effexor and Geodon.

I was hoping to get my Klonopin dose changed because I’ve had a lot of problems with anxiety recently. I guess my doctor thought that the being more paranoid and delusional trumped the increase in anxiety. I guess being anxious could be tied in with the paranoia, though.

I have the feeling, again, that my doctor may be taking me off of Effexor. I mean, 37.5 is a pretty weak dose. I still don’t want to be taken off of it, even if it isn’t working as well as it used to. It’s just a staple of my life that I’m afraid to let go of. I’m also afraid of what he might put me on instead of Effexor because I know I can’t manage without an anti-depressant.

Marie brought up something about me almost being in skinny people clothes. I thought that I should point out that, though I can sometimes wear regular sized clothes, I have to wear plus size pants. My hips and belly don’t seem to want to shrink. I mean, they’ve gotten quite a bit smaller since I had the surgery…I can actually wear pants (jeans, especially) that they sell at stores now.

You know, I’m sick of some of the people who talk about John Roberts and say that it shouldn’t matter what his stance on abortion is. It does matter. It matters to all the women who may have their right to choose taken away. It matters to all the people who know that if that right is taken away that women will die from “kitchen table abortions”. Some have said that he’ll leave Roe v. Wade along, but he’ll support the ban on “partial-birth abortions”, which I think is enough for me to not like him. Banning a procedure that actually saves lives seems to be wrong to me. Ugh. I get the feeling that Roberts is not a centrist and that he’s just another Conservative cronie that Bush is putting on the bench to royally screw over America.

Oh, I liked “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”. I thought it was well-written, but the ending really got to me. Unlike a lot of people, I didn’t cry. I was just dumbfounded. J.K. Rowling had guts to end the story the way she did. I never thought she’d do what she did.

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On Friday afternoon, while watching The Ring, I had a panic attack. No, not because of the movie because scary movies don’t scare me…ever. I had a panic attack because an Animal Control Officer came by. Apparently, “someone” reported that we had animal feces and a horrible smell coming from our backyard. He had to check it out. Luckily, my dad was home, so he checked it out with him. The officer found no feces and no odor. While he was at our house, he called in to the office to see if the tags and shots were up to date for Xander, Molly, and Gretchen.

This wasn’t first time “someone” had reported us to Animal Control. Some of you may remember a few months back when we were reported for the same thing (except it was our whole yard instead of just the back yard) to both Animal Control and the Health Department. Both of these times we knew EXACTLY who did it. My dad has pointed to his house on both occasions. When the Health Department came by, they basically confirmed our suspicions. Maybe he reported us to them again and they realized he was full of it. I wish that he could be fined for falling false reports. It’s annoying and causes me to have panic attacks. His family has hated us since his stepson gave me head lice back when I was 8. Of course, they never admitted that his stepson was the one who passed the lice to me, but it was rather obvious since his daughter had the same problem before I ever had lice. It’s only been since we got Xander that he’s truly gotten obnoxious and started going to extreme lengths. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the person who reports us whenever he thinks we’re doing something “unsightly” like having the grass an inch over what the city ordinance says. He’s that big of a pain. He once sent a note to Michelle, another of our neighbors (one we get along with), telling her to get rid of a yellow chair that she had in her front yard. The chair was there so that a vine could grow on it. It was going to be quite lovely. Still, it was fall in line or get reported to the city.

I had to get tank tops yesterday (the straps have been falling apart on my old ones), and instead of getting Juniors XL’s (15), I had to get Misses and Womens XL’s (16 and 16/18). Why? Well, apparently, my breasts are too large to fit into the Juniors clothes now. That’s really funny since when I wear Womens clothing the bust area is too big. My boobs are confusing. I have trouble finding bras to fit them because they’re too big (bust size, not cup size) for the “normal” sizes and too small (cup size, not bust size) for plus size bras. (I’m a 40B, but sometimes I fit into a 38C.) I wish they were either bigger or smaller. That way I could finally get clothes in one specific size.

I got my copy of “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” on Saturday afternoon. I had pre-ordered it through Amazon.com, and I was actually expecting it on Friday. (A lot of times when you pre-order with them, you get it the day before.) Well, it didn’t come, and I was depressed. I checked on the website and they said it was coming via UPS, which was even more depressing because UPS doesn’t deliver on Saturdays. Then, when I went to check the mail on Saturday, I saw this white box that had been stuffed into our mailbox. I saw Amazon.com and then Harry Potter on the side. Well, I became like a little kid right then. I was about to squeal with joy. I ran to the front door. Once I got inside, I wanted to open it right away, but I had a letter from A&M’s financial aid department. I was brought back down to earth by that. After I was “through” with the letter, I opened the box. I didn’t get to start reading the book until later that evening because I had to work on the Heavenly Creatures fanlisting that also made me squeal with joy when I got the e-mail about it.

One of our guinea pigs, Albie, died yesterday. I found him and I was in tears last night. I kept blaming myself because I’d screwed up one of my routines on Saturday night, so I just “knew” that it had to be my fault that he died. On some level, I knew it wasn’t really my fault, but on another, I was absolutely convinced that I caused his death. It seems like whenever I screw up my routines, something bad happens. I forgot to pray for my maternal grandfather back in 1996, he died the next day. Then, I chose not to pray for my paternal grandfather (because I figured it wouldn’t matter if I did) later that year and he died the next day. I went around for years thinking I’d pretty much killed my grandfathers. I knew that I didn’t actually kill them, but I felt responsible for their deaths. So, I try really hard not to mess with any of my routines. Then, if I do mess up, I pray for forgiveness and that nothing bad will happen. Then, when something bad happens, I figure that I didn’t pray hard enough or I screwed up beyond repair. I know that it sounds crazy when I write it out, but it’s part of how my mind works. It’s part of what I deal with on a day-to-day basis.

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I accidentally deleted a comment in my opinionated section today. When I say accidentally, I truly mean it, though I’m sure that the commenter will say that I did it to silence her or because I’m afraid of “the truth” or some other BS that people say when you delete something they say online. I’ve thought about e-mailing her and asking her to rewrite what she said, but honestly, I don’t really care what she said. She acted like she had a right to post on my website. Now, I usually love my commenters and I enjoy debating, but I would like to point out that the only person who truly has the right to say anything on here is me. I could make the comments sections go away. I could take the questions page away. I could “silence” everyone. I don’t, though, because I’m interested in what others have to say. I do, however, reserve the right to delete any comments, questions, etc. that I don’t feel comfortable with, especially abusive ones. I also reserve the right to ban IPs of people who make said comments, questions, etc.

Speaking of commenters in my opinionated section, I’ve apparently struck a nerve with one guy. Apparently, I’m not a Christian because I believe in a woman’s right to choose and because I’m a “liberal”. (He put it in quotation marks for some very odd reason.) Apparently, I’m not putting Christ first and not focusing on His will, so I can’t be a good little Christian girl. Now, forgive me if I’m wrong, but didn’t God give us free will? Didn’t He basically say that how we live our lives is up to us? Now, following this train of thought, most Christians believe Jesus is God (I don’t…I see the trinity as three separate entities), so…if God wants us to have free will then He would want us to be able to choose what happens with our lives and bodies. So, wouldn’t it go against His will if we told people that we know what’s best for their lives? And does anyone really put Christ first? Maybe a few people, but most put themselves or their families first. When you wake up in the morning, is your first thought “What would Jesus like for me to do today?” I seriously doubt that it is. I may not know how “normal” people think, but I do know a little about “normal” people, and one thing I know is that people, by nature, care about themselves and their families first. Does that mean everyone is going to Hell? I doubt it. If God can love the judgemental people, then surely He can love the “selfish” and the “liberals”. (BTW – Jesus was a “liberal”. )

I feel bad for the people of London today. A day after they find out that they’re going to host the Olympics in a few years, they have such a tragedy happen. It’s sad. You know what’s weird? Giuliani was in London today. I think he’s a beacon for terror. Maybe he should have to spend some time on an island isolated from the rest of society. I don’t think he brings good luck to any city. Okay, so it has just been two cities where he was present during major acts of terrorism, but it seems a little odd to me.

Xander has gotten to where he wants to sleep in my room again. He hadn’t been doing that for a long time, since some time after we got Molly. He’s slept in my room twice this week. Gretchen also has wanted to sleep in my room twice this week. Of course, she’s wanted to sleep back there because she’s terrified of fireworks and firecrackers.

I’m very annoyed with lithium. It has made life very difficult. My hands shake a lot of the time now. I have trouble holding books. I haven’t even tried to write anything. I keep trying to tell my hands not to shake, but they won’t stop. At least I know why I had really bad tremors for almost two years. Apparently, it really wasn’t a brain tumor or something up in my head…it was just my stupid lithium.

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