Personal


I write a lot, not as much on here as I used to, but I still write a lot. For better or worse, most of the writing tends to be on Twitter, though sometimes it is on Medium or Tumblr. Occasionally, there’s a Facebook post thrown in there. Can you digress in a first paragraph? So Twitter is a major platform for me to express myself. Sometimes I make pithy polls. Typically, the polls get between 2 and 20 votes. Lately, they’ve gotten a few more. When I responded to a person claiming that the Hamilton cast’s rebuke of Mike Pence was a vicious attack, the popularity of my pithy poll was easily attributed to Elon James retweeting it: Which is more vicious:@Sanrenkay @elonjames @maggieNYT — Janet Morris (@janersm) November 19, 2016 Last night, I stumbled across this response on Medium by Tom Steele to a post on New York prisoners being allowed (on average) 11 pads or tampons per month for use during their periods: One has t0 wonder if there is more to this story. 2.8 pads per woman per week, if I read that correctly, is 11 per month which seems like a lot. Some women would be expected to need less and it is hard to imagine many women needing more than that. I fully support providing the basic hygiene products required, like food, clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, towels, tampons, etc… I responded with an explanation of why 11 is an unfathomable number of pads. I followed that up with a screenshot and a pithy poll. Raise your hand if you have ever needed more than 11 pads or tampons for a period. pic.twitter.com/fA38Oeq222 — Janet Morris (@janersm) November 30, 2016 #period #periods #livetweetyourperiod #feminism #reprohealth (please RT) During your period do/did you typically go through: — Janet Morris (@janersm) November 30, 2016 I thought the maximum number of votes would be about 20. As of this moment, there are 8,937 votes in that poll. My mentions have been filled with stories by people who have (or have had) periods of all sorts, whether they’re long, short, or regular in length; heavy, light, or medium in flow; or occur regularly or irregularly. I’ve learned about supportive friends, clueless relatives, and how many people are frustrated by how little they’ve been taught or that they know about their own bodies. I understand all of that because I’ve experienced some of it, and because I’ve seen others go through similar struggles. I’ve gone through moments where I was excited because so many people were sharing their stories1 to moments where I just wanted to throw my iPod at the wall because so many people were sharing their stories. I wanted them to feel free to share them. I love the joking. But I’m confused about how to deal with all of it. When people ask questions, I want to be able to answer them. When they say something funny, I want to be able to laugh with them. When I empathize with something they’ve been through, I want to express it. I’m worried that I’m being rude if I don’t respond. I’m also worried that all I will ever be talking about again is periods. I know it’s only been like 24 hours, and that this will die down. But this experience is just a bit mind-blowing. I worry that Mr. Steele, as annoying as I find him, will be harassed. I worry that there might be other repercussions, and I feel guilty about that. It’s a little weird when I wanted a boycott over his reaction to emotional abuse and bullying, but I don’t want him to have any personal suffering over this stuff.2 He seems like he would be the kind of guy who would laugh this sort of thing off, and maybe he will. Or maybe he’ll learn a little from it. I can hope that’s what will happen, but I will always worry about the possible negatives because that’s what I do. I worry that maybe his Christmas vacation will be spent trying to ruin my Christmas dullness. As I typed that paragraph, 34 notifications piled up on Twitter.3 This is new. This is different. This is weird. This is life with social media…and I really need to learn to stop doing my pithy polls. When Mara Wilson shared it, I fangirled out. Gayle Forman commenting about it made me fangirl a bit, too. I think I have all of her books. ↩What I truly want from both is for him to learn the facts and not promote ignorance. ↩Oy with the poodles already. ↩

Accidentally Popular


My father’s anger issues are something that I’ve mentioned a few times over the years. Whatever is causing the dementia/memory issues seems to have made those issues even more prevalent. Any time that my mom opens her mouth, he yells at her. She could be talking to me and he will snipe at her. He’s thrown things. He is mad over everything and convinced that the world is out to get him. I can’t talk him down. I used to be able to be the voice of reason between the two of them, but his rage gets worse when I try. That rage has had ongoing consequences for me. He grabbed my right wrist months ago and I had some pretty bad bruising; it’s still weak and painful, and it pops when I move it. I told my therapist, but I refuse to get it checked out by a doctor because I know that they might have to report it to cops.1  My mom told me that it would be better if, when he’s acting out, I didn’t say anything to him about it. If he does something, we don’t confront him because the blame falls on us–even if it doesn’t involve us in any way. I thought he was scary before all of this, but I never knew just how bad he could get. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. I keep making excuses for him because I know that even though he’s always had anger issues that something else is making him like this. This isn’t my dad. This is like my grandfather and I don’t want my dad to be like that man. I want my dad to be himself again. I want him to talk to his doctors about what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling; and I want him to be honest about his symptoms. He has lied to them and that’s impeding his treatment. I want him to let one or both of us talk to his doctors. How are they going to know about the rage? How will they know about the anxiety attacks he has every week when he goes to the grocery store with my mom?2 How will they figure out what’s going on in his head if he won’t tell them? Mom tried to ask him what she could do because she’s trying to figure out how they can get along. He doesn’t want her to try because he doesn’t think that anything will make their relationship better. In other words, he wants to be angry with her and take out all of his anxiety & aggression on her. This isn’t healthy and it isn’t right. I just want things to be better. The code of ethics for a social worker prevents her from sharing the information. ↩He won’t let her go with me instead of him. ↩

Tales from the Angry Side




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This is a meme that I participate in every year on LiveJournal. Even if you get nothing, it’s still a fun meme because it allows us to be kids again and make Christmas lists. Let’s face it, that kind of dreaming and hope is fun. So here’s my wishlist this year. If you want to make one, leave me a link and I’ll post it here. THE ORIGINAL MEME: STEP ONE Make a post (public, friends-locked, filtered… whatever you’re comfortable with) to your LJ. The post should contain your list of ten holiday wishes. The wishes can be anything at all, from simple and fandom-related (“I’d love a Snape/Hermione icon that’s just for me”) to medium (“I wish for _____ on DVD”) to really big (“All I want for Christmas is a new car/computer/house/TV”). The important thing is to make sure these wishes are things you really, truly want. If you wish for real life things (not fics or icons), make sure you include some sort of contact info in your post, whether it’s your address or just your email address where Santa (or one of his elves) can get in touch with you. Your home address is not required! Make sure you post some version of these guidelines in your LJ so that the holiday joy will spread. STEP TWO Surf around your friends list (or friendsfriends, or just random journals) to see who has posted their list. And now, here’s the important part… You needn’t spend money on these wishes unless you want to. The point isn’t to put people out, it’s to provide everyone a chance to be someone else’s holiday elf – to spread the joy. Gifts can be made anonymously or not – it’s your call. There are no guarantees with this project, and no strings attached. Just… wish, and it might come true. Give and you might receive. You’ll have the joy of knowing you made someone’s holiday special. THE LIST I have listed more than 10 things. My list this year is a little different from past ones. I have always requested chocolate, but I developed an allergy to peanuts this last year, so I thought it might not be the best idea to request food anymore. I know it’s weird for me to mention this here. 1. Donate to any of these organizations: 1in6 ACLU, ADL, Alabama Arise, ASPCA, Black Lives Matter, CAIR, Center for Reproductive Rights, Disability Rights Education and Defense Fund, EarthJustice, EMILY’s List, GreenPeace, Guttmacher, Human Rights Campaign, Human Rights Watch, Lambda Legal, Mexican American Legal Defense Fund, NAACP and its Legal Defense Fund, NARAL, National Abortion Federation, National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty, National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, National Organization for Women, NRDC, Planned Parenthood, ProPublica, RAINN, RSF, She Should Run, SPLC, Trevor Project, Union of Concerned Scientists, USA for UNHCR, Women’s Refugee Commission I think that, given the current political/social climate, they’re going to need all of the support they can get. If you want to donate in your name, that’s fine. If you want to donate in my name, that’s fine. 2. A plush-style throw/blanket. I don’t really have any specific color or fandom requests on this.1 3. A subscription to a service like OwlCrate, InfinityCrate, or LootCrate. I have friends who subscribe to these services, and I’m always envious of them. 4. A Barkbox or LootCrate Pet subscription for Amy Pond (my dachshund/boss) because she’s my bestie. She’s not a miniature; she’s about 20 pounds. 5. Funko products featuring any of my fandoms. I have some Pop!, mugs, and a plush, and I think all of their stuff is awesome, so I’m not going to be picky about this. 6. Shot glasses. I don’t drink, I just collect them. 7. Tea pots. I also collect these. 8. Coffee Mugs. Yep, these too. I do drink coffee, though. 9. Makeup. Specifically NYX lip gloss. I’ve run out of some and broken the containers of others. I like all sorts of colors, but the browns don’t look very good on me. 10. Accessories. Hats, socks, scarves, headbands, purses, barettes, necklaces, bracelets. I absolutely need a wallet. Belts if they’re made for plus-size women. 11. Crafting and sewing stuff. Knitting, crocheting, embroidery, quilting, sewing, jewelry making stuff, adult coloring books, colored pencils, markers, beads, fabric, safety pins. 12. Obligatory teddy bear/stuffed animal request. 13. Paypal/Square donations (email for that is personal[dot]janet[at]fuzzypinkslippers[dot]com) or donations to my GoFundMe, which will help for repairs needed on my house. There’s also my Patreon, where I’m always looking for patrons. 14. Gift cards from iTunes, Lane Bryant, Starbucks, Target, Torrid, & Zenni. 15. Anything from Amazon.com wishlist. It’s fine if it’s something that’s used or that you find somewhere else. Fandoms 2 Broke Girls, Angel/Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Arrowverse, Auburn, The Big Bang Theory, The Blacklist, Charmed, Dakota Johnson, Disney, Doctor Who, Friends, Game of Thrones, Glee, Gilmore Girls, Harry Potter (esp. “my house” Hufflepuff), Hello Kitty, How to Get Away with Murder, Hunger Games, iZombie, Jamie Dornan, Jane the Virgin, Kate Winslet, Leonardo DiCaprio, Marvel, Once Upon a Time, Orphan Black, Outlander, Peanuts, Pretty Little Liars, Project Runway, Scream Queens, Star Trek, Star Wars, Stranger Things, Supernatural, Taylor Swift, True Blood, Twilight, UNC, Westworld Interests Crafts, fashion, reading, listening to music, singing, walking, cooking, hair, makeup, politics (progressive/liberal/left-wing), feminism, green living, cute stuff, photography Favorite colors pink, purple, baby blue, silver, red Contact If you need my address, email me at janet.main@fuzzypinkslippers.com There are two at Walmart that I adore. One is a stock image of London that’s black & white except for a red phone box. The other is a stock picture of Paris. But I would be just as happy with a solid color one. ↩

Holiday Wishlist Meme 2016



I’m considering alcoholism. I figure that with my family’s history of alcohol and drug addiction, my OCD, and my personal tendency toward addictive behavior in other areas, I’ve got a good shot at becoming one within a few days. Of course I’ve never actually had alcohol, don’t have the money to afford alcohol, would probably get excommunicated from my church if I tried it, and alcohol will interfere with the Effexor, GERD, my pouch from gastric bypass surgery, and any part of my digestive tract that still absorbs pretty much anything, so this may not be a workable plan. L’chaim! Also, a big fuck you to the Republican Party, any media outlet that gave Trump free coverage early on, people in the alt-right, Jill Stein, James Comey, Gary Johnson, Evan McMullin, all of the Trump voters,1 and anyone else who has contributed to the election of Hitler 2.0. Your “ideals”2 are of little comfort to those of us who Trump & his ilk have threatened, doxed, harassed, bullied, or targeted. “Words – so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne even those of you who are friends and family ↩Is it really an ideal if it leads to discrimination or injury of another party? ↩

Mazel Tov Cocktails for the Molotov Enthusiasts


Today was my last daily injection of Vitamin B-12. Now I’m going to weekly injections. Eight weeks from tonight, I’ll be back on monthly injections. So far I can’t tell that the shots have done anything. I only know that every time I give myself a shot, I feel more exhausted. It’s a paradoxical effect, but it’s one I’ve always had with B-12. My breathing is still crappy. My heart rate is through the roof. My dizziness and tendency toward disorientation has gotten worse. I was dizzy for about 3 hours last night after hearing a cowbell effect on a Mississippi State sports story; I wasn’t dizzy before the effect played. Sounds have often thrown me off a bit, but never quite that bad. I still have a couple of weeks before I’m supposed to go to the pulmonologist. Keep your fingers crossed that it won’t get worse. Speaking of appointments, tomorrow is dad’s appointment for the neurologist. Since his MRI, EEG, Doppler, and standard memory tests all came back normal, he’s convinced that he’s not got dementia. He thinks it is all just regular age-related memory loss. I’m afraid the doctor will feed into that. I don’t think he’s told him how dizzy he gets or about his headaches. I don’t know if he’s told him just how bad his memory loss has been. I don’t know if he’s told him how angry he’s gotten. I know that there is something wrong with him and I don’t know what it is. And I have this horrible feeling that it’s only going to get worse.  

A Bruising Hiatus



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If you’ve been following me on Twitter, you know that I am currently rather pissed at the Huntsville CBS affiliate, WHNT, for their planned special tonight called the Dark Side of All Hallows’ Eve. In the ads for their story talk about Huntsville’s police department once having a special occult crime division. The ads also feature images of Jeffrey Franklin and comments about the crimes he committed on March 10, 1998. Jeffrey killed his parents before trying to kill three of his four siblings on that night. He also attacked the best friend of his 14-year old sister. I can tell you a lot about the night. More than a lot of people can. His sister was my friend. His sister’s friend was also my friend and on Yearbook staff with me; she talked about that night in class. My mom was the person who carried the medical records of his sister to the hospital. She stayed there until my friend was in the ICU. We went back to the hospital on a regular basis until it was time for them to leave town. From the start, Jeffrey was painted as evil by the media. Even when the evidence came to light that he had 10 times the normal dose of Ritalin in his blood twelve days after the crime.1 Even when people started mentioning that he was mentally ill. Even when the state of Alabama thought he was mentally incompetent from 1999 until 2001, and even though the state of Alabama has had him in the mental healthcare unit of the prison since his sentencing began, instead of in general population, he has been portrayed as this supernatural killer. That kind of stigmatizing attitude is damaging to the whole community and it needs to stop. Personally, I’m tired of reliving that night. It’s been almost twenty years and local news outlets are still pushing it. They keep trying to make a buck off of the suffering of my friend’s family. They keep trying to profit on the suffering of the people I grew up with, of the choir that we were in together, of me, of my mom. This has to stop at some point. I know that the story was shocking and gruesome and that it sticks with people. It’s stuck with me, too. At a certain point, enough is enough. I wish he hadn’t made the choices he did that night. I wish that a lot of things were different about that whole situation. But forcing us to go through it over and over is cruel. He had been in jail since the night it occurred. ↩

And then I fell down yelling, “Make it go away!”


Well, I’m anemic, but I’m not. It isn’t my iron that’s low.1 It’s my B12. It’s around 300 pg/mL right now, which is low for most of the world,2 but it’s not low according to American standards.34 Fortunately, the hematologist’s office realizes that those standards are messed up and that a person who takes monthly injections of B12 shouldn’t have a level that low. They also realize that the gastric bypass surgery and my family’s predisposition to the B12 deficiency makes me more likely to have issues absorbing it and maintaining high enough levels. So now I get to re-load on B12. That means 1 shot a day for 7 days, then 1 shot a week for 7 weeks, then 1 shot a month like I’ve been doing for years. Fun, right?5 The nurse practitioner also wants me to be checked out by a pulmonologist6 and, possibly, a cardiologist.7 She definitely wants me to undergo a pulmonary function test. She said that it could be that when I fell  at the pool several weeks ago, the water that I breathed in may have caused some issue in my lungs that I’m just not over yet.8 The other possible thing was the day that my dad put Clorox in the toilet. I didn’t think and I peed in a toilet bowl full of Clorox which led to a rather enjoyable release of chloramine gas.9 I coughed for days afterward and felt like something had scorched my lungs and throat.10 Well, technically, there are other possible reasons for my breathing to be so rough. I do have a history of severe asthma and severe allergies. Vitamin B12 deficiency itself can cause shortness of breath, but it’s a rare occurrence when it happens. Of course, rarities are my specialty.11 I need to go shoot up12 with some cyanocobalamin.13 The magic of birth control pills. ↩The low end of normal elsewhere is around 500 pg/mL. That’s where symptoms like fatigue, pale skin, dementia, etc. start occurring. ↩The low end of the American range is 200 pg/mL. ↩Bad standards. Very bad. ↩If you say yes, then there’s something wrong with you. ↩Lung doctor. ↩I guess because I have ongoing issues with tachycardia. Shortness of breath is linked with tachycardia. ↩Face-planting in the water is dangerous, yo! ↩Yeah, science, bitch! ↩A sane person might have gotten checked by a doctor after that experience, but I’ve never been a sane person. ↩As are face-plants, social awkwardness, and gourmet cooking; a lady must have an entire repertoire of mad skillz. ↩My thigh muscle. ↩Don’t call the cops. It’s totally legal. ↩

I’m Not Crazy, I’m Just a Little Unwell



For people who have known me since childhood, this isn’t an unsurprising revelation. It was when I first told them. My friends would always ask me why and it was difficult to explain. It wasn’t a religious thing. It wasn’t that I hated Halloween — I will always love Halloween. It was more a habit born out of a lack of safety in the neighborhood I had once lived in. Before I was 8 years old, I lived in a rather unsafe neighborhood. Gang fights on my corner were not unusual. If I was out after dark in our neighborhood, both of my parents were with me. My dad wasn’t typically home early enough to go trick-or-treating, and my mom did not feel comfortable taking me out without him. So we gave out candy to the few kids who decided to brave it. Usually, we were done by about 7 because it just wasn’t a big deal in that neighborhood. Right after my 8th birthday, my parents and I moved into the house with my grandfather. He lived in a safer neighborhood, so it would have been fine for me to go — I could have even gone without my mom. But I didn’t. I handed out candy. All of my friends who lived in my neighborhood seemed to come by my house, and I got to see all of their costumes. It was pretty awesome. I never felt like I was missing out on the fun. If we had candy left over at the end of the night, I could pilfer it. (We typically didn’t.) The only time I really went out trick-or-treating, I went as a chaperone for my foster sister. I was fifteen and she was twelve. We only walked down our street, but it was fun. I still didn’t get candy — since I wasn’t really going out for that. I did get some money from one of the neighbors. Instead of candy, he was giving out coins for people who could correctly answer math problems. I had always been in advanced math classes and was in Algebra II that fall, so racking up money was pretty easy. Regardless of where we lived, I dressed up every year until middle school and once as an adult at a church dance. One year I was a purple bunny. Another I was a ballerina. I dressed up in an antebellum-style dress the year that I discovered the movie Gone with the Wind. I even dressed up as a clown one year. My favorite costume was when I dressed up as Maleficent, my favorite character from Sleeping Beauty — actually, she’s my favorite from any Disney movie. My mom made my costumes and didn’t seem to mind that I always wanted to dress up in fun styles, even if I didn’t go out asking for candy. I’ve attended events that were Halloween-themed, as a child and as an adult. I’ve been to haunted houses and mazes, which weren’t all that thrilling. (I don’t get scared when watching thrillers and horror films, so that makes sense.) I’ve gone to autumn festivals at school. When I was 8, I had a Halloween party and three or four friends came over. It was actually the day after Halloween, which made getting food and stuff a lot easier. (Yay, post-holiday candy sales!) We had a cookie cake and used toilet paper to turn each other into mummies — you know, without the wire hanger up the nose and the organ preservation. (Yeah, I went there.) Being the day after also meant that we didn’t dress up for the party, which was probably a good thing since it was a rainy day and everyone had walked over. When I was 24, I went to a Halloween Young Single Adults (YSA) dance with other 18–30 year-old members of the LDS church in my region. I dressed up as a hippie that night and won the costume contest. I also lost one of my favorite earrings in the world on the side of I-65 that night, so there were good times and bad ones. I didn’t enjoy the good as much as I should have because I had already had a bad month — one week earlier, my friend’s car caught fire when I was in it, then I sprained my ankle later that night — so losing my earrings just added, for lack of a better phrase, fuel to that fire. RIP beloved earrings. Anyway, I digress. I know that for people who aren’t from the United States that missing out on something like trick-or-treating might seem like it isn’t that big of a deal, but it sort of is. It’s a part of our culture, especially if you’ve been privileged enough to grow up in a place where it is safe to go out. So not having that experience did sometimes make me feel like an outsider, but I didn’t really feel safe enough to have that experience — even when it actually was safe. It’s weird that I do sort of regret not having the experience. But I’m also okay with not having it. I guess that’s one of those complicated things about being an adult — coming to terms with the stuff that you experienced or didn’t experience when you were younger. But I hope that if I have kids some day that I get to take them out trick-or-treating or, at least, let them dress up like their favorite characters because I think that getting that night of fun and make-believe is really important. Happy Halloween.

I Never Went Trick-Or-Treating As a Kid


Last Monday, I moved my appointments with the hematologist up. The lab tests were done on Tuesday afternoon. My actual visit with the hematologist is tomorrow. Well, I assume it’s with him. It could be a physician assistant or a nurse practitioner. I’m actually worried now that I’m not really anemic. Sure, my skin is looking a bit more gray than it usually does, I’ve been covered up under a blanket on 80°F+ days, I crave protein like a person on a planet made of lettuce, and I get winded by just picking up a book,1 but I could just be crazy. I mean, we all know that I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. What if I’m just going further down the rabbit hole that is my brain? That could be all it is. But I know that this freaking out feeling that I have right now is the same sort of thing I always go through when I’m actually sick. I know that I have a tendency to worry about things that aren’t worth worrying about, but I’m also pretty damn certain that my anemia is something that is worth worrying about. And if I’m not in an anemic state, then I need to figure out why I’ve felt so shitty for so long. So if I’m not anemic,2 I need to know that. But I know that it is pretty unlikely that I’m not anemic right now. According to labs, my serum iron has headed downward at a steady rate. That rate was meant to hit the anemic stage in December, but I had two periods over the past several months that lasted at least 2 weeks and were extremely heavy. That would have sped it up slightly. Medically, the diagnosis is in the bag. Maybe I’m just worried that it’ll be low and I’ll have to get an infusion and those scare the shit out of me. Ugh. I try not to freak out like this, but I’m like sitting here shivering3 trying to convince myself that I’m either not nuts or totally nuts when it comes to this very issue. Sometimes I hate my brain and my body. It feels like they team up to make me miserable. And in the past 32 years, they have gotten quite good at accomplishing their goal. Photo credit: euthman via VisualHunt / CC BY No, really. ↩And I probably am. ↩It’s 76°F outside right now. ↩

What If I’m Just Nuts