7 vials of blood!
Last night I had this trippy dream I was in some abandoned lot and then some malevolent guy in a balaclava was driving around and I realized I was going to be one of the Missing Women, and then I got saved by Cute Toppy Girl who had spectacular cleavage, and then she made me walk around in revealing clothes and we were going to have lunch with the guy we had a three way with in high school. And then I woke up and . . .
I was all doped up and my mom drove me to the doctor early this morning. She’s checking my iron levels, Epival levels, electrolytes, blood sugar, thyroid, hiv status, and a bazillion other things. Anyway, I ended up having seven vials of blood being taken to go through a battery of tests. The good news is that this is the first time I wasn’t told that I had highly toxic epival levels. Currently I’m on 750mg of Epival (that’s Depakote to you Americans). However I have to admit I was a chicken and didn’t say anything about wanting to get off psych meds completely.
I STILL have the Lamictal rash, although it is slight compared to the initial outbreak.
Then since I didn’t have the strength to take the bus home, I had to sit in on my mom’s art history class and hear all about Pudlo Pudlat, who’s a really funny artist by the way. This was my favorite piece by him, “Imposed Migration,” which shows a walrus, polar bear, and musk ox being airlifted out of the arctic.
Actually, he did a better helicopter in a different piece.
I feel gross, yucky, bleh. After the Pudlo Pudlat lecture mom drove me home and I watched The Night Listener. Robin Williams as Armistead Maupin was kind of bizarre, but I think it got the gist of the book, and it was a true story, which I suspected when I first read the Night Listener. I read it at an apartment I was subletting in Montreal, it was so cute, it was a gay man’s apartment and he had like, 18 gay porn videos, and a copy of Breakfast At Tiffany’s. I have to say I appreciated the gay porn better than Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He also had great fag classics like Picture of Dorian Grey and Isherwood’s Berlin Novels.
It was sweet, in a strange way, strange quebecois insects and the steady certainty of gay pornography.
Then I passed out for three hours and had a dream I was in a John Cameron Mitchell musical where he was like, the torso of a blow up doll, but made out of jello, and just kind of laying in the sand wriggling and singing opera.
Then I watched Who Killed The Electric Car and I was trying really hard to feel some kind of socially conscious outrage, but it was so LA centric that I found it hard to take seriously. I dunno. It was okay. But it wasn’t as eye opening as say, Waco Rules of Engagement. I kept feeling my attention drift to some lesbian BDSM erotica which I had read dozens of times before and which I never liked in the first place because it had too many run on sentences.
Now I’m watching Talk To Her, since Volver isn’t in the theatres anymore and I wanted to watch some pretty Almodovar. But I had to take a break.
Life’s pretty boring. Mostly I’m just laying in my room with the humidifier on. I’m trying to give myself a break from thinking, and it’s probably a good thing. Thinking about psych trauma anyway.
Raindrops keep falling on my head . . .
I hope these tests show SOMETHING, even if it’s just that I have to eat more red meat or something. I’m not really worried about the hiv test, because I really haven’t done anything since my last test. I guess I just wanted it to be totally absolutely sure. This must be my eighth hiv test now. I’m curious about the thyroid screen though, because the psychic I saw said I should get it tested, and she’s been eerily correct about everything else. Next monday I’ll find out what’s going on. In the meantime, I just want this cold to go away.
My throat feels miles better, just sort of swollen and sore.