There are both profoundly good and profoundly bad things you can find forming across your body at any given time. While a good thing would be anyone daft enough to sleep with me, the opposite, a large body wide rash decided it was a jolly good idea to appear instead.

Of course I am not cruel enough to post pictures and send the general female populace into a mating frenzy like the last time (although you will need to read the word “mating” as “vomiting”) I dared share photographic evidence of my existence, but do allow me the mercy of discussing this event textually. If need be you may send me any video clips of feverish masturbation that occurred as a result (or vomiting as we already mentioned, as that would probably appeal to one of my fetishes I’m yet to discover) and I’ll make sure to give myself a right and dandy thrashing about while watching them to help calm things down.

No one ever sends videos.

Well………….no one without a penis at least.

SO MY RASH, I named him Peter. Peter’s a nice name for a rash, not really a nice name for a person but a pretty good name for a rash. Most Peters are assholes………or rashes, which is probably why it’s not a good name for a person.

For those of you still clinging on to hope for a single sembling piece of logical progression in this entry: Peter’s existence came into being when I turned hypersensitive to my anti-convulsant medication and entered a state of dangerous perpetual delirium already proven by the contents of this entry several times over.

Without mulling over many of the details about how I looked death in the eye, squinted a wee bit and showed it I meant business via my ever vigilant incontinence, I will say that I’m now on new slightlylesslikelytomurdermeinmysleep-medication while I wait to see how that plays out and we consider if I need to take things any further (that is, me having a lumbar puncture and even more delightfully unpleasant tests to determine my supreme level of neurological dysfunction).

On the positive side though the Neurologist is pretty sure that my form of Epilepsy is the Temporal Lobe kind (which granted IS one of the worst kinds but wait for the good news) which means I need not fear games or anime as it isn’t a reflexive epilepsy whatsoever but rather a “justfarkyouupwheneveritwants” sort. This does however mean my recent desperate delve into the land of eroge gaming as an emergency alternative is slightly less………..excusable.

(Although really when you consider how the games train real life decision making skills and full motion kiss control I’m sure you’ll all be overwhelmed by a sense of envy. No no it just FEELS like pity, but I assure you……..you’re feeling envy)

P.S.

The sad thing is I took those screenshots myself.

P.P.S.

The even sadder thing is I only got a PICNIC at the end of that game. A GOD DAMN PICNIC AND AN ACCIDENTAL HAND HOLD.

EVEN IN EROGE I DIE A VIRGIN.

Hospitalization, much like vaginal discharge, is a lot more fun when it’s happening to someone else. Now now don’t get me wrong, my imaginary vagina hasn’t started doing its “Farrah Fawcett” impersonation (oh the punage!) but rather it’s the hospitalization bit that seems to have suddenly dragged me by the short and curlies.

Now some may remember my RIVETING tale (6) years ago about my last overnight hospitalization stay during which highlights such as me writing a heartfelt ode to my Intravenous Infusion Machine titled “IV and Me” and having a somewhat dead-end argument with a vending machine transpired. This time however I was denied my fluidy companion but instead granted a new comrade, companion, ally in medical malice! I was granted an EEG machine super glued to a hundred spots around what is vaguely considered to be my brain.

I should probably stop getting (off) ahead of myself and actually do what a good writer (an oxymoron of note) does, explain the premise for this whole little dastardly situation.

As those of us who’ve paid attention in class might know, I’m generally about as sickly as wheat cropping tools (a pun no one should rightfully catch but I’m putting it in that sentence anyway since it makes me giggle like a bi-curious schoolgirl) and have spent the last 8 years unsuccessfully trying to figure out just what the buggermcbuggerpants is precisely wrong with me.

I’ve had more blood tests than a white cell college, organs removed “just in case” and more colonoscopies than successful relationships………..all to little avail…….until recently that is.

Indeed I finally had the fortune of meeting a doctor who had less of an interest in getting his head up my ass, and more of one in finding out what exactly was wrong with me, and less than a day later I found myself booked into hospital for the already mentioned EEG.

During hospital stays there are a few…….issues……..that usually spring to life, the worst of which usually being the people I have the displeasure of sharing my ward with. This time wasn’t an exception of course, as I stayed with characters ranging from a Malawian Bishop with diabetes who’d occasionally scream “OH LORD FORGIVE ME” for no reason other than to instigate my bowel movements, all the way to a 94 year old man who said he “feared for this generation” as he spotted me watching Prince of Tennis episodes on my laptop like the badassmofo I am.

Although I am at a bit of an impasse as to whether that was truly the *worst* of the issues as waking up 7 times during the night only to argue with ward nurses about turning on the air conditioner and then having to pee half sitting into a bottle all the while making sure I don’t rip out the EEG cabling………….well let’s just say I’m not exactly going to put that on my FUN TIMES IN FUN-LAND list any time soon.

As for the end result? Turns out I have epilepsy, though not in a form most understand. While most think epileptics to be full body parkinson-syndrome impersonators, the truth is in some cases (and evidently mine) people can have extremely frequent “partial seizures” which while not noticeable, usually leave the receiver dizzy, delirious and more fatigued than my audiences ability to laugh at bad jokes. (Which is a large reason why this update has taken so long to write)

That said, I’m slowly being medicated and *should* be a large deal more human within 6 weeks or so. My only remaining geeky fear is what I’ll be told I can and cannot watch during my eventual neurologist appointment but even that remains speculation at this point as I’m not even sure which “type” (Temporal lobe, Photosensitive, etc…) of epilepsy I have yet and have simply classified it as “Not very nice” in the interim.

P.S.

As mentioned, I am quite mentally inept as of late and considering the entire room is spinning as I type this………I would encourage forgiveness for the even more frequent typos and terrible attempts at humour.