Gems, not Jem
I just was reminded of that crazy lame cartoon called Jem that was on when I was in Middle School.
Things are turning up roses for me lately. My friend gave me some info on a program through NY state which gives assistance to people in need. You can start school or start and business and they assist you with funding. You don’t need to be on state disability but have a debilitating illness I think.
I am currently waiting for E to be back with his parents car to go pick up the piggies, or the fish and the aquarium. I wish we had the car for longer and were able to sidle down shore for a little beach jaunt. There are plenty of weekends for that, but still…there’s something about doing all of the work we are doing: I want to be able to have another bonus. Though our place is actually quite awesome. And the neighborhood is not as ghetto as I thought, given what we have found walking around. There are some really cute examples of awesome architecture and a really awesome coffee shop as well. E kept remarking how much he wished our place was closer to Bedford or Lorimer, but I figure hey, we’re on a hill, which will protect us from the evil hurricane that could come ripping through one day (I watch way too much TLC and Discovery, I admit). And it’s actually an up and coming type of neighborhood…granted I have done those a few times in my life, but there’s nothing wrong with that. This might rule provided I can get my businesses in line and actually sink all of my energy into them…because it seems as though there are plenty of available for rent spots around here. The motivation is definitely there. I suppose being called mediocre didn’t help make me feel more comfortable…my vindictive girl senses kicked in and are now like, oh yeah? you call me mediocre? I don’t think so, lady.
My appetite is so picky it makes everything so hard to indulge in, as I tend to get bored. I get bored by the same tastes and textures and cannot eat too much of one thing without wanting to try something else. I’m pretty sure Tapas would solve that problem, but it’s certainly not an easy way to cook. That and my sweating my ass off at night are new results of my surgeries. I have been sweating through one or two tank tops and the pillow most nights since I’ve been out and almost every night here. At first I remarked I wasn’t sure if it meant I then didn’t enjoy the blistering heat as much, but I do realize my salami toes and hands are not evident when it’s boiling out, which means my muscles and vessels are happier. The only reason could be the seizure medicine I think, as its the only new one–aside from the Cozaar I take in the morning. Sleeping on a feather bed you sweat through leaves the nastiest dead animal smell though. Like sleeping on a pile of dead birds. Bleh!!!
Must go wait for the E. Talk soon kiddles.
I have to admit, the “dead birds” thing made me laugh out loud. Seriously. Gross. Ha.
Jem and the Hollograms! woooo!