Say It Isn't So

Monday, August 10, 2020

Pandemic Blues within these 4 walls and behind the almost flat screen of security I lose myself. The world once round is now squared off against hyperbole. Back to whence it all began. Shifty shades of obscurity, sheltered behind a mask.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Granola Bandits Eat This

I am what I have always referred to as a 'Granola Bandit'. I like oats. I grew up eating oatmeal for breakfast, every day, all winter long. In Montreal, winter lasted 6 months, November to April. Sometimes it snowed in May and one time I remember on June 2nd. That day was unforgettable for me. Girls had to wear uniforms to school. A navy blue tunic, white blouse and knee socks. Come the last month of our school year we could wear what we wanted to. That year, the last month, started on June 2nd. It snowed. I was so disappointed because at that point I was in high school and wanted to wear this cute dress, but was unable to because of the snow.

Okay, back to oats. In the summer time we ate boxed cereals, or pop tarts. I didn't really care for either. As a teenager I would make my own breakfast. I started just pouring uncooked rolled oats in a bowl, with a sprinkle of sugar, cover it in milk and start chewing. I thought it was delicious. Almost as good as Pablum, which I loved and can still taste just thinking about it. One morning Mom saw me eating the raw rolled oats and was not happy. She said they weren't good for me. She grew up on a dairy farm and that was what the cows ate. At least that's why I thought she was disturbed by it.

At age 19, I went off to tour Europe. A friend and I hitchhiked our way through Belgium, Germany, Austria, Italy, and Switzerland. We had visas to visit Czechoslovakia, but our thumbs got us there on May 1st, and they would not let us in on that day...the day they had a big military parade. We also went to Yugoslavia but didn't dare hitchhike across that border so we took a train. Another story could be told about that train ride and the subsequent cruise down the coast line. That part of the journey has nothing to do with eating oats though, so I won't write about that here.

About 10 days into the tour we made it to Switzerland. Ah, breakfast at a youth hostel and I was served Muesli. Raw oats! Yes, with added fruit and nuts. I was thinking it was my vindication. That I was not amiss for liking to eat raw rolled oats!

So why am I posting about this now. I had been wondering if it was the eating of these raw oats had anything to do with the onset of Multiple Sclerosis. It seemed to me that eating Muesli was a food mostly eaten by Northern Europeans and MS is a condition mostly attributed to people of that heritage. I did some research which of course leads me nowhere that could possibly tie my thought processes into that choice of food fare.

It did however, lead me to a blurb about the term 'granola bandit'. That led me to an old character by the name of Wavy Gravy who was a member of the hippy trippy 60's. His character still survives as does he, but by the 80's he was so irked by the political offerings for President that he held a rally at the White House on November 4th in 1980. And so he created an option for the ballot.

Nobody For President!
Nobody's Perfect!
Nobody Keeps All Promises!
Nobody Should Have That Much Power!
Nobody Makes Apple Pie Better Than Mom!
Nobody Will Love You When You're Down And Out!
Who's In Washington Right Now Working To Make The World A Safer Place? Nobody!

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Thursday, October 24, 2019

Welcome to My Nightmare

Waking up in the morning, I first become conscious of an internal stress. As I lie there, making my mind aware that a new day has begun, I feel as still as an inanimate object. My thoughts go to that inevitable place, that seems to await those of us diagnosed with MS.

I used to have an afro comb. It was like a pitch fork, with 4 prongs about 3 inches long. It collapsed into a compact size for placing in my handbag. The handle, which was split down the middle, would fold back up around the prongs. Split down the middle is another of my MS sensations. The split between the legs divides to allow the nervous system to travel to both feet. Sometimes the sensation of that split, that division of the nerve pathway, extends right up to my neck. That is to say, I can feel the disconnection between the sides, all the way to my cervical spine. Like I was walking on stilts. I am happy to report that sensation is infrequent.

Back to my afro comb. It was sitting in it's folded position, on my bathroom counter. One of those stink bugs, that my area was overrun with a few years ago, was on its' last legs. They get to a lethargic stage where it seems to lack energy. No more flying into the nightlights like a blind June bug. I don't let the Terminex people into my apartment because I don't care for the idea of subjecting creatures to the fate that awaits me, but perhaps these stink bugs have succumbed to this pesticide elsewhere and have come to end their days with me. Anyway, this particular bug was in that lethargic stage, and I attempted to coerce it onto a piece of paper so I could take it outside. Well, it backed up into the gap that forms between the split of the folded handle. I believed it would exit on its own, if I left it alone. Not to happen, because every time I looked it was still there. If I attempted to poke at it, it only backed in further. It did go outside, but so did my afro comb.

Perhaps I empathize with that stink bug because one day I may also be unable to move. My mind will continue to create thoughts but I could be trapped in this shell of a body. This is where my thoughts go when I first awake, before I actually move. It is only a minute that passes before I say to myself that I need to get up and move before I can't.

I guess this could constitute a ghoulish story.

Sunday, February 24, 2019

I found this article on MS and the sense of smell and I find that I have the exact opposite effect as what is described here. I smell things sooner than others. I react as if certain smells, especially harsh cleaning agents, are poison and my respiratory tract takes a path akin to asthma. I can smell your anti-perspirant deodorant, laundry detergent on your clothing. Others consider these normal smells, but I need to move away if you've used too much of it, otherwise I can't breathe.

Then there is this forum on a condition called Hyperosmia which seems to explain some of it. In my case I don't believe it is a psychological root; I think it's the MS. I do note that it is less severe if I keep my mouth closed, but I also know that the bulk of smell is through the roof of the mouth. Even though I know these things, I still don't think it's a kind of hypochondria.

Too bad, because I don't take any recommended 'treatments' Neurologists don't study me. Good thing that I study me.

Friday, February 08, 2019


Maybe I misinterpreted the email that I received. I think I started this blog before that Google+ thing, which seems to bear the brunt of the gist of the email. That said, I don't think that was a valid sentence. April will tell me what that brunt means.

My neighbour is doing laundry. We share a laundry room. My apartment sits right above that room. She uses so much laundry detergent that it's odour seeps into my apartment. The smell fills my nostrils and my lungs fill with liquid that makes it hard to get oxygen. Ain't that a bitch. Normally, I would go outside for air, but I was out earlier and it's below freezing, so I won't go out again. I will grin and bear it. Headache and all.

I find this reaction my body has to certain chemicals as a reaction to poison. Like a canary, I think I need to scream to the world that these chemicals are bad for all mankind. People seem to accept that cancer is normal. I would disagree. I know populations are booming, information is rampant, but I don't think so many little children should be consumed by cancer. I don't think so many young mother's who haven't even had children yet, should be getting breast cancer. This is not normal. I will not ever accept that this is normal.

Back before all this started, before I got the diagnosis that brought me here to blogdom, I had known a woman who believed that P&G was a company owned by the devil. She said it's symbol of horns was her proof. I thought her a bit possessed, and was quietly amused by her ramblings. Then they invented Febreez and I'm not so sure she was off the mark. I developed an immediate reaction to this product, similar to my neighbour's laundry detergent, before I knew it was a P&G product. I am affected by many other products in this same way. Those cute little leaf looking air freshener's that dangle from people's car rear view mirrors, Lemon Pledge and Murphy's Oil, were some of the first one's I noticed. Now, I can add scented hand creams and face creams to the mix.

I scream. I will keep screaming.

Friday, February 01, 2019

Out on a Limb

I thought I'd start the new year out by getting back into this blog in a regular fashion. Then, suddenly, it's February. Having a cold in conjunction with brutally cold weather, has really put me in to a slow moving stasis. Too bad I wasn't on a spaceship heading to Mars where gravity does not take such a toll, but it would be even colder there, so never mind.

It would seem that my days here are numbered anyway. According to an email I just received from Google, they are going to shut my blog down. Not just my blog mind you, but every one of those of us who still use this format. I have days in order to figure out how to download my stuff. I have so many years of posts in this venue, even though I got a very late start, so I suppose, I ought to get right on to the figuring out how to save this. I think this is crappy on Google's part. I think they should be giving us more time. Especially now, that Facebook is becoming such a dismal place, rife with thievery and fake everything.

I'd start going on about the condition my condition is in. That's the whole reason I started this blog. That, and trying to figure out why I have this condition in the first place. However, Google has found it in their heartless hearts to further disable us.

Monday, December 10, 2018

Living in Morse Code

But still they begin
Needles and pins
Because of all my pride
The tears I gotta hide
 - The Searchers

Actually, mine have been around for over a year now. Still feels like everything I touch has a surface like terry towels. When my brother came to visit, a rare occasion indeed, and I held his hand, it was at that point when it seemed strangest of all. I had become accustomed to the sensation in my everyday life, but his hand felt more like sandpaper to me. It could be that my mind created that. I love him, but I have always been anti his pro stances. Okay, that probably doesn't make too much sense.

Back to my senses, about my sensations. I react to every sensory stimuli to a much greater depth than my friends do. At least those people whom I hang out with. I cannot speak for anyone I don't knock about with. I have an intolerance, which my former doctor referred to it as a chemical intolerance. I can't handle certain scents, especially the ones used in cleaning agents. My laundry detergent must be free and clear. I walk down that aisle in the grocery store holding my breath. If I do breath it in, I will cough like I have the plague. I can smell a skunk long before it hits the olfactory nerves of others. 

Next there is vision. I have trouble looking at this computer screen. It puts out a vibe, man. It is most noticeable when I'm watching videos when the images are moving fast. If music is involved it can jiggle my senses so bad that I start coughing. I kid you not. At least that's my perception of what happens. It has been proven to me, myself and I, that this is so. This is uncomfortable because I love music. I have 2 guitars. I'm not very good, only read tab music, and pick more than strum. I do invent tunes though. That practice is more soothing. I do have a recourse for enjoying those music videos . It involves getting up and dancing...not looking at the screen images. I can hardly bare holding my phone to my left ear. There is a vibration that becomes similar to pain. My right ear fares better. I much prefer talking with people face to face. 

So that takes care of smell, sight, sound, touch, which leaves only taste. As far as I know that has not been affected, but how can I know. I have never been able to gauge other peoples reactions to taste beyond, yuck or yum. I believe that most of taste is actually related to olfactory senses, that is to say, smell. I do know that I still love to eat food that tastes good. Not much in my diet has changed.

There is other oddness to my sensations. The touch is related to my right side only. Sound and vision mostly on my left. Sometimes I feel that the split that separates my left leg from my right leg, extends all the way to my neck, and I feel like some weird walking cartoon character.

I am not taking any treatments. Indeed the neurologist that I was seeing has retired but he told me that unless I was part of a treatment there is no way my disease progression gets studied by the medical profession. This is why I want to document my own perceptions. There is more earlier documentation on the hard drive that belonged to my previous computer. I have the drive but am afraid to link to it believing that it was a virus that killed my former computer and I don't want this one to flip out before it's time, which, according to some, should have already happened.

My perceptions of all of these happenings in my body are this. My nerves are raw. The myelin coating is vanishing. The belief that the myelin sheath is a conductor is incorrect. It is merely a shield to protect our nerves from harm. Overstimulation can fry my mind.

That is all for now. I have vented my thoughts.
Over and out.

I don't remember how to add a photo.
Here comes my 19th nervous breakdown.