Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Post # 49.3: Hair today, gone tomorrow...

Web MD suggests this activity to decrease my Crohn's related stress. Running alone in the woods does not seem safe or calming because of bears and people who might jump out at me from behind a tree.
Here are three things that I am today:

1.) tired
2.) worried
3.) full of delicious, delicious bagels

Only one thing on that list is positive. I forced myself to go on an outing today, because I have not left the house in wayyyyy too long. I haven't been out in the sunlight. I may be growing moss and becoming (more) antisocial. The usual.

Going out takes preparation and, for lack of a better word, propulsion. To prepare, you must make sure you're hydrated from the latest colon explosion, and attempt to gauge if another is imminent. Imodium may need to be deployed, Gatorade consumed. Personal hygiene falls into this category, although at this point if I'm showered and wearing deodorant I'm pretty much in full on glamour mode.

Finally, propulsion: the single mindedness it takes to ignore your symptoms and physically propel yourself out the door. You can't let anything effect your momentum, of you may never leave: there are so many reasons to stay home and get back into bed. This morning, as I was combing through my hair with my fingers, I looked down to find my palms covered in hair: a delightful potential side effect of the new medication. Thinking I was overreacting, I shook my hands over the sink, and there was proof against the white porcelain: a lot of extra strands were visible. I could feel my momentum shrinking, as I combed through my hair for more and more strands (a few more came loose)-I wanted to count them, or document them, or call someone, or do SOMETHING. But I made myself wash them down the drain, and finished getting ready. You can't get sidetracked, even by something new and frightening, if you want to get out the door. There will always be something.

At the door: keys, Gatorade, crackers, cell phone. Gut check: Cramps? no. Gas? no. Bladder? empty. Dizzy? slightly. Safe to drive? yes.

Get in the car and go.

I did, and I came back. I used up so much energy on that brief task. It felt good to get out, to drive on the freeway and listen to the radio, to see people and buy bagels and act normal for an hour or two, but I came home and headed straight for the couch, and now I can barely keep my eyes open. I took a long nap, and now I'm going to bed early. I just feel like I have no reserves, and when that energy is gone for the day, it's gone.

That covers the bagels and the fatigue-now for the freak out. Some hair fell out today-I don't know if that is a new trend or just a random hair exodus. I up my dosage tomorrow. If I'm this tired now, how will I manage when I'm taking 4x the dose? Will I be more spaced out? More distracted? More nauseous?

I will use that same propulsion to force myself down the stairs tomorrow morning. I will go into the kitchen and pour myself some juice, and I will take those pills and see what happens. Thinking and worrying inhibit motion. There will be plenty of time to obsess once the pills are down the hatch.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Post #49.2: Ticker tape machines and weird ass dreams

Ok.

So! Guess who started taking her pills? This girl!
 
They're not as cute as the pill above, but they also don't clog up my digestive business with yarn, so there's that. At some point, as I wrote about last time, taking a new drug is a leap of faith, and eventually you just have to leap, without knowing how you'll land. That part sucks.
 
This new drug makes me dizzy, kind of spacey, slightly more nauseous, and super, super tired. I don't know what's going on inside; my first blood test will be after I quadruple my dose (FUN) in a week. Sometimes I wish that my body would spit out a little ticker tape like the old-timey stock machines, a continuous loop of paper with liver enzyme readings and the like. I could hire an old-timey butler to follow me around and read the results, and occasionally he might adjust his monocle and exclaim, "Madam, your CRP is every so slightly elevated this morning. Shall I contact your physician post haste? And will you be taking your breakfast in the solarium?" to which I would reply, "If you could be so kind, Benson. And could you be sure that cook sends up WARM toast this morning? I do find cold toast so DEPRESSING." And then I would sweep away in a rustle of paper tape and flapping fabric, because in this fantasy I'm wearing a silk dressing gown over my beaded dress from the night before, and my eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with kohl. Because I am apparently a flapper.
 
Did I mention that this drug also gives me really weird, detailed, realistic dreams?

I would write more but I'm tired. I took a long nap today, and didn't do anything more taxing than reading the NYT magazine and watching a bunch of episodes of "Bar Rescue," but all I want to do is crawl back into bed. I keep feeling like if I just give in to this fatigue, eventually I'll sleep it off-like one morning I'll wake up and my body will be fully charged. Instead, it's like having half charged batteries everyday, and not being able to fully recharge. Every afternoon, I lose the charge I had from the morning, and have to sleep to get half charged again, and then the cycle continues. It's frustrating, and, um, tiring.

That's the update. I don't know if this is progress or not, but at least I took the leap of faith-at least I'm trying something to make this better.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Post # 49.1: Hangin' tough

I'm trying to hang in there hamster STOP YELLING AT ME.
 
I'm almost at post 50, which seems momentous. Since I want post 50 to be about something happy, this post will be 49.1.

So. Time for some truth (because all the stuff I write about explosive diarrhea is just a bunch of lies so you'll think I'm glamorous and cool).

I am supposed to start work in a month. I don't know if I can do it. And realistically, I'm not sure that teaching, as a profession, is going to be conducive to my life with Crohn's.

Today was a bad day, in all respects. I started taking my new medicine, so I don't feel so great (although no vomiting so far, yeah!), I had a bunch of super un-fun colon explosions, I slept for most of the day, and then I ate some white bread and considered my future job prospects. All in all, not very encouraging.

It's hard for me to remember sometimes that I've been living with this diagnosis for less than a year. I think that even though I obviously had symptoms before then, having the diagnosis-having a name-for what was wrong with me changed everything in a very profound way. I feel like I'm scrambling to undo 30 years worth of planning and expectations since I've been given this new piece of the puzzle. I might have planned things differently if I'd known, but it's hard to say.

In one month, I am supposed to be at the head of a classroom, delivering curriculum I've developed and lessons I've planned (which I haven't done yet). I will need to learn student's names, and develop relationships with them, and correct their papers. One of the things I usually like about teaching is that I can be energetic and playful and creative. I can engage my students with random activities, play games in class, hand out candy on random Tuesdays to make the day a little better. I'm loud and I move around a lot, and  I make jokes, and I don't care if I embarrass myself as long as students are learning and having fun in my classroom.

I don't have enough energy to do that now. It's conserved for things like showering, or sometimes going to the grocery store. If, in a month, I am able to teach, it would not be the same as before. I think I would be more self contained and dependant on the course textbooks. I think there would be less YouTube movies clips and more silent writing.

I think that getting to work everyday and making it through a lesson would be a "win," if you will, but still a battle I would have to fight every.single.day. I don't know if I'm physically or emotionally prepared (or able) to fight that fight.

I'm thinking of emailing my boss and telling her I am unable to teach this quarter, again.

Crap.

On the other hand, I've been trying to get back to where I was before the diagnosis: working in a profession/place that is not necessarily suited to me now. I'm not saying that people with Crohn's shouldn't be teachers; I'm saying that maybe I'm a teacher with Crohn's who should look for new ways to do the things she likes without the burden of a daily course load.

I have to make the decision soon, and every answer seems wrong, or at least stressful/uncomfortable. It's hard to see what I can't help feeling is a failure as an opportunity to grow or change my life for the better.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Post #49: Really? Really?!

Taking pills this way would be less traumatizing and NO I'M NOT STRESSED OUT ABOUT TOMORROW WHY DO YOU ASK?!
Sigh.

I usually don't post every day, because I don't think anyone needs to hear about my AAC more than like twice a week, but I'm going a little stir crazy so here's another post. Embrace it.

I thought I'd include another edition of "stupid shit people say to me about my Crohn's." I would call it just "stupid shit people say," but then I would have too much material. For the record, I don't write down all of the stupid shit (re: Crohn's) that people say to me; I don't have a secret notebook where I rate the comments by stars according to hilarity, lack of empathy, or cluelessness, although that's kind of a good idea. To the scene! 

The scene: long distance phone call with distant elderly relative.

This relative has only the BEST INTENTIONS towards me, so I didn't take it personally. You will note that  I was kind of at a loss about how to respond (see below) to pretty much the entire conversation. However, I did refrain from making sarcastic comments, which is obviously a sign of personal growth. Enjoy!

Relative: So, what's up with you? How are you feeling?
Me: Well, not so hot (I thought someone told her about my Crohn's). You know.
Relative: Oh really? What's going on?
Me: Oh, I thought you already knew. I was diagnosed with Crohn's a few months ago.
Relative: OH NO. That is terrible. I am so, so sorry! That is terrible, just terrible.
Me: Um, thanks? It's ok, I'm going to try a new medication next week, so....
Relative (on a roll): What a drag! I'm just so sorry. God! Well, I guess this is just evidence that bad things happen to good people. I'm so sorry.
Me: Um, thanks?
Relative: You know, I knew a young lady who had it. She tried every medication they had, but they didn't work, she ended up taking the whole thing out.
Me: uhhh......
Relative: But she's totally fine now! In fact, after the surgery, she managed to find a husband.
Me: What kind of surgery did she have?
Relative (still rolllllling along): You know, she never was a looker, kind of a big girl. She didn't even have a pretty face, but she still found a guy!
Me: Um, good for her?
Relative: Wow, such bad news. I'm so, so sorry. God. That's terrible, just terrible.
Me: Thanks. SO HOW'S THE WEATHER NEAR YOU?

Sigh.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Post #48: Bears are gross too

Thanks for wiping my excess fecal matter off with a broom Ma!

Ugh, I hate these commercials. The latest has the mother bear looking into the baby bear's UNDERWEAR (?!), finding skid marks (?!!) and shaking her head: oh, those crazy bears of mine! The answer to this problem is, obviously, more absorbent toilet paper. Clearly, the solution isn't TEACHING THEM CORRECT WIPING TECHNIQUES or investing in some baby wipes.

Let's take a moment to discuss the flaws in these commercials. First of all, the bears (and bears in general, really) don't wear pants-so why would they wear underwear? Also, if you've ever seen bear poop, as the creators of these commercials clearly haven't, then you'd know that a few errant pieces of overpriced fluffy toilet paper stuck to their ass is the LEAST OF THEIR PROBLEMS. Once, my family was hiking in Alaska with a guide in the middle of bear country. The "funny" guide insisted that my 10 year old self go first up the trail, to act as an "appetizer." He also carried some sort of bear mace, and told us to put our backpacks over our heads in the event of an attack, so we would look like larger animals. I'm pretty sure the sight of some lily white yuppies hoisting their REI backpacks above their heads and peeing themselves would make the bear giggle before it ate us. Also: BEARS ARE SCARY! Did the creators of this commercial have access to the discovery channel?

Anyway, back to bear poo. Talk about colon explosion-we're talking piles, mountains, HEAPS of poo. Do you know how sometimes your dog poops, and you think, how did all of that come from my mid-size herding dog? Well, think about that same phenomenon with a motherf-ing BEAR. Apparently (and this is coming from my recollection of the crazy ass bear guide two decades ago, so science could have advanced), in preparation for hibernation, they eat a lot of cattails (the plant) because they are sort of like nature's Dulcolax. I guess that's smart, so one doesn't befoul the den. Now you know. I'm glad I could enrich your life with all of this.

This post/rant about the Charmin bears is brought to you by my desire to avoid thinking or talking about my own AAC, which is, in keeping with the spirit of the blog, pretty pissed off.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Post #47: Pill poppin' (or poopin', probably both)

The one I'm really worried about is massive right breast swelling. Symmetry is important, yo. Also, the one involving clowns (shudder).

On Monday, I am going to start taking my new pills. I was cleaning out my bathroom last weekend, and I came across the pill graveyard that lives under my sink. I forget it's there, usually, and I'm always shocked by the size of the collection. I'm not sure how many thousands of dollars of medication I have under there, but it takes up a whole shelf. Every time I get a new medication from the pharmacy, I wonder if it will end up there, sequestered in its orange plastic prison with the other pharmaceutical rejects.

If I arranged these meds in chronological order, the liquids, suspensions, gel tabs, and tablets, in plastic, foil packs, bottles, and tubes, they could map out the course of my illness. The story they tell is one of educated medical guesses, trial and error. None of them worked. One had to be illegally ordered from England. Most of the bottles are still pretty full.

They are a rainbow hued record of failure.

I know the proper way to dispose of them (mix them with coffee grounds or cat litter! Don't flush them!) but I can't seem to let them go. It's like if I get rid of them, part of my history gets erased. It took years to amass this pile, each new med a promise, a beacon of hope, a snake oil cure. Even the ones with the scary side effects get to stay: the medicine that made me convinced I was going to die. The medicine that gave me stabbing stomach pain. The medicine that made me sob, uncontrollably, on the kitchen floor, impervious to reason and inconsolable. The medicine that made my legs feel like they were asleep all the time, even though I was constantly moving them. The medicine that gave me a rash. The many, many medicines that made me nauseous or dizzy or tired. I took them all. I hoped they would all work. None of them did. Keeping them helps me document this history: it happened. It happened to me. It could happen again.

When I take a new med, I read everything I can find about it online. I read the insert that comes with the med from the pharmacy, every freaking word. I try to take new pills during the week, in case I get weird side effects, preferably on a Monday, when all new things start (the week, diets, school). I get scared and dramatic and pace around the kitchen- eventually, I just swallow the motherfucker and hope for the best, because in the end, it's all a leap of faith.

This Monday I start a new med, with a new schedule that involves precise dosage instructions, many blood draws, and some potentially nasty side effects. I'm giving myself the whole day off. It might seem like I'm over thinking this, or blowing it out of proportion, or psyching myself out-all fair charges, to be sure, but after two dozen or so new med Mondays you start to develop patterns and rituals.

The anxiety about new meds never goes away-but strangely, neither does the hope that AT LAST you might find the one pill that will heal you, help you, and improve your quality of life. Much like doctor shopping, taking new meds is like going on a joyless series of blind dates, although I guess for the metaphor to work the blind dates would have to kick you in the kidneys a few times or slip you a laxative. Whatever. You keep trying, and searching, and trying and searching until you find your one true drug.

And when you find that drug, maybe you will finally be able to clean out your pill graveyard, that shrine to sickness and anchor to medical memories past.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Post #46: I suck at Crohn's

I'm not a doctor or anything, but I'm prettttty sure that car is going the wrong way. This is not going to end well.

I went out to lunch today with my hairstylist/life coach/surrogate aunt today. She's unapologetically in love with cats, waiters, and old Jewish women. A good 50% of her wardrobe consists of leopard print. She stores things in her bra (cell phone, money) so it constantly looks like she's feeling herself up. She calls everyone "honey" and does so in such a genuine fashion that she totally gets away with it. She rolls her eyes at my bullshit and gives me insight into my problems, whatever they may be. We meet for lunch and end up talking for 2 hours. She always gets the check. I heart her.

I was telling her about something insensitive that someone had recently said about my Crohn's. She's had her own share of health issues, so we can commiserate about these kinds of things. I was saying how incredibly frustrating it is when other people assume they could handle your disease in a more productive/functional way. I've encountered this a lot, and I've been guilty of it as well. Looking from the outside in, it's easy to think, well, are they doing everything they could be doing? Why are they still sick? If I were them, I would be more proactive. I would do x, y, and z to make sure I was really addressing the issue. THEY ARE BEING SICK ALL WRONG!

The message may be cloaked in fake concern, obnoxious advice, or endless anecdotes about the many people they know who have the disease but are handling it better, but it all comes down to this, at the end: you suck at having this disease.

Do you know how hurtful it is to have someone essentially tell you you fail at being sick? I'll tell you: pretty fucking hurtful. If you hadn't noticed, this is something of a sore spot for me, because part of me thinks they might be right. Maybe I should be "over this" by now, maybe things should be better. Maybe I should only eat cream cheese and bundt cake, like my friend's sister's co-worker's niece did-it really nipped that Crohn's in the bud! Maybe I should be running 5 miles a day to decrease my stress levels. Maybe I should be doing hot yoga and drinking kombucha and getting acupuncture (I strongly dislike all of these things).

Eventually, my thinking brain clicks on, and I remember: FUCK YOU. How dare you suggest that you could do this better? I'm doing what I can, when I can, trying to make difficult decisions and live my life with a chronic illness that kind of dropped into my lap right after my last birthday (happy birthday to me!). This is not a graded exercise. This is not an Olympic event. You can't GRADE MY MOTHERFUCKING PERFORMANCE. I'm not aiming for gold here-I'm just trying to figure shit out. That's more than good enough for me, and it will have to do for anyone else.

Hhmmph.

My hairstylist/life coach/surrogate aunt told me a theory one of her clients had about illness: people expect the McDonald's experience. You get a disease, go through the drivethru (see your doctors, get your surgery, etc.), and emerge with pills in hand-and a cure. It's a simple trajectory, and one that people can relate to. You got sick, and then you got well. Illness done, fries consumed, moving on with life.

My disease will never function exactly like that. There are treatments, but no "cure." There will be periods of sickness and (this is the goal) periods of relative health (remission!). Some symptoms will be unexpected. I will never drive away with a McFlurry and a simple solution.

I write all of this to get it off my chest, for sure, but also because as much as I hate the impulse to judge people's "illness performance" I do the same. freaking. thing.

At lunch, my hairstylist/life coach/surrogate aunt  was telling me about a recent health scare, and my first reaction was to tell her how to deal with her health problem. I wanted her to be more aggressive and assertive, and see the BEST doctors at the BEST hospital immediately. She listened to me rant, and then kind of raised an eyebrow and smirked. I was taken aback at the forcefulness of my reaction, and she calmly told me that she was dealing with this in her own way, in her own time, with her own doctors. I jumped in with my opinions because I was concerned, and I care about her.

Sometimes people say mean, stupid shit, and you should call them on it. Sometimes, sometimes, they might say stupid shit out of love and concern. And sometimes, when you say stupid shit or lack the self awareness to realize you're exhibiting the very same behaviors that you deplore, it's useful to have a friend who loves you enough to point it out.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Post #45: Whales are gross

Do you see your favorite foods in this picture? Neither do I!
Fun things that happened this weekend:

1.) Played with kittens (eee!). One was a farter, and I felt immediate kinship and considered adopting a flatulent cat

2.) Had to have a colon explosion while company was in the next room, and couldn't make it to the upstairs bathroom; did the whole "if I turn on the water, NO ONE CAN HEAR A SOUND" trick and hoped they thought the percussive gas sounds were merely an errant motorboat passing by outside

3.) Watched Liza Minelli bake a chocolate cake with Paula Deen. So very, very wrong, and yet so compulsively watchable. On a side note, I would totally not be surprised if a hidden camera caught Paula Deen in a warehouse somewhere, breaking kneecaps with a lead pipe and screaming in a Brooklyn accent

4.) Watched the Olympic closing ceremony. The Queen totally should have been there! Harry looked petrified, I bet she beat him with her purse first so he'd behave

Yeah, that about covers it. It was an uneventful weekend, except in my colon, where the Olympic event was sprinting (to the bathroom). For serious, I cannot remember the last time my stomach cramps were THAT LOUD-I would say it sounded like whale song, but whale song is not usually angry-sounding and followed by copious amounts of diarrhea (or maybe it is, whales could be gross like that).

I finally made a decision about the scary medication, and now I'm in a holding pattern waiting for this cold to clear my system, but without blood work/taking antibiotics it's hard to gauge whether or not it's really gone. I also haven't taken the steroids. I know they would make me feel better now, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking about going back to work, and I want to have a secret weapon if I need it. I know if I start the steroids now, there is every chance I'd still be on them at the end of September, but I just want to have some extra ammunition, just in case. It's kind of the only advance planning I can do with my AAC. Secret weapon, ammunition-these steroids are like the Navy Seals of pharmaceuticals, slipping quietly into my colon and knocking my inflammation into SUBMISSION. Boo rah!

So as per the instruction of my gastro's nurse, I am trying to "rest" my colon until I can start the new meds, thus the graphic above. It's old school, sure, but my ass is not going to eat spelt bread and high fiber food in the midst of all of these colon explosions. If my colon needs to take a time out and chill with some white rice, guess what's for dinner?? It's kind of weird to be consuming the "forbidden foods" all day long (white bread, Gatorade, white rice, oh my!) but it seems to be helping my cramps. We'll see.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Post #44: Second verse, same as the first....

Drama cat says, "nooooooooooooooooooooo"

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Guess who's going back on steroids?

Guess who also still has a cold, after a week and a half, and might need a chest x-ray and a z pack?

Guess who still gets to take the scary medicine AND the steroids after that cold is done? THIS GIRL.

High fives all around! Oh right.

(dramatic sigh).

So I guess there really have been signs all along. And like last time my colon freaked the fuck out, I ignored them until I couldn't. Until there was pain and fear. Until there was only once choice, a choice I felt "forced" to make even though I should have made it months ago. Same song, same station, different day.

I know the steroids will make me feel better, but I also know what tapering means, and how demoralizing it is to slowly lose the control the drug brings. I don't know about the scary drug, and how it will make me feel, but I do know that soon I will have not one but two powerful drugs coursing through my system. I know there will probably be side effects. I know that my pill count will climb again. I know I'll feel alone and powerless over what is happening to my body.

It seems almost quaint that a few days ago, I was idly rationalizing the decision to take this drug.

It seemed like a decision that was far off in the future, a decision that wouldn't effect me now, or so soon.

Someone asked me how I'd feel if I didn't take the medication and developed complications; I said I would be mad at myself. They asked how I'd feel if took the medication, and still developed complications: I said I would be mad at the universe.

I'm just mad.

And in my head, in a loop, I think please be ok, please be ok, please be ok. Every time I go to the bathroom and check for blood, or eat anything, or feel the familiar sweetness of Gatorade slip over my tongue. Please be ok.

Over and over again like a prayer.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Post #43: I took a break, buy my Crohn's didn't

This is what you get when you google "Crohn's flare." Assholes, like I could eat this shit even if my colon were not inflamed. Also, why does the frosting look like mashed potatoes? Ugh.

The title of this post should be sung to the tune of "I fought the law and the law won." Totally stuck in my head now.


Yeah, so, oops....haven't posted in a while. I was on vacation and even though I had internet access I didn't want to talk about my AAC. So sue me.

Before I left, I had a non-religious "come to Jesus" meeting with my gastro. Within 60 seconds of shaking his hand and starting to discuss my digestive business, I burst into tears, per usual. On the one hand, it's embarrassing that I can't make it through a single appointment without doing the ugly cry, but at this point I've kind of stopped trying to fight the FEELINGS. Whatever. It's not like he usually delivers good news and then we play with puppies the whole time. Shit is stressful.

After a lot of obsessing, denial, and stalling (3 month taper, anyone?), I decided to go on the meds I was hoping to avoid. It's time to give them a try. A few things became abundantly clear during my meeting.  My gastro broke it down: what are your goals for the next six months? I said I wanted to go back to work. He asked why I wasn't working (I took my leave of absence a while ago, and technically could have worked this quarter), and if it had anything to do with Crohn's symptoms. At first, I was like, no silly gastro! I'm taking a BREAK. I'm RELAXING and GETTING BACK TO NORMAL.

And then I realized: no I'm not. I'm doing exactly what I was doing before-piecing together an existence based around unpredictable symptoms and pretending that EVERYTHING IS FINE. But everything is not fine. Having 1-2 bad days a week, that kind of take me out of commission for a morning/day, is not fine.  I realized that in my current state, I couldn't go back to work with any degree of confidence. As my gastro said, so kindly, "I really don't think your symptoms are as under control as you think they are."

For a long time, during this period of tapering and should I/shouldn't I take this drug thinking, I assumed that I would get a black and white picture of the situation and would be able to make the right decision accordingly. Unfortunately, there were no fortune cookies with "TAKE THE FUCKING DRUGS ALREADY" fortunes, or long spaces of symptom free days where I picnicked in alpine meadows and communed with all that was natural and bright. It's been an in between, not that great, not always terrible, middle of the road kind of deal. I was so worried about making the right decision that I didn't make any decisions. I watched a great Crohn's round table thing online (wish I could find it again, would totally link to it) where a doctor said he tells his patients that the medicines they are taking  are "forever for now." New drug therapies are in development, symptoms can change, situations can change, and the drug you take today might not be the drug you take for the rest of your life.

I think that is what was holding me back: I had to be SO SURE about this decision because I would be on this drug for the rest of my life-but that's not necessarily true. And that flexibility is freeing. I like my gasto's approach: what are you goals, and how can we get you there? The goals will change, and the medicine might have to change as well. I've got to start somewhere.

Unfortunately, I have had a cold for the last week and a half, so I don't think I can start this drug right now. I'm going to call my gastro's nurse on Friday to check, but I'm still coughing up green shit so I think it's a no-go (and you thought this blog was just about POO).

I'll update soon-right now, it's time to watch the Olympics even though I know how it all turns out THANKS A LOT CNN. Things that are awesome: the hilarious England-themed jumps for the horses, sparkly spandex, hurdles. Diving and Olympic kayaking (?!). The fancy water polo baby caps. The super excited parents in the stands. AMERICAN BEACH VOLLEYBALL SHOWDOWN. I love this shit.